Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Laura couldn’t sleep no matter how she tried.
The bed felt far too big, the silence pressing upon her ears like a weight.
She tossed and turned, the linen sheets cold where Bradley’s warmth once lingered.
The fire in the hearth had burned down to mere embers, casting a faint orange glow across the stone walls of the chamber.
From the floor came a soft whine, followed by the scratching of tiny paws. Laura turned her head and saw Angus, the wee puppy, standing at the side of the bed with his tail wagging pitifully.
“Och, Angus,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “Are ye hungry, lad? Or is it just that ye daenae like the cold either?”
She reached down, scooping him into her arms, and his little tongue brushed against her chin. For a moment, the loneliness in her chest eased.
“Aye, I ken,” she murmured, pressing her cheek to his fur. “We’re both lost souls this night, are we nae?” She set him upon the bed, then rose to fetch her shawl, wrapping the soft wool over her thin nightshift.
The air outside the bed was icy, and she shivered as her bare feet touched the cold stone floor. She slipped her slippers on and held the puppy close against her chest.
“Come then,” she said quietly. “Let’s find ye somethin’ to eat.” The corridor outside was still and dim, lit only by the flickering torches that hung along the walls.
As she walked through the castle’s sleeping halls, her footsteps echoed faintly against the flagstones. The tapestries that lined the corridors, depicting battles, stags, and the proud McCormack crest, watched her with silent eyes.
She descended the stone staircase to the kitchens, feeling as though she were the only soul alive in the vast keep.
When she reached the great kitchen, the air was cooler still, but it smelled faintly of baked bread and smoke. The hearth had been banked low, with only a red glow remaining under the ashes.
She stirred it back to life with the poker, coaxing a few flames to dance once more. Angus wagged his tail eagerly as she rummaged through the pantry shelves.
“Let’s see what we can find for ye, little one,” she said softly, pulling out a small crock of milk and a heel of brown bread.
The puppy’s nose twitched as she tore a piece for him and set it on a wooden trencher.
“There ye go, laddie.” She smiled faintly as he began to eat, his tail wagging with contentment.
She cut a wedge of cheese for herself and placed it beside a small oatcake, the familiar simplicity of the meal bringing her a measure of comfort.
Pouring a little milk into a mug, she sat at the long table near the fire, watching the flames grow stronger.
The cheese was sharp on her tongue, and the bread dry, but she didn’t mind.
The warmth of the fire, the quiet, and Angus’s happy crunching soothed her troubled thoughts.
She broke a bit of oatcake and dipped it in honey from a small clay pot. The sweetness filled her mouth, though her heart still felt heavy.
“Bradley should be here,” she murmured to herself, staring into the fire. “He should be here, nae away from me.”
The puppy looked up at her, tilting his head as if he understood her sorrow.
Laura sighed and leaned back, resting her chin in her hand.
“He’s a stubborn fool,” she whispered.
She rubbed Angus’s head and smiled faintly. “And now, wee one, ye and I must be strong for the bairn, aye?”
The puppy gave a soft bark, and she took it as his agreement. She tore another small bit of bread for him and finished her milk. Outside, she could hear the faint patter of rain beginning against the stone walls.
“I’ll miss this place,” she said softly. “But perhaps it’s better to remember it like this, quiet and kind.”
She froze when she heard the sound of heavy boots echoing through the corridor beyond the kitchen.
The hair at the back of her neck prickled, and she held her breath.
The door creaked open, letting in a draft of cold air and the faint glow of a torch from the hallway.
A tall figure stepped into the doorway, then stopped abruptly as though startled to find someone there, before quickly turning to leave.
Her heart leaped. She knew that walk, that broad frame, the way his shoulders squared even in the dim light.
“Bradley?” she whispered, hurrying after him. She caught up with him in the corridor, her bare feet slapping softly against the stone.
“Bradley, wait!”
He stopped, his jaw tight, his expression shadowed in the torchlight.
“What in God’s name are ye doing wanderin’ the castle at this hour?” His voice was gruff, though not unkind. His eyes flicked over her, barefoot, wrapped only in her shawl and nightshift, and he exhaled sharply.
“Ye shouldnae be out and about alone, least of all dressed like that.”
Laura’s cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and irritation. “I couldnae sleep,” she said, her tone clipped. “I went to the kitchen for food, that’s all. I didnae think I’d find anyone else awake.”
He folded his arms, looking as weary as she’d ever seen him. “Aye, well… I couldnae sleep either,” he admitted quietly, though his gaze stayed fixed on the floor between them.
For a moment, there was silence, just the faint crackle of a torch and the wind moaning through the arrow slits. Then Laura’s hurt boiled to the surface.
“Why do ye care what I do anyway?” she snapped, her voice trembling. “Ye’ve made yer decision clear. Ye’ve cast me aside like I’m nothin’ to ye.”
His head jerked up, eyes flashing with anger and pain. “Daenae say that, Laura,” he growled. “It’s for yer own good. I’m doing what must be done.”
“For me own good?” She echoed bitterly, taking a step closer. “Ye send me away, out of me home, away from me husband, and call it for me own good? Daenae lie to me, Bradley McCormack. I’ll nae stand for it.”
He took a step back, his jaw working. “It’s the truth, lass. Ye’ll be safer there at the Abbey. I cannae…”
“Ye cannae what?” she cut in sharply. “Cannae bear to look at me? To see what ye’ve done?” Her eyes filled with tears, though her voice was sharp as glass. “Tell me the truth. Ye used me in yer bed, and now ye’re done with me. Admit it, Bradley.”
He flinched as if she’d struck him. “That’s a false accusation, Laura,” he said tightly. “Ye ken I’d never use ye.”
“Then why?” she demanded, her tears spilling freely now. “Why send me away when I need ye most? When yer bairn grows inside me, and I wake every mornin’ prayin’ ye’ll smile at me like ye once did?” Her voice broke on the last word, trembling with grief and fury alike.
Bradley turned away, raking a hand through his hair. “Because I cannae do this,” he muttered. “I cannae be the man ye think I am. I’ll only hurt ye. I already have. And I cannae promise I willnae do the same to the bairn.”
Laura stared at him, her chest heaving. “Ye daenae get to decide what I can endure, Bradley,” she said fiercely. “I vowed meself to ye, for better or worse, and I meant every word. But ye, ye’ve done nothin’ but push me away since the moment I told ye about our bairn.”
He clenched his fists, his shoulders rigid. “It’s for the best,” he said again, his tone hollow, as though he were convincing himself as much as her. “I’ve made me choice.”
“Stop repeatin’ that it’s for the best,” she said coldly. “I am sick of hearin’ those words. And I see now what kind of man ye truly are. A coward who hides behind excuses and pride instead of facin’ what’s in front of him.”
His eyes snapped to hers, burning with hurt and anger. “Mind yer tongue, Laura,” he warned.
But she didn’t stop. “Nay, I willnae,” she cried. “Because I’ve had enough of yer silence and yer cruelty. Bradley, God help me, I still care for ye, but I’ll nae let ye break me any longer. If ye want me gone, fine. But daenae pretend it’s for me own sake. It’s because ye’re afraid.”
“Afraid?” he repeated, his voice rough.
“Aye,” she said, her chin trembling but her gaze steady. “Afraid of what it means to be in a family of yer own makin’. Afraid of being happy. Afraid of what kind of faither ye’ll be. But I’ll tell ye somethin’, Bradley, ye’ll never be yer faither unless ye choose to be.”
He stood frozen, every word striking deep, but he said nothing.
Tears streaked down her cheeks as she shook her head. “Ye can shove yer excuses and yer guilt,” she said bitterly. “I’m done beggin’ for yer affection. I’ll go to the Abbey if that’s what ye wish, but ken this, I’ll nae forgive ye for sendin’ me away like a burden.”
“Laura…”
“Nay,” she cut him off, her voice breaking. “Daenae say me name as if it still means somethin’ to ye.”
The corridor was silent again, heavy with the echo of her words, as they stood in silence.
Bradley stood there in the dim corridor, his breath shallow as his eyes took in the sight of her. Laura stood before him, her nightshift catching the faint light of the sconces, her hair loose and falling over her shoulders.
She looked so fragile and yet so defiant, her chin slightly lifted, her eyes searching his face for something he couldn’t give. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, torn between desire and duty, between the ache of what he wanted and the curse of what he was.
This has to be done.
She deserved peace, safety, a life free of him and the shadows he carried. Yet as she stood there, trembling ever so slightly in the cold air, he felt his resolve waver like the flame of a dying candle. Her presence had a way of softening him, unraveling the armor he’d built around his heart.
“Bradley…” her voice was a whisper, barely audible above the pounding of his heart.
Before he could stop her, she stepped forward and pressed herself against him, her arms wrapping around his waist as though she meant to hold the very life in him still.
For a moment, he froze, his body tense, his mind screaming that he should push her away. But then the warmth of her touch seeped into him, and he broke.
His arms came around her of their own accord, strong and desperate, drawing her close until he could feel every breath she took.
He felt the tremor of her body against his and the soft thud of her heart against his chest. A shudder went through him, one born not of cold but of longing so fierce it stole his breath.
“Lass,” he murmured against her hair, “ye daenae ken what ye’re doing to me.”
She said nothing, only clung tighter, her tears dampening the fabric of his tunic. He wanted to curse the world for being so cruel, for putting her in his path only to force him to turn her away.
He closed his eyes, breathing her in one last time.
In that moment, he imagined another life, one where he was free of the weight of his past, one where she could have been his without consequence.
It was a foolish dream, yet it burned in his chest like a brand.
His arms tightened around her, his lips nearly brushing the crown of her head before he forced himself to stop.
“Ye should return to bed,” he said, his voice rough, nearly breaking.
“I cannae return to bed because ye sent me away. Ye give me nay true reasons, Bradley. How am I meant to rest when me heart’s being torn apart?”
He swallowed hard, pulling her away by the shoulders until he could meet her tear-filled eyes.
“Ye daenae ken the half of what I’ve done, Laura. What I am. The farther ye are from me, the safer ye’ll be.”
She reached for him again, but he stepped back.
His resolve hardened like stone. “Go to bed, lass,” he said softly, the tenderness in his tone warring with the steel in his words. “Ye’ve a long journey ahead come mornin’. The sooner ye rest, the sooner ye can leave this place behind.”
She stood still for a heartbeat, then she turned away, her shoulders stiff and trembling. He wanted to call her back, to beg her forgiveness, to fall to his knees and tell her everything he’d hidden. But the words stayed trapped behind his teeth.
When she disappeared down the corridor with Angus trailing her, the silence that followed was deafening.
He stood there, fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body aching from restraint.
Then, unable to bear the weight pressing down on him, he turned and strode out of the castle, his boots echoing sharply on the stone floor.
The night air struck him like ice, but he welcomed it.
“Me Laird,” one of the guards at the gate said.
“I am going for a swim. Tell nay one,” Bradley growled.
“Aye,” the guard said.
The moon hung low over the water, silvering the waves and the rocky shore below. Without a thought, he stripped off his clothing and waded into the cold water until it rose over his chest. Then, with a sharp breath, he plunged in.
The chill bit into his skin, clearing his head, dulling the burn of emotion that had consumed him. He swam hard, each stroke cutting through the dark waves with purpose, as if he could outpace his guilt, his desire, and his heartache.
When at last he stopped, he floated on his back, staring up at the stars that glimmered faintly through the mist.
“This is for her own good,” he muttered aloud, as if saying it enough times would make it true. “The bairn will be cared for among the sisters at the Abbey, away from the curse that follows me.”
He shut his eyes, and the sound of her laughter filled his mind—the way she’d smiled up at him by the fire, her hair shining in the light, her voice soft as a summer breeze.
He cursed under his breath and plunged beneath the surface again, holding himself there until his lungs burned. When he broke the surface once more, gasping, he whispered her name.
“Laura…” The sound was swallowed by the wind.
He looked back toward the distant silhouette of the castle, its towers rising dark against the horizon.
“Forgive me, lass,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Ye deserve a better man than I’ll ever be.”