Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Bradley strode through the stone halls of the castle, the sound of his boots echoing off the arched ceilings.
The place was alive with movement, servants bustling to and fro with baskets of food, linens, and kindling for the fires.
The clang of pots rang from the kitchens, while the laughter of scullery maids floated up the stairwell.
The air was thick with the scent of baking bread, smoke from the hearths, and the faint tang of damp wool drying near the flames.
He nodded as folk bowed their heads, though he paid them little mind.
His eyes swept the scene, noting how well the place thrived under his rule, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud.
He preferred to keep himself focused on the order of things, strong walls, sharpened blades, and steady hands to wield them.
Aye, a clan was only as safe as its watch, and I wouldnae let me people falter.
Bradley took himself to the yard where the guards were gathered, their cloaks pulled tight against the evening chill. Torches burned along the walls, their flames dancing in the wind, casting long shadows over the men who stood waiting.
Bradley’s gaze sharpened as he looked over them, his tone clipped and commanding. He demanded precision, for there was no place for sloth in a laird’s defense.
“Laird,” said Peter, the captain of the watch, stepping forward with a hand upon his sword hilt. “The men are eager to hear yer orders for the night’s rotation.”
“Eager, are they?” Bradley’s mouth twitched into the barest ghost of a smile. “Best be more eager to keep their eyes open when the night grows long. Tell me, who takes the north wall first?”
“Tavish and Colin, Laird,” Peter replied firmly, squaring his shoulders. “They’ll hold it until the moon’s at its highest, then Ewan and Donal will relieve them.”
Bradley gave a curt nod, his gaze flicking to the men who’d been named. “See ye daenae slack, else ye’ll answer to me. A single mistake, and the whole keep pays the price.”
“Aye, Laird,” the men chorused, their voices low and respectful.
He moved along the line, questioning another. “And the south gate? Who stands there?”
“Gregor and Hamish, Laird,” one of the younger guards answered, trying to mask the tremor in his tone.
Bradley’s sharp eye softened slightly, catching the lad’s youth and nerves. “Stand tall, lad. A gatekeeper must look like stone to anyone who’d test him. Fear belongs to yer enemy, nae to ye.”
The men bowed their heads as Bradley dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
He turned away, satisfied the watch would hold through the night, though he’d test them himself come dawn.
His stride carried him back into the keep, though the murmurs of the guards followed him, as if they whispered of the weight he bore.
The thought hardly touched him, for he had little time for idle chatter.
As he rounded a corner near the kitchens, a bent figure in a grey shawl appeared before him.
It was Eidith, the old healer, her gnarled hands gripping a walking stick, though her sharp eyes missed nothing.
When she saw him, she lifted her chin, her expression one of grim determination.
Then, without hesitation, she shuffled toward him with surprising speed for her years.
“Laird McCormack,” she said, her voice carrying the rasp of age yet firm as stone. “Ye’ll follow me now, lad, and daenae argue it.”
Bradley frowned, though he did not move away. “Eidith, what are ye about, draggin’ me like a bairn by the ear? I’ve duties to tend, woman.”
She jabbed her stick at him, nearly poking his chest. “Och, duties! Ye’ve more to mend than guard posts and walls. Now move yer feet afore I swat ye with this stick, Laird or nae.”
A reluctant chuckle left Bradley’s chest, though he shook his head. “Ye’ve never changed, old one. Fine then, I’ll humor ye.” He followed after her, his long strides slow enough to match her uneven gait.
Eidith led him through narrow passages that few used, places that smelled of herbs and dried flowers strung along the beams. Her chamber was a small room filled with jars, bundles, and bowls, the air rich with the sharp tang of mint and sage.
She reached for a small pouch on her table and pressed it into his hand.
Her eyes gleamed with a strange knowing that made Bradley wary.
“Keep this,” she said, her voice dropping lower. “Open it when ye ken ye’ve need to fix somethin’. The herbs inside will tell ye what ye need.”
Bradley frowned down at the pouch, the leather soft and worn beneath his fingers. “What nonsense is this, Eidith? Ye expect me to take counsel from dried leaves?”
She cackled, shaking her head. “Och, daenae be so daft, lad. It’s nae the herbs, but the moment ye’ll ken. When ye feel the weight of yer own folly, ye’ll think of me, aye, and mayhap ye’ll ken how to fix it.”
Bradley’s brow furrowed, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Ye sound like a riddlin’ bard after too much mead.”
Eidith straightened, her eyes fierce despite the wrinkles. “Ye’d do well to be more open with yerself and with Lady Laura. She’s nae a foe to keep at arm’s length; she’s the heart that will steady ye. Daenae hide from her, lad, else ye’ll lose what the gods gave ye.”
Her words struck closer than he liked, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Ye speak bold, Eidith, for one who should ken better than to meddle in a laird’s marriage.”
She wagged her finger, her grin sly. “Meddle, is it? Aye, and I’ll meddle more. When the bairn comes, ye’ll name it after me. Eidith for a lass, Edan for a lad.”
Bradley barked a laugh at that, shaking his head. “By the saints, woman, ye’ve gone mad as a hare. I’ll nae be namin’ me child for ye.”
Eidith only smirked, folding her hands atop her stick. “Ye’ll see. The day will come, and ye’ll remember me words. Now off with ye, afore ye scowl a hole in me floor.”
Still chuckling under his breath, Bradley tucked the pouch into his belt and turned for the door.
He left the healer behind, her laughter echoing faintly down the hall like the caw of some old crow.
Though he brushed it off as rambling, he couldn’t quite shake her words from his mind.
The weight of the pouch sat heavy at his side, a reminder of riddles best left unanswered, for now.
Bradley left her rooms and strode into the great hall, the heavy oaken doors groaning on their hinges.
All eyes lifted, and every soul in the room rose to their feet, hands bowing or touching their hearts in deference.
Bradley raised his hand in greeting, his gaze sweeping over the gathered clansmen, noting the pride and loyalty etched into their faces.
He allowed himself a brief nod before making his way to the head of the long table, where Laura waited beside him.
She smiled at him, warm and serene, and for a fleeting moment Bradley forgot the burdens of rule and duty. No fine dress or cloak had so mended her heart, he realized, as the small pup they had brought into the castle had.
The sight of her eyes lighting up made him feel a deep satisfaction, one that had little to do with power and everything to do with her. Bradley shifted slightly, letting her presence settle beside him, the warmth steadying him more than the fire ever could.
“Ye seem pleased with this pup,” he said quietly, leaning toward her, voice low and teasing.
“Aye,” Laura replied with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “He’s small and clever, and he likes me… perhaps more than some men in this hall.”
Bradley snorted, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.
He caught a soft whine beneath the table and looked down to see Laura slipping scraps to the puppy from her plate.
He wondered why he allowed her such liberties, why the fire in him did not demand restraint.
Yet seeing her smile again, feeling her contentment, he found satisfaction in allowing her small rebellions.
The meal continued with laughter, conversation, and the scraping of cutlery, but Bradley’s mind lingered on Laura and the puppy at her feet. When it was done, he rose and offered his arm.
“Come, lass,” he said with a flicker of teasing in his tone. “The library awaits a quiet eve of readin’.”
Laura scooped the pup into her arms and then looped her other arm through Bradley’s, her fingers brushing his.
“Aye, I’ve been lookin’ forward to it,” she said, her voice soft with anticipation.
“And I promise, nay mischief… only readin’, I swear,” he said.
Bradley led her down the torch-lit hall toward the library, the shadows stretching long and welcoming.
They settled into the quiet of the library, the scent of leather and parchment heavy in the air. Laura settled the pup on the rug before the hearth, where it settled into a slumber.
Bradley opened his book, the familiar weight of it grounding him in calm, and glanced at Laura as she turned pages with delicate precision.
Time passed with silence punctuated only by the rustle of leaves and the faint scratching of pen on paper.
He noticed her glancing at him, stolen looks that made his chest tighten in a manner he hadn’t expected.
“What is it ye’re thinkin’?” he asked, setting his book aside, voice low.
Laura’s eyes widened slightly, caught in the act. “I… I wrote a letter to a friend of mine,” she confessed. “But I daenae ken who to give it to, or how it should be sent.”
Bradley reached out and touched her hand briefly, firm and reassuring. “Leave it on the table in our room tonight. I’ll see it sent come morn,” he assured her.
Laura’s lips curved into a grateful smile, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Thank ye,” she said simply, but he could see what it meant to her.
With their books closed, the previous silence shifted into quiet conversation as they leaned back in their chairs. Bradley let himself relax, feeling the pull of her presence like a tether to the world outside his endless duties.
“Shall we play cards again?” he suggested, voice light with a hint of mischief.
Laura raised a brow. “Again?” she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Last time, I nearly lost me composure… and ye nearly took it too far with yer teasin’.”
“This time,” Bradley said, leaning forward, voice low and conspiratorial, “we’ll play with a twist. The loser must surrender a piece of clothing.”
Laura blinked at him, eyes wide, then laughed, the sound bright and lively in the hushed library. “Ye’re mad,” she said, shaking her head.
“Mad with desire and cunnin’ all in one.” Bradley’s lips curled, a dark, teasing smile forming. “Or perhaps I just like seein’ ye flustered, lass. Shall we?”
They dealt the cards, the table between them filling with tension and challenge.
Bradley watched her, noting how her eyes flicked to his hands, her lips twitching when she held a particularly good hand.
Each play of the cards was deliberate, a silent conversation filled with teasing and unspoken desire.
The game became a delicate battle, each move a mix of skill and provocation.
Laura’s laughter rang out again as Bradley won the first round, his victory cheeky and deliberate. “Aye, the first loss goes to ye,” he said, leaning closer. “What piece shall it be, I wonder?”
She flushed deeply, covering her face for a moment before lifting her gaze. “Ye’ve nay right to make me… fluster so,” she said, tone playful but flustered.
Bradley leaned back, eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Aye, but I ken the rules, lass. The twist was agreed. Choose wisely, or ye’ll regret it.”
No dress, no fine adornment, not even command over men or land, had given him such contentment as this, seeing her smile, seeing her joy, even in small, teasing games.
Laura took a slow breath and decided on a token, a ribbon from her sleeve. Bradley’s lips twitched in approval as she removed it, playful defiance in her eyes.
“A fair choice,” he said, reaching across the table to tap her hand. “But beware, lass, I intend to win the next round with just as much cunnin’.”
Bradley watched Laura with a satisfaction that surprised him, a rare softness in his chest. For once, he was not just the Laird, the warrior, the protector; he was a man with a woman he adored, sharing quiet triumphs and teasing battles.
The warmth of the library, the glow of the hearth, and the soft presence of the small puppy wove together into a moment he wanted to hold on to forever.
Bradley allowed himself a rare thought.
Perhaps the walls I built around me heart begin to crumble, one small victory, one stolen glance, one mischievous game at a time.