Page 18 of Highland Heroine (Brides of the Highlands #3)

M oira wrapped a linen bandage around the soldier’s arm, her concentration unbroken by the infirmary’s activity.

The muffled sounds of swords colliding outside called to her, but she remained focused on her role.

As much as she wanted to be outside training with the men, she knew it was her duty to take care of the injured.

“Steady now,” she said, grounding the young man before her. “This will hold until ye can fight again.” Gentleness didn’t seem to be in her nature, but she worked hard to make sure the soldiers felt a soft touch as she treated them.

She moved from cot to cot, devoted to those who fought for their lands and people. As she stopped by each cot, she talked softly to the soldier in it, thanking them for all they had done to help the Highlander’s cause.

Outside, Brodie McClain observed the sparring warriors with sharp focus.

He corrected stances and offered advice, his quiet strength setting the training rhythm.

His attention never wavered from each injury, no matter how minor.

Each man was as important to him as their cause.

He couldn’t fathom losing even one of them.

“Off to the infirmary,” he ordered one man with an unnoticed cut. “We can’t lose ye to infection.”

The warrior hesitated, pride battling sense, but Brodie’s firm look sent him to seek medical care.

Inside the infirmary, Moira readied herself for more healing. Stray strands of red hair framed her focused expression as she worked tirelessly for her clan’s survival.

Throughout the day, Brodie continued his watchful guidance among his men. As Highlanders born from rugged mountains and strife, they stood strong together, ready for whatever lay ahead.

*

Elsa stood by Bryson’s cot, eyes fixed on the bloodstained bandage around his thigh. She adjusted the cloth on his feverish forehead with trembling hands.

“Stay with me, Bryson,” she whispered, her voice blending in with the infirmary’s background noise. Her worried expression betrayed her concern for any sign of pain from him.

Throughout long hours, Elsa stayed by his side, tensing at each delirious moan and flinch.

Time blurred together as her vigil continued.

She cared for him diligently, offering water and comfort as he slowly healed.

She wished there was a way to heal him instantly, but she knew better.

His life was hanging by a thread, and it was up to her to see to his comfort.

Bryson’s breaths became steadier, his moments of clarity more frequent. Color returned to his cheeks as the strength in his handgrip grew. Elsa smiled at his signs of recovery, grateful he was finally getting stronger.

Finally, Bryson’s fever subsided, leaving a weakened man alive.

As she observed his peaceful slumber, relief washed over Elsa.

She silently thanked God for sparing her betrothed, vowing to remain by his side forever.

As Bryson healed, Elsa’s world regained a sense of stability and she could breathe freely once more.

*

Amid the snow-clad hills, a lone peregrine falcon pursued its prey. Moira’s gaze followed its hunt, as Brodie readied his bow nearby. She tolerated her days in the infirmary because she knew her nights beside Brodie were her reward for a job well done.

“We are gatherers of strength for what lies ahead,” Brodie said, releasing the arrow. It found its mark as more clansmen crested the ridge, their multi-patterned tartans displaying their clan’s identity, but not stopping the men from joining together as one large fighting force.

“Every clan united to save our way of life,” Moira observed.

“Indeed, a confederation of wills,” Brodie agreed, gathering the hare.

Moira appreciated the respite from the infirmary. “Thank ye, Brodie.”

“Ye belong here, among the thistle and oak,” he replied, smiling respectfully.

They collected their quarry for the feast that night, where tales of valor and alliances would be shared. Distant bagpipes marked the gathering of clans and the strengthening of their army.

“We need to present a united front to all the clans coming to join us. Perhaps we try introducing the people from different clans today and see if we can get them to start sitting wherever they wish without worrying about what clan they come from,” Brodie suggested.

“Tonight, we celebrate not only the catch but a new chapter for our people,” Moira agreed. Together, they returned to the keep on a path forged by camaraderie and unwavering belief in the Highlands’ resilience.

Brodie’s arrow struck the stag in the clearing, and Moira’s arrow quickly followed. The successful hunt left several deer lined up as proof of their skill. Thankfully, they hadn’t come out to hunt alone, and the men who had joined them would help bring the game back to the keep.

Dressing the kills, Moira’s hands moved deftly, but her thoughts lingered on recent events.

“The Stewarts’ men—Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas—turned the battle, didn’t they?

” It was still hard for her to believe the three men who had been her and her sister’s constant annoyances were now on the same side as Moira and her clan.

Brodie sheathed his blade. “Aye,” he confirmed, his brown eyes intent. “Their courage ignited something fierce in others.”

“Others?” Moira asked.

“More men have joined our ranks since then,” Brodie explained. “Those three became a symbol—a beacon for the brave or repentant. We have had a steady stream of men leaving the Stewart’s rule and coming to our side since.”

Moira studied the horizon where long shadows stretched over the Highlands. “Fearlessness breeds followers,” she murmured. “I would have thought those three would have been the last to turn.”

“Aye,” Brodie agreed, picking up one end of a deer. “Let’s get these back for tonight’s feast.”

“Feast?” Moira echoed, lifting the other end.

“To celebrate new swords pledged to our cause and strengthen camaraderie among the clans.”

They made their way through the dense woods, carrying more than just their quarry—their hopes and fears for their homeland rested deep within their hearts.

*

Moira adjusted the shawl on Granny McAfee’s shoulders, observing Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas. Their stance revealed newfound allegiance as they conversed with Brodie.

“Those lads have a look of redemption,” Granny remarked, following Moira’s gaze. “They are truly with us.”

“Aye, Granny. And perhaps a chance for new beginnings,” Moira agreed, considering introductions to recent widows who deserved companions of equal valor. She knew at least Lucas was looking for a woman after the way he’d been with Elsa.

In the great hall, the McAfee stronghold buzzed with anticipation as clansfolk gathered amid the aromas of roasting venison and peat smoke. Moira mingled with the assembly, her spirit lifting with each shared laughter and greeting. It truly felt as if their battle was already won.

Brodie raised his cup above the crowd, praising the unity of warriors from different clans. The call of “Slàinte mhath!” filled the air as cups clashed in salute.

The feast symbolized their strength and enduring spirit. Moira thought, “Tonight, we are all one clan, united by freedom and fellowship.”

As night fell, laughter resonated against stone walls, and fiddle and pipe melodies intertwined. Amid the festivities, Moira sensed the Highlands’ future taking shape through alliances, dances, and toasts.

In the feast’s lively atmosphere, Moira approached Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas with determination. Her red hair gleamed under torchlight as they turned to face her, both curious and respectful.

“Lucas, Bearnard, Horas,” Moira said, confidently gesturing toward a small gathering of women. “Meet Elspeth, Mairi, and Aileen Sinclair.”

As introductions were exchanged and tentative smiles shared, Moira observed their interactions. Elspeth relaxed under Lucas’ confidence, Mairi laughed with Bearnard amidst the festive noise, and Aileen attentively listened to Horas’ passionate words.

A feeling of hope grew within Moira for new beginnings and healing across clan lines. The Sinclair women deserved peace after enduring so much turmoil, many of them losing both sons and husbands.

She wanted to stand near them and make sure the men were considerate and kind to the women, but she was one of the hostesses of the clan, and she needed to be spending time with all she could.

Moira turned her attention back to the gathering, making her way through the lively crowd.

She greeted familiar faces and welcomed newcomers, her presence a beacon of strength and unity.

As she moved, her thoughts drifted to the challenges that lay ahead—the battles to be fought, the alliances to be forged, and the wounds to be healed.

Among the sea of tartans and glowing faces, Moira caught sight of Brodie.

Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them.

They both knew the importance of this moment, the significance of bringing together clans that had once been divided.

With a nod, Brodie raised his cup in her direction, a gesture of respect and shared purpose.

As the night wore on, the festivities continued in full swing. The great hall reverberated with the sounds of laughter, music, and the clinking of cups.

As Moira continued mingling with the clansfolk, she overheard snippets of conversations and laughter that filled the hall. Suddenly, someone familiar called above the din.

“Moira! A moment, if ye please,” came a deep voice from behind.

Turning around, Moira spotted Laird MacLeod approaching with a warm smile. “Laird MacLeod, it is a pleasure to see ye here tonight,” Moira greeted him with respect.

“The pleasure is mine, Moira. Your hospitality knows no bounds,” Laird MacLeod replied graciously. “I must say, this feast is a grand celebration of unity.”

Moira nodded in agreement, scanning the hall. “Aye, it warms me heart to see so many clans coming together in harmony.”

As they conversed about alliances and future endeavors, a sudden burst of laughter interrupted their discussion. Moira turned to see young Malcolm MacGregor regaling a group with a humorous tale.

“Laird MacLeod, have ye heard the one about the mischievous selkie who stole a fisherman’s catch?” Malcolm’s voice carried across the hall, drawing chuckles from those around him.

Laird MacLeod chuckled heartily. “Ah, Malcolm always knows how to lighten the mood with his stories.”

Just then, Brodie joined their impromptu gathering, raising his cup in greeting. “To unity and friendship among clans,” he toasted, capturing the attention of those nearby.

“To unity!” the surrounding voices echoed as cups were raised in unison.

Amid the revelry, Moira felt a surge of pride for her people and their unwavering spirit. She knew that together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead with courage and determination.

As the night continued to unfold with music and camaraderie filling the air, Moira found herself surrounded by friends old and new. Each shared moment and exchanged smile only reinforced her belief in the power of unity and fellowship among their clans.

As the hour grew late, the festivities began to wind down. Guests bid their farewells, their spirits lifted by the night’s camaraderie and the promise of a united future. Moira stood by the great hall’s entrance, offering words of gratitude and encouragement to those who departed.

“Moira!” Brodie called, offering his hand for a dance. His eyes sparkled with mirth in tune with the music filling the hall.

Accepting Brodie’s hand, Moira felt her exhaustion ease as they danced together. Noticing Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas still conversing with Elspeth, Mairi, and Aileen—laughter blending with the music—made her heart swell.

“Looks like yer plan is working,” Brodie commented with a knowing look.

“Perhaps,” she replied with a hopeful smile. “Tonight, anything feels possible.”

United clans filled the great hall as they danced on into the night.

As the dance ended, Brodie enfolded Moira in his arms, their warmth a soothing embrace amid the surrounding laughter and conversation. Moira observed Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas with their respective partners across the hall, hoping this marked the beginning of lasting happiness for them all.

“Aye, lass,” Brodie agreed softly. “If tonight’s joy is any sign, they’re well on their way.”

In their room, cool air whispered through an open window as they undressed each other tenderly. Lying together, they kissed with a mixture of gentleness and passion.

“Everything is looking up,” Moira breathed, thinking of Bryson’s recovering health.

“Aye, it is,” Brodie whispered back as they moved together in unity, two souls entwined in serenity and hope after weathering the storm.