Page 45 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
“Ye were exiled, Ophelia. There must have been a reason for it. The Laird doesnae act without cause.”
Ophelia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Mind yer tongue, girl. Ye ken nothin’ of what passes between a maither and her son. Bradley was always too easily led, too weak to see the truth for what it was. And now he’s been ensnared by some pretty face who thinks wearin’ his ring makes her queen of the Highlands.”
Laura felt her cheeks flush, but she refused to lower her gaze. “I’m nae a queen, but I am his wife. And as such, I’ll nae have ye speak ill of the man.”
Ophelia gave a cold, mocking smile. “Ye ken nothin’ of the McCormacks or the blood that runs in our veins. I’ve returned to restore what was lost, to remind me son who he truly is.”
Laura’s hands clenched at her sides, her voice firm though her heart pounded. “Whatever wrong ye think was done, it’s nae me place to mend it. The Laird’s word is law in these lands. If ye wish to challenge it, ye’ll need to face him, nae me.”
Ophelia took a step closer, her perfume thick and cloying, her expression cruel. “Oh, but yeareme concern, lass. Ye’ve taken me title, me place, and me son’s loyalty. I am the Lady of McCormack Castle, and ye’re naught but a temporary decoration on his arm.”
Laura stood her ground, though the wind bit through her cloak. “That’s a lie, and ye ken it. Bradley wed me out of choice, nae duty. The folk of the glen see me as their lady, and so does he. Ye cannae change that with words spat like venom.”
Ophelia’s lip curled. “Choice? Hah! Me son wouldnae ken choice if it struck him with lightnin’. He was always his faither’s puppet, and now, it seems, he’s yers. Tell me, lass, did ye charm him with tears or tempt him with a warm bed?”
Laura’s breath caught, and for a moment she could only stare. “How dare ye speak so shamefully?” she said, her voice low but burning. “Ye dishonor yer own blood with such cruelty.”
“Cruelty?” Ophelia echoed, stepping nearer still until their faces were but inches apart. “I’ll tell ye what cruelty is, lass; it’s bein’ cast aside like refuse by yer own kin, left to rot while strangers rule the hearth ye built. Ye’ve taken what’s mine, and I’ll nae stand by while ye play at being mistress.”
Laura met her glare, every word a careful blade. “Ye forfeited that right when ye betrayed yer son’s trust. If exile was his judgment, then it was justly earned. I willnae argue the matter further, nae here, nae without him present.”
Angus growled again, louder this time, and Cora stepped nervously between them. “Ladies, please,” she stammered, glancing toward the castle road. “This isnae the place for such talk. Let us return to the keep. I’ll fetch the Laird straightaway.”
But neither woman moved. The tension between them was as taut as a bowstring. Ophelia’s eyes gleamed with malice as she tilted her head, a thin smile curling her lips. “So that’s how it is. Ye think hidin’ behind me son will protect ye. We’ll see how long that lasts when he learns his wife has nay spine of her own.”
Laura drew a deep breath, her voice cold and measured. “Say what ye will. I willnae trade insults with a woman who refuses to face her own sins. Ye’ve returned uninvited, Lady McCormack. Ye should leave before he learns ye’re here.”
Ophelia’s eyes flashed with fury. “He willnae turn me away again,” she hissed. “Nay matter what lies ye’ve fed him. I am his maither, and that name carries more weight than any vow he’s made to ye.”
Laura took a slow step forward, the wind catching the edge of her cloak. “Then ye best prepare for disappointment. The man I ken stands by his word. He’ll nae bow to the ghosts of his past, nae even for ye.”
For a moment, silence reigned between them, broken only by the restless snorts of the horses. Then Ophelia smiled, not kindly, but like a wolf baring its teeth. “We’ll see, lass. We’ll see what kind of woman holds me son’s heart, and whether ye’re strong enough to keep it when I take back what’s mine.”
Cora’s hand clutched Laura’s arm, trembling with urgency. “Come, me Lady,” she whispered, her voice tight. “We must get back to the castle before this turns worse.”
Laura nodded faintly, her heart still pounding from the encounter, but before they could take a step, Ophelia’s sharp voice cut through the air like a lash.
“Ye’ll nae turn yer back on me. And how dare yer filthy maid give orders,” Ophelia spat, her tone dripping with contempt. “Ye forget yer place, girl, I am yer better, and ye’ll stand here when I speak to ye.”
Cora froze, her face flushing red with shame, her hand trembling. Laura’s stomach twisted, fury rising in her chest like a tide.
“That’s enough,” Laura said, her voice clear and strong. She stepped between them, her chin lifting with quiet authority. “Ye’ll nae speak to her that way. Cora is a loyal friend, and ye’ll show her the respect she’s due.”
Ophelia’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “A friend?” she mocked. “Ye shame the title of lady, standin’ up for the likes of her.”
Laura’s eyes blazed. “Then I’ll gladly shame it, for I’ll nae stand idle while ye insult good folk. Ye’ll apologize to her now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Have the men change their posts at sunset,” Bradley told the lead guard.
“Aye, me Laird. It will be done.” The guard bowed his head.
“And we shall have the new young lot trained for guard duty,” Bradley replied.
“I shall see to it,” the guard replied.
Bradley steered his stallion along the outer walls of the castle, giving orders. The wind swept through his hair as he surveyed the grounds, doing his daily routine of the duties required of a laird. The clang of hammers and the rhythmic thud of hooves echoed around him, blending into the hum of a working fortress.
