Chapter Fifteen
Moira wrapped alinen bandage around the soldier’s arm, her concentration unbroken by the infirmary’s activity. The muffled sounds of swords colliding outside called to her, but she remained focused on her role. As much as she wanted to be outside training with the men, she knew it was her duty to take care of the injured.
“Steady now,” she said, grounding the young man before her. “This will hold until ye can fight again.” Gentleness didn’t seem to be in her nature, but she worked hard to make sure the soldiers felt a soft touch as she treated them.
She moved from cot to cot, devoted to those who fought for their lands and people. As she stopped by each cot, she talked softly to the soldier in it, thanking them for all they had done to help the Highlander’s cause.
Outside, Brodie McClain observed the sparring warriors with sharp focus. He corrected stances and offered advice, his quiet strength setting the training rhythm. His attention never wavered from each injury, no matter how minor. Each man was as important to him as their cause. He couldn’t fathom losing even one of them.
“Off to the infirmary,” he ordered one man with an unnoticed cut. “We can’t lose ye to infection.”
The warrior hesitated, pride battling sense, but Brodie’s firm look sent him to seek medical care.
Inside the infirmary, Moira readied herself for more healing. Stray strands of red hair framed her focused expression as she worked tirelessly for her clan’s survival.
Throughout the day, Brodie continued his watchful guidance among his men. As Highlanders born from rugged mountains and strife, they stood strong together, ready for whatever lay ahead.
*
Elsa stood byBryson’s cot, eyes fixed on the bloodstained bandage around his thigh. She adjusted the cloth on his feverish forehead with trembling hands.
“Stay with me, Bryson,” she whispered, her voice blending in with the infirmary’s background noise. Her worried expression betrayed her concern for any sign of pain from him.
Throughout long hours, Elsa stayed by his side, tensing at each delirious moan and flinch. Time blurred together as her vigil continued. She cared for him diligently, offering water and comfort as he slowly healed. She wished there was a way to heal him instantly, but she knew better. His life was hanging by a thread, and it was up to her to see to his comfort.
Bryson’s breaths became steadier, his moments of clarity more frequent. Color returned to his cheeks as the strength in his handgrip grew. Elsa smiled at his signs of recovery, grateful he was finally getting stronger.
Finally, Bryson’s fever subsided, leaving a weakened man alive. As she observed his peaceful slumber, relief washed over Elsa. She silently thanked God for sparing her betrothed, vowing to remain by his side forever. As Bryson healed, Elsa’s world regained a sense of stability and she could breathe freely once more.
*
Amid the snow-cladhills, a lone peregrine falcon pursued its prey. Moira’s gaze followed its hunt, as Brodie readied his bow nearby. She tolerated her days in the infirmary because she knew her nights beside Brodie were her reward for a job well done.
“We are gatherers of strength for what lies ahead,” Brodie said, releasing the arrow. It found its mark as more clansmen crested the ridge, their multi-patterned tartans displaying their clan’s identity, but not stopping the men from joining together as one large fighting force.
“Every clan united to save our way of life,” Moira observed.
“Indeed, a confederation of wills,” Brodie agreed, gathering the hare.
Moira appreciated the respite from the infirmary. “Thank ye, Brodie.”
“Ye belong here, among the thistle and oak,” he replied, smiling respectfully.
They collected their quarry for the feast that night, where tales of valor and alliances would be shared. Distant bagpipes marked the gathering of clans and the strengthening of their army.
“We need to present a united front to all the clans coming to join us. Perhaps we try introducing the people from different clans today and see if we can get them to start sitting wherever they wish without worrying about what clan they come from,” Brodie suggested.
“Tonight, we celebrate not only the catch but a new chapter for our people,” Moira agreed. Together, they returned to the keep on a path forged by camaraderie and unwavering belief in the Highlands’ resilience.
Brodie’s arrow struck the stag in the clearing, and Moira’s arrow quickly followed. The successful hunt left several deer lined up as proof of their skill. Thankfully, they hadn’t come out to hunt alone, and the men who had joined them would help bring the game back to the keep.
Dressing the kills, Moira’s hands moved deftly, but her thoughts lingered on recent events. “The Stewarts’ men—Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas—turned the battle, didn’t they?” It was still hard for her to believe the three men who had been her and her sister’s constant annoyances were now on the same side as Moira and her clan.
Brodie sheathed his blade. “Aye,” he confirmed, his brown eyes intent. “Their courage ignited something fierce in others.”
“Others?” Moira asked.
“More men have joined our ranks since then,” Brodie explained. “Those three became a symbol—a beacon for the brave or repentant. We have had a steady stream of men leaving the Stewart’s rule and coming to our side since.”
