Page 74 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
His boots struck the stone floor with the weight of his fury as he stormed down the corridor. The cold light of morning spilled through the narrow windows, doing nothing to soften the tight set of his jaw or the blaze in his eyes. The castle was still, the servants barely awake, yet his temper made it feel as though thunder rolled through the halls.
He reached Alan’s chamber door, and without hesitation, he shoved it open with such force that it struck the wall.
“Saints above!” Alan said, tangled in his blanket, jolted upright, his hair tousled and his face bleary from sleep.
“Is the keep under attack, me Laird? What’s got ye stormin’ through me room like a beast let loose?” His voice carried both surprise and a touch of irritation.
Bradley’s expression was dark, his voice low but sharp. “Nay, there’s nay attack, though there will be if ye daenae move yerself quick. Get up, man. We’re ridin’ out.” His tone left no room for argument; his command was clipped and brooding.
Alan swung his legs off the bed, still trying to make sense of it.
“Ridin’ out? At this hour? For what reason, if I may dare to ask?” he yawned, pulling on his tunic as he spoke, eyeing the Laird with uncertainty.
Bradley’s jaw tightened. “We leave in half an hour. That’s all ye need to ken. Dress yerself and meet me in the courtyard.” His hands curled into fists as though restraining the storm that raged within him.
Alan frowned, tying his belt around his waist.
“Half an hour? Understood.” He reached for his boots, shaking his head at the Laird’s impatient stance.
Bradley’s voice grew rough with suppressed emotion. “There’s somethin’ I must set right. I’ve lingered here too long, drownin’in me own folly.” His gaze flickered toward the window. “And ye’ll ride with me, it’s an order. I want the carriage to be sent after us. But I have nay patience for ridin’ at its pace. Make sure there are two guards to accompany that driver.”
Alan studied him, brow furrowing as he caught the tremor of anguish beneath the Laird’s gruffness. “Carriage? Is this about Lady Laura?” he asked quietly, his tone softening. “Ye’ve got that look about ye, the same as when ye first brought her home.”
Bradley glared at him, though his silence was answer enough. “Just do as I say, Alan. There’s nay time for talk.”
With that, he turned sharply and strode from the room, his cloak sweeping behind him. He made his way to the kitchens.
The scent of bread and ash greeted him, along with the sight of Elsie, the round-faced cook, already at her worktable, kneading dough. Her eyes widened as the Laird appeared in the doorway.
“Elsie,” Bradley said, his tone firm but controlled, “prepare supplies for me and Alan. We’ll be ridin’ out in half an hour. Food enough, bread, cheese, dried meats, berries, whatever’s at hand. Have the bundles sent to the stables.”
“Aye, right away, me Laird,” Elsie straightened, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. Her voice was brisk, though her eyes searched his face. “Ye’ll be wantin’ water too, I reckon?”
“Aye, and jugs of milk,” Bradley replied curtly. “Get it ready.” He turned to leave, but her motherly concern broke through his dark mood.
“Ye look weary, me Laird,” Elsie said softly. “Wherever ye’re going, I hope it brings ye peace.”
Bradley paused for a heartbeat, then gave a short nod without meeting her gaze.
“Peace is a fickle thing, Elsie. But I’ll find what I’m lookin’ for. Have Cora sent to me chambers to fetch the pup and take care of it in me absence.” With that, he left the kitchen, the sound of her bustling behind him fading as he strode away.
Back in his bedchamber, Bradley’s movements were swift, almost frantic. He pulled on his dark traveling coat, the one that had seen many a harsh journey, and fastened his cloak at the neck. The air was chill, and his breath fogged faintly as he moved. His mind, however, burned hot, consumed by the image of Laura’s smile and the letter she had written, filled with words that haunted him still.
He stopped by the hearth, where Angus, the small pup, still slept curled upon the rug. The dog’s soft breathing stirred something deep within Bradley, a pang of guilt and longing.
“Well, we’ll nae sit here mournin’ any longer. I’ll bring her home.”
The pup stirred, tail thumping weakly, as if he understood. Bradley rose to his full height, adjusting his sword belt with grim resolve. There was no turning back now. Whatever awaited him on the road to the Abbey, he would face it head-on.
He strode from the room, every step echoing like a drumbeat through the halls. Servants peered from doorways as he passed, sensing the storm in their laird’s demeanor. In the courtyard below, the stable hands were already awake, leading out the horses and packing saddlebags under Alan’s direction. The carriage was slowly rolled out as well.
Bradley emerged into the cold morning air, the wind snapping at his cloak. He strode across the courtyard. Alan stood ready, one hand gripping the reins of Bradley’s black stallion and the other holding his own bay mare.
“The supplies are tied to the saddles, me Laird,” he reported, his tone brisk and businesslike. “The horses are watered and fed, and the carriage’s been readied, same as ye ordered. Two guards will ride with it.”
Bradley gave a short nod, his expression hard and unreadable.
“Good. Then there’s nay reason for delay.” He reached for the reins Alan held out to him and swung up into the saddle with practiced ease, the leather creaking beneath his weight. His stallion, sensing his master’s tension, tossed its head with a low snort.
