Page 46 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Men hauled timber to the stables, women carried baskets from the gardens, and the scent of burning peat wafted through the air.
He rode past the training yard where young lads practiced with wooden swords, their laughter cutting through the air. Bradley gave a nod of approval as one of the boys landed a clever strike, his sharp gaze missing nothing.
Despite the weight of his duties, he felt something lighter in his chest these days, as though the cold stone walls of his heart had begun to thaw. For once, the castle didn’t feel like a burden; it felt alive.
A familiar voice called out from behind. “Ye’re ridin’ like a man with somethin’ to prove, me Laird.” Alan, his man-at-arms, galloped up beside him, his grin wide beneath a scruffy beard.
Bradley slowed his stallion, turning to give his companion a wry look.
“Prove?” Bradley repeated, arching a brow. “Aye, Alan, and what would I need to prove to the likes of ye?”
Alan laughed, his horse snorting beside Bradley’s. “Och, nothin’ to me, to be sure. But the way ye’re ridin’, the lads might think ye’re showin’ off for the Lady wife.”
Bradley snorted, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Ye think that’s what this is? A man cannae take a ride around his lands without folk thinkin’ he’s love-struck?”
Alan chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Well, I’ll say this, ye’ve been in better temper these past weeks. The men’ve noticed, aye. Even the cook says ye’ve stopped glowerin’ at the stew.”
Bradley gave a low chuckle at that, shaking his head. “Aye, perhaps I have. A man grows weary of glowerin’ all the time. There’s little use in scarin’ the bairns for no cause.” He glanced toward the horizon, the faintest warmth in his tone. “Laura’s presence has softened the halls some. It doesnae feel so empty now.”
Alan nodded knowingly. “So, the tales are true then; a wife does calm the storm in a man’s breast.”
“Calm?” Bradley mused, his voice rough but thoughtful. “I daenae ken about calm. She’s fierce when she wants to be, and bold as any man I’ve known. But… aye, she’s brought light where there was none.”
Alan grinned, tapping his reins. “There it is. I told the men the Laird’s heart wasnae made of pure stone. Just took the right lass to chisel through it.”
Bradley chuckled under his breath, though he pretended not to be amused. “Mind yer tongue, Alan, or I’ll have ye muckin’ the stables for that cheek.”
“Bah,” Alan said with a wave of his hand. “Ye’d nae do it. Ye’re too content these days.”
“Content, maybe,” Bradley admitted, his gaze drifting toward the distant bridge that led to the mainland. “But nae soft. A laird cannae afford to grow soft, nay matter how sweet the smile of his wife.”
Alan followed his gaze, nodding soberly. “True enough. But I reckon the men fight harder for a laird who’s found peace. They trust ye more when ye look less haunted, if ye ken what I mean.”
Bradley was silent for a moment, mulling over the words. The wind rustled through the tall grass, and a gull cried overhead. “Perhaps ye’re right,” he said finally, his voice low. “A man doesnae rule well when ghosts sit heavy on his shoulders.”
Alan smiled faintly, sensing the depth beneath his master’s tone but wisely letting the subject lie. “Then it’s settled,” he said instead, giving a firm nod. “I’ll tell the men the Laird’s in fine spirits, and they’ve Lady Laura to thank for it. They’ll like that tale well enough.”
Bradley smirked, pulling on his reins to turn his horse toward the keep. “Aye, but daenae let her hear that. She’ll think she’s tamed me entirely.”
Alan laughed heartily as the two men rode on, their horses’ hooves drumming in rhythm against the earth. “Och, me Laird, from what I’ve seen, she just might have.”
Bradley shook his head, though a quiet warmth lingered in his chest as the castle loomed larger ahead. For the first time inyears, he didn’t dread returning to its walls. The air felt lighter, the shadows less cruel, and it was all because of her.
As he rode to the bridge, he saw in the distance on the mainland a carriage. He saw Laura immediately, and his heart dropped. The view he saw made his blood run hot—his mother, Lady Ophelia McCormack, standing proud and venomous before Laura.
Beside Laura stood Cora, tense as a bowstring, the pup growling low at their feet. The sight of Ophelia’s sneering face, her finger raised in accusation, snapped something deep inside him.
Bradley’s pulse thundered in his ears as he spurred his horse forward. It thundered across the bridge, hooves striking the planks like a drum of war. Rage burned like fire in his chest. Alan shouted something behind him, but Bradley did not hear.
The wind tore at his hair, his jaw set hard, his hands gripping the reins so tight his knuckles went white. As soon as he reached them, he pulled the reins sharply, the stallion rearing back before landing with a thud.
Laura gasped, taking a step back, but Bradley was already off his horse and storming toward his mother. Alan was close behind on his heels.
Bradley’s voice was sharp as steel. “What in God’s name are ye doing here?”
Ophelia turned slowly, her chin lifting in disdain. “Is that how ye greet yer own blood, Bradley? Aye, I see me exile’s made ye forget yer manners.”
“Answer me,” Bradley growled, his hands fisting at his sides. “Why are ye here? I made it clear ye were nae welcome.”
