Page 56 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Bradley trudged through the castle gates as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the courtyard stones. Eidith’s words echoed in his mind, yet he couldn’t find peace in them. He wascertain the woman was wrong; he wouldn’t make a good father; he’d ruin the bairn just as his own father had ruined him.
A young maid hurried past with a basket of linens, nearly bumping into him.
“Prepare the blue room for a guest,” he said curtly, his voice rough from the cold wind and the weight in his chest.
She blinked in surprise, curtsied quickly, and stammered, “Aye, me Laird, right away,” before darting off down the corridor.
Bradley watched her go, guilt gnawing faintly at him for his tone, yet the heaviness pressing on his soul left no room for gentleness.
The guest for the room was himself. That night, the blue room felt colder than he remembered, the air heavy with stillness. The thick blue drapes shut out the moonlight, casting the chamber in shadow. He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand over his face, feeling hollow and restless.
He’d chosen solitude instead—his punishment, perhaps, for being a man unworthy of peace.
Lyin’ beside her as she carries me bairn fills me with dread.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Ye shall have safety and love, I guarantee it, little bairn.”
Laura sat by the hearth in the sitting room of their bedchamber, her hands folded over her belly as the firelight flickered across her pale face. She rubbed her hands as she spoke to the child inside of her. The warmth did little to ease the chill in her bones that had settled there since that awful day in his study.
“I cannae understand it, how yer faither’s face had gone so cold the moment I told him of ye, mo chridhe.”
He had looked at her as though she were some curse come upon him, and since then, he had not once returned to their bedchamber, choosing instead to bury himself in duties and silence.
Two nights had passed in misery, the castle corridors feeling emptier than ever. She barely slept, her mind tormenting her with questions she couldn’t answer. Every sound beyond thedoor made her heart leap with hope, only for disappointment to fall heavier each time.
When the latch finally turned that evening and the door creaked open, she rose swiftly, her heart pounding, thinking perhaps, finally, he had come to make things right.
Bradley stepped in, his face shadowed and stern, the faint scent of the night air clinging to his cloak.
“Laura,” he said quietly, his voice low but firm. He did not meet her eyes as he stood there, broad shoulders rigid, hands clasped behind his back as if to hold himself together.
She froze where she stood, torn between relief and dread at the sight of him.
“I’ve come to tell ye somethin’,” he began, his tone clipped. “Alan will take ye back to the Abbey on the morrow. Ye should begin packin’ what ye wish to bring with ye.”
Her heart stuttered. “Back to the Abbey?” she repeated faintly, her breath catching. “Why? Have they… sent for me?”
He shook his head once, still refusing to meet her gaze. “Nay. But it’s better this way. Ye’ll be safer there, safer to carry the bairn and give birth with the sisters tendin’ to ye.”
Laura took a step forward, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Safer?” she whispered. “Bradley, I’m safe here. With ye.”
He finally looked at her then, and the emptiness in his eyes struck her harder than a blow. “Ye’ll go,” he said quietly. “It’s nae up for debate.”
Her throat tightened, her heart aching as if her very soul had been pierced.
“Nay,” she said fiercely, shaking her head. “I willnae go. This is me home now. Ye are me husband, and I’ll nae leave ye.”
Bradley’s jaw tightened, his voice roughening as he turned from her. “Daenae make this harder than it is, lass. I’m tellin’ ye it’s for yer own good.”
“Me own good?” she cried, her voice trembling. “Ye cast me out, and call it for me own good?” Her hands clenched at her sides. “I daenae understand, Bradley. Ye were happy when we consummated our marriage, were ye nae? Did I do somethin’ to anger ye?”
He drew in a sharp breath and turned to face her fully. “This marriage…” he muttered, his tone darkening, “was a mistake.”
The words struck her like a thunderclap. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, her vision blurring with tears. “A mistake?” she whispered. “Ye daenae mean that…”
“I do,” he said, though his voice cracked faintly beneath the weight of it. “Ye should never have been bound to me. I cannaegive ye peace. I cannae give ye safety. And I’ll nae see ye suffer for me failings.”
