Page 66 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Laura shook her head, her throat tightening. “Nay, Cora. A man like him hides behind pride when he’s afraid of what he feels.”
She turned slightly, her gaze drawn upward to the high stone walls of the castle. And there, in the window overlooking the courtyard, she saw him, Bradley. His face was shadowed, unreadable, yet she could feel his eyes upon her. Her heart gave a violent twist, and she could scarcely breathe for the ache of it.
“He’s a coward,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. “A coward who cannae face the woman he’s broken.”
Cora followed her gaze and pressed a trembling hand to her lips. “Oh, Laura…”
But Laura straightened, blinking back the tears that burned at the corners of her eyes. “If he willnae come down to bid me farewell, then I’ll nae give him the satisfaction of seein’ me beg.”
Alan cleared his throat quietly, his voice gentle. “Me lady, the men are ready to ride.”
Laura nodded and stepped toward the carriage, the hem of her cloak brushing the cobblestones. Her heart pounded in her chest as she placed her hand on the door.
“Goodbye, Cora,” she said softly. “Take care of Angus. Let him play in the sunshine.”
Cora could only nod, her tears spilling freely now.
“God keep ye, Laura and the bairn,” she said through sobs.
Laura hesitated for the briefest moment, then climbed into the carriage without another word. The door shut behind her with a hollow thud that echoed like the closing of a chapter in her life.
Alan swung into the saddle, his expression grim as he gave the signal to the others. The guards formed up beside the carriage, their horses stamping and snorting in the cold.
Laura peered through the small window as the carriage began to roll forward, the castle slowly receding from view. For one fleeting instant, she thought she saw Bradley’s hand rise as if to stop her, but then the carriage turned, and he was gone from sight.
Behind her, the murmurs of the servants faded into silence, swallowed by the wind. Ahead lay the long road to the Abbey, and whatever fate awaited her there. Laura pressed a trembling hand to her belly and whispered softly,
“We’ll be all right, me wee bairn. Somehow, we’ll be all right.”
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, hot and bitter, as she tried to understand where everything had gone wrong. One moment she had been his wife, his beloved, and now she was cast aside like a stranger.
Her thoughts swirled, heavy and wild, and she pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the window. The landscape of the mainland stretched before her, and the place where she met Bradley’s mother came into view.
Then, like a bolt of clarity, the truth struck her. She remembered that day when Ophelia had appeared pleading for forgiveness, and Bradley’s cold refusal to let her cross the threshold. Now, she too was being sent away, banished in the same cruel fashion. It was a pattern, she realized, one born from pain he had never healed.
Anger began to rise within her, pushing through the sorrow like fire through snow.
“He’s punishin’ me for her sins,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“But I’m nae his maither. I’ve betrayed him in naught.” Her tears dried, leaving only a tight ache in her chest and a fierce spark of defiance.
“He may think to exile me like her, but he’ll learn soon enough, I’ll nae be broken as she was.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Laura gazed out the window, her eyes following the soft roll of the hills and the glint of distant lochs. The air outside looked so crisp and pure, untouched by sorrow, and she longed to breathe it in, to feel anything other than the ache that hollowed her chest. Her hand rested protectively over her stomach, a small and silent gesture of defiance, a promise that she would endure for the sake of the life within her. But still, her thoughts circled back to him, to Bradley, the man who had opened up to her only to snatch it away.
Beside the carriage, Alan rode tall on his horse, his cloak fluttering faintly in the wind. Laura caught his glance, and on a sudden impulse, knocked gently against the glass. Alan slowed his horse a little, enough for her to open the small window and let the cold Highland air sweep through.
“Alan,” she called, her voice trembling just a little, “tell me, why did the Laird send me away? Ye’ve kent him longer than I. Surely ye must ken his reasonin’.”
Alan’s jaw tightened as he looked at her, the reins creaking in his hands.
“Me lady,” he said slowly, “I daenae ken the Laird’s full mind, but I reckon it’s nae for me to question it. His orders were firm, and I’ve never seen him look so… torn.”
“Torn?” she echoed, her eyes narrowing. “He looked cold and cruel when he cast me out, Alan. There was nay trace of tenderness in his eyes, only that blasted stubbornness of his.”
Alan exhaled heavily and rubbed his neck. “Aye, stubbornness he has in plenty. But tenderness, aye, I’ve seen it too, though he hides it like a wound he cannae bear to touch. Ye must believe me, Lady Laura, the Laird’s nae a heartless man. Whatever he’s doing, he thinks it’s for yer good.”
