Page 27 of Highland Heroine (Brides of the Highlands #3)

Turning her back to him, Moira walked toward the door.

She didn’t dare look back, fearing her resolve would crumble under the weight of his silent scorn.

She knew not what the morrow would bring, but tonight, she felt as though she had lost more than just Brodie’s favor—she had lost a part of herself in the battle for his life.

*

The infirmary door creaked open, cutting a sliver of daylight across the dim room.

Moira’s head snapped up as Lachlan and Alisdair strode in, knowing they needed to explain to Brodie what had truly happened the day he was injured.

She rose to her feet, her gaze flicking between the two brothers and Brodie’s sullen form on the bed.

“Ye need to explain what happened to bring yer grandfather to the infirmary to help Brodie. I’ve told him but he doesnae believe me,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within.

Lachlan looked at his brother, appearing so pitiful in the cot.

His broad shoulders squared as if bracing against an unseen adversary.

“Aye, Brodie,” he said in that articulate, commanding tone he reserved for matters of clan importance.

“It was me doing. I fetched him while she protested. Ye needed tending, and there was no time to waste. Ailis thought she would need to take yer leg!”

Moira shook her head. “Do ye see, Brodie? I didn’t ask yer grandfather to come.”

Brodie stared at his brother passionlessly. The only person he was angry with was Moira, and he couldn’t possibly explain why. “She shouldn’t have let ye.” In the back of his mind, he knew Moira was right, and there was no way she could have stopped Lachlan once he set his mind to doing something.

Lachlan stood watching his brother for a moment, his expression unreadable, then turned to leave with Alisdair in tow, leaving no room for further argument. At the door, he stopped and said, “Ye need to make peace with yer wife, Brodie.”

Moira pulled a stool to his bedside and sat down, her hands folded in her lap. The silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the soft whistle of wind outside.

She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing the back of his hand. Brodie lay still, his jaw set, eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the walls of the infirmary. He seemed a statue carved from the very stone of the Highlands—cold and unyielding.

“Please, Brodie,” she whispered into the darkness. “Look at me.”

But he didn’t. Not once through the long hours of the night did he acknowledge her presence. She could feel the chasm between them widening with each passing moment, filled with misunderstandings and unspoken pain.

The tentative chirping of birds signaled morning’s arrival in the Highlands, but within the stone walls of the infirmary, the atmosphere remained tense and heavy. Ailis approached Brodie’s bedside with a determined glint in her eyes, her dark hair pulled back to reveal a face set with purpose.

“Ye must try to stand, Brodie,” she said firmly, her hands on her hips and determination filling her voice. “We cannae ken what ye’re capable of unless ye make the attempt.”

Brodie turned his head slowly to meet Ailis’s gaze, his deep brown eyes clouded with doubt. “There’s no use,” he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of resignation. “A man knows when part of him is lost. I feel it in my bones that this leg will never bear me again.”

“Brodie, ye mustn’t speak such things,” Ailis chided gently, reaching for his hand. “The body is a remarkable vessel—stronger than we oftentimes give credit.” Her touch was warm and encouraging, but Brodie recoiled from her grasp as if her optimism burned him.

“Enough, Ailis,” Brodie snapped, the calmness in his voice giving way to frustration. “I’ll not be pitied nor coddled like some bairn.”

Moira, who had lingered in the shadows by the window, stepped forward at her sister’s side. Her red hair seemed like a fiery halo in the dawn light, her stance poised and ready for battle. Yet, there was softness in her eyes, a plea for understanding that belied her usual fierceness.

“Ye needn’t go through this alone, Brodie,” Moira said, her voice betraying none of the hurt from his cold shoulder the night before. “We are here for ye.”

“Is that so?” Brodie’s retort was sharp, his gaze cutting to where Moira stood. “Or are ye just here to make yerself feel better? To ease yer own guilt?”

“Guilty? For saving yer life?” Moira’s tone rose, her hands clenching into fists. “I have naught to repent for in that regard.”

“Ye think because ye wield a sword and shed blood that ye’ve saved me? I didnae ask ye to fight me battles, Moira!” His voice was a low growl now, anger seeping through his controlled exterior.

“Ye think I did it for glory?” Moira’s own anger flared, her cheeks reddening to match the hue of her hair. “I fought because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing ye, stubborn ass that ye are!”

“Enough,” Ailis interjected, placing herself between them, her athletic build a barrier to their mounting fury. “This bickering serves no purpose. We are family, bound by blood and loyalty.”

“Blood and loyalty,” Brodie echoed hollowly, turning away from them both. His gaze fixed upon the distant mountains visible through the narrow window, as if seeking solace in the wildness of the land. “Leave me be, I have no need for either now.”

Silence descended once more, save for the plaintive call of the wind against the keep’s sturdy walls.

Ailis’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, her resolve bending under the weight of Brodie’s despair.

Moira stood motionless, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, as if she too were seeing something far beyond the confines of the infirmary—a hope for reconciliation that seemed as distant as the horizon.

The door creaked as Moira pushed it open, the cold night air rushing in to meet her. She stepped outside, her breath forming small clouds in the darkness.

She walked aimlessly, her mind a tumult of emotions. How had it come to this? When had the man she loved become a stranger to her? Tears streamed down her face, hot and bitter. She made no attempt to wipe them away.

In the distance, a wolf howled, its mournful cry echoing across the land. Moira felt a kinship with the lonely creature. She, too, felt lost and alone, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

As she walked, memories of happier times flooded her mind. The day she first met Brodie, his eyes sparkling with mischief. The way he’d sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. The nights they’d spend talking and laughing by the fire until the wee hours of the morning.

But those days seemed like a distant dream now, a fading memory of a life that no longer existed. The man she loved had turned his back on her. She understood he was suffering, but he wouldn’t allow her to help him.

Moira wandered deeper into the moors, the tall grass brushing against her skirts. She had no destination in mind, no plan for where she would go. All she knew was that she couldn’t bear to be near Brodie right now, not when the gulf between them felt so vast and insurmountable.

Suddenly, a twig snapped behind her, startling Moira from her thoughts. She whirled around, her heart pounding in her chest. Through the misty darkness, a figure emerged, tall and broad-shouldered.

But as the figure drew closer, Moira realized it was a stranger, and not someone who should be there.

The stranger’s face was obscured by shadows, but she could see the glint of a sword at his side.

Fear gripped her, icy tendrils snaking down her spine.

She only had her dagger. After spending all day in the infirmary, it hadn’t even occurred to her to fetch her sword.

“Who goes there?” she called, her voice trembling despite her efforts to sound brave.

The man stepped into a patch of moonlight, revealing a face scarred by battles past. His eyes, cold and calculating, fixed upon her with an intensity that made Moira’s blood run cold.

She took an involuntary step back, her hand instinctively reaching for the dirk she kept hidden in the folds of her skirt.

“Ye shouldnae be out here alone, lass,” the man said, his voice low and menacing. “There be dangers lurkin’ in these moors that ye cannae even imagine.”

Moira lifted her chin, refusing to show fear. “I can take care o’ meself,” she said, her fingers closing around the hilt of her dirk. “Now, I’ll ask ye again—who are ye and what do ye want?”

You think you can outsmart me, little girl?” he growled, his cold eyes glinting with malice. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

Moira stood her ground, refusing to let her fear show. She met his gaze steadily, her chin lifted in defiance. “I know ye are trying to frighten me,” she retorted, her voice surprisingly calm despite the hammering of her heart. “And I’m not afraid of ye.”

The man’s lips curled into a sneer. He took a step closer, looming over her like a predator ready to pounce. “Is that so?” he mused, his tone dripping with condescension. “Well, perhaps it’s time for a little lesson in respect.”

In a flash, the man’s hand shot out, gripping Moira’s wrist in a vice-like hold. She gasped in pain, the dirk clattering to the ground. He yanked her closer, his fetid breath hot against her face.

“Ye McAfees think ye’re so high and mighty,” he snarled, his eyes blazing with hatred. “But I remember a time when yer clan was nothin’ more than a pack o’ mangy dogs, scroungin’ for scraps at the feet o’ the Sinclairs.”

Moira’s eyes widened in recognition as she ignored the first part of his statement. The McAfees had been the strongest clan in their area for a long while, over a century. “Ye…ye were an advisor to Laird Sinclair,” she breathed, the pieces falling into place.

The man’s grip tightened, his nails digging into her flesh. “Aye, I was,” he spat. “Until yer husband and his kin warred against us, leaving the few remaining Sinclairs to rot.”

“The McAfees didnae betray yer clan,” she argued, struggling against his grip.

“Yer laird was a tyrant, oppressin’ his own people.

The McAfees simply fought for what was right.

And both of my sisters were taken by the Sinclairs against their will at different times!

Yer leader was in the wrong for what he did, and me clan and the McClains took care of him. ”

The man’s face contorted with rage. “Lies!” he roared, spittle flying from his lips. “The Sinclairs were a great clan, and we will rise again!”

Kevin stepped out from behind a tree, sword in hand. “Run back to the keep, Moira!” he shouted as the stranger struck his sword with his own.

Moira couldn’t move. She felt as if her legs were tangled into roots in the ground. As she watched, Kevin made short work of the man, and within moments, Sinclair was on his knees before Kevin. “Just kill me!” the man shouted.

Kevin shook his head. “Nay, I’ll put ye in the dungeon with yer laird and his son. Ye can rot for all I care!” While Kevin held his sword to the man’s throat, Moira hurried forward and bound his hands behind his back with her shawl.

Moira followed the two men back to the keep, reminding herself once again, it wasn’t safe to be out alone—especially after dark.