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

T he clamor of battle disrupted the tranquil Highlands all around McAfee Keep. Stinging smoke and the scent of blood filled the air as she assessed the destruction.

The clash of steel jolted Moira from her paralysis. Her red hair, heavy with sweat, clung to her brow amidst the chaos. Fury brewed within her as she clenched her jaw, each scream tightening her resolve.

“Protect them,” she whispered, her words cutting through the turmoil. This vow ignited an inner fire that mirrored the world around her—fear and doubt ceased to exist as she embraced her Highland warrior heritage.

She hurried downstairs from her bed chamber to check if all the women and children were safe. When she saw the huge crowd of people, she knew that if all hadn’t made it to safety, most had. There was no time to go to every cottage in the village to make certain all women and children were safe.

Her hand wrapped around her sword’s hilt, its familiar weight steadying her thoughts. The love for her kin fortified her determination, transforming it into unbreakable armor. Losing those dear to her was a price too high, regardless of war’s costs.

“Stewart will rue the day he decided to target us with his deceit,” she muttered as she set off to find the men she had chosen to be part of her sneak attack from behind.

Each step solidified Moira’s intent—to stand as her family’s shield and her clan’s spear.

The invading Stewarts would face in her the relentless fury of the Highlands—undaunted, untamed, and poised to strike.

Why they thought they could control the Highlands, she didn’t know, but she was ready for them.

Her people would remain the same and always fight against those who wanted to change them.

She thought back to the evening before, when she’d worked to solidify her plans.

Moira had stood in the great hall of McAfee Keep, surrounded by her family and the three McClain brothers: Alisdair, who had married Fiona; Lachlan, who had married Ailis; and Brodie.

Alisdair paced before the hearth, and his brothers leaned against the walls, expressions grim.

“Yer plan is madness, Moira!” Alisdair boomed. “Women should nae be fightin’—” He shook his head. “Ye did not ask permission before ye made your own plan.”

“Me father has given his permission. Would ye have me sit as our home burns?” Moira cut in, eyes blazing. “Clyde Stewart will nae stop until all in the Highlands serve him.”

“We cannae underestimate Stewart,” Lachlan said. “But we must act wisely—not just with rage.”

“Rage may be what saves us,” Moira replied. “We’ve fought too hard to cower before such a man.”

Brodie spoke up. “If Moira believes she can fight, then I trust in her blade.” He glanced at the youngest of the three sisters. “I dinnae like the idea of her fighting any more than anyone else does, but I ken she can do it and do it well.”

Alisdair’s fist struck the table. “We protect our own but dinnae throw lives away on pride and folly.”

“This is about survival,” Moira insisted. “Our clan and family—it’s who we are. If I can wield a sword to protect that, then so be it.”

The room fell silent.

“Ye speak of defying norms, lass,” Alisdair said softly. “But are ye prepared for danger?”

“Better to face danger with courage than to live in fear,” Moira declared. “I stand not behind ye but beside ye. We will fight—for the Highlands, for McAfee, for all that we hold dear.” Backing down was not an option they could take. Their way of life depended on it.

The matriarch of the clan, Fiona’s grandmother, stood listening. “May the spirits of our ancestors guide yer blade,” Granny murmured from the shadows.

*

The air felt heavy as Moira entered the ancient armory of McAfee Keep.

Her fingers brushed over cold steel, selecting a familiar broadsword.

It was one that had been made for her, lighter than a man’s sword, making it easy for her to do damage to the enemy.

As she gripped it, her father handed her a round targe shield adorned with their crest.

“Thank ye,” she replied before securing the shield and donning chainmail, leather bracers, and greaves.

Her father had required one of his men to make it for her when she’d proven so skillful with her sword.

Her sisters didn’t have the same protection she had, but they would not need it.

Their skills were with long-distance weapons.

“Ye’ve chosen well,” Granny McAfee said proudly.

Her father nodded toward the gathered clan members. “Choose yer companions.”

Moira selected seasoned warriors known for their tenacity and grit. “Through the secret passage, we strike from the shadows,” she commanded. “The Stewarts think they can crush us, but they don’t know the strength of the McAfees. They don’t know the fury they’ve unleashed.”

The small band followed through a narrow tunnel that led them behind enemy lines.

“We’ll strike from the shadows, catch them unawares.

They’ll never see us coming.” She turned, fixing her gaze on the distant keep where Clyde Stewart no doubt watched the chaos he had wrought.

The man was a coward, and she couldn’t imagine he would be on the battlefield.

“And when we’re through, the Stewarts will learn the true meaning of Highland vengeance. ”

With a rallying cry, Moira led her band of warriors into the fray, their footsteps swift and silent as they skirted the edges of the battle. They moved like ghosts through the shadows, the cloak of night aiding their stealthy approach.

As they neared the rear of the Stewart forces, Moira signaled for her fighters to spread out, each taking position to maximize the element of surprise. She crouched behind a gnarled oak, her breath slow and steady as she waited for the perfect moment to strike.

It came with a sudden shift in the wind, the smoke from the fires briefly obscuring the Stewarts’ line of sight. Moira let out a fierce battle cry, leaping from her hiding place with her sword drawn. Her warriors followed suit, descending upon the unsuspecting Stewarts like a Highland tempest.

The clash of blades sang through the night as Moira moved within the chaos, her sword a blur of deadly precision. Each strike fueled her resolve, each fallen foe a testament to the unyielding spirit of the McAfees.

Around her, her warriors fought with equal ferocity, their faces etched with grim determination. The Stewarts and their allies, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, struggled to mount a coherent defense.

Moira pressed forward, scanning the fray for any sign of Clyde Stewart.

She knew that to truly break the Stewarts’ resolve, she would need to strike at their leader.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she turned to see a figure apart from the battle, sword in hand. He stood well behind his men.

Moira shook her head. The man needed a better vantage point than the Sinclair Keep, but he was unwilling to put himself in danger. He was a coward who pretended to be a great leader, worthy of ruling all the Highlands.

She moved toward Clyde Stewart until he stood before her, his dark eyes glinting with malice. Moira’s grip tightened on her sword as she faced the devilish man, who had brought such destruction upon her clan.

“Moira McAfee,” Clyde spat. “I should have known you’d be leading this pathetic attempt at resistance.” Clyde had once considered her a pawn in his game to subdue the Highlands, but he’d learned she was more than that. Much more.

Moira’s lips curled into a snarl. “You underestimate the strength of the McAfees, Stewart. It will be your downfall.”

Clyde snickered, a harsh, grating sound that echoed across the battlefield. “Your clan is finished, McAfee. The Highlands will be mine, and there’s nothing ye can do to stop me.”

With a roar of fury, Moira lunged forward, her sword clashing against Clyde’s in a shower of sparks. The force of the impact reverberated through her arm, but she held firm, her gaze locked with Clyde’s.

Around them, the battle raged on, the cries of the wounded and dying mingling with the clang of steel. But for Moira, the world had narrowed to this moment, this confrontation with the man who threatened everything she held dear.

They traded blows, their swords a whirlwind of deadly intent. Clyde was a formidable opponent, his strength and skill honed by years of conquest. But Moira had the fury of the Highlands in her veins, the unyielding spirit of her clan driving every strike.

Sweat poured down her face, mingling with the grime of battle. Her muscles burned with exertion, but she pushed through the pain, her focus unwavering. She would not let Clyde’s blade slip past her defenses. She would not fail her clan, not now, not ever.

With a final, desperate surge of strength, Moira aimed a devastating blow at Clyde’s sword arm. Her blade found its mark, slicing through leather and flesh alike. Clyde let out a howl of pain, his sword clattering to the ground as he clutched at his wounded limb.

Moira pressed her advantage, the point of her sword coming to rest against Clyde’s throat.

“Yield,” she growled, her chest heaving with exertion.

“Yield, and I may yet spare your miserable life.” He didnae deserve to live, but she wouldnae be the one to kill him.

That would be left to the men in charge.

Clyde glared up at her, his eyes burning with hatred.

For a long moment, he seemed poised on the brink of defiance, his jaw clenched in a silent snarl.

But as Moira’s blade pressed more firmly against his skin, drawing a thin line of crimson, Clyde’s resolve crumbled.

“I yield,” he spat. “I yield, damn you.”

Moira held her position a moment longer, her eyes boring into Clyde’s, ensuring his submission was genuine. Satisfied, she withdrew her sword, though she kept it at the ready. “Call off your men,” she commanded. “The battle is over.”

Clyde’s face twisted with barely contained rage, but he complied, bellowing the order to his troops. Slowly, the sounds of combat began to fade, replaced by an eerie, expectant silence.

Moira turned to survey the battlefield, her heart heavy as she took in the toll of the conflict.

McAfee and Stewart alike lay unmoving on the blood-soaked ground, their lives cut short by the folly of men’s ambition.

But as her gaze swept over her warriors, battered but unbroken, a fierce pride swelled within her chest. They had stood against the tide of Stewart aggression and emerged victorious, their Highland spirit undiminished.

Moira’s attention snapped back to Clyde as he struggled to his feet, his wounded arm clutched tightly against his chest. “This isn’t over, McAfee,” he snarled, his voice thick with pain and fury. “You may have won this battle, but the war for the Highlands has only just begun.”

Moira met his gaze unflinchingly, her sword still poised to strike. “We’ll be ready, Stewart. The McAfees will never bow to your tyranny, no matter the cost.”

With a final, venomous glare, Clyde turned and limped away, his retreating form swallowed by the smoke and shadows. Moira watched him go, her heart still pounding with the thrill of battle, the weight of victory tempered by the losses they had suffered.

“Moira!” someone called in a familiar voice. She turned to see her sister Fiona rushing toward her. “Moira, are ye all right?”

Moira embraced her sister fiercely, the relief at seeing her alive and whole overwhelming all other concerns. “I’m fine,” she assured Fiona, pulling back to look her over for injuries. “And you? How do ye fare?”

Fiona managed a weary smile. “I think it was harder for me to watch the battle from above than it would have been to take part in it. Ailis is safe as well, helping tend to the wounded.”

Moira nodded, a weight lifting from her shoulders at the news.

But even as relief washed over her, she knew their trials were far from over.

The Stewarts’ defeat was a significant victory, but it was only the beginning of what promised to be a long and arduous struggle.

She would never understand men’s need to rule over others.

“We must fortify the keep,” Moira said, her mind already racing with the tasks ahead. “Shore up our defenses, gather supplies, tend to the wounded. The Stewarts will return, and we must be ready.”

Fiona’s expression grew somber, the gravity of their situation settling upon her. “Aye, sister. We’ll stand strong, as we always have. The McAfees will endure.”

Together, the sisters made their way back to the keep, their steps heavy with the weight of responsibility. Around them, the warriors of the McAfee clan began the grim work of gathering the wounded and dead so they could be either treated or given a warrior’s burial.

Moira scoured the men on the ground, trying to find one man in particular—Brodie McClain. He had personally worked with her on her sword fighting, and she thought a great deal of him.

She didn’t see him there, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Her family was safe and so was Brodie. She hated that they’d lost men, but the people who were most important to her were safe.