Page 58 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Laura shook her head miserably, pulling back to look at her. “Nay, Cora. Ye didnae see his face. He meant every word.” Her voice trembled. “He said it was a mistake to wed me… a mistake to be with me.”
Cora frowned deeply, brushing a tear from Laura’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Men say cruel things when their hearts are tangled, lass. Daenae believe it all. The Laird’s been burdened since he was a lad, ye ken that as well as I. Whatever madness has hold of him now, it’ll pass.”
Laura’s lips quivered as she whispered, “I daenae ken what I did wrong. Everythin’ was so well between us. He was kind and openin’ his heart… and now he looks at me like I’m a curse upon him.” She pressed a hand to her chest, her voice breaking. “He said he wanted to protect me, yet he’s the one hurtin’ me worse than anyone ever has.”
Cora guided her back to the bed, easing her down to sit. “Sometimes men break the things they love most, out of fear they’ll lose them,” she said softly. “I’ve seen it before. The Laird’s fightin’ ghosts only he can see, but they’re nae yers to bear, me dear.”
Laura buried her face in her hands, tears slipping through her fingers. “I thought our bond was stronger than fear,” she whispered. “I thought if I gave him me heart, he’d hold it safe.”
“He will,” Cora said gently, though her tone carried a sadness of its own. “He just cannae see what he’s throwin’ away yet. Give him time, lass. The heart’s a stubborn thing; it finds its way back, even after it’s been lost.”
But Laura couldn’t believe it. Not then, not with the ache in her chest still raw and the sound of the slamming door still ringing in her ears. All she could do was cling to Cora’s comforting presence, wondering how something so beautiful between them had crumbled so fast. She had thought herself cared for beyond all measure, but now, she feared she was nothing more than a burden he wished to forget.
Cora wiped her eyes and stood, straightening her apron. “Come now, lass,” she said softly, trying to sound firm though her voice wavered.
“Let me help ye start packin’. The morn will come fast, and it’ll do ye nay good to linger.”
But Laura shook her head, her expression fragile yet resolute. “Nay, nae yet, Cora,” she said quietly, folding her hands in front of her. “I cannae leave without sayin’ goodbye, though I’ll nae tell them the truth of it. I just want to see them once more, our people, thank them for makin’ me feel like I belonged.”
Cora’s gaze softened, and she nodded. “Aye, then. I’ll get started in here.”
Laura smiled faintly. “I’ll nae be long.” She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and patted her hip for the pup Angus to follow. Together they slipped out into the corridor, her footsteps soft on the worn stone floors.
The castle felt quieter than usual; the familiar hum of daily work dimmed as the afternoon faded toward evening. Yet every sound—the clatter of pots, the distant chatter, the rush of the wind through the courtyard—filled her with bittersweet warmth.
Her first stop was the kitchens, where the scullery maids worked amid the steam and clanging of copper pots.
“Good evenin’, lass,” Laura greeted, her tone bright though her heart ached. “The smell of yer stew travels all through the hall, ye’ll have us all hungry afore supper.”
One of the younger maids, Moira, looked up from the basin with a shy grin. “Och, it’s Lady McCormack. We’ve a new recipe for the barley stew, me Lady, ye must taste it when it’s done.”
Laura smiled warmly and reached to brush a curl from the girl’s forehead. “I’ll look forward to it, Moira. Ye’ve all made this castle feel like a home to me. I daenae ken how I’d have managed without yer kindness, all of ye.”
The older cook, a round woman named Elsie, paused from stirring her pot to look at her with motherly pride. “Ye’ve a gentle way about ye, me Lady. We’d all do anythin’ for ye. The Laird’s lucky to have a wife who minds the people as ye do.”
Laura’s throat tightened, but she nodded with a grateful smile. “Bless ye, Elsie. Keep feedin’ the folk well, ye keep the heart of this home beatin’.”
Leaving the warmth of the kitchen, Laura wandered into the courtyard, where two guards stood by the gate. They straightened quickly when they saw her approach, their tartan plaids rustling in the breeze.
“Good evenin’, lads,” she said cheerfully. “I trust ye’ve had nay trouble this day?”
“Nay trouble, me Lady,” replied the elder of the two, “Just the usual watchin’ of the gate and keepin’ the peace.”
Laura chuckled softly. “Then ye’re doing yer duty well, as always. I thank ye both for keepin’ us all safe.”
The younger guard blushed at her words. “We’d guard ye with our lives, me Lady. Ye’ve brought a calm over this place since ye came. The folk speak of it often.”
Laura’s heart swelled and broke all at once. “Ye’re too kind, lad,” she said, her voice gentle. “Keep standin’ proud for yer laird. He needs loyal men like ye.”
From there, she crossed to the stables, where the scent of hay and horses filled the air. A stable hand, Callum, was brushing down one of the mares. He looked up, surprised but pleased. “Lady McCormack! Come to visit the beasts, have ye?”
“Aye,” Laura replied, running a hand over the mare’s smooth neck. “This one, she’s grown stronger, has she nae?”
Callum grinned. “That she has, me Lady. Been runnin’ well since ye fed her those carrots ye sneaked her the other day.”
Laura laughed softly, her eyes glimmering. “Aye, she’s got a fine spirit. Treat her well, Callum. Every creature deserves a bit of kindness.”
Leaving the stables, she wandered through the corridor toward the sewing rooms, where the seamstress sat by the window mending a cloak.
