Page 20 of Highland Heroine (Brides of the Highlands #3)
F irst thing the next day, Moira entered the infirmary, her red hair contrasting the stone walls. The morning chill clung to her skin, but urgency propelled her forward. Inside, its occupants breathed softly.
Lucas lay feverish on a cot, his complexion pale and sweaty. Elspeth Sinclair sat beside him, her hands holding his in a silent plea for healing.
“Elspeth,” Moira whispered, resting a hand atop theirs. The older woman looked up with weary eyes.
“Moira,” she returned calmly.
“He’s strong,” Moira insisted. “He’ll pull through.”
Hope flickered in Elspeth’s eyes. Moira’s conviction wavered momentarily before she spoke again. “Excuse me for a moment.”
With as much as Lucas had helped them, and as wrong as she’d been to doubt his allegiance, she knew she must do whatever she could to make sure the infection that had set into Lucas’s wound didn’t harm him more than it already had.
She knew the only answer was to seek out Brodie’s Grandfather Colin who would help her if she asked. At least she hoped he would.
She wouldn’t tell anyone what he was doing, and surely that wouldn’t break her promise to Brodie not to tell anyone about Colin’s healing powers.
With that, Moira left the room, her heart racing like a warhorse charging into battle. She carried the weight of her decision as her ancestors had—with unwavering courage and determination to protect their kin at any cost.
Moira rushed through McAfee Keep’s corridors, seeking Brodie’s great-grandfather. She found him in the apothecary chamber, his gaze knowing and wise.
“Grandfather Colin,” she said firmly, “I need your aid. Lucas is gravely ill. We may lose him without your healing touch.”
The old man contemplated her request before agreeing. “For the bond between our clans and the peace it brings, I will do this.”
With relief, Moira ensured the infirmary would be cleared for his work. Elspeth and Ailis hesitated but ultimately left to eat. Alone with the patients, Moira sat by Lucas, waiting and hoping that Colin’s magic could heal where modern means failed.
The infirmary door creaked as Colin entered. Moira’s heart quickened, watching him move from one patient to another with practiced grace. “Just heal them enough to ensure no one will die,” Moira said, biting her lip. “We cannae risk yer secret getting out.”
Colin approached the sick, hands hovering above them as he focused all his energy on healing them. The air seemed charged with energy, prickling against Moira’s skin—a testament to his healing ability.
When Colin reached Lucas, Moira held her breath. His hand settled gently on Lucas’s forehead. After a moment of stillness, Lucas stirred and woke. Awake and lucid, he met Moira’s eyes.
After a quiet exchange between Moira and Colin, he departed the room with a nod. As the door closed behind him, the other women returned from their reprieve.
“Moira, what sorcery is this?” Ailis asked in disbelief, observing the now improved patients. “Everyone is better than when we left to eat!”
“Ye ken the old stories,” Moira replied confidently. “Sometimes spirits of the glen aid us.”
“Or perhaps ye are a miracle worker,” Ailis said, smiling despite her fatigue. “Whatever magic ye possess, ’tis a blessing.”
Moira didn’t want to take credit for Colin’s work, but she didn’t know how to explain what had happened otherwise. Surely it was better if her sister believed she’d healed them than if she knew the truth. Either way, she wouldn’t break her promise to Brodie.
*
Moira paced the stone corridor, the air cool and damp with the scent of pine. Her heart threatened to drown her thoughts.
She found Brodie in the courtyard, observing young warriors train. “Brodie!” she called, hiding her turmoil.
His deep brown eyes narrowed as he turned to face her. “Moira,” he acknowledged evenly. “What brings ye from the infirmary so hastily? Did we lose Lucas?”
“May we speak in private?” she asked, brushing back her red hair that glinted in sunlight.
Brodie dismissed the young men, and they stood under an ancient oak’s shadow. “Speak then,” he said once alone.
“I’ve sought yer Grandfather Colin’s aid to heal the wounded,” Moira began hesitantly.
Frowning, Brodie replied, “Ye’ve overstepped. Grandfather doesnae have energy to spare.” His words were measured but laced with anger.
“Please understand, I did it for the alliance,” Moira implored, recounting Lucas’s choice for unity even when trust was lacking between them. “He doesnae deserve to die when he has done naught but help.”
The weight of responsibility lay heavy on Brodie as he responded, his voice low and controlled, “Ye’ve acted boldly, but not every choice can be made alone. We must think of consequences.”
She nodded solemnly. “I know I’ve erred. And I’ll do what I must to make amends.”
The breeze shifted, and a promise of change lingered. Brodie’s expression softened as they faced their crossroads together.
“Go,” he said, a hint of reluctant admiration in his voice. “See to Lucas and the others. We’ll speak more later.”
Moira turned, her resolve unwavering. She would stand by her decisions and face the future with courage and honor—for herself, her clan, and their alliances.
The sound of Brodie’s departing footsteps echoed in the stone corridor, a solitary drumbeat that signaled his retreat.
Moira stood rooted to the spot, the chill of the Highland air seeping into her bones as she watched the broad shoulders of her husband diminish into the distance.
She had hoped for understanding, perhaps even a begrudging respect for her boldness.
Instead, she was met with a stern rebuke and the cold turn of his back.
In the silence that followed, Moira’s thoughts churned—full of turmoil.
She had played her hand, reached out to the old magic held within gnarled fingers, and now the price of her gamble loomed over her like a gathering storm.
With no confidante to share her burden, she felt the weight of isolation pressing down upon her, a mantle woven from her own impetuous threads.
The infirmary door creaked open, pulling Moira from her reverie.
She stepped inside the dimly lit room, the scent of herbs and the warmth of the hearth wrapping around her.
Almost everyone was gone, the majority of pallets empty, save for one where Lucas lay with Elspeth at his side.
The young warrior’s brow was free of fever’s sheen, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of peaceful slumber.
Elspeth’s dark hair cascaded over her shoulder as she leaned forward, whispering words of comfort only he could hear.
Ailis, the healer, approached with a vial of salve in hand. “’Tis remarkable,” she said, her voice tinged with awe. “They’ve all improved so swiftly.”
“Aye,” Moira replied, masking her inner turmoil with feigned surprise.
“Lucas is the last,” Ailis continued, tending to the bandage on his arm with practiced care. “If the infection does not return by the morn, he’ll be free to leave.”
Elspeth nodded, her gaze never leaving Lucas’s face. There was a resilience in the set of her jaw, a silent strength that spoke of enduring love and steadfast hope.
“Thank ye, Ailis,” Moira said, her voice soft but firm. “Ye’ve done well by them.”
“’Twas not me hands alone,” Ailis admitted, her eyes meeting Moira’s with a knowing look.
Moira felt a pang of guilt. “Aye, we’ve been blessed by fortune this day.”
She lingered a moment longer, watching the gentle rise and fall of Lucas’s chest, the delicate interplay of shadow and light across his features.
Duty called her away, but her heart bade her stay, to witness this fragile peace before the storm of her actions would surely break.
With a final glance at Elspeth’s vigilant form, Moira turned and left the infirmary, the echo of her steps mingling with the whispers of healing and the unspoken truths resting heavily on her soul.
*
Pine and earth scents enveloped Moira as she strode through the forest, bow in hand. The hunt provided a welcome distraction from her recent choices.
An autumn breeze whispered, carrying distant sounds of the keep. Moira scanned the underbrush for signs of movement. She moved silently until a flash of brown caught her attention. In one fluid motion, she drew an arrow, nocking and releasing it. The rabbit fell, and she quickly retrieved it.
As she collected her prize, a twig snapped behind her. Whirling around, bow ready, she found Kevin MacGregor emerging from the thicket.
“Ye shouldnae be following me,” she chided.
“Ye know ye cannae leave the keep alone, Moira,” Kevin replied. “I merely perform the task assigned to me by the McClain brothers.”
Moira assessed his earnest gaze and nodded once before delving deeper into the forest with him.
Three more arrows found their marks as the afternoon waned. When retrieving the last rabbit, Kevin stepped forward to help carry it.
“Allow me,” he said. Moira acknowledged this with a nod of thanks.
Later, returning to the keep, Moira asked about Grandfather Colin. Kevin described him as wise and strong but he was a renowned healer, and he preferred to keep his healing away from the sight of others.
“The entire family works hard to keep certain things private, and the rest of the clan knows naught about what is happening. I’ve puzzled some things together in the years I’ve served them, and I feel as if I ken more than most.”
“Thank ye, Kevin,” Moira said as they made their way back to the keep together, feeling lighter despite her emotional turmoil.
“The McClain brothers are surrounded by tales,” Kevin said, as if divulging a secret. “Mystery clings to them like mist on lochs at dawn.”
“Do ye trust them?” Moira asked, seeking more than affirmation.
“Every one of them,” he replied with an oath-like nod. “I’d lay down me life for any brother without hesitation.”
His words stirred both admiration and guilt within Moira, recalling how she disappointed Brodie. As they left the forest’s shelter and approached the keep, her thoughts turned to mending the bonds between them.
Right before reaching the gates, Moira asked, “How does one right a wrong done in good faith?”
Kevin’s expression softened. “By showing courage to face it,” he advised and continued walking.
Determined, Moira whispered to herself, “Forgiveness is earned.” With resolve hardening with each step, she decided to prove her commitment through actions rather than grand gestures or eloquent words.
Once Moira and Brodie were in their chamber for the night, she once again apologized for overstepping and asking his grandfather to heal when it wasn’t her place.
Brodie listened intently as Moira apologized, his gaze steady but not unkind. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across his face, softening the angles of his chiseled jaw. When she finished speaking, a heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the crackling of the hearth fire.
“I understand why ye did it,” Brodie finally said, his voice low and measured. “Ye have a good heart, Moira. ’Tis one of the things that I admire most about ye.”
Moira felt a flicker of hope ignite within her chest. “But I should have consulted with ye first,” she admitted, her eyes searching his. “I let me impulsiveness guide me, and in doing so, I betrayed yer trust.”
Brodie sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Aye, ye should have asked me first, but I cannae blame ye for trying to help another. Please only do so with me permission though.”
Moira was relieved he didn’t seem angrier. She walked to him and rested her head on his broad shoulder, sighing when his arms came about her. She would do better in the future. For she must.