Page 39 of Highland Heroine (Brides of the Highlands #3)

M oira’s boots thudded against the training field’s compacted soil as she closed in on Brodie, his sword arcing gracefully through the air. As she approached, she thought about just what she needed to say to Brodie so they could make peace.

The metallic clang halted when Brodie sensed Moira’s presence and turned to face her, tension evident in his posture. Sliding his sword into its sheath, surprise morphed into anger that had been brewing since their last encounter. His deep brown eyes mirrored the tumultuous Highland skies.

Undeterred, Moira met his eyes. Both knew this confrontation meant a clash of indomitable wills. Bound by honor and past grievances, neither would yield easily.

Moira halted, maintaining a deliberate distance. “Brodie, we need to talk,” she said, urgency in her voice.

Her rigid posture and expectant eyes fixed on him, allowing no refusal.

The world seemed to pause as Brodie studied Moira’s face, his hand resting on his sword’s pommel. His eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in an effort to understand her message.

For a moment, they remained motionless, engaged in a silent battle of wills. Finally, with a curt nod, Brodie stepped forward and fell into step beside her. Their boots crunched upon the grass as they headed toward the forest trail, leaving the sounds of clashing steel behind.

Moira navigated the forest trail, sunlight and shadows creating a shifting mosaic on the ground.

Memories of laughter and secrets whispered in this place clung to her thoughts as she moved through the trees.

This forest was where she’d fallen in love with Brodie, and it was now here where they would have to make peace—if only for appearances.

She cut a determined path. She moved with grace, familiar with every root, stone, and bend that spoke of clan legacy and Highland valor.

Behind her, Brodie maintained a respectful distance, his guarded expression betraying nothing of his inner turmoil. He observed Moira’s hair capturing beams of light—a nod to the fierce spirit he had thought he knew so well.

Silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken words and confessions yet to be aired. In the middle of the ancient trees, the complexities of their bond lay bare, waiting to be unraveled or knotted tighter still.

Amidst the forest’s hushed serenity, Moira halted and turned to Brodie. “Here is as good a place as any,” she declared resolutely.

“Moira—” Brodie began, but her stance silenced him.

“I’ve been told to make peace with you,” she stated, her voice straining against her frustration. “Peace, but not without conditions.” She stood tall, embodying the dignity of her clan position.

“Ye can return to my chamber,” Moira conceded. “But ken this, Brodie McClain—there will be boundaries that ye dare not cross.” Her voice remained steady and unyielding.

Brodie met her gaze, his eyes reflecting the shifting light but hiding his thoughts. He understood the weight of Moira’s words and the shared uncertainty of their future.

Brodie’s hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword, revealing the warrior beneath the strategist. Moira’s words resonated among the ancient trees, each syllable a ripple in Brodie’s composure. He listened, jaw muscles tense, as Moira issued her demands.

“Ye’re not to lay a finger upon me,” she declared, her voice steady like the Highland glens. “That is my first condition.”

The air stilled, even rustling leaves pausing to hear her decree. Brodie’s pride smarted; such a stipulation chafed at his honor. Yet, he held his tongue, silence stretching between them.

“Consider yerself fortunate,” she continued, fire igniting in her eyes. “For if I had surrendered to my rage… Well, it’s yer good fortune I dinna run ye through with my blade.”

Moira’s lips barely curved into a sardonic smile or a snarl—the seriousness undeniable. A testament to her restraint and the fierceness of McAfee blood—a warning clothed in mercy.

Brodie absorbed her words, silently watching her. The weight of their history surrounded them in the quiet forest trail, and for a moment, something akin to regret flickered in his eyes. But he remained silent as Moira’s resolve stood firm before him.

Brodie’s breath hitched, ready to unleash the storm of words behind his clenched teeth. His deep brown eyes, skilled at reading situations and enemies, now betrayed his inner turmoil. Anger sparked within them, ignited by Moira’s admonitions, but beneath it lay hurt and unmistakable regret.

Before he could speak, Moira’s hand rose—swift, decisive. “Nae yet,” she interjected with commanding authority. Her gesture symbolized the walls she had erected for necessity and self-preservation.

“Listen to me, Brodie McClain,” Moira began anew, her voice a sharpened blade. “What we had… it cannae endure under deceit and discord.

“Ye ken as well as I that unresolved issues and resentments simmer between us. It will burn us both if we dinnae attend to it.” Her hands gestured passionately.

“We must forge a new path forward, together or apart, clear and open-eyed. Can ye respect that? Can ye honor my boundaries without trampling them beneath yer pride?”

She stood her ground like a fierce McAfee warrior, demanding respect through her unwavering spirit. The question hung between them, a challenge and an invitation—their bond teetering on the precipice of his response.

Brodie exhaled, his breath vanishing in the cool Highland air. He took a step closer to Moira, shoulders tense.

“Moira,” he murmured, voice heavy with inner turmoil. “I’ve been…adrift in a storm of emotions I can’t yet fathom. I need time, Moira. Time to understand the depth of what has passed between us.”

In the quiet, Brodie sought understanding in Moira’s eyes. She gave a slow nod, her gaze intense but softened. “Aye, Brodie,” she said, voice tempered with strength. “Ye’ve always been a man of thought, one to weigh each word and deed like a blacksmith balances his blade.”

She stepped forward, resolute. “I won’t pretend this will be easy or treat it lightly. But if ye are willing to meet me in earnest—to work through this mire—then I am willing too.”

As Moira extended the olive branch of truce, they stood on the precipice of change amidst the wilds of the Highlands.

Brodie’s gaze carried unspoken words, bridging the once insurmountable distance between them. Their breaths mingled in the cool Highland air before fading away like their lingering resentment, making room for something delicate yet brimming with potential.

With a subtle shift, Brodie broke the stillness and Moira faced him.

Their eyes locked, and an unspoken promise crystallized between them.

It was a tentative beginning, woven into their lives as the setting sun cast long shadows on the ground.

Hope kindled within them—a glimmer that might one day ignite into a fire as fierce as the Highland spirit itself.