Chapter One
The Highlands, 1555
The torchlight flickeredover McAfee Keep’s great hall, where Moira McAfee weaved through tartan-clad nobles and clan members. Banquet tables overflowed with roasted meats, fresh bread, and ale as laughter reverberated off stone walls decorated with ancient weapons and colorful banners.
Moira’s red hair shimmered, braided with silver and emerald beads, her stride exuding confidence. She acknowledged each guest.
“Moira,” her father, Duncan, beckoned from the head table. “Join old Angus MacNab.”
She approached the elderly warrior, whose face softened into a grin. “Ye grow more like yer mother every day,” he rasped affectionately. Angus was her mother’s uncle, and one of the few ties she had to the woman who had died giving birth to her.
“Thank ye, Angus,” Moira replied, discussing details of that day’s hunt while sensing tension beneath the festivities. This celebration was an act of defiance—they were still here and strong despite the coming conflict.
Moving away from Angus, Moira overheard two clansmen conversing in a shadowy alcove by the hearth. “Ye ken the Gordons will be here in a day or two,” one whispered apprehensively.
“Aye, and the Stewart army with them. And we all know there are others, even if we dinnae know who,” the other muttered, hand on his dirk. “Laird Stewart’s ambition ensures they’ll strike soon.” He shook his head. “Why would a man think he should be the ruler of all the Highlands? We have Queen Mary for that!”
“Let us hope our defenses hold,” sighed the first clansman, glancing at the keep’s sturdy walls. “We’ve prepared as best we can.”
“Prepared, aye,” agreed the second. “But will it be enough?”
The laughter and merrymaking continued unabated around them, but Moira’s mind raced with strategies and contingencies. She’d been told she would not be allowed to participate in the battle, even though her ability with a sword was greater than any of their army. She was a lass, and that meant she had to stay behind.
Moira walked to her father across the great hall, her red hair a blazing contrast to the sea of tartans. Conversations hushed as she confronted Duncan, her father. “We cannot stand idly by!” she insisted, her eyes locked onto his. “Think of how much help the three of us could be. Fiona shoots an arrow like no other, and Ailis throws her knife better than anyone in the Highlands. Father, ye must allow us to help with the battle!”
Duncan met her gaze with calm authority. “Restraint is not always a weakness. Provocation is what the Gordons and Stewarts seek.”
“Must we wait for another abduction or worse before we act?” Moira countered. Both of her sisters had been kidnapped by the men who would soon attack. Surely that had shown her father that things must change. If things went like they seemed to, she would be next, and she would not tolerate a kidnapping well.
“We must protect, not just retaliate,” Duncan replied, his eyes darkening. “They don’t have the burden of protectingwomen and children in their attack. But I must protect all the women and children in McAfee territory, be they McAfees, Sinclairs, or Stewarts.”
Ailis intervened gracefully. “There is no way to avoid this battle without losing our way of life. We love the Highlands, and it is therefore our duty to protect them.”
Fiona placed a calming hand on Moira’s shoulder. “We must consider the cost of aggression on our people. Think of the lives that will be lost. Ours and the enemies.” Fiona always seemed to speak with reason. While it was a quality Moira usually admired about her eldest sister, she wasn’t pleased to have her sister siding against her at that moment.
“But Fiona,” Moira pleaded, “can we afford the cost of inaction? Laird Stewart plans to take over all of the Highlands. He says it’s the right time with the queen away in France. We cannae allow him to become our ruler.”
“Then we will respond with precision and unity,” Fiona assured her. “But we will go into nothing blindly.” She pressed a hand to her flat stomach. “Besides, I’m with child, and I will not put the babe at risk.”
“Unity,” Ailis said. “Our strength has always been in standing together, not rushing apart.”
Duncan looked at his daughters. “My daughters, your passion is vital. Ye each have a part to play in protecting this keep and dealing with our wounded. We cannae risk losing ye all to battle.”
The debate softened as understanding flickered between them. Moira recognized her father’s wisdom, while he acknowledged her fierce spirit.
“Let us watch and wait,” Duncan finally said. “And if the morrow brings battle, we shall face it as one large united army.”
Moira nodded reluctantly, her resolve turning into a silent vow: she would be ready to defend her home and family with all the ferocity of the Highland blood that ran through her veins.
*
Moira navigated thebustling celebration, her red hair vivid against the stone walls. An uneasy tension lay beneath the revelry as she sought Granny’s chamber.
Inside, the matriarch sat by the fire, her silver hair seeming to glow by the flickering flames. She looked up from an old tome.
“Granny,” Moira said, approaching her. “Father won’t agree to allow me to fight. I want to be there, helping the men.” Granny was really only her sister Fiona’s grandmother, but she and Ailis had always been treated as her own.
“In times of danger, ye must trust yer instincts,” Granny replied, her eyes steady.
