Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Have the men change their posts at sunset,” Bradley told the lead guard.
“Aye, me Laird. It will be done.” The guard bowed his head.
“And we shall have the new young lot trained for guard duty,” Bradley replied.
“I shall see to it,” the guard replied.
Bradley steered his stallion along the outer walls of the castle, giving orders.
The wind swept through his hair as he surveyed the grounds, doing his daily routine of the duties required of a laird.
The clang of hammers and the rhythmic thud of hooves echoed around him, blending into the hum of a working fortress.
Men hauled timber to the stables, women carried baskets from the gardens, and the scent of burning peat wafted through the air.
He rode past the training yard where young lads practiced with wooden swords, their laughter cutting through the air. Bradley gave a nod of approval as one of the boys landed a clever strike, his sharp gaze missing nothing.
Despite the weight of his duties, he felt something lighter in his chest these days, as though the cold stone walls of his heart had begun to thaw. For once, the castle didn’t feel like a burden; it felt alive.
A familiar voice called out from behind. “Ye’re ridin’ like a man with somethin’ to prove, me Laird.” Alan, his man-at-arms, galloped up beside him, his grin wide beneath a scruffy beard.
Bradley slowed his stallion, turning to give his companion a wry look.
“Prove?” Bradley repeated, arching a brow. “Aye, Alan, and what would I need to prove to the likes of ye?”
Alan laughed, his horse snorting beside Bradley’s. “Och, nothin’ to me, to be sure. But the way ye’re ridin’, the lads might think ye’re showin’ off for the Lady wife.”
Bradley snorted, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Ye think that’s what this is? A man cannae take a ride around his lands without folk thinkin’ he’s love-struck?”
Alan chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Well, I’ll say this, ye’ve been in better temper these past weeks. The men’ve noticed, aye. Even the cook says ye’ve stopped glowerin’ at the stew.”
Bradley gave a low chuckle at that, shaking his head.
“Aye, perhaps I have. A man grows weary of glowerin’ all the time.
There’s little use in scarin’ the bairns for no cause.
” He glanced toward the horizon, the faintest warmth in his tone.
“Laura’s presence has softened the halls some. It doesnae feel so empty now.”
Alan nodded knowingly. “So, the tales are true then; a wife does calm the storm in a man’s breast.”
“Calm?” Bradley mused, his voice rough but thoughtful. “I daenae ken about calm. She’s fierce when she wants to be, and bold as any man I’ve known. But… aye, she’s brought light where there was none.”
Alan grinned, tapping his reins. “There it is. I told the men the Laird’s heart wasnae made of pure stone. Just took the right lass to chisel through it.”
Bradley chuckled under his breath, though he pretended not to be amused. “Mind yer tongue, Alan, or I’ll have ye muckin’ the stables for that cheek.”
“Bah,” Alan said with a wave of his hand. “Ye’d nae do it. Ye’re too content these days.”
“Content, maybe,” Bradley admitted, his gaze drifting toward the distant bridge that led to the mainland. “But nae soft. A laird cannae afford to grow soft, nay matter how sweet the smile of his wife.”
Alan followed his gaze, nodding soberly. “True enough. But I reckon the men fight harder for a laird who’s found peace. They trust ye more when ye look less haunted, if ye ken what I mean.”
Bradley was silent for a moment, mulling over the words. The wind rustled through the tall grass, and a gull cried overhead. “Perhaps ye’re right,” he said finally, his voice low. “A man doesnae rule well when ghosts sit heavy on his shoulders.”
Alan smiled faintly, sensing the depth beneath his master’s tone but wisely letting the subject lie. “Then it’s settled,” he said instead, giving a firm nod. “I’ll tell the men the Laird’s in fine spirits, and they’ve Lady Laura to thank for it. They’ll like that tale well enough.”
Bradley smirked, pulling on his reins to turn his horse toward the keep. “Aye, but daenae let her hear that. She’ll think she’s tamed me entirely.”
Alan laughed heartily as the two men rode on, their horses’ hooves drumming in rhythm against the earth. “Och, me Laird, from what I’ve seen, she just might have.”
Bradley shook his head, though a quiet warmth lingered in his chest as the castle loomed larger ahead. For the first time in years, he didn’t dread returning to its walls. The air felt lighter, the shadows less cruel, and it was all because of her.
As he rode to the bridge, he saw in the distance on the mainland a carriage. He saw Laura immediately, and his heart dropped. The view he saw made his blood run hot—his mother, Lady Ophelia McCormack, standing proud and venomous before Laura.
Beside Laura stood Cora, tense as a bowstring, the pup growling low at their feet. The sight of Ophelia’s sneering face, her finger raised in accusation, snapped something deep inside him.
Bradley’s pulse thundered in his ears as he spurred his horse forward. It thundered across the bridge, hooves striking the planks like a drum of war. Rage burned like fire in his chest. Alan shouted something behind him, but Bradley did not hear.
The wind tore at his hair, his jaw set hard, his hands gripping the reins so tight his knuckles went white. As soon as he reached them, he pulled the reins sharply, the stallion rearing back before landing with a thud.
Laura gasped, taking a step back, but Bradley was already off his horse and storming toward his mother. Alan was close behind on his heels.
Bradley’s voice was sharp as steel. “What in God’s name are ye doing here?”
Ophelia turned slowly, her chin lifting in disdain. “Is that how ye greet yer own blood, Bradley? Aye, I see me exile’s made ye forget yer manners.”
“Answer me,” Bradley growled, his hands fisting at his sides. “Why are ye here? I made it clear ye were nae welcome.”
Her lips twisted into a cold, painted smile. “Because I tire of this miserable hovel ye call exile. The walls are damp, the servants number only four, and me gowns, well, ye never did appreciate how a lady ought to live. I am the Lady of McCormack, Bradley, and I demand me rightful place.”
Bradley barked out a laugh, devoid of humor.
“Ye are nay longer Lady McCormack. Ye forfeited yer rightful place when ye plotted against me. Ye wanted me own guards to drag me from this very ground and call me unfit to rule. Ye called me a beast, a curse upon the clan, and yet ye stand before me demandin’ comfort? ”
Her eyes flashed with a cruel light. “Aye, because I was right! Look at ye, a brute of a man, with naught but violence in yer blood! Ye think takin’ a wife and buildin’ a few cottages makes ye noble? Ye’re still the same creature who murdered his own faither.”
Laura gasped softly behind him, but Bradley didn’t flinch. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. “Watch yer tongue, Maither. Ye’ve tested me patience enough.”
“Patience?” she scoffed, taking a defiant step toward him. “I am yer maither! The woman who bore ye! Ye owe me respect, Bradley. Ye wouldnae be here if nae for me.”
“I owe ye nothin’,” he bit out. “Ye made yer choice when ye sided with that traitor of a man who sought to steal me clan from me. Treason runs deep in yer veins, and ye dare to come back here, speakin’ of respect?”
Her painted face twisted in outrage. “Treason? Ye call me treasonous because I wanted what was best for this clan! I wanted peace, nae bloodshed! Ye’re nae fit to rule, son or nae. Ye lead with anger, nae wisdom.”
Bradley’s voice thundered across the clearing. “Anger is what kept this clan alive, because nay one else had the strength to face what needed facin’!”
Bradley turned sharply to Alan. “Fetch three guards. Now.”
“Aye, me Laird.” He nodded grimly and wheeled his horse around, galloping back toward the castle.
Ophelia’s eyes widened, the fury giving way to disbelief. “Guards? Bradley, ye wouldnae dare…”
“I would,” he cut her off, his tone cold as the winter loch. “I’ll nae have ye roamin’ these lands spreadin’ yer poison. Ye’ll return to exile, and if ye defy that, ye’ll find yerself in chains.”
Her jaw dropped. “Chains? For me? For yer own blood? Have ye nay heart left in that chest of yers?”
He stared her down, his voice low but deadly. “Whatever heart I had, ye crushed it long ago when ye turned yer back on me. Ye wanted me dead, remember? Ye called the guards to drag me out like an animal.”
She raised her chin, defiant even now. “I did what needed doing.”
Bradley’s expression darkened further. “Me faither was a monster. He ruled with fear, broke men’s backs, and left our people starvin’. If ye still think that devil deserves honor, then ye’re as cursed as he was.”
Laura stepped forward carefully, her voice soft but steady. “Bradley…”
He turned his head sharply, his tone gentle but firm. “Stay back, Laura. This matter’s between me and her.”
Ophelia’s lip curled, her gaze darting toward Laura. “Aye, there it is. The new wife thinkin’ she’s got a say. Look at ye, all pretty manners and soft eyes. Ye think ye can understand what it means to be a McCormack? Ye’re a stranger, ye’ll never fill me place.”
Laura stiffened, but Bradley stepped forward before she could speak. His voice came like thunder. “She already has. Laura is Lady McCormack now, and ye’ll remember that name if ye value what little mercy I have left.”
Ophelia’s expression faltered for the first time, her painted lips trembling slightly. “Mercy,” she repeated bitterly. “Ye sound just like him when ye say it. Yer faither said the same before he cast me aside for speakin’ me mind.”
Bradley’s jaw clenched, memories flickering like shadows in his eyes. “Then perhaps ye should’ve learned from that mistake and nae taken his side.”
The sound of hooves approached again—Alan, returning with three armed guards. They dismounted, standing at attention behind their Laird.
Bradley didn’t look away from his mother as he spoke. “Escort Mistress Ophelia back to her carriage. See that she’s returned to her exile before nightfall.”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears of fury. “Ye’ll regret this, Bradley. One day, when ye’ve lost everythin’, ye’ll remember that ye turned yer back on yer own maither.”
Bradley stood still as a stone, watching as the guards took her by the arms and led her away. “I’ve lost enough already,” he said quietly, though only Laura heard it. “And I’ll nae lose more.”
As the carriage wheels began to turn, rolling away toward the distant road, Bradley felt the old pain burn through him again—sharp, deep, and buried beneath the weight of duty.
The gentle pressure of Laura’s hand slipped into his, her fingers intertwining with his as they watched the distant carriage fade down the winding road.
He gritted his teeth, staring straight ahead, unwilling to let his gaze falter.
“Are ye… are ye all right, Bradley?” Laura asked softly, her voice careful but full of concern.
“I’m all right,” he said shortly, his jaw tight. “I daenae wish to speak on the matter any further.”
Her hand squeezed his gently, but he barely felt it. “Ye cannae hold it all in yerself, ye ken. Sharin’ the burden… it doesnae make ye weaker.”
He shook his head, the muscles in his neck taut. “This is me business, Laura. Ye need nae concern yerself with it.”
Laura looked down, her lips pressed together, but she did not release his hand. Her presence was a comfort he did not deserve, yet one he could not resist.
“Ye should rest, and Cora as well. Ye should nae have gone this far from the safety of the castle in the first place.”
“Aye, Laird,” Cora murmured, curtseying slightly, though her eyes flicked to Laura with quiet worry.
“It was me idea to walk to the mainland,” Laura replied. “And I—”
“Enough. Do as ye’re told,” he glared.
He mounted his horse behind them. He stayed silent, letting the sound of hooves and the wind in the trees fill the void. His mind was hotter than any fire could make. Every step back to the castle was heavy with thought, his anger and frustration simmering beneath a cold, controlled exterior.
Laura walked beside Cora, occasionally glancing back at him.
Bradley caught her eye for a fleeting moment and allowed a small, almost imperceptible softening before turning his gaze once more to the path ahead.
He did not speak; words were useless now.
All that mattered was returning to the stronghold of the castle, where control could be reclaimed and where he could, perhaps, find a moment to breathe.
The sight of his mother made him ill with worry.
If she tries to do anythin’ to Laura. I daenae ken what I’m capable of.