Duncan nodded and gestured to a chair across from him. Brodie remained standing—a statement of the gravity of his request.
“Speak your mind, son,” Duncan spoke evenly.
“I seek your blessing to marry Moira—immediately,” Brodie declared. “I understand tradition but cannot face what may come without her as me wife.”
Silence filled the room, charged with unspoken fears and impending battles. Duncan leaned back in his chair, examining Brodie intently.
“I hoped for new alliances with me daughters’ marriages. Yet they seem destined for McClains,” Duncan mused.
He looked at Brodie thoughtfully. “But I see how ye regard each other. No man should stand against that—not even a father.”
Brodie waited for the deciding words.
“You have me consent,” Duncan said firmly, nodding. “Wed her. May it bring joy in these dark times.”
“Thank you, Laird McAfee. I am forever in your debt,” Brodie replied, relief washing over him.
“Take care of her,” Duncan advised sternly. “Together, face whatever storms lie ahead.”
Brodie bowed deeply and left the chamber, heart filled with the prospect of a union forged not only in passion, but also shared purpose amid their turbulent world.
*
Brodie entered theinfirmary, eyes locked on Moira as she tended to the wounded. Her red hair was pulled back, dirt smudged on her cheek emphasizing her pale skin. She was a comforting figure in the dim hall.
“Moira,” Brodie said, approaching her. She looked up, eyes connecting with his. “Can we speak?”
Understanding the urgency, Moira nodded and joined him in a quiet corner.
“I’ve spoken with your father,” Brodie started.
“And?” Curiosity danced across her face.
“He’s given us his blessing. I want ye to be me wife, Moira. Before the next battle, I need to know we belong to each other.”
Moira’s eyes displayed a storm of emotions before determination took over. “Ye need to know?”
“Aye,” he affirmed with conviction.
Her voice softened yet remained resolute. “My feelings for ye are strong, Brodie McClain.” She touched his bandaged arm lightly. “They won’t go away.”
“Then ye’ll marry me?”
“Aye, I will marry you. Before the next battle, ye shall have your wish.”
Gratitude swept over Brodie as he held her hands between his own. “Thank you, Moira.”
“Let us face what comes together, as husband and wife,” she replied, gripping his hands firmly.
*
The great hallof McAfee Keep was alive with the sounds of gathered clans, the lingering aroma of roasted meats mixed with the earthy scent of peat smoke filling the air. At the center, Brodie’s heart pounded fiercely. As Moira entered, her fiery red hair catching everyone’s attention, all whispers ceased.
She approached Brodie like a Highland legend, tartan draped over her shoulder. They exchanged vows before the clan, steady voices heavy.
Cheering erupted and bagpipes played, marking their union in a time of strife. Though the ceilidh began joyously, Brodie and Moira only had eyes for each other and slipped away into the shadows.
In their modest wedding chamber, they stood close by the fire’s warmth. A kiss spoke of battles fought and joys discovered while fingers traced lines across skin and stirred embers kindled in adversity.
