Page 70 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
It was peaceful here, a gentle reprieve from the storms of the past days.
“See here, Poppy,” Laura said softly, pointing to a patch of rosemary, “this is rosemary. It smells strong, aye? And it keeps folk remembering things, or so the nuns tell me.”
Poppy tilted her head and then nodded eagerly, her dark hair falling into her face as she sniffed the herb, delight clear in her sparkling eyes.
“And here’s clover,” Laura continued, moving her hand to a low-growing green plant with tiny flowers. “We can use it for cookin’, or for tea. It’s wee but mighty, just like ye, Poppy.”
Poppy’s lips curved into a shy smile, and she held out her small hand, brushing the leaves gently as if she understood every word Laura spoke.
Laura watched her, feeling a soft warmth in her chest. She thought back to the day she had wandered in the forest, teaching Poppy the names of plants, when Bradley had appeared seemingly from nowhere. He had taken her from the Abbey, the same way he had taken her heart, thrusting her into a life she had never imagined for herself. It felt so long ago now, like another lifetime, but the memory was vivid still, a sharp pang beneath her calm exterior.
“Do ye remember when we found the foxgloves, Poppy?” Laura asked, brushing the dark hair from the girl’s face. “We laughed at how tall they were, aye? Almost taller than me, if ye ken what I mean.”
Poppy nodded, her big blue eyes lighting up, and she reached toward the foxgloves as if to touch the memory itself.
Laura’s voice softened further, almost a whisper, as she looked around the garden, the Abbey walls enclosing them in a quiet sanctuary.
“Ye ken, Poppy, the world can be a scary place, full of changes we didnae choose. But here, in this garden, we have calm… we have a bit of magic, just in the earth and the flowers and the sun.”
Poppy leaned closer to Laura, resting her small shoulder against hers, and for a moment the girl needed no words. Her silent presence spoke volumes, filling the space with trust and companionship.
Laura reached out and gently pressed the girl’s hand against her cheek. “Ye’re learnin’ fast, Poppy. Soon ye’ll ken all the herbs, the flowers, the trees… and maybe one day ye’ll teach someone else, aye?”
Poppy’s fingers tightened slightly in response, and Laura could see the spark of understanding in her eyes. It was enough to make Laura smile, a quiet triumph in the simplicity of this shared moment.
As the breeze moved through the garden, ruffling the leaves and carrying the scent of lavender, Laura felt a fleeting ache for the life she had left behind at Castle McCormack. Yet here, with Poppy by her side, she felt grounded, even if only for a short while. Teaching the child, naming the plants, sharing quiet laughter and soft words—it was a reminder that life could still flourish, even after heartbreak.
“Now, Poppy, let’s see if ye can find me some daisies,” Laura said, pointing to a patch near the edge of the garden. “Can ye do that for me?”
Poppy’s eyes sparkled, and without a word she bounded forward, careful not to trample the herbs, collecting a small handful of white blossoms and holding them out proudly.
Laura chuckled softly, taking the flowers in her hands. “A fine job, lassie,” she said, brushing the dirt from the petals. “Ye’ll make a fine gardener someday, mark me words.”
As they sat together, Poppy placing the daisies carefully beside them on the grass, Laura felt the gentle weight of peace settle over her. Though the past lingered like a shadow at the edges of her heart, the present was filled with a fragile, precious light. The Abbey garden became her haven, a place where even the smallest hands could grasp a little bit of happiness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
At Castle McCormack, the study was dim, the late afternoon sun filtering through the narrow windows and casting long shadows across the worn oak desk.
Bradley sat slumped in his high-backed chair, fingers drumming restlessly against the carved arms, his thoughts a storm he couldn’t calm. Every shadow in the room seemed to press against him, reminding him of the void left by Laura’s absence.
The silence was broken by a timid knock at the door.
“Enter!” Bradley barked.
The door creaked open, and a young servant boy stepped inside, eyes wide and hands trembling.
“Me Laird… I was told to alert ye when the carriage returned… it has… it has now entered the courtyard,” he stammered, his voice quivering with fear or awe, Bradley couldn’t tell.
Bradley’s eyes flicked toward the boy, his jaw tight.
“Aye… dismissed,” he said curtly, dismissing the boy with a wave.
The boy scurried out, leaving the room silent once more.
But the news gnawed at him. Alan had returned with the carriage, and with it came the stark reminder of Laura being away from his side. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the floor, the shadows of the late sun falling across his tense features.
Bradley’s mind wrestled with the memory of her, her soft voice, the warmth of her hands in his. He knew what he had done was right, or so he told himself, but the thought of her alone at the Abbey clawed at his conscience. Regret pressed heavily on his chest, a weight he couldn’t shake, whispering that she belonged by his side, not hidden behind stone walls and distant nuns.
