Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bradley sat alone in his study, the morning light spilling across the maps and parchments scattered before him.
His jaw was tight, his mind circling the same storm of thoughts that had plagued him since the night before.
He did not know why he felt this savage need to protect Laura, to claim her as though she were his very breath.
Love, he told himself grimly, wasn’t the answer; monsters like him didn’t know love.
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his dark hair, his eyes cold as they stared at nothing.
“Nay,” he muttered, his voice low, “I cannae love… I was born of monsters, raised by a brute. Blood like mine only brings ruin.”
Still, the image of Laura’s soft eyes and gentle smile cut through the shadows in his mind. He clenched his fists, hating himself for feeling weak in her presence.
A sharp knock rattled the door, dragging him from his brooding thoughts and causing annoyance. Bradley straightened in his chair, his voice carrying across the chamber.
“Enter, if ye value yer hide.” The door creaked open, and Alan stepped inside, his expression grim but steady, bowing his head in respect.
Alan shut the door behind him, crossing the room with quiet steps until he stood before the desk.
“Laird,” he began, his voice low, “I’ve come to report on Ethan Gilmour, as ye ordered.”
Bradley’s dark eyes fixed upon him, a silent nod pressing Alan to speak further.
The younger man drew a breath, then continued with measured words.
“He leaves his cottage early, afore most stir,” Alan reported, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Spends the mornin’ walkin’ the grounds, then heads to the tavern where he drinks heavy with two merchants from the village.
At midday, he meets with a land-broker, a shifty sort, likely dealin’ in underhanded matters.
By evenin’ he walks back to his cottage, alone, but he keeps strange hours, often gone after dark. ”
Bradley listened, his face an unreadable mask, though a flicker of dark satisfaction stirred in his chest. The thought of Ethan, carrying on his days as if he were innocent, churned Bradley’s rage hotter.
“Good,” he said finally, his voice deep and low. “Every step, every face he meets, I’ll ken it all. He’ll pay for what he’s done to Laura.”
Alan inclined his head, though his eyes lingered with a trace of unease.
“I’ll keep watch, Laird, and report back on every movement. Shall I dig deeper into these merchants and the broker he meets?”
Bradley’s lips curved in a grim line, more a predator’s smile than anything kind. “Aye. Leave nay stone unturned.”
Alan nodded firmly, knowing better than to question the Laird’s wrath. “It’ll be done.”
Bradley rose from his chair, placing a heavy hand on Alan’s shoulder in approval.
“Ye’ve done well, lad,” Bradley said, his voice carrying a rare note of approval. “Yer report on Ethan Gilmour will give me a way to punish him for his wrongdoings against the Lady.”
Then the door burst open once more.
Laura entered, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing with fury. She strode into the chamber with a boldness that startled even Alan, her skirts swishing as she came to a halt before Bradley.
“What is the meanin’ of this?” she demanded, her voice sharp with anger. “Are ye spyin’ on me faither?”
Bradley’s body stilled, then he straightened slowly, a dark presence seeming to fill the chamber. His gaze locked on her, and the fury in her eyes struck something deep in him, though he wouldn’t show it.
Laura’s chest rose and fell rapidly as Bradley closed the space between them.
“Answer me,” she snapped, her fists clenched at her sides. “How dare ye invade his life like this?”
Bradley loomed over her, his expression hard, his eyes dark as storm clouds.
“I told ye, lass,” he growled, his voice rumbling low, “anyone who’s harmed ye will be punished.” His hand lifted, his fingers brushing her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Why would I let him live in peace, when he laid a hand upon ye? Nay, I’ll see to it he pays for every scar he gave ye.”
Laura jerked back, her eyes wide, her breath caught between anger and fear.
“He’s still me faither, Bradley,” she said, her voice trembling. “Ye cannae destroy him… vengeance willnae change what happened to me.”
Bradley’s eyes narrowed, his jaw flexing as his fury warred with the strange ache in his chest. “I’ll nae stand by while the man walks free as if he’d done naught but breathe.”
Her hand pressed against his chest, the warmth of her touch both steadying and infuriating.
“Ye’re wrong if ye think this will heal me,” she whispered fiercely. “What he did was cruel, aye, but his punishment belongs to God, nae to ye.”
Bradley seized her wrist, holding her hand firmly against his chest, his heart pounding beneath her palm.
“God may have His justice,” he said, his voice dark and unyielding, “but mine will come first. I’m nae a man to let such sins slide, Laura. Ye’re mine, and I’ll protect ye with every breath I have.” His gaze softened only a fraction, though the storm in his eyes did not ease.
Laura’s eyes shone with unshed tears, though her chin lifted stubbornly. “I daenae need ye to fight me battles, Bradley.”
His thumb brushed her wrist, his grip tightening as if he feared letting go. “Ye’re wrong, lass,” he whispered, his voice rough with something raw and desperate. “I’ll fight every battle, and I’ll break every enemy, even if it tears me apart.”
The words hung heavy between them, filling the chamber with tension and unspoken truths. Bradley released her slowly, his chest heaving as he turned away, his fists clenching at his sides. He wouldn’t relent, no matter what she begged of him. Ethan Gilmour’s reckoning was only beginning.
“Ye belong to me, and I protect what is mine,” he groaned.
Laura’s eyes burned with fury; her words were sharp as a blade. “I belong to meself, Bradley, nae to ye,” she snapped, her voice trembling with anger.
She turned on her heel, skirts swishing against the stone floor as she stormed out of the study. The heavy door slammed behind her, leaving silence in its wake.
Bradley stood frozen, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
The defiance in her gaze had pierced through his chest, stirring both rage and something far more dangerous.
He had expected her tears, her submission, but instead, she had struck him with her fire.
A grim smile tugged at his lips, though his jaw ached from holding it so tight.
In the corner, Alan shifted uncomfortably, his mouth parted as if to speak, but no words came. The young man’s eyes darted between the closed door and Bradley, as though he feared the Laird might unleash his temper.
Yet Bradley did not roar nor strike the table, though the temptation ran deep in his blood. Instead, he released a low breath and rolled his shoulders.
“Aye, lad,” Bradley muttered, his voice rough with restraint. “I could use a drink.” He strode toward the cabinet against the wall, pulling free a bottle of dark whisky and two cups. Setting them down with a heavy clink, he filled each glass and slid one toward Alan.
“Come sit, ye’ve earned it.”
Alan hesitated, still stunned by Laura’s outburst, but obeyed the command.
He took the seat across from Bradley, his fingers curling round the glass, though he did not drink at once.
Bradley lifted his cup and swallowed deeply, the burn a welcome distraction from the chaos in his chest. For a moment, the room carried only the crackle of the hearth and the faint clink of glass.
Bradley leaned back, watching Alan over the rim of his cup.
“Tell me, lad. How fares the village that was raided? I’ve nae had word since last week.” His tone steadied, cool and commanding, as though conversation could dull the storm still raging in his head.
Alan straightened, glad for the change of subject.
“The rebuildin’ is goin’ well, Laird,” he replied with quiet pride.
“The men have set new beams for the smithy, and the women have taken to mendin’ the straw for the roof of the cottages.
There’s still much to do, but they’ve spirit enough to see it through. ”
Bradley gave a single nod, swirling the liquid in his cup. “That pleases me. They’ve suffered enough, those folk. Let it be known that they’ll have all they need from the keep. Stone, timber, grain.”
His words carried weight, sharp and certain, though his mind still drifted to the echo of Laura’s defiance.
Alan’s lips curved faintly, encouraged by the Laird’s commitment.
“I was thinkin’ to ride out there meself today, see it with me own eyes,” he added.
“There’s talk of a new well bein’ dug, and the folk asked for yer blessin’ upon it.
” His voice carried quiet eagerness, eager to serve and to see the fruits of their labor.
Bradley leaned forward, resting one arm upon the table.
“Let us go then. Let them ken their Laird has nae forgotten them, nor will he ever.”
His voice hardened, carrying the weight of oath and iron. “And if there be a whisper of bandits lurkin’ near, I’ll see the devils cut down to the last.”
Alan nodded firmly, finishing his drink with a determined swallow.
Bradley rose slowly, stretching his broad frame, and walked to the window that overlooked the courtyard. His gaze swept the grounds, though his mind strayed to Laura’s words, echoing louder than any battle cry.
“Aye,” he muttered under his breath, his tone dark and edged. “They all belong to me, whether they ken it yet or nae.”