Chapter Nine
The Highland airbristled with restless energy as Moira McAfee watched from the parapet of McAfee Keep, eyes on the horizon.
“MacGregor… Mackenzie… Campbell…” Moira murmured, counting the emblems waving in the wind, symbols of alliances formed out of necessity. Emissaries had returned from each clan, their arrival marking a reprieve from bloodshed and bolstering their confederation.
Moira was thrilled so many clans had decided to join them in their fight. At first, she’d been surprised that more hadn’t shown up, but now that the emissaries had explained to each laird what was happening, and how their lives would change if they didn’t stand up for their Highland ways of life, they were coming around.
A cheer erupted as Moira joined her clansfolk in the courtyard where preparations for the evening’s ceilidh were underway. Torches flared to life, filling the air with warmth and aromas of roasting venison and barley bread. Musicians tuned fiddles and pipes; melodies rose above conversations within ancient stone walls.
Duncan’s voice boomed. “Tonight, we dance not as separate clans but as one.” Moira found herself swept into the whirl of kilted men whose faces bore marks of harsh winters and fierce battles.
Feasting followed dancing with platters piled high. Laughter mixed with clinking tankards, and tales of valor and mischief ignited camaraderie amid shared purpose.
Brodie sidled up beside Moira, remarking on the joyous atmosphere despite looming threats. To this, Moira replied, “It is this very joy that reminds us what we’re fighting for.”
As the ceilidh carried on, a Highland alliance formed not only through oaths but shared laughter and dance—a fleeting peace nestled between inevitable battles on the horizon. Duncan had often told his daughters that alliances were made faster through shared meals than shared battles. The feasts were to help solidify the alliance.
The ceilidh’s fervor softened to hushed stories and laughter when Moira noticed Lucas Gordon weaving through the McAfees. His freshly woven plaid attire, clasped by a brooch, mirrored their own.
“Doesn’t seem right,” grumbled a nearby clansman.
Moira watched as Lucas greeted an elder, receiving only a tentative smile before being left alone. Despite her people’s reservations, she couldn’t deny his role in their survival thus far.
“Ye ken they’re none too pleased with him,” Brodie said quietly, joining Moira.
“Have they spoken openly against him?” Moira asked, her gaze still on Lucas.
“Aye. They say a snake cannae change its scales.”
“Yet his counsel has steered us clear of Gordon traps and Stewart’s ploys,” she reasoned. “I would be the first to mistrust the man, but he’s proving worthy of our confidence in him.”
“But trust is hard-won here,” Brodie replied. “Perhaps time will prove his worth.”
Moira watched as Lucas tried once more to engage with younger warriors but withdrew under the weight of suspicion.
“Or perhaps time will unveil a truth we dare not face,” Brodie added softly, his words slicing the festive air.
Moira felt unease for the man who fought alongside them, yet stood apart. His future and loyalty remained enigmatic. “I dinnae think we can mistrust him at this point. We cannae fully trust him either, though. I suppose we’ll all have to learn to trust him and pray that he is worthy.”
*
Moira studied theparchment, her fingers tracing the lines of ink that marked clan allegiances. She noticed the Lindsays were unclaimed by either side and felt a sense of urgency.
She approached her father who was conferring with his advisors in the dimly lit hall. “Father,” she said, presenting the parchment, “the Lindsays do not appear. I remember Elsa Lindsay; we shared words and laughter. I believe I could sway her to our cause. We were fast friends when we were younger.”
Duncan’s hand stroked his silvery beard as he considered her proposal. “It’s a perilous time, Moira. The roads are filled with danger.”
“I understand the risk, but consider the reward,” she pressed. “With Lindsay support, our position strengthens.”
“Very well,” he sighed. “Brodie will accompany ye along with a couple of guards. Ye will heed his counsel.”
“Thank ye, Father,” Moira inclined her head slightly.
“Keep yer wits about ye and return swiftly,” Duncan instructed.
“Swiftly,” she echoed before leaving to find Brodie under a star-speckled sky. The Highland wind whispered through the pines, carrying the scent of impending change. Embracing its chill and challenge, Moira set out to gather her companions for the journey.
*
