Page 67 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Laura shook her head sharply, “Och, if I must hear that one more time, I shall scream.For me own good? He’s sendin’ me off like some unwanted servant! How can that be good for me when me heart’s been torn from me chest?”
Alan looked away toward the misty moor, his voice quieter now. “It’s hard to ken what goes on in a man’s heart or mind, especially one like him. The Laird carries burdens from his youth, things few speak of aloud. His faither… well, he left scars ye cannae see.”
She frowned, her fingers tightening around the window frame. “Scars or nae, he has nay right to punish me for them. I’ve beennothin’ but kind to him, Alan. I stood by him. Does that count for naught?”
Alan met her gaze again; his eyes softened with sympathy. “Nay, me Lady. It counts for much. I’ve seen how ye changed him since ye came to the castle. He used to walk those halls like a ghost, haunted by his own shadow. Ye brought light back to the place, back to him.”
Tears welled in Laura’s eyes, though she blinked them away stubbornly. “Then why banish the light he found? Why send me away when I carry his bairn?”
Alan hesitated, his lips pressing into a grim line. “Maybe that’s the very reason, me Lady. Maybe he fears the weight of what it means to be a faither. His own da was… cruel. Ye’ve heard whispers, I’m sure.”
“Aye,” she murmured bitterly. “I’ve heard enough to ken the man was a devil. But Bradley’s nae his faither as I have told Bradley himself many times. He’s kind and strong and,” she paused, her voice breaking, “and I thought he cared for me.”
Alan’s expression softened further, pity flickering behind his eyes. “He does, lass. On me oath, he does. But fear makes men fools, and the Laird’s been ruled by his for longer than he’ll ever admit. I’ve seen the same fear in battle, men who run not from the blade, but from what they might become.”
Laura turned her gaze back to the rolling hills, her heart aching with every breath. The mountains loomed in the distance like solemn judges, unmoved by her pain.
“He’s a coward, then,” she said at last, her voice low and trembling. “Too afraid to trust his own heart.”
Alan looked down, his face shadowed beneath his riding hood. “Aye, maybe ye’re right. But he’s nae the kind of man to stay a coward for long. He’ll come to his senses one day, and when he does, he’ll ken what he’s lost.”
Laura gave a bitter laugh, though there was no joy in it. “By then, it’ll be too late. I’ll be gone, hidden away behind Abbey walls, and he’ll have only his guilt for company.”
Alan sighed deeply, adjusting the reins as his horse snorted against the chill. “I’ll say this, me Lady, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Laird, it’s that he fights hardest against himself. That’s what makes him drive ye away. He will regain his senses and come back for ye.”
She looked up at him, her eyes glistening like morning dew. “He’s already lost me, Alan. For what man pushes away the woman that carries his bairn?”
Alan had no answer for that. He only nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to the horizon where the Abbey waited, silent and gray beneath the rising mist. The air between them grew heavy with unspoken truths, carried away by the cold Highland wind.
But Laura was glad he rode beside her in quiet company. She sank back into her seat and rested her head against the cushion. The sound of the wheels returned, steady and endless, echoing her sorrow.
As the road wound deeper into the moors, she pressed a hand to her belly once more and whispered, “We’ll be strong, me wee one. We’ll make our own home, far from his shadow.”
A few hours later, Laura pressed her hand against the window, her eyes taking in the familiar terrain that stretched before her—rolling green hills, dotted with heather and the faint shimmer of a loch in the distance. Her heart tightened as she realized they were nearing the Abbey, that place of silence and prayer which would soon become her home.
The sound of hooves came closer, and Alan’s steady voice broke through the rhythmic creak of the carriage.
“We’re nearly there, me Lady,” he said, his tone respectful yet tinged with sorrow. His broad figure was visible through the window, seated atop his dark horse with the easy grace of a seasoned soldier. Laura gave a small nod, her hands twisting the fabric of her cloak as the wind swept her hair across her face.
As the carriage turned around the bend, the Abbey came into view. It sat on a low rise, surrounded by a stone wall thick with moss and ivy. Tall arched windows caught what little sunlight broke through the clouds, casting faint glimmers upon the wet cobblestones of the courtyard. The spire reached upward like afinger toward heaven, solemn and graceful, its bells silent in the mist.
The carriage slowed, creaking to a stop before the wrought-iron gates. Two nuns appeared, their black habits billowing softly in the wind, hands folded as they waited in patient silence. Laura felt her throat tighten as Alan dismounted and strode to the carriage door.
“We’ve arrived, Lady McCormack,” he said softly, offering his hand to help her down.
Laura stepped onto the ground, her feet sinking slightly into the damp soil. She looked up at the Abbey again, studying the worn stone and creeping vines that told stories of centuries past.
“It’s as beautiful as I remember,” she murmured, though her voice trembled with something close to grief.
Alan nodded in agreement, reaching for her trunk and heaving it down. He carried it with another guard.
“Aye, that it is,” Alan replied. “A fine home. The sisters keep it well, peaceful, safe, and quiet. Ye’ll be cared for here, me Lady, and the bairn will want for nothin’.” His eyes softened as he spoke, though a shadow of discomfort lingered in them.
Laura turned to look at him, her expression weary but kind. “Aye, it’s a safe place,” she said, her voice low. “But it’s nae me true home anymore. Me heart remains at Castle McCormack,nay matter how far I’m cast from it.” Her gaze drifted toward the carriage, as though she could still see the road that led back to the castle and to Bradley.
Alan shifted his weight, the leather of his boots squeaking faintly as he adjusted his stance.
“I understand, me Lady,” he said gently. “’Tis nae easy thing, leavin’ behind the place ye love, nor the man that rules it. But the Laird, he’s a stubborn man, aye, but I’ve never known him to act from cruelty.”
