Page 10 of Highland Heroine (Brides of the Highlands #3)

S teel clashed in the courtyard as Brodie’s precise movements displayed his Highland warrior lineage. From the infirmary window, Moira watched, her fingers idly sorting bandages, captivated by his lethal grace. Ailis’s voice drew her back to reality.

“Moira, are ye with us?” Ailis steadied herself as she tended to another warrior.

“Aye, sorry,” Moira replied and concentrated on her work but remained aware of Brodie outside the walls.

When the training ended at sunset, Brodie entered the infirmary, his eyes locking onto hers. The unspoken bond between them held strong.

“Shall we walk?” he asked as he offered his calloused hand.

Quickly retrieving her cloak, Moira joined him. They strolled along a forest path, inhaling the crisp scent of pine and earth.

“Today’s training was relentless,” Brodie broke the silence. “The men are improving.”

“In the infirmary, it’s been calm—mostly blisters and sprains,” Moira added, conveying their shared responsibility.

Reaching the loch at the edge of the forest, Moira hesitated before speaking. “Brodie, I’ve been thinking…You were right to marry quickly—to forge this bond without delay.”

“Why do ye say that now?”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to lose ye without knowing what it is to be your wife,” she confessed. “Our union provides the strength we both draw from.”

As Brodie gently cupped her cheek, a shiver ran down her spine. “We are together. That is the true source of our strength.”

She leaned into his palm, savoring the contact. Her eyes reopened with newfound resolve. They turned back toward the keep ready for the trials ahead.

Moira’s thoughts lingered on Brodie. The day had been slow, but when night fell, they found solace in their private chamber. The hearth’s glow lit the room as Moira reached for Brodie’s arm, alarmed by its unnatural heat.

“Brodie, your arm! It’s burning up. I should fetch Ailis—”

“Moira, no,” he interrupted urgently. “Seek out me great-grandfather instead.”

Baffled yet trusting, she raced to find the man among ancient tapestries depicting battles of old.

Breathless, she urged him toward their chamber where Brodie lay in pain.

The elder McClain approached with confident hands and as he did so, an indescribable power filled the air.

Slowly, the redness and heat faded from Brodie’s arm until it was unmarred—no scar or trace of injury remaining.

“Wha—how did you…?” Moira’s words faltered, her mind reeling.

“Rest now,” the elder McClain commanded before leaving them alone.

Brodie met Moira’s gaze, his vulnerability evident. “I’ll explain later. But for now, we keep this secret.”

Moira nodded, still processing what she had seen. As she settled beside Brodie, the warmth between them spoke to a connection deeper than either could understand.

Flickering candlelight played over Brodie’s solemn face, while Moira grappled with the miraculous healing she had just witnessed.

“Tell me,” she implored, her voice barely a whisper.

“My family carries a legacy, Moira,” Brodie began, capturing her hand.

“Centuries ago, one of our ancestors married a woman with inexplicable powers. Since then, every seventh son in our line has inherited aspects of her abilities. Before he married her, the seventh son had powerful luck, but it’s different now. ”

“Gifted?” Moira questioned, recalling Granny’s tales.

“Aye, gifted,” Brodie confirmed, his grip tightening. “But it’s a secret that could tear apart our clans if known. Can I trust ye not to reveal what runs through me blood?”

Moira felt honor-bound to protect him. “Ye have me word,” she whispered back. She wasn’t certain she could explain it if she tried.

“And what of me sisters and me? Will we have seven sons each?” she asked. She wasn’t sure she believed it, but glancing at his arm, she knew it had to be true, no matter how improbable it seemed.

“Only the wife of the seventh son bears that fate,” he clarified.

Understanding settled within her as their shared secret deepened their connection.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

Their hands explored and caressed, their urgency escalating until Moira took command of their union.

This time there was only the fierce joy of two people entwined in the ancient dance of love.

*

Sunlight filled the infirmary as Moira’s sisters tended to the wounded. Ailis moved efficiently from one patient to another, her dark hair tied back and green eyes focused. Moira, distracted, sorted through a pile of clean bandages.

“Your mind seems elsewhere,” Fiona noted, standing beside Moira.

“Perhaps,” Moira admitted, keeping Brodie’s secret about his lineage to herself.

In the late afternoon, Moira and Ailis exchanged their healer’s aprons for cloaks and quivers, venturing into the Highland forest to hunt.

“Let’s find a stag before sunset,” Ailis said with determination in her eyes.

As they left the keep, guards trailed discreetly behind them—a comforting yet frustrating necessity. Moira missed the days when she and her sisters could move about freely and not have to constantly be worried about the danger of encroaching armies.

“Aye, always watching,” Moira muttered.

Ailis said, “Better our own than Sinclairs.”

They navigated the dense underbrush, their senses alert. Soon enough, Ailis spotted a majestic stag grazing in a clearing. Wordlessly, they readied their bows, releasing their arrows with deadly precision. Approaching the fallen animal, Moira felt a mix of pride and reverence for its sacrifice.

“Granny will have her pot ready for this one,” Ailis commented as they prepared the stag for transport. “Her venison stew warms the soul.”

Moira smiled at the thought of Granny’s legendary meal that awaited them. “Agreed—there’s no finer way to honor this beast.”

Securing the stag, the sisters returned to the keep. Moira’s heart warmed with satisfaction, and anticipation of the feast ignited joy in the fading light.

The heather crunched softly beneath their boots as Moira and Ailis walked ahead of the guards who carried the stag back to the keep. Shadows stretched across the rugged Highlands, painting them in amber and gold.

“Freedom’s a rare gift these days,” Ailis mused, gazing at the landscape. “Despite the war, we can still roam with our bows.”

“Aye,” Moira replied, her thoughts drifting. “Lucas Gordon warned us of the battle ahead.”

“Trust is hard-earned,” Ailis agreed. “To stand strong, we must lean on truths.”

As McAfee Keep loomed above them, they noticed soldiers clad in different tartans practicing on the open grounds.

“New allies—Clan MacKenzie and Clan Ross,” Ailis observed. “The emissaries are doing their jobs. I pray they’ll be able to get more clans to join us soon.”

“With strength like this, we might just turn the tide,” Moira said, hope swelling in her heart.

Ailis whispered a prayer that more clans would join their cause.

As they entered through the gates, sounds of clashing swords filled the air. United and purposeful, they were ready for what lay ahead.

Shadows flickered on the bedchamber walls as Moira sat, hands clasped tight. Brodie entered, soothing the turmoil that stirred within her from witnessing the clans’ armies.

“Ye look troubled, lass,” he said softly.

“I’ve been thinking about Clan MacKenzie and Clan Ross. Have any other lairds answered our call?” Moira asked.

“Only those two. We’ve yet to hear from the others,” Brodie replied, face etched with responsibility.

Her heart sank, but she mustered determination. “And if they dinnae come? Are we enough?”

Brodie sat beside her, his hand finding hers. “We are Highlanders, Moira. We fight fiercely for our own. But alliances take time.”

She sighed and squeezed his hand. “Patience was never me strong suit.”

“Nor mine,” he admitted, half-smiling. “But for our clans—for our future—we will wait and stand ready.”

Moira nodded, newfound strength surging through her. With Brodie by her side, they would face the uncertain future together, their bond unyielding as war approached.