Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“Mornin’, me Lady,” Cora said kindly, her voice carrying the lilt of cheer.
Laura stirred at the soft sound of footsteps and the clatter of a tray being set down. Her eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was Cora’s gentle face, smiling warmly in the light that filtered through the tall window.
“I’ve brought ye yer breakfast, though it’s nae quite mornin’ any longer.”
Laura blinked and pushed herself up against the pillows, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Her gaze landed on the tray, steaming tea in a polished pot, honey oatcakes stacked neatly, fresh berries glistening with cream, and thick slices of ham.
The smell made her stomach tighten with unexpected hunger.
“What do ye mean, nae mornin’?” she asked, her brow knitting.
Cora laughed lightly, moving to draw the curtains wider and let in the bright glow of day.
“’Tis already midday, lass. Ye’ve slept through the morning and then some. The Laird himself said to let ye rest, and none dared wake ye.” Her eyes sparkled.
Laura sat straighter, startled at the revelation. “Midday?” she repeated, her voice full of disbelief. “He bade ye let me sleep so long? I scarcely can believe it, for I thought he would drag me out of bed afore the dawn.” There was a touch of relief in her chest, though she tried to hide it.
“Aye, he said so, plain as day,” Cora replied, smoothing down the coverlet as she tidied the bedside. “He told me, ‘Let her sleep. She’ll rise when she’s ready.’ I think he kens ye’ve been through a sore trial and needed the rest.” She gave Laura a look of sympathy as she straightened.
Laura’s lips softened into the faintest of smiles, and she inclined her head.
“Then I’ll be grateful to him for that, though I scarcely think he deserves me thanks in other matters.
” She swung her legs over the bed and went to sit at the small table where the tray awaited.
The steam of the tea curled into the air, comforting and fragrant.
Cora moved briskly about the chamber, her hands never idle. She poured fresh water into the washbasin with a steady splash and laid out a clean gown of soft wool across the chest.
“Eat up now,” she said gently. “Ye’ll find strength in a good meal, and there’s naught better than honey oatcakes to warm the heart.”
Laura broke a piece of oatcake and tasted the sweet golden honey that melted on her tongue. The ham was tender and savory, the berries tart and fresh. She ate with quiet hunger, the warmth of the tea soothing her weary body.
“It’s a fine meal, Cora,” she said sincerely, her eyes glancing toward the maid.
“I’m glad ye think so,” Cora answered, collecting a discarded kerchief and folding it neatly.
“The kitchens take pride in servin’ the Laird and his lady well.
Ye’ll never want for food here, though it keeps us maids runnin’ all the day.
” She laughed softly at her own jest, brushing dust from a nearby shelf.
Laura sipped her tea, the cup warm in her hands. Her curiosity stirred, and she looked toward Cora, who hummed as she worked.
“Tell me, what is life like here at Castle McCormack?” she asked quietly. “I ken little of this place beyond its walls and bridge.”
Cora’s eyes lit as she considered the question, and she paused in her tidying.
“Och, it’s a busy life, me Lady. The castle rests on this isle, safe and green, with the loch guardin’ it like a moat.
Each morn we cross the wooden bridge to fetch goods from the mainland—grain, cloth, whatever’s needed. ”
Laura listened intently, resting her chin upon her hand as she nibbled another oatcake. The thought of the castle surrounded by water made her feel both safe and isolated at once.
“Does the isle nae feel lonely, so cut off from the world?” she asked, her dark eyes searching. She wondered if she, too, would feel stranded, away from all she once knew.
Cora shook her head with a smile, wringing out a cloth and laying it neatly across the washstand.
“Nay, me Lady, for there’s always life stirrin’, maids at their chores, lads trainin’ with blades, and the Laird overseein’ it all. The isle keeps us bound together, ye see, like one family. ’Tis a busy place, never quiet for long.”
Laura thought about her words, taking another sip of tea. “A family,” she murmured, though the word made her chest ache with longing. She thought of the Abbey, of the sisters who had been her true kin these past years. She missed their voices, their songs at prayer, and the peace of their company.
Cora moved to the hearth, stirring the low fire back to life with a poker. “Ye’ll grow used to it, me Lady, as all new brides must. The castle may seem strange now, but it will soon feel like yer home. And though the Laird is a hard man, he kens his duty to his clan.”
Laura lowered her gaze to the plate, pushing berries about with her fork. “Aye, duty,” she echoed quietly, her heart heavy with the thought. She wondered what her own duty would demand in the days to come. Yet in Cora’s kindness, she found a sliver of comfort she had not expected.
When Laura finished her meal, she placed her fork gently on the tray and turned her gaze toward Cora, who was folding the clean gowns.
“Would ye… show me about the castle?” she asked hesitantly, her voice soft but laced with curiosity.
Cora’s face lit with warmth, and she clapped her hands together with delight. “Aye, me Lady, I’d be glad to. There’s much for ye to see.”
Laura rose from the table and, with Cora’s help, got dressed.
She then followed the maid through the chamber door into the wide corridor.
The stone walls were thick and cool, their surfaces lined with tapestries of hunts and battles long past. The air smelled faintly of heather and smoke drifting from the hearths below.
“It feels as though the walls themselves are whisperin’ tales of Clan McCormack,” Laura murmured as her steps echoed.
Cora laughed lightly as she led her toward a set of narrow stairs spiraling downward.
“They’ve plenty of tales, aye. The castle’s nearly two hundred years old, built by Laird Duncan McCormack when he first claimed this isle. He said the loch will guard his kin better than any army.” She ran her hand along the railing as they descended.
Laura tilted her head, intrigued by the story. “So, the isle itself is a shield?” she asked.
“Aye, me Lady, ye could say so,” Cora answered. “In times of war, the bridge could be burned, leavin’ enemies stranded on the shore while the clan stayed safe within. ’Tis nay wonder the McCormacks have held fast here so long.”
They entered the great hall, and Laura slowed to take it all in.
The ceiling soared high above, supported by beams of dark oak, while banners of the clan colors hung proudly along the walls.
Long trestle tables filled the center, still bearing remnants of the wedding feast, cups, crumbs, and the faint tang of ale.
A massive hearth blazed at one end, its flames warming the heart of the room.
Cora watched her carefully, noting her awe. “The hall’s the soul of the castle,” she said fondly. “Here’s where we eat, drink, and make merry. And where the Laird holds council when the clans of the region gather.” She smoothed her apron as she spoke, her pride evident.
Laura stepped closer to the hearth, studying the carved mantel where wolves and stags had been etched into the stone.
“It feels alive,” she whispered, “like every cheer and every sorrow still lingers here.” She turned back toward Cora, her dark eyes curious. “Do the folk love their Laird well?”
Cora’s smile faltered, just for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “They’ll stand by him, aye,” she said cautiously. “Though the shadow of the old Laird still weighs heavily, the folk will follow the new one. That is how clans survive, by loyalty.”
They came to a gallery that overlooked the loch through narrow windows. The water shimmered like glass beneath the midday sun, the wooden bridge stretching across it like a lifeline. Laura pressed a hand to the cold stone of the sill, staring out at the green hills beyond.
“It’s bonnie,” she breathed. “So peaceful from here.”
“Aye, but daenae be fooled,” Cora warned gently. “The loch may look calm, but strayin’ from the shallows into its depths can swallow a man whole. Many have tried to swim across, and few return. That’s why the bridge is guarded day and night.” She gestured to the pair of guards standing watch below.
Laura shivered slightly at the thought, then let Cora lead her onward.
They entered the kitchens, where heat and noise immediately surrounded them.
Women bustled to and fro, kneading bread, stirring pots, and chopping vegetables upon broad wooden tables.
The smell of stewing meat and herbs filled the air, making Laura’s stomach stir, though she had just eaten.
Cora grinned at her reaction. “The kitchens never rest, me Lady. Day and night, they work to keep the clan fed. Ye’ll always hear laughter here, even when the work’s hard. ’Tis the warmest place in the castle.”
Laura smiled faintly, moved by the energy of the space.
“It reminds me of the Abbey’s kitchens,” she admitted softly.
“Though we had fewer mouths to feed, the bustle was much the same. There’s a comfort in the sound of women workin’ together.
” She breathed in deeply, letting the memory settle in her chest.
From the kitchens, they walked into the armory, a stark contrast to the warmth they had left.
Racks of swords and spears lined the walls, their steel glinting in the torchlight.
Shields bearing the stag of McCormack stood stacked neatly against the far corner.
Laura’s steps slowed, unease curling in her stomach.
“This is the heart of our strength. Every lad trains here till his arms cannae lift a blade nay longer. The clan’s safety depends on these walls, and on the men who wield what rests within them.” She ran her fingers over the hilt of a sword reverently.
Laura swallowed hard, her eyes lingering on the sharp edges gleaming in the firelight. “I cannae grow used to such things,” she admitted quietly. “The Abbey was a place of peace. Here, every corner reminds me of battle.” Her words carried a tremor she tried to hide.
Cora gave her a reassuring smile, though her tone was steady. “Ye’ll find balance here, me Lady. There’s both peace and battle within these walls. One protects the other. In time, ye’ll see that.” She gently ushered her back into the corridor.
They finished the tour by stepping out into the courtyard at the heart of the isle.
The cobblestones were worn smooth by centuries of feet, and the sounds of horses and men in practice filled the air.
Green ivy climbed the stone walls, softening their sternness with nature’s touch.
Laura turned slowly in a circle, taking it all in.
Cora folded her hands in front of her, smiling at Laura’s expression. “This is yer new home,” she said gently. “It may feel strange now, but it will soon become familiar. The castle has a way of claimin’ those who walk its halls.” She looked at Laura with eyes that were kind but knowing.
Laura stood still, her heart pulled between awe and dread. The castle was grand, strong, and full of life, yet it also felt like a cage she could never escape. She thought of the Abbey and the peace she had left behind.
Laura continued to trail behind Cora as they walked down the drafty corridor, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
The torches along the passage flickered, casting long shadows across the cold floor.
Laura folded her hands together, unsure of what questions were safe to ask.
At last, curiosity pressed too heavily upon her chest to keep silent.
“Cora,” Laura said softly, “why was the Laird’s maither nae at the weddin’? Does she nae reside at the castle?”
Cora stopped cold in her tracks, her back stiff as though Laura had struck her. Slowly, she turned, her expression pale and troubled. “Ye daenae ken? ’Twas the Laird himself. He killed his faither, lass, and claimed the lairdship for his own.”
Laura’s breath caught as though the air had been torn from her lungs.
Her fingers trembled as she clutched her gown, the blood draining from her face.
Only last night, she had seen the man deal cards and pour whisky with a wry grin instead of forcing her into her wifely duty, yet he had taken his own father’s life.
Her heart raced with unease, her dread of Bradley darkening into certainty.
Cora’s eyes fell, and she wrung her hands before continuing. “And afterward, he had his own maither exiled, me Lady. She called for him to be punished, and he cast her out without mercy. She wanders the mainland now, far from her kin and her home.”
Laura felt her knees weaken beneath her, though she steadied herself with sheer will. The words rang cruelly in her ears, harsher than the bitterest winter wind.
How could the same man who watched me drunkenly stumble through a hand of cards be the monster who had nay mercy for his own blood?
The thought twisted within her, sharp and unrelenting.
Her lips parted, and her thoughts turned inward with dreadful weight.
If Bradley can kill his faither without pause, what fate awaits me as his wife? If he can exile his own maither, what coldness will he reserve for a bride he scarcely kens?
Laura’s chest tightened, and she knew she could not let Cora see the storm brewing in her soul.
“I feel light-headed,” Laura whispered unsteadily. “Will ye take me back to me chambers?”
Cora’s face softened, though her eyes still carried sorrow. “Aye, me Lady. Come along with me. Ye’ve heard enough for one day.”
Laura followed, her steps heavy with dread as they made their way back through the castle’s stone halls.
Her mind spun, each thought darker than the last, until the familiar chamber doors loomed ahead.
Within the walls meant to be her refuge, she felt more of a prisoner than ever.
And she knew, deep within, that her fear of Bradley McCormack had only just begun to take root.
Is this isle to become me sanctuary, or me prison?