Page 19 of Highland Heroine (Brides of the Highlands #3)

D awn pierced the morning mists as Moira McAfee stood by the narrow window of the keep, her red hair loosely bound. She watched the sentries change shifts along the McAfee stronghold’s stone walls.

“Last night’s whispers spoke of unrest,” she said, steady despite the distant thud of morning drums. “Soldiers weary of the Stewart’s promises. We must act swiftly.”

Brodie, leaning against a heavy oaken table, absorbed her words with his gaze fixed on her eyes that held strategic clarity.

“Ye suggest we entreat with these men?” he asked, admiration mixed with caution.

“Aye, under cover of darkness. A few could slip past Sinclair’s watch and return with allies,” Moira replied. She’d thought long and hard about the idea before broaching it with Brodie.

Brodie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I like the idea, but I’d not risk our soldiers. Me brothers and I, along with Kevin, will go. We ken the land and the peril.”

Moira hesitated before nodding in agreement. “See to it that ye all return by first light. We cannae afford to lose any of ye.” She walked into his arms, throwing hers around him. “And I cannae ken me life without ye.”

“Ye have me word,” Brodie assured her, kissing the top of her head. “I wouldnae leave ye alone to marry some other man.”

As they planned, the air thrummed with anticipation. The stakes were high for their clans’ future success in this venture. With a final nod, Brodie left to gather his brothers and Kevin—loyal as Highland bedrock.

Together, they met with three men they’d come to trust who had already joined them after leaving the Stewart’s command—Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas.

The three men proved invaluable as they explained the layout of the camp and provided a crude map of how things were. They gave good suggestions that would help keep the men alive.

“I believe we should go with ye, Brodie. Let’s leave yer brothers here to lead the army if we cannae return for some reason,” Lucas suggested.

Alisdair looked as if he wasn’t sure if they could be allowed to go but finally he nodded. “Take no unnecessary risks!”

Brodie smiled. “We will be careful. Ye shouldnae risk yerselves. I agree with Lucas.” Words he never thought he would say, but they were true.

Lucas grinned at Brodie. “We will come back alive. I promise ye that.”

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the rugged Highland terrain, Brodie and his small band of trusted allies prepared to embark on their covert mission. They donned dark cloaks and secured their weapons, their faces set with grim determination.

Moira stood at the gate, her green eyes filled with a mixture of pride and concern as she watched them mount their horses.

She knew the risks they were taking, but she also understood the importance of their task.

If they could persuade more of the Stewart’s men to join their cause, it could turn the tide of the impending conflict.

Brodie rode to her side, his voice low and reassuring. “Dinnae fash yerself, lass. We’ll return afore ye ken it, wi’ new allies at our backs.”

Moira nodded, her hand resting on his arm. “Aye, I ken it. But promise me ye’ll take nae unnecessary risks. Our people need ye, Brodie. I need ye.”

With a final squeeze of her hand, Brodie turned his horse and led his band of loyal men out through the gates and into the gathering dusk. They rode in silence, the only sounds the muffled thud of hooves on the soft earth and the occasional snort of a horse.

As they neared the Stewart’s encampment, they slowed their pace, relying on the shadows to conceal their approach. Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas guided them, pointing out the sentries and the best route to avoid detection.

They dismounted a safe distance away, tethering their horses in a sheltered copse. With a final nod, they crept forward on foot, their cloaks blending seamlessly with the night.

“Remember, nae unnecessary risks,” Brodie muttered, his authoritative voice ensuring no challenge went unanswered.

With silent farewells, Brodie led his team into the night. They moved like shadows across the land, marked only by the rustle of heather and the distant hoot of an owl.

Hidden within an ancient copse of trees near the enemy camp, Brodie huddled with Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas. A dim lantern revealed a crude map on the forest floor.

“Here,” murmured Lucas, pointing to a circled area. “The main guard post.”

“We can skirt ’round the eastern edge. It’s less watched,” Bearnard added, tracing a route.

“What say ye, Horas?” Brodie asked, turning to him.

“None have joined us on Sinclair land,” Horas replied hesitantly. “But they’re spread thin—we outman them if we play this right.”

Their eyes met in silent understanding: their strategy would be tested on wit and stealth to sway fragile loyalties from Sinclair’s promises.

“Let’s move out,” Brodie commanded confidently. Extinguishing the lantern and tucking away the map, each man readied themselves for the task ahead—unseen predators amid unsuspecting prey, their motives as sharp and dangerous as their concealed blades.

Brodie crept through the dense bracken. Beside him Kevin moved with a predator’s grace while Lucas led the way, navigating toward the huddle of tents emerging from the darkness ahead. Bearnard and Horas followed, their expressions focused.

“Remember, no bloodshed unless forced,” Brodie whispered as they reached the outskirts of the camp. The sentries were trusting; Kevin and Horas neutralized them without raising alarm.

Watching, Brodie shook his head. Their army and their men were much better prepared for the battle to come than the enemy was if they were all like the sentries.

The group split, weaving between tents. Inside one, Brodie found two men. “Ye serve the Stewarts…but what have they offered ye? Join us, and fight for a cause that values yer lives.”

Outside, Lucas convinced a pair of seasoned warriors to join their cause in exchange for honor and protection. As the night wore on, discontent among Stewart soldiers bore fruit.

Before dawn, twenty defectors left the Sinclair encampment behind, following Brodie through the Highland wilderness. The journey was tense but shrouded in mist and shadow.

As they crossed into McAfee land, sunrise touched the horizon. Relief washed over them momentarily before Brodie welcomed them to their new alliance—weary but determined, their breaths joining in unity.

*

Horse hooves pounded the earth as a rider approached the gates of the McAfee stronghold. Alisdair watched from atop the stone parapet as the gatekeeper opened the portcullis.

“Message from the Stewart,” announced the rider, urgency in his voice.

Alisdair descended the steps with measured tread, Fearghas by his side like a shadow, watching the messenger intently.

“Speak,” Alisdair commanded, his voice echoing off ancient stones.

The young messenger produced a rolled parchment sealed with the Stewart clan emblem. “Clyde Stewart commands ye heed his warning,” he said. “Any McAfee or ally found on Sinclair land will be tortured and killed on sight.”

Fearghas’s grip tightened around his dirk, but Alisdair remained unwavering. “Thank ye for bringing us this message,” he replied, his tone betraying no concern.

The messenger dismounted and laid down his sword. “Please,” he implored, his chest heaving. “I dinnae wish to serve under a banner stained with cruelty. Might I join yer cause?”

For a moment, silence hung heavy before Alisdair stepped forward, offering his hand. His eyes locked with those of the former Stewart soldier.

“Ye seek refuge and a chance to fight for honor? Ye shall have it here,” Alisdair declared, gripping the young man’s shoulder. “Welcome to our alliance.”

The other men nodded in silent agreement; their ranks swelled not just in number but in conviction. It seemed that every man who came over from Stewart’s army convinced them even more of which side they should be on.

“We do nae bend to threats,” Fearghas added, resolve in his voice. “We stand united, stronger with each soul that joins our ranks.”

The young man straightened under their acceptance, marked only by the quiet acknowledgment of shared purpose.

“Train him well,” Brodie told Lucas, emphasizing the importance of their newest member’s integration into the clan.

They returned to the keep, where plans unfolded and a future was forged—one in which everyone could shape their destiny with honor.

*

Brodie McClain surveyed the group of men who had joined their ranks under the cover of darkness. Each face reflected hardship and strength, much like the landscape that surrounded them. Brodie exhaled slowly, preparing to address his new brethren.

“Listen well,” he began, his voice strong and authoritative. “Ye’re no longer bound by the Stewarts’ treachery. Here, ye’ll join the McAfee force, united against a common foe.”

The men watched him intently as Brodie outlined their integration into the clan’s forces with strategic precision.

“Train alongside our seasoned warriors, learn their ways. In battle, guard each other’s backs fiercely.

” He paused. “Even if someone is a former enemy of yers, he is now yer ally, and ye must remember that on the battlefield as well as in yer everyday interactions with each other.”

Murmurs of assent passed among the group. Brodie scanned their faces, ensuring they understood not just the words but the commitment required. “Carry the honor of this land—fierce as mountain winds and immovable as ancient stones. Fight for the future of these Highlands we call home.”

As morning progressed, the men dispersed to train with others on the field. The respite had been necessary for both newcomers and experienced warriors alike. Wooden swords clashed, grunts and footfalls creating a symphony of preparation as stances and parries were corrected by watchful eyes.

At the edge of the practice field, Brodie stood watchful and guiding. As afternoon wore on, dust from exertion filled the air alongside a growing sense of unity. Each strike honed their readiness while trust blossomed between old and new clansmen.

From his vantage point, Brodie observed their resolve solidifying like iron blades. And as shadows lengthened toward day’s end, training ceased not from weariness but with quiet confidence in their united force.

Moira leaned against the stone window frame, observing the men in the training field below. Among them, she spotted Brodie, his swordplay captivating her like an epic saga. Though she longed to join, Moira understood her role as a strategist and organizer for the McAfee clan.

In the infirmary, she shifted from patient to patient with gentle care, fiery hair glinting in the light as her eyes conveyed concern.

Later, she led a small group of women on a hunt, determination resonating through her authoritative voice. As they entered the woods, earthy scents enveloped them, Moira’s spirit lifting with each step. This was her land and her fight—and she would protect it fiercely.

The bowstring’s twang disrupted the forest’s serenity as an arrow narrowly missed its target and grazed Lucas’s arm. Chaos erupted, followed by Moira’s command to get him to the infirmary.

At McAfee Keep, Elspeth Sinclair quickly tended to Lucas’s wound, her calm demeanor easing tensions.

She requested Moira to relieve her from kitchen duties so she could focus on healing.

Moira agreed despite her reluctance to take Elspeth’s place in the busy kitchen.

The only thing she hated more than infirmary duty was kitchen duty.

Navigating the clamor of clanging pots and raised voices, Moira tackled vegetable preparation with practiced precision.

As she stirred massive pots over open flames, a ladle sailed past her ear—an argument between two cooks.

The hectic kitchen was its own battlefield, but conflict wasn’t foreign to her.

“More wood for the fire, Moira!” demanded one of the cooks, her muscular arms flexing.

Moira hauled logs, pausing to swipe a stray lock of hair from her eyes. Her muscles protested as she kneaded dough, but she remained resolute in serving her clan.

Glancing out the small window above the preparation table, she observed the empty training grounds.

The distant echo of clashing swords filled her with longing, but she shook it off and whispered, “Focus, Moira.” Her strategic mind had won them allies, making every chore worthwhile.

She returned to her tasks, ready for whatever awaited her.