Page 37 of Highland Heroine (Brides of the Highlands #3)
B rodie McClain slipped away from the great hall, his mind trapped by Moira McAfee’s eyes meeting those of a lad from her past. The brief exchange was charged with an emotion Brodie couldn’t place.
He moved through the crowd, feeling disconnected from the happy people within. He was filled with a sense of longing as he entered the castle’s stone corridors to escape the noise. Navigating familiar passages, he retreated deeper into his thoughts.
Being surrounded by happy people had brought a feeling of restlessness to him. Had he just ruined his chance for happiness with Moira? He thought to apologize, but he still felt hurt by the look he had seen on her face when she’d spoken with Keir.
In a dimly lit room, empty except for a solitary candle casting shadows, Brodie’s facade of composure crumbled. He paced before a dying hearth, questioning the implications of that moment for Moira, their clans’ alliance, and a future he had only begun to consider.
Leaning against a rough table, Brodie exhaled slowly. Alone, he confronted emotions he had long analyzed but rarely indulged. Even with his strategic prowess, matters of the heart bewildered him—playing by rules he was only beginning to understand.
*
As dawn graced the Highland peaks, Brodie joined the others in the great hall for breakfast. The room bustled with the sounds of meals and conversations. He sat at the long oak table, his thoughts preoccupied with Moira’s lingering effect on him.
“Brodie!” Lachlan McClain greeted him heartily, clapping him on the back. His dark hair framed a face that spoke to both battle and kinship. “I’ve been looking for ye,” he said.
“Good morning, Lachlan,” Brodie replied, observing the excitement in Lachlan’s manner—an anticipation humming beneath his words.
“Ye’ve no idea how happy I am for ye, lad,” Lachlan continued genuinely. “Times ahead promise prosperity for us all.”
Brodie nodded politely, not one to bask in praise or attention. He sensed Lachlan’s enthusiasm went beyond formality—stemming from a deep-rooted pride as a Highland laird whose legacy was intertwined with the land itself.
“Prosperity, ye say?” Brodie asked, his confusion evident. The great hall buzzed with energy, but his focus remained on Lachlan.
“Prosperity through new life,” Lachlan affirmed, straightening as if the word carried the clan’s future. He glanced around, ensuring their privacy in the middle of the hall’s commotion.
Brodie’s mind raced, trying to decipher Lachlan’s cryptic words. “New life? I don’t follow.”
Lachlan’s eyes narrowed with concern. “The wee bairn, Brodie. ’Tis common talk now.” His frown implied that he assumed Brodie already knew.
“The child,” Brodie murmured, understanding dawning on him but leaving more questions unanswered. Lachlan’s dedication to his family was evident. It was that same loyalty that made him think Brodie would be informed about such a crucial matter.
Brodie’s thoughts raced ahead, grappling with the implications of this newfound knowledge.
Brodie’s frustration simmered as he left the great hall, the revelation unsettling him. He navigated the corridors of McAfee Keep, focused on confronting Moira.
He paused at the door to her chamber before entering. “Moira,” he started, his voice steady. She stood by the window, morning light outlining her figure. “There is talk of a child.”
The tension between them was palpable.
“Aye, there is talk,” she responded, not facing him.
“And the father?” he insisted.
Her eyes held an inner fire as she turned toward him. “Is it the identity of the man or the potential scandal that concerns you?”
“Both,” he said without hesitation. “For our families and the clan, we must be prudent.”
“Prudence,” she said with disdain. “Know this—I am not a problem to be solved.”
“Moira, I do not see ye as such,” he replied softly but firmly. “But we cannot ignore the ramifications of this secret. It is bigger than either of us.”
Their gazes met in silent understanding, unspoken truths hanging in the air between them.
“Ye think to judge me?” Moira’s voice cut through the thick air. Her stance was unyielding and commanding respect. “I’ll not be tethered by whispers or weighed down by expectations of men who know naught of my life.”
Brodie watched defiance flicker in her eyes, as fierce as Highland winds sweeping across the moors. “It’s not about judgment,” he said calmly, though her spirit threatened to ignite his temper. “It’s about facing consequences together, for the good of all.”
“Consequences,” she spat the word, hands balling into fists. “As if I haven’t considered them! I am no bairn cowering before a storm. I stand ready to face whatever comes.”
“Moira—” Brodie began, attempting to bridge their misunderstanding.
“No!” She cut him off with a swift raise of her hand. “I’ve heard enough.” With each word, her independence roared louder, echoing through the stone chamber like a battle cry. “Ye may strategize and plot, but ye cannot control life’s course. Not mine.”
Turning on her heel, Moira strode toward the door. Brodie watched as she marched away, embodying the Highland spirit that coursed through her veins.
With each step, she carried an unwavering loyalty to her family and clan toward solace found in the embrace of her sisters—those who would understand her struggles and share burdens without stifling confines.
The heavy wooden door closed behind her with a sound that reverberated through Brodie’s core, leaving him in the shadows grappling with unresolved tension that hung in the air like mist over lochs. The confrontation had ended, but silent echoes lingered—a prelude to battles yet unfought.
Moira’s boots echoed against the cold stone as she hastened through the dimly lit corridors of McAfee Keep. Her breaths came in short bursts, painting the chilly air with the fog of her exertion and defiance. She didn’t need to knock; the door flung open as if by her will alone.
“God’s teeth, Moira,” Ailis remarked, noticing her younger sister’s flushed face.
“Close the door!” Moira snapped, and as she turned around to secure it, her sisters exchanged concerned glances.
“Out with it then,” Fiona said, her voice steady. “What did Brodie want?”
“Want?” Moira scoffed. “He wanted answers. About the babe.” She paced like a caged animal. “But I’ll not be cornered and questioned as if I’m some misbehaving bairn!”
“Ye’re carrying a child,” Ailis reminded gently. “People will have questions.”
“I am married to my bairn’s father. There should be no questions! Especially from him,” Moira shot back. “My child will be raised a McAfee, strong and free.”
“Did he threaten ye?” asked Fiona, rising from her seat.
“Nay,” Moira stopped pacing and faced them squarely. “But he’s asking questions about the bairn’s parentage when he should be rejoicing with me that we’re having a child together.”
“Ye’ve naught to be ashamed of,” Ailis said firmly. “Ye have always been brave and true. Ye wouldnae think of dallying with a man who wasnae yer husband, and this entire clan kens it.”
“We stand with ye,” added Fiona. “If ye cannae stay with Brodie after these accusations, we’ll help ye raise yer child. He has no right to question ye that way!”
“Thank ye,” Moira breathed out, feeling warmth from their solidarity.
A moment of silence filled the room until Ailis stepped forward and said, “We’ll face whatever comes together.”
“In the stronghold of my sisters’ arms,” Moira stepped into their embrace, “the world outside seemed inconsequential.”
Moira stepped back, her gaze meeting each of her sisters’ eyes—a mirror reflecting their shared resolve. The embers of defiance ignited within her.
“Ye ken I’ll stand my ground,” Moira said, her words firm and strong. “Brodie McClain may think he can sway me with his quiet ways, but I am not so easily moved.”
Ailis nodded, her expression glinting with pride. “We ken well the mettle of yer heart, sister. It would make no sense for ye to back down now. If ye do, he’ll think he can treat ye any way he chooses, and that cannae be the way he thinks.”
“Besides,” Fiona added, a mischievous twinkle softening the moment, “if Brodie dares cross ye again, he’ll have all of us to reckon with.”
Moira’s lips twitched. “I’d like to see him try,” she replied, the challenge in her voice palpable.
“Enough talk of McClains and confrontations,” Ailis declared. “Tonight, we dine together, just us sisters.”
Moira conceded with a nod, though her thoughts strayed to Brodie—his deep brown eyes always watching and calculating. She could almost hear his steady voice asking questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
“Moira?” Fiona asked, concern on her face.
“Apologies,” Moira said, shaking off Brodie’s shadow. “I was lost in thought for a moment there.”
Ailis teased lightheartedly about ghosts and Sinclairs on their land. Despite the laughter it brought, tension still lingered around Moira.
As they left the room together, Moira glanced over her shoulder—feeling the weight of the confrontation with Brodie like a tartan draped across her shoulders. The path forward was shrouded in mist and uncertainty but Moira’s resolve remained unshakable.
With unwavering support from her sisters, Moira stepped out of the room. Yet beneath their solidarity, an undercurrent of unrest promised more challenges to come.