Page 29 of Highland Heroine (Brides of the Highlands #3)

M oira McAfee stood in the great hall, stone walls echoing with preparations.

Her clan bustled around her, hanging tartan banners and arranging wooden tables for the evening’s ceilidh.

Moira remained still, scanning the room to be certain all was at the ready.

Anticipation weighed upon her, contrasting with the festive atmosphere and tightening responsibilities within her.

Young lads hoisted barrels of ale, laughter mixing with the noise of kitchen maids carrying trays of bannocks and smoked fish. Moira’s thoughts wandered to Brodie—the man whose quiet strength intertwined with her own unyielding spirit—his recovery tugging at the edges of their shared loyalties.

Taking a deep breath, Moira stepped into chaos. She navigated the hall, offering decisive guidance to her kinsmen’s questions.

“Moira, where d’ye want the fiddlers to set up?” asked a burly clansman.

“By the hearth, Hamish,” she directed. “The warmth will keep their fingers nimble for the reels.”

As she assisted with arrangements, Moira’s confident facade hid an internal struggle between duty and Brodie’s struggles.

“Moira, is it too much garland?” A timid voice drew her attention to a young girl holding fragrant pine and holly.

“Never too much,” Moira reassured firmly but kindly. “The greenery reminds us of life thriving even in winter. We celebrate not just our might, but our endurance.”

The girl returned to her task, encouraged by Moira’s approval. Observing her, Moira longed to join Brodie and see how her husband was doing that day, but she had other duties that must be seen to first.

“Ye seem lost in thought,” Beathan remarked, appearing beside her. “Troubles?”

“Only the usual concerns,” Moira answered with a fleeting grin.

Beathan gently reminded her that even the strongest needed a break. Grateful for his wisdom, Moira focused on getting the great hall ready for the ceilidh they had planned.

During the ceilidh, she sought a balance between duty and longing, her heart intertwined with Brodie’s.

Ailis approached quietly, her presence barely noticeable. Moira turned to see her sister’s eyes gleaming with resolve and a touch of apprehension.

“Moira,” Ailis said, “the ceilidh is more than just a celebration tonight. It’s necessary for maintaining our alliances.”

Moira understood the unspoken worries between them. “We’ll use it to remind everyone that our kinship is stronger than any outside threat.”

“And what about Clyde Stewart?” Ailis asked, concern in her voice.

“We’ll keep our allies close and make sure they know where we stand,” Moira responded firmly. “If Stewart raises another army, I’m certain we’ll hear about it long before he approaches.”

Ailis smiled at her sister’s determination. Moira then stepped outside into the courtyard, needing fresh air. There she saw Brodie sitting amidst wild thistles, a mix of pride and concern filling her.

“How did ye get out here?” Moira whispered, reaching out to brush his arm.

Brodie met her gaze, replying with a hint of a smile, “Me brothers told me I would rot if I stayed in the infirmary for another minute, and they carried me out here. I must admit that it’s doing me good to be in the fresh air.”

“Just dinnae overdo it. Ye’ve been in a bed for a week now, and ye’ve lost much of yer strength.”

Moira’s arm wrapped around Brodie’s waist. She studied his face, noting each wince he tried to hide.

“Talk to me, Brodie,” Moira urged. “Tell me what ye need.”

He leaned on his cane, searching her determined eyes. “I fear I’ll never be the man you need me to be.”

“Ye forget, my love,” she said, touching his cheek. “I chose ye because ye always walked with me.”

A fleeting smile crossed Brodie’s lips. “Aye, but now…with Clyde Stewart’s threat…”

“Ye are not a hindrance, Brodie McClain. Together, we are stronger than any looming threat.” She rested her head on his shoulder for just a moment.

Her words kindled a spark in his eyes—a glimpse of their shared passion.

“Your faith gives me strength,” Brodie admitted softly.

“Do ye want to try to make an appearance at the ceilidh tonight?” she asked. “Ye aren’t strong enough to stay long, but a short time would be nice, I think. The infirmary sucks all the happiness from ye.”

Brodie considered Moira’s suggestion, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. “Aye, I’ll make an appearance. Everyone needs to see that I’m healing, even if I cannae stay long. I ken the McClain soldiers will be happy to see I can move a bit.”

Moira squeezed his hand, pride swelling in her chest. “I’ll be by your side, mo chridhe. We’ll show them our strength.” She rested her head on his shoulder for just a moment. It was good to have her husband back.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the courtyard, Moira went for Brodie’s brothers to take him back to the infirmary where he could rest before the ceilidh. Once she found Alisdair and Lachlan, they carried him back to the infirmary, and he slept.

*

The great hall was alive with the spirit of the Highlands. Fiddlers played lively reels while clansmen and women danced, their feet pounding the stone floor in intricate patterns. The aroma of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the scent of pine and smoke from the hearth.

Moira moved through the crowd, her vibrant hair catching the firelight as she greeted allies and kin alike. Then she scanned the room, noting the placement of each clan and the subtle shifts in power dynamics. She understood that this gathering’s importance extended far beyond mere celebration.

As she passed a group of men who had joined them from the Stewart’s army, their hushed conversations faltered. Moira met their guarded looks with a cool smile, refusing to let their presence unsettle her.

Moira approached the men, her voice carrying over the music. “I trust ye are enjoying the hospitality of the McAfees this eve.”

The men exchanged glances before one spoke up, his tone carefully neutral. “Aye. ’Tis a grand ceilidh.”

Moira held his gaze, her words measured. “And I trust ye will remember this kindness, should the tides turn.”

The implication hung heavy in the air. The man inclined his head, a flicker of understanding passing between them. “Aye, we’ll not forget.”

Satisfied, Moira moved on, her message delivered. As she wove through the throng, she caught sight of Ailis deep in conversation with her husband, Lachlan. Their heads were bent close, expressions serious despite the merriment surrounding them.

She walked straight to them. “Lachlan, would you find Alisdair and bring Brodie for the ceilidh. He wants to at least be part of it, though he cannae stay for long.”

Lachlan nodded solemnly, his piercing blue eyes meeting Moira’s. “Aye, I’ll fetch Brodie. He’s been eager to join the festivities.”

As Lachlan strode off to find his brothers, Moira turned to Ailis, concern etched on her features. “What troubles ye, sister? I saw the intensity of yer conversation.”

Ailis sighed, her green eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. “Lachlan and I were discussing the men who came to us from the Stewarts and Sinclairs. There are whispers that they’re plotting something, but we cannae discern their true intentions.”

Moira’s brow furrowed. “We must remain vigilant. The Sinclairs have always been a slippery bunch, and with Clyde Stewart’s ambitions…” She trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging between them.

Ailis nodded grimly. “Aye, we cannae let our guard down. Not even for a moment.”

Just then, a hush fell over the great hall as Brodie entered, supported by his brothers Alisdair and Lachlan. Despite the pallor of his skin and the slight tremor in his hands, Brodie held his head high, his brown eyes gleaming with determination.

Moira’s heart swelled with pride and love as she watched her husband make his way through the parted crowd. She stepped forward to meet him, taking his arm and guiding him to a seat of honor near the hearth. “Ye’re doing so well!”

The smile on Brodie’s face told her that he was proud of himself for making it there. She knew his brothers had carried him to the entry to the great hall, and then had set him on his feet, but just a few steps felt like everything to her.

Moira surveyed the great hall of McAfee Keep, taking in the tartan-draped tables, flickering candles, and vibrant wall hangings. Each detail represented her clan’s strength and unity.

“Ye look ready to take on the devil himself,” Brodie said with affectionate humor.

“Perhaps I am,” Moira replied, approaching him.

She observed his subtle wince as he moved to meet her halfway. Though it pained her, she admired his relentless spirit.

“Ye shouldnae strain yerself, Brodie,” she chided gently, grasping his hand.

“Ye know, but I’m done wallowing in my own fears. I’m still alive, and I will make my life the best it can be,” he said, gripping firmly despite evident pain.

“It’s no’ just the clan that needs yer strength. I need ye too, more than ever.”

“Then ye’ll have me, Moira,” Brodie vowed, words enveloping her like a warm plaid.

“Always,” she whispered back, sealing their promise with a tender kiss.

Moira sensed a lighter burden on her shoulders. With Brodie by her side, they were an unbreakable force capable of facing any threat together.

He was only able to stay at the ceilidh for an hour, and she spent every moment of it at his side before returning to her duties as one of the three hostesses. It was nice to just sit and observe the dancers. She enjoyed anything with Brodie at her side.

After making a quick pass through the hall and ensuring people were enjoying themselves, she stopped to watch the dancing for a moment again. Everyone looked happy.

The rhythmic stomping and clapping filled the hall, faces filled with happiness. Moira stood at the edge, and a smile tugged at her mouth. She joined the circle as a burly clansman waved her over.

Moira’s laughter cut through the music as she danced gracefully. Dancers moved in time to the drumbeat, hands weaving and feet tapping in an intricate pattern passed down generations—a testament to Highland heritage.

“Ye’ve not lost yer touch,” Ailis praised, spinning past Moira.

“Nor will I ever,” Moira retorted, eyes sparkling with joy as she spun.

Torches cast a warm glow, and musicians struck up lively tunes that made everyone tap their feet. Laughter mingled harmoniously with fiddles and pipes.

As soon as the last guest had retired for the night, Moira headed back to the infirmary and her Brodie.

“I had a fine time this evening at the ceilidh,” Brodie said softly, smiling at Moira. “It’s more than merriment they share—it is hope.” He covered a yawn.

“Aye,” she agreed, pride evident in her voice. “The men have truly learned to fight and live as one large clan. I never thought I would see so many come together against a single threat.” She smiled mischievously. “Other than the English, of course.”

He chuckled softly, enjoying her humor. “Thank ye for making certain I was able to be there for part of it.”

“I dinnae think I could have made it through the night without ye.” Moira clasped his hand. “Ye ken, we will weather any storm that comes,” Moira murmured amidst the celebration.

“Like the mighty oaks outside these walls,” Brodie replied with a nod, his voice steady as the ancient trees.

“Whatever comes, Brodie, I stand ready, with ye at my side.” Her voice carried the weight of commitment, bound by love and sealed by their ancestors’ blood.

“And I with ye, Moira.”

“Then let us face the morrow with heads held high,” she said, her voice bright with conviction.

“Until the end of our days,” Brodie promised.

She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. It was good to have her husband back. They would have to start the difficult part of getting him walking on his own soon, but for tonight, she felt as if they were united once again.