Chapter Sixteen
Dawn pierced themorning mists as Moira McAfee stood by the narrow window of the keep, her red hair loosely bound. She watched the sentries change shifts along the McAfee stronghold’s stone walls.
“Last night’s whispers spoke of unrest,” she said, steady despite the distant thud of morning drums. “Soldiers weary of the Stewart’s promises. We must act swiftly.”
Brodie, leaning against a heavy oaken table, absorbed her words with his gaze fixed on her eyes that held strategic clarity.
“Ye suggest we entreat with these men?” he asked, admiration mixed with caution.
“Aye, under cover of darkness. A few could slip past Sinclair’s watch and return with allies,” Moira replied. She’d thought long and hard about the idea before broaching it with Brodie.
Brodie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I like the idea, but I’d not risk our soldiers. Me brothers and I, along with Kevin, will go. We ken the land and the peril.”
Moira hesitated before nodding in agreement. “See to it that ye all return by first light. We cannae afford to lose any of ye.” She walked into his arms, throwing hers around him. “And I cannae ken me life without ye.”
“Ye have me word,” Brodie assured her, kissing the top of her head. “I wouldnae leave ye alone to marry some other man.”
As they planned, the air thrummed with anticipation. The stakes were high for their clans’ future success in this venture.With a final nod, Brodie left to gather his brothers and Kevin—loyal as Highland bedrock.
Together, they met with three men they’d come to trust who had already joined them after leaving the Stewart’s command—Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas.
The three men proved invaluable as they explained the layout of the camp and provided a crude map of how things were. They gave good suggestions that would help keep the men alive.
“I believe we should go with ye, Brodie. Let’s leave yer brothers here to lead the army if we cannae return for some reason,” Lucas suggested.
Alisdair looked as if he wasn’t sure if they could be allowed to go but finally he nodded. “Take no unnecessary risks!”
Brodie smiled. “We will be careful. Ye shouldnae risk yerselves. I agree with Lucas.” Words he never thought he would say, but they were true.
Lucas grinned at Brodie. “We will come back alive. I promise ye that.”
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the rugged Highland terrain, Brodie and his small band of trusted allies prepared to embark on their covert mission. They donned dark cloaks and secured their weapons, their faces set with grim determination.
Moira stood at the gate, her green eyes filled with a mixture of pride and concern as she watched them mount their horses. She knew the risks they were taking, but she also understood the importance of their task. If they could persuade more of the Stewart’s men to join their cause, it could turn the tide of the impending conflict.
Brodie rode to her side, his voice low and reassuring. “Dinnae fash yerself, lass. We’ll return afore ye ken it, wi’ new allies at our backs.”
Moira nodded, her hand resting on his arm. “Aye, I ken it. But promise me ye’ll take nae unnecessary risks. Our people need ye, Brodie. I need ye.”
With a final squeeze of her hand, Brodie turned his horse and led his band of loyal men out through the gates and into the gathering dusk. They rode in silence, the only sounds the muffled thud of hooves on the soft earth and the occasional snort of a horse.
As they neared the Stewart’s encampment, they slowed their pace, relying on the shadows to conceal their approach. Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas guided them, pointing out the sentries and the best route to avoid detection.
They dismounted a safe distance away, tethering their horses in a sheltered copse. With a final nod, they crept forward on foot, their cloaks blending seamlessly with the night.
“Remember, nae unnecessary risks,” Brodie muttered, his authoritative voice ensuring no challenge went unanswered.
With silent farewells, Brodie led his team into the night. They moved like shadows across the land, marked only by the rustle of heather and the distant hoot of an owl.
Hidden within an ancient copse of trees near the enemy camp, Brodie huddled with Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas. A dim lantern revealed a crude map on the forest floor.
“Here,” murmured Lucas, pointing to a circled area. “The main guard post.”
“We can skirt ’round the eastern edge. It’s less watched,” Bearnard added, tracing a route.
“What say ye, Horas?” Brodie asked, turning to him.
“None have joined us on Sinclair land,” Horas replied hesitantly. “But they’re spread thin—we outman them if we play this right.”
