Page 7 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Before she could respond, he reached for her hand, his fingers strong and unyielding as he lifted her. The warmth of her slender body pressed against him, and a flicker of heat stirred in his chest. He made no effort to hide the way her presence affected him, though his expression remained stern.
The clan cheered from their seats, raising their voices in celebration as he began the procession. Bradley strode ahead, Laura held firmly in his arms, their passage marked by the echo of footsteps on stone and the clamor of voices. He glanced over his shoulder once, catching the awe and whispers of the assembled kin.
As the wooden door of his bedchamber neared, he carried her over the threshold, the motion sending a jolt of heat through his body. Laura’s hands rested lightly against his chest, her eyes dark and unyielding, yet betraying a flicker of something unreadable.
Bradley’s pulse thudded in his ears, the press of her form against him stirring a storm he dared not fully acknowledge.
He turned to Laura. “Let us go do our duty,” he said.
The clan erupted in shouts and laughter, clapping their hands and retreating to the great hall. The door closed behind them, and silence fell.
Alone at last with his bride, Bradley held Laura in his arms, the fire of authority and desire mingling within him. Her sharp eyes met his, and he knew she would test him as much as he would command.
CHAPTER FIVE
Laura’s heart thudded heavily in her chest as Bradley held her close in the bedchamber, her pulse a frantic drum against her ribs.
Every breath echoed in the cavernous room, the walls lined with dark oak panels carved with intricate patterns that told stories of generations of McCormacks. Rich tapestries hung along the stone, depicting hunts and battles, their colors vivid despite the flickering candlelight. The massive four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in heavy velvet curtains, and a fur rug lay spread across the polished floor, its texture soft beneath her anxious gaze.
Her thoughts tumbled wildly, terror and expectation twisting together. She was certain that he would seize her, claim her with the force she had dreaded for days. The memory of the clan, the cheers, the procession—all of it pressed on her like a weight she could scarcely bear. She gripped the folds of her gown, fingers tightening as she tried to steady her breath.
“I… I think that I need a drop of water,” she said.
To her surprise, Bradley moved across the room and poured her a glass of water.
He strode to the table and chairs by the hearth. “Come sit, lass.”
He poured himself a measure of amber whisky, the liquid catching the light as he swirled it in the glass. The room smelled of burning wood, rich fabrics, and the faint tang of metal from the ornate chandelier above.
Bradley’s gaze swept over her, dark and unreadable. “I said sit, lass. Daenae stand like a bairn caught in a storm. I have nay plans to claim ye… nae yet.”
Laura’s chest lifted slightly with relief, though her hands continued to tremble.
“Ye… ye mean it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide as she moved to a chair opposite him. Her mind was a whirl of caution, wary of any hidden trap in his words.
Bradley leaned back, one arm draped over the chair, the other holding his glass.
“Aye, I mean it,” he said, his voice low and calm. “Ye’ll have time to adjust, to learn the ways of this castle and the place ye now hold. There’s nay need to rush what will come.”
Laura exhaled slowly, a tremor of relief threading through her fear. Yet beneath it lay a lingering tension, an apprehension that loomed over her like a shadow. She could not shake the thought of when he would finally claim her, and the image tightened in her chest.
Bradley’s dark eyes flicked to her, a glint of something unspoken there. “When the time comes,” he said, his tone shifting, deliberate, “ye’ll be beggin’ for me to claim ye, and ye’ll ken yer own place beside me, as mine.”
Laura’s eyes widened at the words. A shiver ran down her spine, not from cold, but from the power and certainty in his tone. She nodded slightly, though her mind fought against the image, a war between fear and the strange, reluctant curiosity stirring within her.
Laura sat down and drank the glass of water. She watched as Bradley set a deck of cards on the table, his dark eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight.
“For now, lass,” he said, voice low and commanding, “we’ll play a game of cards.”
Laura froze, her hands tightening in her lap. “Cards? I daenae ken how to play,” she said, her voice rising slightly in surprise. “I’ve nae learned as a bairn, and the Abbey offers few chances to practice such things.”
“Aye, I thought as much. But ye’ll learn fast, I reckon, or I’ll have to teach ye properly.” He shuffled the deck with practiced ease.
Laura perched herself on the edge of the chair, eyeing him warily. “Teach me, then,” she said, trying to sound brave, though a flicker of unease crossed her face. “But daenae think this means I’ll… I’ll yield to ye in anythin’ else.”
“Yield, eh? We’ll see, lass. Ye may be stubborn, but stubbornness can be tamed, like a wild mare or… a fine wolf in winter.” He dealt the cards swiftly, sliding cards to her with a practiced flick.
Laura studied her hand carefully, frowning at the strange symbols and suits.
