Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I’m with bairn. The words Laura had spoken hung echoing in Bradley’s mind.
For a moment, he could not breathe, could not think.
A strange, unfamiliar fear gripped him, one that no blade, no battle, no enemy could have ever roused in him.
He had faced death, betrayal, and war, but this, the thought of bringing a bairn into the world, of what it could mean for Laura, froze the blood in his veins.
“Bradley?”
He looked at her, standing before him with wide, expectant eyes and a tremulous smile that could have softened any man’s heart.
But in that moment, his heart tightened with dread.
He thought of his father, the cold-hearted man who had raised him with cruelty instead of care, who had destroyed every tender thing that had ever tried to bloom in their household.
That darkness is in me blood too. Will I pass it on to the bairn?
His fists clenched at his sides, and a low growl of frustration escaped him before he could stop it.
“What is it?” Laura’s voice broke through his storming thoughts, gentle and uncertain. “Say somethin’, please. I thought ye’d be glad to hear it.” Her voice trembled slightly, the joy in it faltering as she searched his expression.
He turned away sharply, his jaw tightening. “Ye need to leave the study, Laura,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Right now.”
Laura blinked in confusion, taking a step closer. “Leave? What do ye mean?” She asked, her brow furrowing. “Did ye nae hear what I said? We’re going to have a bairn, Bradley. Yer heir!”
“Aye, I heard ye well enough,” he muttered, still not turning to face her. His hand gripped the edge of his desk as though he might crush it. “And I said, go.”
Her eyes widened, hurt flashing across her face. “What’s wrong with ye?” she demanded, her voice quivering. “Shouldnae ye be happy? Ye’ve spoken of needin’ an heir since our weddin’. Why do ye look as though ye’ve seen a ghost?”
Bradley exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s nae the time, Laura,” he said through gritted teeth. “There’s much to think about, much to do.”
“Much to do?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Ye cannae mean that. I bring ye the best news a wife could ever give her husband, and all ye can say is that ye’re busy?” She stepped closer, the hurt giving way to anger. “Ye’re scarin’ me, Bradley. Tell me what this is really about.”
He turned at last, his dark eyes meeting hers, stormy and distant. “Ye wouldnae understand,” he said quietly. “Please just leave it be.”
“I’ll nae leave it be!” she snapped, her small hands curling into fists at her sides. “Ye’ve gone cold, like ye did before, when somethin’ troubles ye but ye’d rather shut me out than face it. I’m yer wife, am I nae? I have a right to ken what’s going on inside that stubborn head of yers!”
Bradley’s jaw worked, but he said nothing. The silence between them stretched, heavy and painful. Laura took another step forward, her voice softening as she pleaded, “Tell me what frightens ye so. Is it me? Is it the bairn? I thought this would make ye happy, Bradley. I thought…”
He cut her off, his voice low but sharp. “Daenae push me on this, Laura. Just go.”
Her breath hitched, tears springing to her eyes at the harsh tone. “Go?” She whispered. “That’s all ye can say to me?”
He turned away again, staring at the fire. The flames danced and hissed; the crackle filling the unbearable quiet between them. “I’ve work that needs me hand,” he said at last, his tone stiff. “There’s business to tend, matters I cannae delay.”
Laura’s shoulders straightened, though her heart ached. “Business,” she said bitterly. “Ye’d rather speak of business than celebrate the news of our bairn? Than celebrate the life we’re bringin’ into this world?” Her voice trembled as she took a shaky breath. “What kind of man are ye, Bradley?”
He flinched at her words but said nothing, his face turned toward the window where gray light seeped in. His silence cut deeper than any blade.
Laura’s anger flared again, mingling with hurt. “Ye’re actin’ as though this is a curse instead of a blessin’. Have I done somethin’ wrong? Have I displeased ye that much?”
“Enough, Laura,” he growled, his voice dark and heavy. “I said leave.”
The fire popped loudly, echoing his command.
Laura stared at him for a long moment, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I thought ye cared for me,” she said, her tone breaking. “But maybe I was a fool to believe it.”
Bradley closed his eyes, the words cutting straight through him, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer.
The fear in his chest twisted tighter, fear that his blood might destroy what he cherished most, as his father’s had.
Fear that his temper, his moods, his legacy—would poison what should be pure.
Laura waited. He knew she was searching for any sign—a word, a look, something. But he only stood there, shoulders stiff, his gaze locked on the window as if he couldn’t bear to face her.
At last, she exhaled shakily. “All right then,” she said, her voice trembling but steady. “If ye’ll nae speak to me as yer wife, then I’ll take me leave as ye wish. But I hope ye ken, Bradley, that ye’ve broken somethin’ this day that’ll take more than silence to mend.”
She turned sharply and strode toward the door, her skirts swishing angrily around her. Her hand lingered on the handle for a heartbeat, as if she might turn back. But his silence filled the room like a wall, and she couldn’t bear to look at him again.
As the door shut behind her, Bradley finally let out the breath he’d been holding. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles white. He stared into the dying fire, feeling as though he’d just driven a dagger into his own heart.
He had thought himself a brave man, one who could face any danger and conquer it. But as the silence of the room closed in around him, he realized there was no enemy fiercer than the one that lived within his own soul.
He stormed out of the study and out onto the grounds. His legs kept moving as he crossed the bridge with heavy steps onto the mainland. His mind was a storm of unrest. Sunlight broke through the canopy in fractured gold, spilling across moss-covered trunks and the damp earth beneath his boots.
The forest was alive with sound—the call of distant birds, the rustle of small creatures darting through the brush, and the soft murmur of a nearby brook.
He had always found solace here, away from the heavy walls of the castle and the endless duties that came with being Laird.
But today, even the calm of the woods could not quiet the voice in his head.
Every step seemed to echo with the same word, faither.
He stopped at a clearing where sunlight spilled onto the earth, catching on the blades of dew-slick grass. His breath came heavy, and he ran a hand through his hair, his mind pulling him backward in time.
This is the exact place where it happened.
It was here that his father had once set the hounds on him, his own son. He could still hear the growl of the beasts, still feel the tear of their claws, still remember the cold satisfaction in his father’s eyes.
Bradley’s hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles whitening.
“What if it’s in me to harm me own bairn as he did?” he whispered to the trees. “What if the same black temper runs through me as it did him?” He drew a shuddering breath and pressed a hand to his chest.
“God help me, but I could never raise a hand to a child. Never… but what if I daenae have a choice, if the blood makes me as cruel as he was?”
He sank onto a fallen log, burying his face in his hands. For all the strength and authority he showed as Laird, here he felt like a frightened boy again, cornered and uncertain.
The rustle of fabric caught his attention, and he lifted his head. A woman in a brown wool cloak was bending over a patch of damp earth, her basket half-filled with mushrooms and herbs.
“Eidith,” he muttered, recognizing her. The old healer straightened slowly, her sharp eyes settling on him.
“Aye, Laird McCormack,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I thought it might be ye. Ye walk like a man with too many thoughts and nay peace to carry them.”
“Is that what I look like then?” he said.
She tilted her head, studying him. “Aye. The forest has a way of showin’ what’s inside a man. It listens to those who doesnae ken how to speak their worries out loud.”
He looked away toward the brook, his jaw tight. “And what if those worries are too dark to say aloud?”
Eidith stepped closer, her basket creaking softly in her hands. “Then ye whisper them to the wind, lad. Or ye bring them to me.”
Bradley’s brow furrowed. “Why would ye think I’d have somethin’ to bring to ye?”
A knowing smile curved her weathered lips. “Because I ken what troubles yer heart. The Lady Laura carries yer bairn.”
He flinched at the words, his jaw tightening. “Aye,” he said at last, his voice low. “And I daenae ken if I should be glad or terrified.”
Eidith crouched to pluck a mushroom, placing it carefully in her basket. “It’s both for most men worth their salt,” she said. “Ye think a poor faither frets? Nay, lad. It’s the good ones that do. It’s the ones who fear hurtin’ what they love that make the finest fathers.”
Bradley shook his head. “Ye ken me blood, Eidith. Me faither was a monster. He beat me, nearly broke me, and worse, he made me think I deserved it. That’s the man who raised me. How can I nae turn into him when that’s what I was born from?”
She looked him squarely in the eye. “Blood isnae destiny, Laird. Ye may carry his name, but ye daenae carry his soul. The choices ye make are what shape ye, not the sins of the man who sired ye.”
Bradley’s voice broke with the force of his emotion. “He tried to make me like him, Eidith! He said I’d grow cruel one day, that the McCormack line was cursed with it. What if he was right? What if I raise me hand one day without even thinkin’? I could never forgive meself if I…”
Eidith reached out and placed a hand over his clenched fist. “Stop that talk,” she said sharply. “Ye’re nae cursed. Ye’re haunted. There’s a difference.”
He looked at her in confusion. “Haunted?”
“Aye,” she said softly. “By the fear that he still controls ye, even from the grave. But listen to me, Laird McCormack, every man has a shadow, but the ones who see it are the ones who daenae become it. Ye fear what’s in yer blood, but that fear is proof enough that ye’ll never be like him.”
Bradley exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging. “Ye make it sound so simple.”
Eidith chuckled. “It isnae simple, lad. It’s a lifetime’s work. But it’s work worth doing. Ye’ve been given a gift, a wife who loves ye, a bairn on the way, a clan that trusts ye. Daenae throw that away because of ghosts that cannae touch ye anymore.”
He stared down at the ground, her words sinking deep into him. “Ye think I was meant to be a faither?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She smiled faintly. “I think it’s written in the stars, lad.
Some are born to lead, some to heal, and some to build somethin’ better than what came before.
Ye were born to break a cycle. To raise a child that’ll never ken the fear ye did.
That’s what the McCormack name can mean from this moment on, if ye let it. ”
Bradley’s throat tightened. He rose slowly from the log, the forest seeming somehow brighter now, less suffocating, more alive. “Ye ken, Eidith,” he said after a long pause, “ye’ve a way with words when the rest of the world feels mad.”
She smirked, picking up her basket again. “That’s because I live with the earth, not against it. Ye might try it sometime. The trees have a kinder voice than yer own thoughts.”
“Aye, maybe I will in time.”
As he turned back toward the path that led home, Eidith called out after him. “Laird McCormack!”
He paused and looked over his shoulder.
“Tell the Lady she’s carryin’ the future of a better clan,” Eidith said. “And tell yerself the same. Ye’ve earned yer peace, lad, now daenae be too proud to keep it.”
Bradley gave a small nod, then continued back to the castle, the sound of the water rushing beneath him.
The weight on his chest felt lighter, but it was not gone.
He took Eidith’s words to heart, but he didn’t believe them.
He knew that he was the only one who understood the darkness in his mind. Others had no clue.
Bradley trudged through the castle gates as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the courtyard stones.
Eidith’s words echoed in his mind, yet he couldn’t find peace in them.
He was certain the woman was wrong; he wouldn’t make a good father; he’d ruin the bairn just as his own father had ruined him.
A young maid hurried past with a basket of linens, nearly bumping into him.
“Prepare the blue room for a guest,” he said curtly, his voice rough from the cold wind and the weight in his chest.
She blinked in surprise, curtsied quickly, and stammered, “Aye, me Laird, right away,” before darting off down the corridor.
Bradley watched her go, guilt gnawing faintly at him for his tone, yet the heaviness pressing on his soul left no room for gentleness.
The guest for the room was himself. That night, the blue room felt colder than he remembered, the air heavy with stillness. The thick blue drapes shut out the moonlight, casting the chamber in shadow. He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand over his face, feeling hollow and restless.
He’d chosen solitude instead—his punishment, perhaps, for being a man unworthy of peace.
Lyin’ beside her as she carries me bairn fills me with dread.