Page 17 of Highland Heroine (Brides of the Highlands #3)

I n the pale dawn, Duncan stood atop McAfee Keep’s parapets, his gaze fixed on the misty Highlands. A messenger was sent at first light with a missive for Clyde Stewart—a call for peace. It was an attempt to stop the violence consuming their lands.

If Stewart could be convinced that his plans were not what was best for the Highlands, perhaps they could end things peacefully. He wasn’t willing to lose another soldier from the alliance without at least trying.

Duncan watched as the emissary disappeared into Sinclair lands. This meeting wasn’t just about stopping a war. It was about securing his clan’s future.

As the sun cast shadows on the keep, distant hooves announced Clyde Stewart’s arrival. Duncan descended from the battlements, determined with each step.

Clyde and his entourage rode through the open gates, their eyes watchful beneath gleaming helmets. The Stewart obviously expected this to be a way to separate him from his forces, but Duncan would never betray an alliance.

“Welcome, Clyde Stewart,” Duncan said, masking his tension with calm authority. “We gather here for concord.”

Clyde dismounted, his presence commanding even in silence. He examined the assembled clansmen before meeting Duncan’s gaze.

“Peace is precious, Duncan McAfee,” Clyde started, smooth yet dangerous. “If there is deceit or me safety is compromised…” The unspoken threat lingered.

“The thistle will become a storm of thorns,” Clyde finished, his guards subtly reinforcing the warning.

Duncan nodded, recognizing the stakes. “Your safety is assured, as is ours. The Highlands have bled enough. I would never betray an attempt at peace, and neither would any of the other lairds who have joined us.”

“Aye,” Clyde replied. “Let us speak of peace.”

Entering the great hall where their clans’ futures would be determined by words instead of swords, Duncan led unwaveringly, bracing for the battle of destinies ahead.

The chamber air, normally rich with peat and pine, was heavy with tension. Clan representatives huddled in clusters, their murmurs echoing off the stone walls. Wariness marked their faces as they pursued the chance for peace.

Moira observed from beneath an ancient tapestry, her fingers tapping impatiently against her thigh. A cautious optimism emerged among the attendees.

The oaken doors groaned open as Clyde Stewart entered. His imposing figure dominated the doorway, the light casting an eerie halo around him. Silence filled the room as he walked in, his guards trailing behind like wolves stalking their alpha.

“Good morrow to ye all,” Clyde said, his deep voice cutting through the silence. A smile played on his lips but did not reach his watchful eyes.

“Let us speak frankly,” he continued, “for we are all weary of bloodshed.” His words hung in the air like a binding spell between the clans.

Moira scrutinized each phrase for hidden motives. Even as Clyde spoke of unity, she detected power struggles beneath the surface. The rumors about his ambitions were well-known, and Moira knew she must keep a careful eye on him.

“Peace is the foundation upon which prosperity is built,” Clyde declared, drawing his audience into a vision of the future with himself at its center.

The clan representatives nodded with varying enthusiasm, hoping that this meeting might bring change. Moira remained steadfast, aware that while words could form alliances, only vigilance would maintain them.

A hushed tension filled the negotiation hall, as Moira’s unwavering gaze locked onto Clyde Stewart. Without warning, the sound of clashing swords and distant shouts pierced the air.

“Betrayal!” The cry echoed from outside.

Chaos ensued among the representatives. Clyde’s fleeting look of satisfaction did not go unnoticed by Moira. Her hand instinctively gripped her sword. Assessing exits and threats, she barked orders to her warriors, who formed a protective ring around their leaders.

As the assault drew nearer, Moira’s training took over; her mind focused on defending both her clan and the fragile unity they dared to dream of. Amid betrayal and battle, she stood strong and ready.

Gasping for breath amid the dust and blood, Moira kept her sword steady.

Brodie called to her, his presence a beacon in the chaos.

Their gazes locked in a silent exchange burdened with doubt.

Could she trust him and his clan? The Stewarts’ treachery served as a painful reminder of how fragile alliances could be.

Brodie’s steady gaze held a resolve mirroring her own, inviting Moira to join him. Their families’ destinies were intertwined by shared blood and battles.

The sounds of conflict intensified, bringing her back to the present. A Stewart raider lunged, and she parried instinctively. As she dispatched her opponent with a decisive blow, her hesitation vanished.

Facing Brodie once more, Moira nodded sharply, her fiery hair wild in the chaos. Without needing words, she stepped into the fray at his side. Their swords worked together in deadly harmony against the onslaught.

Together, they fought relentlessly amid discord. Each of Moira’s moves was echoed by Brodie’s own, their rhythm honed by shared purpose.

Having chosen to fight alongside Brodie in this crucible of battle, it was a decision made for all future possibilities—if they could survive today.

As their blades responded to each lunge from Clan Stewart warriors in a fluid dance of sharp edges and swift parries, the air reeked of iron and earth. “Left flank!” Brodie commanded. Moira pivoted on instinct.

Their adversaries were relentless like a dark wave, yet Moira met each surge with tenacity. Meanwhile, Brodie served as the anchor amid the stormy combat, anticipating enemy moves as if reading currents in Highland lochs.

An unspoken trust between them had been forged through countless skirmishes. Amidst betrayal, that trust was their most potent weapon.

The clamor of battle intensified, warriors’ cries merging with the metallic clash of swords. The ground trembled under the brutal force, highlighting the urgency of their situation.

Moira’s sword pierced tartan and flesh with precision. Chaos swirled around her, while inner clarity guided her blade. McAfee by birth, she defended her ancestral land fiercely.

Brodie, a lethal shadow, infiltrated enemy lines seamlessly. As a duo, they exemplified Highland wrath and cunning—unrelenting as the mountains sheltering their clans.

In the uproar, Moira sensed the fight’s balance shifting like the subtle Highland seasons. With Brodie at her side, each breath fueled their momentum toward an uncertain dawn.

From her clan’s stronghold, Moira observed Clyde Stewart directing the chaos below. He moved with certainty, his voice slicing through the noise.

“Forward!” Clyde commanded, and his warriors surged with newfound ferocity.

Below, the McClain and McAfee clans united against the invaders. Lachlan McClain’s broadsword swung precisely, his rallying cries driving his kin to stand firm. The ground shook beneath their feet, steel clashes echoing off McAfee Keep’s stones.

“Stand fast!” roared Lachlan, his eyes burning with unyielding leadership.

Ailis fought fiercely among her comrades, dark hair a wild tempest as she parried and thrust with determination. Her green eyes glowed defiantly, embodying the untamed spirit of her people.

Bound by unity, the clans pushed back against despair and became an impenetrable wall against each Stewart advance. Their unwavering allegiance fueled their intent: this land was theirs, and together they would defy the Stewart’s ambitions.

The air carried the scent of blood and disturbed earth as Moira’s blade sliced through the air. She moved gracefully, her red hair whipping around her like a war-banner. In the uneven Highland terrain, she danced to the rhythm of battle.

“Moira!” Brodie called, his face smeared with dirt and determination. As their eyes met, a silent pact was forged.

Together, they stood side by side, synchronizing their movements in combat. Moira dispatched a Stewart attacker with ruthless efficiency, earning cheers from nearby McAfee clansmen.

Brodie warned Moira of an approaching soldier, allowing her to counter and disarm him. “Thank ye,” she grunted, acknowledging their seamless synergy built on hours of practice together.

The battle intensified as the sky darkened, foreshadowing an upcoming storm. The Stewarts pressed harder, their ferocity intensifying alongside the impending tempest. Moira sensed the changing tide but remained resolute even when Brodie was thrown to the ground by a surprise attack.

“Stand up, Brodie!” she commanded, fighting her way to his side and pulling him back up.

Their bond reinforced them as they fought off enemies in unison, turning the onslaught into a dance of defiance against overwhelming odds.

“Ye are a force of nature, Moira,” Brodie said breathlessly.

“And ye, Brodie, are the rock upon which they break,” she replied with a fierce grin.

Together, they charged back into battle with renewed determination.

Steel clashed around Moira as she parried a thrust, the sound of her blade ringing through the Highland air. Focused and unwavering, she seized an opening in the enemy’s defense and struck down her attacker.

“Push them back!” Her voice rang out over the battlefield.

Her call ignited courage in her comrades, their spirits lifted by her presence. The McAfees and McClains—along with all their allied clans—roared and surged forward, Moira at the forefront with lethal grace.

Brodie fought beside her, his keen mind guiding them. Their eyes met before they charged together, cleaving through Stewart lines.

The Stewarts faltered, their ranks crumbling under the united clans’ assault. Cries of retreat spread until the attackers withdrew, leaving behind the wounded and fallen.

Exhausted, Moira observed the retreating foes as smoke billowed from the earth. “Survived,” she remarked to Brodie. “We held firm for our kin and land.”

“At what cost?” he questioned solemnly.

“Too high a price,” she conceded. “But we thwarted their ambitions.”

Moira whispered a vow to the winds: “Let them remember this day. Let them know the Highlands’ heart beats strong within us.”

“Indeed,” Brodie replied steadily, gripping her hand. “And let us not forget who we are, and what we fight for.”

The night enveloped the warriors as they remained steadfast, guardians of a bloodstained legacy.

*

Moira stood among the remnants of war, her breath misting in the chill Highland air. The scent of blood mingled with heather and earth—a reminder of freedom’s cost.

She released a long breath, watching it dissipate into the evening sky, carrying away some of the day’s weight.

Her red hair was matted with sweat and grime, framing a face etched with fatigue and contemplation.

Gripping her sword, its blade nicked and stained, she could only think of Brodie’s words: “We are the shield of our people.” Now alone, she reflected on the trust placed in his strategic mind.

“Moira,” someone called from behind.

She turned to face Brodie as he approached, his own expression marked by leadership and survival.

As their eyes met, she recognized the depth of their connection—allies in arms and keepers of secrets beneath the armor.

She wanted to run into his arms, but she stayed where she was.

She knew they would both appear stronger that way.

“Today, ye led with courage fierce enough to kindle the spirits of our ancestors,” Brodie said softly yet firmly.

Moira nodded wearily. “And ye with ancient wisdom,” she replied, respect resonating in her tone.

In the dim light, she studied the man who had proven himself both comrade and confidant, as well as loving husband. Their alliance forged in adversity bound their fates together beyond mere politics—an unyielding pursuit of peace that seemed elusive like the mist over the glens.

A wave of resolve cleansed her doubt. She had chosen to trust Brodie, and that choice remained steadfast despite the unknown dangers ahead.

“Tomorrow, we begin anew,” she declared. “For our clans, for the Highlands.”

“Indeed,” Brodie agreed, extending his hand. “Together, we navigate this storm. Our unity will guide our people through it.”

Their fingers intertwined, sealing their shared purpose as symbols of hope for the Highland folk.

Night fell upon the scarred battlefield with Moira and Brodie standing firm, determination burning within them. The challenges of tomorrow awaited, but they would face them together—resilient and united in Highland destiny.