Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
At Castle McCormack, the study was dim, the late afternoon sun filtering through the narrow windows and casting long shadows across the worn oak desk.
Bradley sat slumped in his high-backed chair, fingers drumming restlessly against the carved arms, his thoughts a storm he couldn’t calm. Every shadow in the room seemed to press against him, reminding him of the void left by Laura’s absence.
The silence was broken by a timid knock at the door.
“Enter!” Bradley barked.
The door creaked open, and a young servant boy stepped inside, eyes wide and hands trembling.
“Me Laird… I was told to alert ye when the carriage returned… it has… it has now entered the courtyard,” he stammered, his voice quivering with fear or awe, Bradley couldn’t tell.
Bradley’s eyes flicked toward the boy, his jaw tight.
“Aye… dismissed,” he said curtly, dismissing the boy with a wave.
The boy scurried out, leaving the room silent once more.
But the news gnawed at him. Alan had returned with the carriage, and with it came the stark reminder of Laura being away from his side. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the floor, the shadows of the late sun falling across his tense features.
Bradley’s mind wrestled with the memory of her, her soft voice, the warmth of her hands in his.
He knew what he had done was right, or so he told himself, but the thought of her alone at the Abbey clawed at his conscience.
Regret pressed heavily on his chest, a weight he couldn’t shake, whispering that she belonged by his side, not hidden behind stone walls and distant nuns.
He tried to quiet the thought.
I need to steel me heart to be the Laird who makes hard choices for the good of the clan.
Bradley rose abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. He moved toward his decanter, longing for the warmth of whisky to dull the storm in his chest. He twisted the stopper from the glass, only to find it empty. A low, guttural curse slipped from his lips.
“Blast it all to hell,” he muttered, slamming the decanter back down. The empty vessel seemed to mock him, an echo of the emptiness he felt without her.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the length of the room, every step heavy with frustration. The Laird, who could command armies and hold dominion over lands, was powerless against the longing in his heart.
Finally, with a growl, he turned from the useless decanter. He strode toward the stairs, the boards creaking beneath his boots.
“Move,” he growled at the servant that hindered his path.
The servant scurried to the side and bowed his head.
By the time he reached the kitchen, Bradley’s jaw was set, his eyes dark and brooding. The smell of roasting meat and simmering broth reached him, but he barely noticed.
I will find the whisky, and drink until the thought of Laura is subdued, at least for a little while.
The Laird raised the glass to his lips, swallowing the burn of the whisky as he stared into the flickering shadows of the kitchen hearth.
Bradley stepped out of the kitchen’s side door. He lowered himself onto the long outdoor table, the rough wood biting into his knees. He took a long, burning swig. The liquid coursed down his throat, warming him briefly.
A sudden whining noise broke through his brooding, soft and insistent. Bradley’s head shot up, eyes narrowing as he looked around. There, at his side, was the pup, Angus, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
“Where did ye come from, ye wee devil?” he exclaimed, shock and a hint of amusement breaking through his gloom.
From the shadows, Cora appeared, her hands clasped nervously, eyes apologetic.
“Me Laird, I beg yer pardon,” she said softly. “The pup… he got away from me.”
Bradley’s brows furrowed. He looked at the small black creature and remembered Laura’s attachment to the pup.
“He’s nae with her?” he asked, realization dawning in his voice.
“Nay, me Laird,” Cora replied. “Lady Laura made me promise to look after him. She wished him to stay in yer chambers, but I thought it best to take him to me own quarters, seein’ as ye are busy with the Laird’s duties.”
Bradley’s chest sank, the weight of her absence pressing on him once more.
“The poor pup,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “If it was Laura’s wish… then I’ll do it. I’ll see to him meself.”
Cora blinked in surprise.
“Aye, me Laird?” She asked softly.
“Leave him with me. I’ll see to him,” he said.
“As ye wish.” She curtsied and then turned and walked away, leaving Bradley and Angus alone in the chilly night air.
Bradley looked down at the pup, who wagged his tail hesitantly, sensing the kindness beneath the stern exterior. He scooped Angus into his arms, feeling the tiny heart beat rapidly against his chest.
“Aye, lad,” he murmured. “Ye’ll be safe with me.”
He carried Angus to the kitchens, where the warm glow of the hearth welcomed him. He set the pup down and filled a small bowl with warm milk, breadcrumbs, and a piece of cheese left on a plate.
Angus sniffed cautiously, then lapped at the food eagerly, tail wagging with satisfaction. Bradley watched quietly, a small, rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Once Angus had eaten, Bradley lifted him once more and carried him through the castle halls. The corridors were quiet, with the torches casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. He reached his bedchamber and set the pup down on the rug before the hearth.
Angus stretched, then curled himself up, letting out a contented sigh as the fire’s warmth seeped into his tiny body.
Bradley knelt beside him, watching the rise and fall of the pup’s small chest, feeling a strange mixture of protectiveness and tenderness he had never experienced before for a dog.
“Aye, ye’ll stay here,” he murmured. “This is yer home, as much as it can be.”
He lingered a moment longer, running a hand through Angus’s fur, before standing and turning away.
The Laird’s responsibilities weighed heavily on him, yet in the quiet of the bedchamber, with the pup sleeping at his feet, a faint glimmer of peace touched his heart.
The thought of Laura, so far away, still pained him, but for the first time since her departure, he felt a small anchor in the storm.
Bradley moved to the window, looking out over the courtyard and the darkened lands beyond.
Angus stirred slightly but did not leave the warmth of the rug.
The night was silent, save for the distant call of an owl, and for a moment, the Laird allowed himself to simply be, just a man and a pup in a castle full of memories and shadows.
He turned back to the hearth and sat down in the chair nearest the rug, watching Angus sleep.
The small creature reminded him of what Laura had left behind—a piece of her he could still protect and care for.
The weight of responsibility pressed on him differently now, not as a ruler, but as a guardian.
And for the first time that evening, Bradley allowed himself to feel a faint thread of hope amidst the lingering darkness.
Hours passed in quiet reflection, the fire slowly dying in the hearth. Angus twitched in his sleep, letting out a small whine, and Bradley instinctively reached out to stroke his head. “Aye, lad,” he whispered, “we’ll manage the night, ye and me. We’ll keep the castle warm together, eh?”
The heavy knock at the door rattled Bradley from his brooding, and he growled.
“Enter!” The door creaked open, and Alan stepped inside, bowing slightly.
Bradley motioned to the chair opposite him. “Sit yerself down, Alan. Ye’ll be needin’ a drink,” he said, pouring a glass of whisky from the decanter.
Alan lowered himself into the chair, keeping his posture straight and alert.
“Me Laird, I came to report that Lady Laura has been safely delivered to the Abbey. The carriage is stabled, and the horses are restin’,” he said, voice steady but cautious. “The journey went without incident.”
Bradley leaned back in his chair, fingers tightening around the glass.
“And… was she fine, Alan?” he asked, eyes narrowing with concern and lingering frustration.
Alan hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment.
“Aye… she was fine in the sense that she arrived safe. I saw her huggin’ her sisters, tears in her eyes, me Laird,” he admitted softly.
Bradley’s jaw tightened, and he swirled the whisky in his glass.
“Ye ken why I did it, Alan. Safer for her this way. She’s safe from me now… from the monster I am,” he said, voice low and heavy with self-reproach. “The bairn is safe from me.”
Alan’s eyes flashed with indignation, and he leaned forward. “Me Laird, forgive me directness, but the only monster in this keep was yer faither! Ye are nae him, though ye fight it in yerself,” he said firmly, tone cutting through the room’s stillness.
Bradley’s fists clenched on the arms of the chair.
“Alan… ye daenae ken. I can feel it in me bones. I cannae risk doing to her or the bairn what me faither did to me and those he claimed to love,” he snapped, voice rough with rage and despair.
Alan’s expression softened, but he did not relent.
“Aye, I ken the fear burns deep, but that doesnae make ye a monster, me Laird. Ye have the chance to be better than him! Sendin’ her away… it only tears her heart apart. Ye think it protects her, but it punishes ye both.”
Bradley’s gaze fell to the floor, jaw tight. “Do ye think I care for the pain I give meself? She must be safe. I… I cannae risk her happiness or the bairn’s safety. I am nae sure I can control the beast inside,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Alan leaned back slightly, shaking his head.
“Ye’re blind if ye think castin’ her out keeps her safe. Ye’ve done more damage to her heart than any stranger could. She trusts ye, me Laird. She cares for ye. And yet ye force yerself away from her, thinkin’ yerself unfit.”
Bradley slammed his hand down on the table, making the glass rattle.
“Alan, I ken exactly what I am. I am the son of a tyrant, a man with fire in his veins and fury in his heart. I slew me own faither. I can protect her from the world, but I cannae protect her from me. That is why she had to leave,” he said, eyes blazing.
Alan rose from his chair, voice rising in frustration, but still calm with authority.
“Ye decide her fate based on yer fears, me Laird. The bairn and Lady Laura deserve yer trust, nae tyranny. Ye are the Laird, aye, but that doesnae give ye license to exile the woman ye claim to care for. What kind of man thinks that keeps her safe?”
Bradley’s fists tightened again, knuckles white. “I am doing what must be done. I cannae… will nae… let her suffer because of me,” he said, voice almost cracking with the weight of it. His eyes glimmered with unspoken pain, guilt, and desire, but he refused to show more.
Bradley let out a long, low sigh, the sound almost breaking him. He lifted the whisky and took a long swallow, trying to drown both the anger and the truth that Alan spoke.
Bradley sat in silence. His mind swirled with guilt, fear, and a grudging acknowledgment that Alan was right.
Finally, he waved a hand, dismissing Alan. “Go… ye’ve said yer piece. I will take it under advisement. Return to yer duties,” he said, voice tight and clipped.