Page 44 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Laura looked out over the rolling hills, a faint smile resting on her lips. “When I first arrived, I thought I’d never belong. Now, I cannae imagine bein’ anywhere else. Even the cold feels softer somehow.”
“Ha!” Cora let out a hearty laugh. “That’s love talk if I ever heard it. Next ye’ll be sayin’ ye love the storms and the midges too.”
Laura joined in her laughter. “Daenae push yer luck, Cora. I’m fond, aye, but nae daft.”
As they turned down the bend in the road, Angus suddenly stopped, his body stiffening. A low growl rumbled from his chest as he stared toward the rise ahead.
Laura followed his gaze and saw the shape of a dark carriage rolling slowly toward them, its wheels crunching over the frozen earth.
Cora’s laughter faded at once. She stepped closer to Laura, her hand gripping her arm. “We should turn back, me Lady,” she whispered. “There’s nay reason for a carriage to be comin’ this way from the mainland this early. We’d best get back to the castle.”
Laura hesitated, her breath misting in front of her. “Do ye think it’s trouble?”
“I think it’s best nae to wait and find out,” Cora muttered, her eyes narrowing. “Angus feels it too. Dogs ken before folk do.”
Angus barked sharply now, his fur bristling as the carriage drew nearer. Laura’s heart began to hammer in her chest, her earlier peace replaced by a creeping sense of dread. The sun had dipped behind a cloud, casting the land in shadow, and the sound of hooves echoed in her ears.
“Maybe it’s a messenger,” Laura offered, though her voice trembled. “Bradley might be expectin’ word from the council or the port.”
Cora shook her head, her jaw tight. “If it were from the council, they’d send a man on horseback.”
The carriage slowed as it came closer, its curtains drawn tight. Laura stepped back, clutching the edge of her cloak as a chill not born of the weather crawled down her spine.
“Cora… perhaps I made a mistake crossin’ the bridge on foot. Bradley warned me nae to go far from the castle.”
“Aye,” Cora said, tugging her gently by the arm. “He’ll have me head if ye come to harm. Come, lass, let’s get ye home.”
But Laura could barely move, torn between fear and curiosity. The driver’s face was hidden beneath a dark hat, and the horses snorted clouds of steam as they came to a stop just yards away. The door of the carriage creaked open, slowly and deliberately.
Angus barked, stepping in front of Laura with his teeth bared.
Laura’s pulse raced. “Cora… who could it be?”
“I daenae ken,” Cora murmured, eyes fixed on the carriage. “But whoever it is, I’ve a feelin’ ye’ll wish they’d stayed far from these lands.”
The wind howled through the moors as the figure began to emerge, and Laura felt her stomach twist into a knot. The peace she’d found over the past week felt as fragile as glass, and in that instant, she feared it might all come shattering down.
From within stepped a tall, proud woman wrapped in dark furs. Her posture was regal, her chin high as if the very air around her owed her respect. The years had not softened her. Her beauty was sharp and cold, her eyes the color of slate and twice as unforgiving.
Cora froze beside Laura, then bent low into a curtsy, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Ophelia,” Cora breathed, trembling. “We hadnae expected yer return.”
Laura blinked, her pulse quickening.
Bradley’s mother.
The name struck her like a blow. She stepped forward, gathering her composure, and said with quiet grace, “I am Lady Laura McCormack, wife of the Laird.”
Ophelia’s eyes slid over her from head to toe, her expression souring with every passing moment.
“Ye?” she said, her tone dripping with disdain. “Ye’rethe lass me son wed? I can scarcely believe it. He must have been desperate indeed. Who is yer family? What wealth did ye bring to the clan?”
Laura straightened, refusing to shrink beneath the woman’s gaze. “I am the Laird’s wife, aye, and mistress of McCormackCastle,” she said firmly. “If ye’ve come here on business, Ophelia, perhaps ye should speak with yer son about it.”
Ophelia’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Meson?The same son who turned his back on his own blood? Who banished his maither from her home like a common criminal? Nay, lass. I daenae take orders from the boy I raised. I’ll nae ask permission to return to what is mine by right. He must obey me.”
Angus growled low beside Laura, the hair along his back standing. The sound rumbled deep in his throat, a warning that mirrored Laura’s unease. She placed a calming hand on his head, though her own voice trembled slightly when she spoke.
