Page 63 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Tears streaked down her cheeks as she shook her head. “Ye can shove yer excuses and yer guilt,” she said bitterly. “I’m done beggin’ for yer affection. I’ll go to the Abbey if that’s what ye wish, but ken this, I’ll nae forgive ye for sendin’ me away like a burden.”
“Laura…”
“Nay,” she cut him off, her voice breaking. “Daenae say me name as if it still means somethin’ to ye.”
The corridor was silent again, heavy with the echo of her words, as they stood in silence.
Bradley stood there in the dim corridor, his breath shallow as his eyes took in the sight of her. Laura stood before him, her nightshift catching the faint light of the sconces, her hair loose and falling over her shoulders.
She looked so fragile and yet so defiant, her chin slightly lifted, her eyes searching his face for something he couldn’t give. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, torn between desire and duty, between the ache of what he wanted and the curse of what he was.
This has to be done.
She deserved peace, safety, a life free of him and the shadows he carried. Yet as she stood there, trembling ever so slightly in the cold air, he felt his resolve waver like the flame of a dying candle. Her presence had a way of softening him, unraveling the armor he’d built around his heart.
“Bradley…” her voice was a whisper, barely audible above the pounding of his heart.
Before he could stop her, she stepped forward and pressed herself against him, her arms wrapping around his waist as though she meant to hold the very life in him still.
For a moment, he froze, his body tense, his mind screaming that he should push her away. But then the warmth of her touch seeped into him, and he broke.
His arms came around her of their own accord, strong and desperate, drawing her close until he could feel every breath she took. He felt the tremor of her body against his and the soft thud of her heart against his chest. A shudder went through him, one born not of cold but of longing so fierce it stole his breath.
“Lass,” he murmured against her hair, “ye daenae ken what ye’re doing to me.”
She said nothing, only clung tighter, her tears dampening the fabric of his tunic. He wanted to curse the world for being so cruel, for putting her in his path only to force him to turn her away.
He closed his eyes, breathing her in one last time. In that moment, he imagined another life, one where he was free of the weight of his past, one where she could have been his without consequence. It was a foolish dream, yet it burned in his chest like a brand. His arms tightened around her, his lips nearly brushing the crown of her head before he forced himself to stop.
“Ye should return to bed,” he said, his voice rough, nearly breaking.
“I cannae return to bed because ye sent me away. Ye give me nay true reasons, Bradley. How am I meant to rest when me heart’s being torn apart?”
He swallowed hard, pulling her away by the shoulders until he could meet her tear-filled eyes.
“Ye daenae ken the half of what I’ve done, Laura. What I am. The farther ye are from me, the safer ye’ll be.”
She reached for him again, but he stepped back.
His resolve hardened like stone. “Go to bed, lass,” he said softly, the tenderness in his tone warring with the steel in his words. “Ye’ve a long journey ahead come mornin’. The sooner ye rest, the sooner ye can leave this place behind.”
She stood still for a heartbeat, then she turned away, her shoulders stiff and trembling. He wanted to call her back, to begher forgiveness, to fall to his knees and tell her everything he’d hidden. But the words stayed trapped behind his teeth.
When she disappeared down the corridor with Angus trailing her, the silence that followed was deafening. He stood there, fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body aching from restraint. Then, unable to bear the weight pressing down on him, he turned and strode out of the castle, his boots echoing sharply on the stone floor.
The night air struck him like ice, but he welcomed it.
“Me Laird,” one of the guards at the gate said.
“I am going for a swim. Tell nay one,” Bradley growled.
“Aye,” the guard said.
The moon hung low over the water, silvering the waves and the rocky shore below. Without a thought, he stripped off his clothing and waded into the cold water until it rose over his chest. Then, with a sharp breath, he plunged in.
The chill bit into his skin, clearing his head, dulling the burn of emotion that had consumed him. He swam hard, each stroke cutting through the dark waves with purpose, as if he could outpace his guilt, his desire, and his heartache.
When at last he stopped, he floated on his back, staring up at the stars that glimmered faintly through the mist.
