Page 36 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
The tiny dog gave a faint whine as Bradley’s big hands scooped him from Laura’s arms, but instead of squirming or snapping, the wee creature let out a soft huff and nestled against Bradley’s chest.
Its eyes closed at once, as though it had found the safest place in the world. Bradley stiffened, standing there as though struck, the sleeping pup’s tiny chest rising and falling gently with each breath he took.
Laura’s lips curved into a smile, warm and triumphant. “See there? He kens ye already. It’s plain as day, he likes ye, Bradley.”
She tilted her head, her eyes glimmering with something he couldnae name. “Ye cannae turn him away now, nae after this.”
Bradley looked down at the bundle of fur in his arms, his brow furrowed still, though the storm in his gaze seemed to ease. “I daenae ken why he trusts me so,” he said low, as if speaking more to himself than to her. “But…” His words trailed off as he lifted his eyes to her face.
Laura looked at him as though the world had grown brighter in that single moment, and it stirred something deep within him.
He swallowed, his voice rough when he spoke again. “If it means I get to see ye smile like that… aye then, lass, ye may keep the beast.”
A soft laugh escaped Laura’s lips, filled with relief and delight. “Thank ye, Bradley,” she whispered, her voice brimming with affection. She leaned closer, pressing her lips to his cheek in a swift but tender kiss.
Her heart still beat fast, for she could scarcely believe what had just happened. Bradley, the man who walled himself up tighter than the stone of this castle, had listened to her; more than that, he had yielded. It wasn’t much, just a dog, yet it felt like the first crack in the armor he kept wrapped about his soul.
She looked at him then, standing stiff and brooding as ever, but she saw the difference in him. His eyes still carried shadows, but for a heartbeat, she had glimpsed something softer. It made her chest ache, for it meant that beneath all his thunder and rage was a man who longed for peace, who wanted to trust.
Mayhap she was foolish, mayhap she was setting herself up for hurt, but she couldn’t stop the quiet hope blooming inside her.
Laura lowered her gaze to the pup, stroking its velvet ear, a small smile touching her lips. She was making progress. Brick by brick, she would tear down his walls, even if it took her a lifetime.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Bradley strode through the stone halls of the castle, the sound of his boots echoing off the arched ceilings. The place was alive with movement, servants bustling to and fro with baskets of food, linens, and kindling for the fires. The clang of pots rang from the kitchens, while the laughter of scullery maids floated up the stairwell. The air was thick with the scent of baking bread, smoke from the hearths, and the faint tang of damp wool drying near the flames.
He nodded as folk bowed their heads, though he paid them little mind. His eyes swept the scene, noting how well the place thrived under his rule, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud. He preferred to keep himself focused on the order of things, strong walls, sharpened blades, and steady hands to wield them.
Aye, a clan was only as safe as its watch, and I wouldnae let me people falter.
Bradley took himself to the yard where the guards were gathered, their cloaks pulled tight against the evening chill. Torches burned along the walls, their flames dancing in the wind, casting long shadows over the men who stood waiting.
Bradley’s gaze sharpened as he looked over them, his tone clipped and commanding. He demanded precision, for there was no place for sloth in a laird’s defense.
“Laird,” said Peter, the captain of the watch, stepping forward with a hand upon his sword hilt. “The men are eager to hear yer orders for the night’s rotation.”
“Eager, are they?” Bradley’s mouth twitched into the barest ghost of a smile. “Best be more eager to keep their eyes open when the night grows long. Tell me, who takes the north wall first?”
“Tavish and Colin, Laird,” Peter replied firmly, squaring his shoulders. “They’ll hold it until the moon’s at its highest, then Ewan and Donal will relieve them.”
Bradley gave a curt nod, his gaze flicking to the men who’d been named. “See ye daenae slack, else ye’ll answer to me. A single mistake, and the whole keep pays the price.”
“Aye, Laird,” the men chorused, their voices low and respectful.
He moved along the line, questioning another. “And the south gate? Who stands there?”
“Gregor and Hamish, Laird,” one of the younger guards answered, trying to mask the tremor in his tone.
Bradley’s sharp eye softened slightly, catching the lad’s youth and nerves. “Stand tall, lad. A gatekeeper must look like stone to anyone who’d test him. Fear belongs to yer enemy, nae to ye.”
The men bowed their heads as Bradley dismissed them with a wave of his hand. He turned away, satisfied the watch would hold through the night, though he’d test them himself come dawn. His stride carried him back into the keep, though the murmurs of the guards followed him, as if they whispered of the weight he bore. The thought hardly touched him, for he had little time for idle chatter.
As he rounded a corner near the kitchens, a bent figure in a grey shawl appeared before him. It was Eidith, the old healer, her gnarled hands gripping a walking stick, though her sharp eyes missed nothing. When she saw him, she lifted her chin, her expression one of grim determination. Then, without hesitation, she shuffled toward him with surprising speed for her years.
“Laird McCormack,” she said, her voice carrying the rasp of age yet firm as stone. “Ye’ll follow me now, lad, and daenae argue it.”
Bradley frowned, though he did not move away. “Eidith, what are ye about, draggin’ me like a bairn by the ear? I’ve duties to tend, woman.”
