Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Bradley awoke with a growl in his throat, the weight of the empty bed beside him clawing at his chest. The cold sheets mocked him, and his hand instinctively reached for the space where Laura used to rest, warm, soft, alive.
“Damn it all,” he hissed, rubbing his temples as if he could banish the ache that had lodged itself behind his eyes since sending her away.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, muttering a curse under his breath, and walked to the desk where he had drunkenly set the bottle of whisky the night before.
He reached for it, desperate for the burn that dulled his thoughts, when something else caught his eye. A folded sheet of parchment protruded from a slightly open drawer.
Bradley frowned. No one had been in his chamber but the servants, and Cora would never dare rifle through his things. He stepped closer and realized with a jolt that the handwriting was Laura’s.
The breath caught in his throat. He sat down heavily in the chair, pulling the paper toward him with unsteady fingers.
Her delicate script ran neat and graceful across the page, full of softness and faith, every word breathing life into the cold stone of the room.
The letter was addressed to someone named Keila, written in the tender tone of a woman who had found joy at last.
Dearest Keila,
I pray this letter finds you well and that the Abbey remains a place of peace and faith.
I write to you now with a full heart, for I have found a new home, one I never expected but believe the Lord Himself guided me to.
Castle McCormack has become a place of warmth for me.
Its people are kind, and I have been received not as a stranger, but as family.
The Laird… Bradley… he is a man forged from hardship and shadow, yet beneath it lies a heart I don’t think he knows he owns.
He thinks himself unworthy of light, but I believe that is why God sent me to him, to show him that he is not forsaken.
I feel safe in his arms. Truly safe. He is my home; this castle is my sanctuary.
I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but I trust it will be good, for I am where I am meant to be.
Pray for us, dear friend, that the light I bring him will never fade.
With love and faith,
Laura
Bradley’s eyes lingered on the final words long after he finished reading. His hands trembled as he set the letter down, the edges of the parchment quivering. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the hearth.
“She called this her home,” he muttered bitterly. “Said she felt safe… with me.”
The words cracked on his tongue. He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat refused to move.
For a long moment, he sat unmoving, letting the letter’s truth sink into his bones. She had believed in him, saw something worth saving where he saw only ruin. She had loved him fiercely, unconditionally, and he had repaid her with exile.
“Damn me,” he growled, voice hoarse. “Damn me for being a fool.”
He stopped by the window—the same window he’d watched her from as she left the courtyard.
The memory flashed in his mind—the sight of her head bowed; her cloak drawn close.
He had stood there stone-faced, convincing himself it was mercy.
Now, in light of her words, it felt like betrayal.
The same betrayal his own mother had shown him, he now did to his own wife.
“Ye daft, stubborn lass,” he whispered. “Ye saw light where there was none. And I… I cast ye out for it.”
He turned and looked at the bed again, the sheets tangled and cold, her absence a wound he could not close.
Suddenly, a soft whine broke his fierce concentration. He looked down to see Angus looking up at him.
“Aye, ye miss her as well?” he said as he scooped up the pup. It licked his chin in pure joy.
“Ye’re right. I’ll go get her. I’m comin’ for ye, Laura,” he murmured, the words rough with conviction as he set the pup down. “I’ll bring her home.”
He turned toward the door, shoulders squared, the fire of resolve burning where fear had once ruled.
And as he stepped from the chamber, Laura’s letter clutched tightly in his hand, Bradley McCormack knew that for the first time in years, he would fight for the woman who had dared to love him despite his darkness.
His boots struck the stone floor with the weight of his fury as he stormed down the corridor.
The cold light of morning spilled through the narrow windows, doing nothing to soften the tight set of his jaw or the blaze in his eyes.
The castle was still, the servants barely awake, yet his temper made it feel as though thunder rolled through the halls.
He reached Alan’s chamber door, and without hesitation, he shoved it open with such force that it struck the wall.
“Saints above!” Alan said, tangled in his blanket, jolted upright, his hair tousled and his face bleary from sleep.
“Is the keep under attack, me Laird? What’s got ye stormin’ through me room like a beast let loose?” His voice carried both surprise and a touch of irritation.
Bradley’s expression was dark, his voice low but sharp. “Nay, there’s nay attack, though there will be if ye daenae move yerself quick. Get up, man. We’re ridin’ out.” His tone left no room for argument; his command was clipped and brooding.
Alan swung his legs off the bed, still trying to make sense of it.
“Ridin’ out? At this hour? For what reason, if I may dare to ask?” he yawned, pulling on his tunic as he spoke, eyeing the Laird with uncertainty.
Bradley’s jaw tightened. “We leave in half an hour. That’s all ye need to ken. Dress yerself and meet me in the courtyard.” His hands curled into fists as though restraining the storm that raged within him.
Alan frowned, tying his belt around his waist.
“Half an hour? Understood.” He reached for his boots, shaking his head at the Laird’s impatient stance.
Bradley’s voice grew rough with suppressed emotion.
“There’s somethin’ I must set right. I’ve lingered here too long, drownin’ in me own folly.
” His gaze flickered toward the window. “And ye’ll ride with me, it’s an order.
I want the carriage to be sent after us.
But I have nay patience for ridin’ at its pace.
Make sure there are two guards to accompany that driver. ”
Alan studied him, brow furrowing as he caught the tremor of anguish beneath the Laird’s gruffness. “Carriage? Is this about Lady Laura?” he asked quietly, his tone softening. “Ye’ve got that look about ye, the same as when ye first brought her home.”
Bradley glared at him, though his silence was answer enough. “Just do as I say, Alan. There’s nay time for talk.”
With that, he turned sharply and strode from the room, his cloak sweeping behind him. He made his way to the kitchens.
The scent of bread and ash greeted him, along with the sight of Elsie, the round-faced cook, already at her worktable, kneading dough. Her eyes widened as the Laird appeared in the doorway.
“Elsie,” Bradley said, his tone firm but controlled, “prepare supplies for me and Alan. We’ll be ridin’ out in half an hour. Food enough, bread, cheese, dried meats, berries, whatever’s at hand. Have the bundles sent to the stables.”
“Aye, right away, me Laird,” Elsie straightened, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. Her voice was brisk, though her eyes searched his face. “Ye’ll be wantin’ water too, I reckon?”
“Aye, and jugs of milk,” Bradley replied curtly. “Get it ready.” He turned to leave, but her motherly concern broke through his dark mood.
“Ye look weary, me Laird,” Elsie said softly. “Wherever ye’re going, I hope it brings ye peace.”
Bradley paused for a heartbeat, then gave a short nod without meeting her gaze.
“Peace is a fickle thing, Elsie. But I’ll find what I’m lookin’ for. Have Cora sent to me chambers to fetch the pup and take care of it in me absence.” With that, he left the kitchen, the sound of her bustling behind him fading as he strode away.
Back in his bedchamber, Bradley’s movements were swift, almost frantic.
He pulled on his dark traveling coat, the one that had seen many a harsh journey, and fastened his cloak at the neck.
The air was chill, and his breath fogged faintly as he moved.
His mind, however, burned hot, consumed by the image of Laura’s smile and the letter she had written, filled with words that haunted him still.
He stopped by the hearth, where Angus, the small pup, still slept curled upon the rug. The dog’s soft breathing stirred something deep within Bradley, a pang of guilt and longing.
“Well, we’ll nae sit here mournin’ any longer. I’ll bring her home.”
The pup stirred, tail thumping weakly, as if he understood. Bradley rose to his full height, adjusting his sword belt with grim resolve. There was no turning back now. Whatever awaited him on the road to the Abbey, he would face it head-on.
He strode from the room, every step echoing like a drumbeat through the halls.
Servants peered from doorways as he passed, sensing the storm in their laird’s demeanor.
In the courtyard below, the stable hands were already awake, leading out the horses and packing saddlebags under Alan’s direction.
The carriage was slowly rolled out as well.
Bradley emerged into the cold morning air, the wind snapping at his cloak. He strode across the courtyard. Alan stood ready, one hand gripping the reins of Bradley’s black stallion and the other holding his own bay mare.
“The supplies are tied to the saddles, me Laird,” he reported, his tone brisk and businesslike. “The horses are watered and fed, and the carriage’s been readied, same as ye ordered. Two guards will ride with it.”
Bradley gave a short nod, his expression hard and unreadable.
“Good. Then there’s nay reason for delay.” He reached for the reins Alan held out to him and swung up into the saddle with practiced ease, the leather creaking beneath his weight. His stallion, sensing his master’s tension, tossed its head with a low snort.
Alan mounted his own horse beside him, settling into the saddle with a curious glance.
“If ye daenae mind me askin’, where does this road take us, then?” His tone carried a touch of cautious hope, though his eyes searched Bradley’s face for any hint of his mood. “Ye’ve had us ready at the crack of dawn but nae said a word of where we’re bound.”
Bradley looked straight ahead, his jaw tight. “We ride to get back somethin’ I never should’ve let go of,” he said, his voice roughened by emotion he wouldnae show. His hand tightened on the reins, knuckles pale against the leather. “Aye, Alan… we’re going to bring her home.”
Alan’s brows lifted slightly, then a grin crept across his weathered face. “It’s about time ye got some sense knocked into ye, me Laird,” he said with quiet satisfaction. He gave a sharp tug to his reins and added, “This journey is one of joy.”
Bradley turned his stallion toward the gate, his voice carrying with authority.
“Driver!” he barked, glancing toward the carriage where the two guards waited, adjusting their tack. “Ye’ll follow behind and meet us at Caledon Abbey. Daenae linger and keep steady.”
His words were clipped, his gaze fixed beyond the gate where the open moors stretched out, vast and cold.
“Aye, me Laird!” the driver called back, tipping his cap as the guards saluted. The carriage wheels creaked as it prepared to follow.
Bradley drew in a deep breath, the chill of morning biting his lungs, and then shouted, “Open the gates!”
His voice rang out across the courtyard like thunder. The great wooden doors groaned as they were pulled apart, the iron hinges squealing in protest before they swung wide to reveal the long, winding road beyond.
With a flick of his reins, Bradley spurred his stallion forward.
The horse lunged ahead, hooves striking sparks from the stones as it charged through the gate.
Alan followed close behind, his laughter carried on the wind as they rode out with thundering speed, their cloaks streaming behind them like banners of determination.
Behind them, the carriage rumbled into motion, slow but steady, its wheels rolling over the dirt road as the guards kept watch.
The hills rolled before them, green and gold beneath the dawn light. Bradley’s mind drifted, despite his effort to focus on the road.
Laura.
Her name echoed through him like a prayer. The memory of her laughter, soft as rain, haunted him even as the sound of the hooves pounded against the earth.
He clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the reins.
I drove her away. All because I feared I’d become me faither.
The image of her tear-streaked face when she’d begged him to see reason burned behind his eyes. He’d thought he was protecting her, protecting them both, but all he’d done was break what was good and pure between them.
“Ye ken,” Alan called over the wind as he rode beside Bradley, “if it’s her heart ye’re after, ye best be ready to speak plain this time. The lady’s got a tender spirit, but she’ll nae be easily won back.” His voice was half jest, half truth.
“Aye,” Bradley said, his voice low. “I’ll speak plainly enough. She deserves that much and more.” His eyes softened, though his tone stayed firm.
“She’s the light that God sent me… and I’ll nae let it fade again.”
They crested a hill, the path ahead stretching toward the distant line of forest where the Abbey lay hidden among the trees.
The sun had climbed higher now, scattering gold across the land, and Bradley felt the first flicker of warmth seep into his cold bones. He could almost hear Laura’s voice in the wind, gentle and strong as ever.
He slowed his horse for a moment, letting the stallion breathe, and looked toward the horizon with determination.
“I’ll bring her back,” he murmured to himself, the words fierce and solemn. “I’ll bring back Laura… and me bairn… at all costs.”
Alan drew up beside him again, the wind tousling his hair as he gave a firm nod.
“We’ll reach the Abbey before sundown at this pace, if the weather holds,” he said. “But if it turns foul, we can make camp by the burn near the forest’s edge.”
Bradley’s eyes never left the horizon.
“Nay,” he said quietly, his voice resolute. “We ride straight through. I’ve wasted enough time already.”
He spurred his horse forward again, and together, the two men thundered across the moor, driven by the fire of regret and the faint, stubborn hope that love might still forgive them.
For a long moment, he rode in silence, the sound of hooves echoing through the valley. The guilt that had shadowed him began to twist into resolve, his fear melting into purpose.
I’ll spend the rest of me days earnin’ what I so carelessly cast aside. If she’ll have me.