Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bradley paced the length of his study, his boots striking the polished stone floor with a steady rhythm.
Heavy oak shelves lined the walls, filled with ledgers, scrolls, and tomes worn from years of use.
A great hearth glowed faintly at one end, casting warmth into the chamber despite the chill of the autumn air.
A broad desk stood near the window, its surface strewn with parchment, quills, and the half-drained bottle of whisky he had abandoned.
The tall window overlooked the courtyard, where the clansmen moved about their daily tasks.
From here, Bradley could see every man, woman, and child that lived under his name and banner.
He preferred it so, for his rule required watchfulness, and trust was a currency he had learned long ago never to spend lightly.
His gaze was sharp, following each movement below as though their actions might betray some secret intention.
His thoughts turned, unbidden, to the first study, the one where his father’s life had ended by his own hand.
That room had been sealed since that day, the door barred and the key cast into the loch, for he wouldn’t stomach setting foot in it again.
The memory of the blood upon the flagstones and the fury in his father’s eyes haunted him too deeply.
That room was a tomb now, cursed by what had been done there.
So, he had chosen this new room as his study, fitted with glass windows wide enough to command his view.
Here, he could hold dominion yet keep the shadows of the past from clawing at his spirit.
A study of power, not of death. But no matter how far he tried to flee the old chamber, the memory of his father’s fall clung to him still, like a ghost he couldn’t banish.
A sharp knock echoed against the heavy oak door of the study, pulling Bradley from his thoughts. He halted mid-stride and turned toward the sound, his voice carrying its usual clipped command.
“Enter,” he called, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. The door swung open, and Alan, his man-at-arms, strode in with easy confidence.
Alan bowed his head slightly in respect.
“Laird, there’s been a bandit raid on one of the villages to the north,” he reported.
“A few homes burned, some sheep were driven off, and the folk were left shakin’ in fear.
” His words were steady, but his eyes glinted, eager for the action that such tidings promised.
Bradley’s jaw tightened as he listened, his mind already weighing what must be done. He moved toward the desk, his fingers tapping against the wood as he thought.
“Prepare two horses for the morn,” he said at last, his voice calm but resolute. “I’ll be ridin’ with me bride to the village, and we’ll see with our own eyes what the folk are needin’.”
Alan blinked, the grin fading into a frown of disbelief. “With yer bride?” he repeated, as though uncertain he had heard right. “Ye mean to take Lady Laura yerself?” his tone carried a flicker of doubt, though it was tempered by respect.
“Aye,” Bradley answered, his eyes sharp as he turned from the desk. “She is the Lady of this clan now, and it’s time the folk see her standin’ beside me. They’ll ken strength better when it’s shown as one, nae whispered through shadows.” His words were firm, brooking no argument.
Alan shifted, scratching at his jaw, hesitation clear in his stance.
“Would ye nae prefer I ride along as well, Laird?” he asked cautiously.
“It’s me duty as a man-at-arms to guard ye both, especially with bandits roamin’ so near.
” He paused, searching Bradley’s expression for any sign of agreement.
Bradley’s brows arched, and a dark glint lit his eyes. “And why would I be needin’ that, Alan?” he asked, his tone more challenge than question. “Have ye so little faith in me sword that ye think me unable to guard me own wife?”
Alan held his ground, though his smirk returned faintly, masking the seriousness of his concern. “It’s nae yer skill I doubt, Laird,” he replied. “But bandits are a slippery lot, and a blade strikes truer when another watches yer back. That’s all I meant.”
Bradley stepped closer, his presence looming with the quiet weight of command. “If I cannae keep me own bride safe, I daenae deserve the lairdship I claimed. The folk must see me protectin’ her, nae hidin’ behind another’s sword.”
Alan exhaled slowly, bowing his head in reluctant concession. “As ye say, Laird,” he murmured. “I’ll see the horses ready come the morn. But if ye change yer mind, ye ken I’ll be ready to ride.” His tone softened slightly, carrying the loyalty that had never once wavered.
Bradley’s stern expression eased, if only a fraction, as he gave a curt nod. “Yer loyalty’s never been in question, Alan,” he said. “But this matter’s mine to carry, and I’ll nae be sharin’ it. Now go and make sure the mounts are fit for the road.”
Alan gave a final bow, his smirk flashing once more before he turned to leave. “Aye, Laird. I’ll see it done.” His boots echoed down the hall as the door closed behind him, leaving Bradley alone once more with his thoughts.
Bradley moved back toward the window, his gaze falling upon the courtyard below.
Tomorrow would be a test, not only of his clan’s faith, but of Laura’s place within it.
The thought stirred something deep within him, a mix of pride, suspicion, and the faintest flicker of something softer.
He clenched his jaw, unwilling to name it, and turned his mind back to duty.
The following morning, Bradley watched Laura as she slept. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow in soft braids and tangles, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a fleeting moment, he found himself unwilling to break the peace that clung to her like a shroud.
But duty pressed hard upon him, and he strode closer to the bed.
“Up, lass,” he commanded, his voice firm though not unkind. “The sun willnae wait for us, and neither will I.” His tone carried no softness, though his gaze lingered on her longer than it ought.
Laura stirred, her lashes fluttering as she blinked awake. She groaned and rolled onto her side, glaring at him through sleepy brown eyes.
“Why have ye dragged me from me bed at such an hour?” she muttered. “It cannae be so urgent as to wake a body so early.”
Bradley folded his arms, unbothered by her annoyance. “We’re ridin’ to a village nearby,” he told her plainly. “There’s been bandit trouble, and I’ll nae sit idle while the folk suffer. Get yerself dressed and meet me in the courtyard.”
Her brow furrowed as she sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “Ye mean to take me with ye?” she asked, disbelief dripping from her words. “What use would I be in such a task?” She shook her head, her lips pursed tight.
He met her gaze steadily, unwilling to yield. “Ye’re the Lady of this clan now,” he said. “The folk must see ye beside me, nae hidin’ in chambers like a ghost. They’ll need to ken ye care for them, same as I.”
Laura let out a short, incredulous laugh, though her eyes flashed with defiance. “Or perhaps ye only wish to parade me about as proof ye’ve done yer duty in weddin’.” She tossed her legs over the side of the bed and rose with brisk annoyance. “Fine then. I’ll meet ye as ye’ve ordered.”
Bradley inclined his head once, his patience already thinning. “See that ye do, lass. I’ll nae be standin’ in the cold waitin’ while ye primp.” With that, he turned and strode from the chamber, the echo of his boots trailing down the stone hall.
Out in the courtyard, the air was crisp, the morning breeze carrying the tang of the sea.
Two horses stood saddled and ready, their breath puffing white into the chill.
Bradley stood beside them, arms folded, his cloak drawn tight as he waited.
Yet as still as he appeared, his thoughts were anything but calm.
He recalled how she’d looked lying there, dark lashes brushing her cheeks, lips parted slightly in sleep.
A heat stirred in him he had not expected, rising swift and unwelcome.
She was bonnie, that much he couldnae deny, slender, proud, and untamed as the highland winds.
He clenched his fists at his sides, forcing down the hunger that gnawed at his control.
The scrape of shoes on stone caught his attention, and he lifted his head.
Laura stepped into the courtyard, her gown catching the morning light, her hair braided neatly now.
Yet the moment her eyes fell on the horses, she stopped cold, blanching as if she’d seen specters.
Her hands twisted in her skirts, and she took a step back.
Bradley arched a brow, his voice cutting the silence. “Come, lass. We’ve got a road ahead of us. Get yerself on the horse.” His tone carried command, though his eyes narrowed at her hesitation.
Laura lifted her chin, though the color drained from her cheeks. “I cannae,” she said bluntly. “I daenae ken how to ride.” Her admission rang clear, and her lips pressed into a stubborn line.
Bradley let out a sharp laugh, the sound edged with mockery. “So the Lady Laura can defy her Laird but cannae manage a saddle?” he teased. Shaking his head, he moved toward her, closing the distance in long strides. “Guess ye’re ridin’ in me arms again, lassie.”
Her eyes widened, and she stepped back, but it was no use. He caught her wrist, firm but not cruel, and drew her toward the waiting beast. “Hold steady,” he ordered, his voice low as he lifted her with ease. He set her on the saddle in front of him, her small frame fitting neatly against his chest.
Bradley gathered the reins, his arms circling her as he took control of the horse.
The warmth of her back pressed to his stomach, the warmth of her body and its soft lines were undeniable.
He inhaled slowly, her scent faint beneath the crisp air, and desire coiled in him like a fire threatening to burn free.
Yet he clenched his jaw, burying it beneath his iron will.
Laura shifted uneasily, stiff as a board in his hold. “This is foolish,” she muttered. “I shouldnae be out here, nae with ye draggin’ me about as though I were a prize mare.” She glanced ahead, refusing to meet his eyes.
Bradley leaned closer, his lips near her ear, his voice a low rumble.
“Careful, lass,” he warned softly. “I daenae mind yer sharp tongue, but ye’ll find yerself losin’ ground fast if ye keep it waggin’ so fierce.” His hands tightened on the reins, steadying the horse as it stamped impatiently.
Bradley kept his gaze fixed ahead, forcing his focus to the road and not the lass in his arms. The feel of her, soft and unyielding both, tested the limits of his restraint.
He knew he must keep her safe, must show his folk strength and unity.
But deep within, another truth stirred, one he couldn’t yet name, but one that burned hotter with every passing breath.