Page 33 of Highland Heroine (Brides of the Highlands #3)

T he wooden door of the great hall opened to a lively celebration as Moira and Brodie stepped inside.

This time, Brodie needed nothing more than Moira’s help to get into the great hall and take his seat beside the fire.

Torchlight flickered across the room, casting warmth over the lively crowd dancing to the music of fiddles and bagpipes.

Moira inhaled the rich aroma of roasting meats and fresh-baked bread. The scent felt comforting after the damp battleground. Brodie’s gaze swept across the room, watching as colorful tartans moved with life-affirming energy.

Together, they absorbed the joyful expressions on their kinfolk’s faces. Silver brooches gleamed in the firelight. The hearth’s warmth thawed the uncertainty that lingered within them.

Amid the twirling dancers and clinking glasses in the McAfee stronghold, Moira and Brodie were enveloped by a vibrant tapestry of Highland mirth.

The ceilidh’s energy enveloped Brodie as he sat beside the fire, Moira’s hand in his. The stomping boots and fiddle tunes mixed with hearty greetings from his brothers and clansmen.

“Ah, Brodie! Back on yer feet like a true warrior,” boomed Fearghas, his father, grinning widely.

“Ye’ve mended well, lad,” Alisdair agreed, broad shoulders draped in Clan McAfee’s tartan. Respectful nods and murmurs of admiration for Brodie’s strength surrounded them.

Brodie inclined his head with a humble smile, thanking his brethren.

As Brodie conversed with his wife and kin, Moira felt a gentle tug on her elbow. Ailis stood beside her, brunette locks shimmering against the firelight, green eyes filled with sisterly affection.

“Moira!” Ailis exclaimed. “Ye’ve been missed. Come, tell us everything!”

A circle of women gathered around Moira, all of their faces familiar to her. They shared stories laced with laughter and victory unique to Highland life.

“Ye should’ve seen it, Fiona. The Stewarts never stood a chance,” Moira recounted proudly.

Their laughter blended seamlessly with the bagpipes’ melodies. In her sisters’ eyes, Moira glimpsed reflections of her own fiery spirit.

Here, amid the clannish rites and joyous abandon, Moira McAfee stood surrounded by the traditions of her people—feeling the pulse of the Highlands which reverberated with camaraderie, strength, and an unbreakable sense of belonging.

Brodie spotted Moira laughing among the women at the ceilidh. He silently moved through the crowd, his recent injury obvious with his limp. As he approached her, determination filled his eyes.

“May I?” he asked, a challenging tone in his voice.

Surprised, Moira placed her hand in his. They stepped onto the dance floor and moved gracefully together. Moira understood that he needed to appear strong, and she was more than willing to help. “Lean on me if ye need to.”

Moira’s pride swelled as she watched Brodie dance, claiming his place among his kin. She was very proud of his recovery, and he would be moving back to their room the following day.

Their presence drew attention. Meanwhile, former Stewart soldiers who had joined their alliance cautiously mingled with the McClains and McAfees on the gathering’s fringes.

Tentative smiles were met with nods, and as they shared drinks, divisions blurred.

The men relaxed as they integrated into their new clan.

A jest from one newcomer elicited cheers from the McClain warriors, further breaking down distrust. The firelight cast away old allegiances and lit up a path toward camaraderie instead of conflict.

In the back of Moira’s mind, an idea was forming.

They needed to find a way to keep their alliance strong, and perhaps the way to do that was to hold Highland Games there each year, inviting all of the clans who had joined them in battle.

As melodies and laughter filled the air, Brodie and Moira clung to one another. Neither wanted this ceilidh, the last with his brethren there, to end.

The ceilidh resonated with the rhythm of fiddles and bagpipes, setting the hall abuzz. Lachlan McClain stood by the firelight, raising his mug high. The room hushed, awaiting his words.

“Clansmen and kin,” Lachlan began, “We gather for a single purpose. Let this cup be a toast to unity and peace!” He nodded to Ailis before continuing, “To a shared future!”

“Slàinte mhath!” Voices chorused in harmony as mugs clinked and ale splashed, celebrating the newfound union.

Moira and Brodie slipped away under the open sky, fingers interlaced. The cool night air caressed their flushed cheeks as they stopped at the edge of the light.

Stars peppered the velvet expanse above them, witnesses to tales of strife and reconciliation.

“Even the heavens seem to be celebrating with us,” Moira whispered.

“Aye,” Brodie agreed. “It’s a new start for us all.”

“I find meself believing again—in peace, in us,” she replied.

Their glance held the weight of battles fought and won. The memory of swords and sorrow gave way to a future written in starlight.

“Let’s carry this night within us,” Brodie said, squeezing her hand. “As a reminder of what we’re fighting for—days filled with moments like these.”

“And nights where we can simply be,” Moira added softly, leaning against him.

In the distance, the ceilidh’s melody beckoned. Yet, they stayed outside, entwined under the star-filled sky.

Drawn by the slow, intimate fiddle tune, Moira and Brodie rejoined the ceilidh. They entered the circle of dancers, moving in sync to the steady rhythm.

Brodie’s steps were smooth, but Moira could see the sheen of sweat and grimaces on his face. Their eyes met, exchanging silent understanding. His hand on her waist guided their movements together.

“Ye’ve come a long way since the injury,” Moira said softly, her voice rising above the quiet bagpipes. “But I think ye may need to sit for the rest of the night. This is too much for ye.”

Brodie chuckled. “It was yer stubborn will that kept me on my feet,” he replied.

“Och, it’s yer own determination that deserves credit,” she countered with a smile.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, humor lighting up his deep brown eyes. “But without ye, I’d be fighting shadows.” His grip tightened around her as they moved—a silent pledge.

“And without ye, I’d be a flame without a hearth to call home,” she replied, affection softening her gaze. They knew the significance of those words.

Moira led him to his chair beside the fire and planted herself in the seat beside his. She wasn’t willing to let him fall, no matter what he was thinking.

“Whatever comes,” Brodie said firmly, “we’ll face it together.”

“Aye,” Moira agreed.

The music swelled into a lively jig, stirring the hall’s festive atmosphere. Moira and Brodie watched the dance floor, hands intertwined as tartan-clad clansmen and women leapt and twirled around them.

“Look at them,” Moira whispered, motioning to the dancing couple nearby. “They dance as if the earth beneath them is alive.”

For this moment, worries of conflict and strife were forgotten. The ceilidh burned with life’s promise.

As the night wore on, Alisdair called for the McClain clan to prepare for departure. “We leave at first light!”

“Time we join the others,” Brodie said, gazing at the remaining dancers.

“The night is still young in our hearts,” Moira replied playfully. “Besides, yer not ready for travel just yet. We’ll stay here with the McAfees for a while.”

Lachlan and Ailis approached them, deep in conversation. Lachlan’s hand rested gently on Ailis’ back—a silent vow of return.

“Brothers,” Brodie called softly, gaining Lachlan and Alisdair’s attention.

Lachlan met their eyes with a leader’s resolve. “Aye, let us make ready. This night has been a blessing, but the morrow comes with the sun.”

“We will let the McClain soldiers leave as one,” he commanded, rallying the clansmen into action. “We must stay behind.”

Farewells were heartfelt among allies and former Stewart soldiers alike—shared trials forging bonds stronger than steel.

The McClain men all retired for the night, so they would be ready to leave first thing in the morning. They had been far from their home for too long, and now that Clyde Stewart was on his way to the dowager queen, they knew it was time to return to their homes and families.

*

The piper’s melody disappeared into the Highland night as Brodie and Moira left the lively gathering in the great hall. The celebration behind them became a distant echo, contrasting with the quiet darkness outside. The glowing embers of a bonfire softly illuminated their surroundings.

Moira squeezed Brodie’s hand, a comforting touch conveying gratitude and love. They stood at the edge of the firelight, feeling the world around them hushed and expectant.

Together they walked to the infirmary, where Brodie would spend his last night, and there would be more rehabilitation the following day.

Then the long walk up the stairs to the room they would share.

It sounded like a dream to have the ability to share a room again and live like a normal married couple.

“Tomorrow is ours to shape,” Moira said confidently.

Feeling her words’ truth, Brodie nodded. They turned away from past memories and faced the dawning future together.