Page 4 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Laura’s gaze fell to the floor, her heart heavy. “A fine bride,” she repeated softly, as if the words were a curse. “I can scarcely believe I stand here, clad for weddin’ vows, when only days ago I prayed to give me life to God.” The thought struck her anew, sharp as ever.
Cora’s hands stilled, and her expression gentled. “I ken it’s hard, me Lady. Life takes turns we daenae expect, aye? But perhaps the Lord’s will lies here, in this place, though ye daenae see it yet.” Her eyes lingered on Laura with warmth.
Laura swallowed hard, touched by the maid’s kindness. In her heart, she admitted she had found comfort in Cora’s company since her arrival. The young woman’s gentle manner and patient words softened the harshness of the castle’s cold stone walls. Laura thought of how rare it was to find such gentleness in a world ruled by men like her father and Bradley.
“Ye’ve been very good to me, Cora,” Laura said, her tone quiet yet sincere. “I daenae ken how I’d have managed without yer company. From the moment I arrived, ye’ve treated me with more kindness than I deserve.” Her eyes softened as they met the maid’s.
“Deserve?” Cora scoffed lightly, shaking her head. “Och, daenae speak so. Ye’re to be the Lady of this keep, and I’ll see ye treatedas such. Besides, me brother Alan would thrash me soundly if I were anythin’ less than proper to ye.” A playful smile curved her lips.
Laura allowed a small laugh, though sadness still clung to her. “Alan seems a good man, as ye do a good sister. Perhaps ye’re right, Cora, perhaps I’m blind to blessings I’ve yet to ken. Still, I cannae chase the sorrow from me heart.”
Cora stepped back, tilting her head as she looked upon Laura. “Ye’ll find yer strength, me Lady. I see it in ye already, stronger than ye think. And who kens, marriage may nae be the chain ye fear, but the path to somethin’ greater.” Her voice was soft, but conviction shone through.
Laura met her gaze in the mirror, her chest tightening. She wished she could believe those words, wished she could feel hope instead of dread. Yet in Cora’s face, she saw a gentleness that eased her burden, if only for a moment. Smiling faintly, she whispered,
“Mayhap ye’re right, Cora. Mayhap.”
“It’s time.” Alan’s firm knock broke the quiet of the chamber, and Cora hurried to the door to let him in.
He stepped across the threshold in his guard attire, his expression calm yet solemn. His eyes met Laura’s briefly before he gave a short bow. “Me Lady, it’s time. The Laird waits at the kirk.”
Laura’s stomach twisted, and her throat felt tight as she nodded. “Aye, Alan,” she whispered, though the words nearly choked her. Her hands trembled as she gathered the folds of her gown. The air seemed to thin as she followed him into the corridor, each step heavy with dread.
The castle walls rose high around her, their stone gray and unyielding.
Laura trailed behind Alan, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. Her lips moved soundlessly at first, then words formed into prayer.
“Lord, forgive me for what I’m about to do.”
Her voice faltered, but she pressed on in silence, whispering to the Almighty, who had been her only true refuge. She had dreamed once of taking vows of service, of devoting her life to peace and prayer. Now she was forced into a marriage she had not chosen, bound to a man whose very name filled her with unease. Each step toward the kirk felt like walking into a trap she could not escape.
The corridor turned, and light from narrow windows cut across the stone floor. Laura lifted her eyes to the beams, searching for strength. Irony struck her bitterly, for she thought of Emilie, her dearest friend from Caledon Abbey. Emilie, too, had faced a marriage forced upon her, with the same threats looming.
But Emilie’s tale had found a soft place to land, her union turning toward love in time. Laura’s heart, however, whisperedno such hope. Bradley was cruel, brutish, and proud, a man carved of arrogance and iron.
How could I ever learn to love such a man, when every glance from him stirs fear instead of fondness?
Cora followed at a pace behind. Their silence wrapped around Laura like a shroud.
At last, the heavy wooden doors of the kirk came into sight. They loomed tall and dark, carved with weathered patterns of the cross and crowned with iron hinges. The sound of muffled voices drifted through from within, low and expectant. The clan waited, eager for the joining that Laura dreaded with all her soul.
She slowed, her steps faltering, but Alan cast a glance over his shoulder. His brow furrowed as he gave a quiet nod of encouragement.
“Nearly there, me Lady,” he said, his voice low, yet kind.
“Ye’ve the strength to see this through,” Cora whispered over Laura’s shoulder.
Laura swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the doors ahead. Strength, aye, she thought bitterly, though it felt like none remained within her. Only duty bound her now, chains forged by men and sealed with her father’s word. She whispered one last plea to God before stepping forward into the fate she could not escape.
The preacher, an older man with kind eyes, raised his voice for all to hear, the sound echoing through the vaulted chapel.
“This day, ye stand afore God and clan, to bind yerselves one to the other, hand and soul, for as long as breath fills yer lungs.”
Laura’s fingers trembled as Bradley’s hand closed firmly around hers, the roughness of his touch a sharp reminder that she could not escape this path.
The preacher took a length of plaid cloth and wrapped it gently around their joined hands.
“By this bindin’, ye are made one. As the cloth holds ye fast, so does God’s will keep ye together, in joy or in sorrow, in plenty or in want.”
