Page 73 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
“Ye decide her fate based on yer fears, me Laird. The bairn and Lady Laura deserve yer trust, nae tyranny. Ye are the Laird, aye, but that doesnae give ye license to exile the woman ye claim to care for. What kind of man thinks that keeps her safe?”
Bradley’s fists tightened again, knuckles white. “I am doing what must be done. I cannae… will nae… let her suffer because of me,” he said, voice almost cracking with the weight of it. His eyes glimmered with unspoken pain, guilt, and desire, but he refused to show more.
Bradley let out a long, low sigh, the sound almost breaking him. He lifted the whisky and took a long swallow, trying to drown both the anger and the truth that Alan spoke.
Bradley sat in silence. His mind swirled with guilt, fear, and a grudging acknowledgment that Alan was right.
Finally, he waved a hand, dismissing Alan. “Go… ye’ve said yer piece. I will take it under advisement. Return to yer duties,” he said, voice tight and clipped.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Bradley awoke with a growl in his throat, the weight of the empty bed beside him clawing at his chest. The cold sheets mocked him, and his hand instinctively reached for the space where Laura used to rest, warm, soft, alive.
“Damn it all,” he hissed, rubbing his temples as if he could banish the ache that had lodged itself behind his eyes since sending her away.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, muttering a curse under his breath, and walked to the desk where he had drunkenly set the bottle of whisky the night before.
He reached for it, desperate for the burn that dulled his thoughts, when something else caught his eye. A folded sheet of parchment protruded from a slightly open drawer.
Bradley frowned. No one had been in his chamber but the servants, and Cora would never dare rifle through his things. Hestepped closer and realized with a jolt that the handwriting was Laura’s.
The breath caught in his throat. He sat down heavily in the chair, pulling the paper toward him with unsteady fingers. Her delicate script ran neat and graceful across the page, full of softness and faith, every word breathing life into the cold stone of the room. The letter was addressed to someone namedKeila, written in the tender tone of a woman who had found joy at last.
Dearest Keila,
I pray this letter finds you well and that the Abbey remains a place of peace and faith. I write to you now with a full heart, for I have found a new home, one I never expected but believe the Lord Himself guided me to. Castle McCormack has become a place of warmth for me. Its people are kind, and I have been received not as a stranger, but as family.
The Laird… Bradley… he is a man forged from hardship and shadow, yet beneath it lies a heart I don’t think he knows he owns. He thinks himself unworthy of light, but I believe that is why God sent me to him, to show him that he is not forsaken. I feel safe in his arms. Truly safe. He is my home; this castle is my sanctuary. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but I trust it will be good, for I am where I am meant to be.
Pray for us, dear friend, that the light I bring him will never fade.
With love and faith,
Laura
Bradley’s eyes lingered on the final words long after he finished reading. His hands trembled as he set the letter down, the edges of the parchment quivering. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the hearth.
“She called this her home,” he muttered bitterly. “Said she felt safe… with me.”
The words cracked on his tongue. He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat refused to move.
For a long moment, he sat unmoving, letting the letter’s truth sink into his bones. She had believed in him, saw something worth saving where he saw only ruin. She had loved him fiercely, unconditionally, and he had repaid her with exile.
“Damn me,” he growled, voice hoarse. “Damn me for being a fool.”
He stopped by the window—the same window he’d watched her from as she left the courtyard. The memory flashed in his mind—the sight of her head bowed; her cloak drawn close. He had stood there stone-faced, convincing himself it was mercy. Now, in light of her words, it felt like betrayal. The same betrayal his own mother had shown him, he now did to his own wife.
“Ye daft, stubborn lass,” he whispered. “Ye saw light where there was none. And I… I cast ye out for it.”
He turned and looked at the bed again, the sheets tangled and cold, her absence a wound he could not close.
Suddenly, a soft whine broke his fierce concentration. He looked down to see Angus looking up at him.
“Aye, ye miss her as well?” he said as he scooped up the pup. It licked his chin in pure joy.
“Ye’re right. I’ll go get her. I’m comin’ for ye, Laura,” he murmured, the words rough with conviction as he set the pup down. “I’ll bring her home.”
He turned toward the door, shoulders squared, the fire of resolve burning where fear had once ruled. And as he stepped from the chamber, Laura’s letter clutched tightly in his hand, Bradley McCormack knew that for the first time in years, he would fight for the woman who had dared to love him despite his darkness.
