Page 2 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
He lifted his chin, his words cutting through her shrill tone. “Nay, hear me well. The Laird lies dead, and by right, his blood passes to me. Whether by age, by fate, or by steel, his rule ends, and mine begins.” His eyes burned as he swept his gaze over each man.
“I am Bradley Knox, and I am Laird McCormack now,” he declared, his voice hard as iron. “If ye call yerselves McCormack men, then ye’ll kneel to me, or ye’ll stand as foes to this clan. The choice is yers, but mark me words, McCormack blood bows to none but its rightful Laird. Swear yer loyalty, or be cast from these halls.”
The first to kneel was a guard named Alan. Then, one by one, the guards dropped to their knees, their heads bowed low. The air was thick with tension, yet loyalty bound them more than fear. Bradley stood tall above them all, the weight of lairdship settling upon his shoulders.
He accepted their allegiance and commanded the guards to follow him into the council chamber. The murmurs of the gathered council ceased at once, and silence gripped the room.He moved to the high seat at the table’s head, setting his bloody dirk upon it.
“I am the Laird now,” Bradley declared, his voice carrying sharp and unforgiving. “From this day forth, me word is law, and any who denies it shall meet the same fate as he.” His gaze swept across the council, daring a challenge none would make.
His mother, Ophelia, stood stiffly at the threshold of the room, her eyes wide but her chin lifted in defiance. Bradley turned to her, his tone colder than the winter wind. “Maither, ye are nae welcome in this hall nor on these lands. Ye’ll be exiled by dawn, and should ye return, it will be at the risk of yer life.”
He watched her mouth tremble, but she gave no reply.
The council sat in heavy silence, yet one man found his courage. Caleb, older and broad-shouldered, leaned forward. “By the clan’s law, ye must provide an heir within two years, else yer claim may be broken.”
Bradley’s eyes darkened as he fixed his stare upon him. The room held its breath until Caleb’s shoulders faltered, and he muttered an apology. “Apologies for speakin’ this, me Laird. I only wish to make the laws familiar to ye.”
Bradley’s lips curled in a hard line. “I’ll fulfill me duties as Laird, nay matter what they are,” he said firmly.
He then pointed to the guard at the back. “Alan. Ye’ll be me man-at-arms and see to the keep while I’m gone.”
Caleb found his voice once more. “Where are ye going, me Laird?”
Bradley straightened, his tone like thunder. “I’m going to bring yer new Lady home.”
CHAPTER TWO
“Keep up, Poppy,” Laura said.
Laura strolled beneath the high pines, her hand brushing along the rough bark as she kept a steady pace. The air smelled of damp earth and sweet heather, carrying the calm that always settled her thoughts. Poppy skipped a few paces behind, her small black curls bouncing, her blue eyes fixed on the ground as if searching for something unseen. Laura slowed, turning to face the girl with a gentle smile.
“See here, lass,” Laura said softly, pointing at a cluster of green leaves with tiny white blossoms. “This is a wood anemone. It blooms when the spring wakes the land.” She tilted her head, coaxing gently. “Can ye say it, Poppy?”
The girl stared, lips pressed tight, and said nothing. Laura’s smile did not falter, though her heart ached for the child’s silence. She crouched low, brushing her fingers against the petals, then raised her eyes again with patient warmth.
“An-e-mo-ne,” she repeated slowly, each syllable stretched as if to help the girl catch them. “Go on now, try it. Just a wee word.”
Still, Poppy stood mute, her fingers clutching at her skirts. Laura sighed softly, though she leaned closer, refusing to give up. “It’s a bonnie word, light on the tongue. Ye’ll like the feel of it once ye let it out.”
Laura rose and continued down the shaded path, pointing toward another plant tucked in the moss. “Foxglove,” she said, lifting the tall stalk between her fingers. “Ye see the way the blossoms hang, like wee bells? Foxes hide their paws in them, they say.”
Poppy tilted her head, her eyes wide with curiosity, but her lips remained sealed. Laura laughed gently, brushing back the mute girl’s hair with a soft touch. “Ah, Poppy. One day, ye’ll surprise me, and I’ll hear the sweetest sound from ye yet.”
Her words faltered as the sound of hooves broke the quiet, steady and sure against the soft earth. She stiffened, her hand falling from Poppy’s hair as she turned her head toward the path’s bend. The rhythm grew louder, deeper, until the rider came into view through the trees.
Laura’s breath caught in her throat, and her words fell away mid-sentence. She knew that face, that dark, unyielding presence, even though years had passed since she had last seen him in that portrait. Bradley Knox rode forward with purpose.
He was taller, broad in the shoulders, and with arms thick as tree boughs. A short beard framed his mouth. His hair, black as night, hung loose in the breeze, wild and untamed as the look in his gaze. Laura felt her heart pound, though she forced herself to remain still.
“Back to the Abbey, Poppy,” Laura said sharply, her tone clipped and unlike her usual gentleness. “Now.”
The little girl startled at the command, her eyes darting between Laura and the towering man astride the horse. Without hesitation, she turned and ran, her small figure vanishing between the trees toward the safety of the Abbey walls.
Laura kept her gaze locked on the rider, her body stiff with unease. Laura’s hands curled at her sides as she forced herself not to tremble beneath his stare. In that moment, she knew, her past had ridden into her present, and there would be no turning back.
Her breath quickened as Bradley swung down from his horse in one fluid motion. The stallion snorted and pawed the ground while its master strode forward, tall and broad, his steps steady with purpose. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a wild gleam in his black eyes as he stopped before her. Laura’s heart hammered, but she lifted her chin, unwilling to let him see her fear.
“What are ye doing here?” she asked, her voice sharp though her chest ached with unease. “Ye’ve nay right to be standin’ on Abbey ground. Speak yer reason plain.”
