Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Bradley’s dark eyes lingered on Laura as they stepped from the kirk into the bright field, the sounds of celebration surrounding them. Her cheeks burned with a faint blush, the color climbing high across her pale skin, and he felt a grim satisfaction curl in his chest.
She was bonnie; that was undeniable. Tall and slender, her large brown eyes were wide and guarded beneath her delicate brows. Her long black hair, braided in intricate patterns and adorned with small white flowers, framed her face and fell past her shoulders like midnight silk.
He noted every detail, the way her hands clasped nervously, the slight tremor in her frame, and he allowed himself a small, dark grin.
Yet he had no intention of touching her, not yet.
He was no monster, despite the sternness and fire in his nature.
The marriage had been a necessity, a show to the clan that an heir would come in time.
“Smile and show our clan ye have joy in yer heart for being a McCormack,” he said to her.
“Aye, as ye wish,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. However, she did turn and smiled brightly.
He led her through the castle corridors, past guards who bowed their heads respectfully, and into a hall that had been prepared for a cèilidh.
The room was long and lined with high-backed chairs, the tables laden with the bounty of the McCormack lands.
Flickering candles cast warm light across the oak beams, glinting off polished pewter plates and carved wooden cups.
Musicians were in place at the far end, fiddles and pipes ready, their tunes already filling the space with lively anticipation.
“Look upon the bounty of McCormack,” he said as he waved his arm over the many tables. He felt pride as her eyes grew wide, looking at the decorative room.
The feast itself was a testament to the clan’s seaside wealth and pride.
Platters of roasted fish, waterfowl, and the bounty of the sea lay steaming, their herbs and spices mingling in the heavy, sweet scent.
Loaves of fresh bread were stacked in baskets, alongside bowls of butter churned from the castle’s own dairy.
Stew of root vegetables and thick gravy bubbled in cauldrons, the savory aroma mingling with the honeyed scent of oatcakes.
Wine and mead flowed freely, poured into cups of silver and wood alike, as laughter and chatter grew louder with each passing moment.
He seated Laura beside him at the head table, his hand resting lightly on her hand on the table. Every glance he cast toward her was measured, showing command but restraint, as though to remind both her and the watching clan that he alone held this day in his grasp.
Clan members raised toasts, calling blessings over the newlyweds, their voices warm and spirited, though Bradley kept his expression controlled.
The music swelled, and some of the younger folk clapped along, their shoes tapping on the polished floorboards.
The air was thick with heat and perfume, the smells of roasted meats, sweet pastries, and burning candles mingling in a heady, intoxicating haze.
Bradley allowed himself to observe Laura as she watched the dancers.
His gaze softened slightly, admiring her even as he maintained control, the blush on her cheeks, the rise of her bosom with every breath.
He wondered at the contradictions within her—her fear, her resistance, and yet the undeniable grace she carried even in her discomfort. For now, he would bide his time, let the cèilidh pass, and maintain the order expected of a laird who had just claimed his bride.
He watched as she turned in her chair to speak with the young lass who had tugged at her dress to gain her attention.
Bradley’s gaze flicked to the man seated to his right, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp angles of Alan’s face.
The younger man-at-arms leaned back slightly, a careless grin tugging at his lips as he lifted a mug of mead.
Unlike Bradley, Alan carried a looseness in his posture, a rakish freedom that often made him seem unconcerned with the weight of duty.
“Ye see the clan,” Bradley began, his voice low but firm, “they’re still in shock over the death of me faither. Many daenae ken how to act, and some would sooner challenge me than follow.”
Alan laughed softly, shaking his head. “Aye, Laird, it’ll take time, but they’ll fall in line, mark me words.
Clan McCormack respects strength, and ye’ve shown them plenty of that, even afore the bindin’ with our new Lady.
” He took a long drink from his mug, the liquid sloshing against the rim as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Bradley’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tight. “Aye, I ken that,” he said, his tone clipped.
“But ye ken as well as I that strength alone is nae enough.” He lowered his voice with a glance toward Laura, making sure she was still occupied with the child before speaking again.
“An heir… an heir will solidify me place, make me word to be the law of the land and in every hall and hearth.”
Alan tilted his head, his grin sly now as he lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Och aye, I ken that, Laird. A son will tie the clan to ye in ways a sword or threat cannae. Folk respect bloodlines more than brute force, though ye’ll nae lack for that either.
” He leaned closer, lowering his voice with mock secrecy.
“Still, ye’ve a fierce bride, Bradley. Laura Gilmour… she’s bonnie, aye.”
Bradley’s eyes darkened, a shadow passing across his expression. “She’s clever and stubborn, aye, stubborn enough to cause a battle with me yet. She’ll learn her place soon enough, as all do. But I’ll be watchful. I’ll nae have a weak line of heirs, nor a wife who undermines the McCormack name.”
Alan chuckled, shaking his head once more. “Aye, I daenae doubt it, Laird. Ye’ve the steel for it, just as ye had the steel to claim this keep and bind Laura to ye. Clan may whisper, but nay one will dare stand against ye long.” His eyes gleamed with mischief, though the loyalty beneath was clear.
“Still,” he added with a grin, “keep yer wits about ye. Yer rule is new and there might be those to challenge ye.”
Bradley leaned back in his chair, letting a slow breath escape him.
The clan would bend, as Alan said, but it would take careful patience.
Strength alone had brought him this far, but cunning and foresight would keep him in place.
And an heir, born of this forced union, would seal his authority beyond question, binding the McCormack name into the future he intended to control.
He glanced once more at Laura as the child skipped away.
She turned back to her plate and sipped from a goblet.
Bradley’s jaw tightened at the sight of her blush, a strange stir in his chest that he did not acknowledge aloud.
She was bonnie, clever, and stubborn, yet she would serve her purpose in time.
And so long as she bore an heir, the clan would have no choice but to follow, and Bradley would remain Laird without question.
Bradley stood up and moved among the tables, his dark eyes scanning the clan as they celebrated their new Laird and his bride. Despite the merriment, his mind remained focused, calculating, watching for whispers or movements that might challenge his authority.
Caleb, a stout councilman with a careful manner, slipped through the crowd and fell into step beside him. “Laird,” he began, his voice low, “congratulations on yer bonnie bride. She’s a fine lass, a sight to please the eye and honor the McCormack name.”
Bradley inclined his head slightly, his expression neutral. “Aye,” he said, voice clipped. He kept his eyes sharp on Caleb, suspicion threading through his thoughts.
Caleb’s brows lifted, but his voice remained steady. “Now that ye have a bride, we should expect an heir soon enough.”
Bradley’s jaw tightened, a dark thought flashing through his mind. He would need to make a show of the wedding night, a display to convince the clan he honored their request for an heir, even though he had no intention of touching Laura beyond what necessity demanded.
“Aye,” he said slowly, letting his gaze sweep the hall. “An heir… the clan’s desire is noted.”
Caleb gave a nod of understanding, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, then fell back into the throng.
Bradley turned his attention to the dancing, the clatter of feet, and the fiddles’ wailing filling the air.
He spotted Laura standing apart from the dancers, her hands folded in front of her, watching the hall with a mixture of caution and disdain.
She did not smile, did not attempt to join the revelry, and Bradley’s mind turned to her intentions.
He approached her, keeping his movements controlled, his presence commanding. “Lass,” he said, voice low, “ye daenae want to dance with the rest?”
Laura lifted her chin, her dark eyes sharp and unflinching. “I am nae here to dance, Bradley Knox. I am here to ensure the Abbey remains untouched.”
Bradley’s lips curved into a half-smirk, a spark of amusement glinting in his eyes. “Aye? And ye think standin’ there in yer finery will protect it?”
She met his gaze steadily, her voice unwavering. “Aye. I have nay choice but to comply with yer… marriage, but ye’ll touch nary a stone of Caledon Abbey while I live.”
He let out a low laugh, the sound dark and smooth, his fingers brushing the hilt of his dagger almost unconsciously. “Bold words, lass. Yet ye’ll learn soon enough that a laird’s word and his will are as strong as any stone in yer Abbey.”
Laura’s eyes narrowed, her jaw firm. “I daenae care for yer power, nor will I bow to it beyond necessity. I am bound by duty, yes, but nay heart of mine will yield to fear or charm.”
Bradley studied her a moment longer, noting the fire in her gaze, and found himself amused despite the situation.
She was clever, bold, and stubborn; it was not what he expected, yet everything that made her unpredictable. For now, he would bide his time, letting her assert herself while he maintained the show the clan expected.
“Daenae drink too much, lass,” he said, voice low and clipped. “It’ll be a long night, and ye’ll need yer senses about ye.”
Laura lifted a brow. “Daenae tell me what to do, Bradley Knox. I ken me limits better than ye do.”
He scowled, the corner of his mouth twitching in annoyance. “Aye? And yet here ye sit, pale as a ghost and tremblin’ with that stubborn fire of yours. Ye make it difficult to keep patience, I’ll have ye ken.”
Laura smirked, tilting her chin. “Patience is nae one of yer virtues, is it, Laird? Or did ye leave it behind in yer kirk with the vows?”
Bradley’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes narrowing, though a flicker of amusement crossed his features. “Watch yer tongue, lass, lest I find it as unruly as yer stubborn heart. I daenae suffer fools lightly.”
Her lips curved into a sly grin. “Then ye’ll have plenty of practice with me, I wager.”
Bradley’s eyes darkened further, a low growl slipping from his chest. “Enough of words. Ye’ve had yer entertainment. Now… it’s time to do yer duties, wife.”
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.