Chapter Eight
Steel clashed inthe courtyard as Brodie’s precise movements displayed his Highland warrior lineage. From the infirmary window, Moira watched, her fingers idly sorting bandages, captivated by his lethal grace. Ailis’s voice drew her back to reality.
“Moira, are ye with us?” Ailis steadied herself as she tended to another warrior.
“Aye, sorry,” Moira replied and concentrated on her work but remained aware of Brodie outside the walls.
When the training ended at sunset, Brodie entered the infirmary, his eyes locking onto hers. The unspoken bond between them held strong.
“Shall we walk?” he asked as he offered his calloused hand.
Quickly retrieving her cloak, Moira joined him. They strolled along a forest path, inhaling the crisp scent of pine and earth.
“Today’s training was relentless,” Brodie broke the silence. “The men are improving.”
“In the infirmary, it’s been calm—mostly blisters and sprains,” Moira added, conveying their shared responsibility.
Reaching the loch at the edge of the forest, Moira hesitated before speaking. “Brodie, I’ve been thinking…You were right to marry quickly—to forge this bond without delay.”
“Why do ye say that now?”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to lose ye without knowing what it is to be your wife,” she confessed. “Our union provides the strength we both draw from.”
As Brodie gently cupped her cheek, a shiver ran down her spine. “We are together. That is the true source of our strength.”
She leaned into his palm, savoring the contact. Her eyes reopened with newfound resolve. They turned back toward the keep ready for the trials ahead.
Moira’s thoughts lingered on Brodie. The day had been slow, but when night fell, they found solace in their private chamber. The hearth’s glow lit the room as Moira reached for Brodie’s arm, alarmed by its unnatural heat.
“Brodie, your arm! It’s burning up. I should fetch Ailis—”
“Moira, no,” he interrupted urgently. “Seek out me great-grandfather instead.”
Baffled yet trusting, she raced to find the man among ancient tapestries depicting battles of old. Breathless, she urged him toward their chamber where Brodie lay in pain. The elder McClain approached with confident hands and as he did so, an indescribable power filled the air. Slowly, the redness and heat faded from Brodie’s arm until it was unmarred—no scar or trace of injury remaining.
“Wha—how did you…?” Moira’s words faltered, her mind reeling.
“Rest now,” the elder McClain commanded before leaving them alone.
Brodie met Moira’s gaze, his vulnerability evident. “I’ll explain later. But for now, we keep this secret.”
Moira nodded, still processing what she had seen. As she settled beside Brodie, the warmth between them spoke to a connection deeper than either could understand.
Flickering candlelight played over Brodie’s solemn face, while Moira grappled with the miraculous healing she had just witnessed.
“Tell me,” she implored, her voice barely a whisper.
“My family carries a legacy, Moira,” Brodie began, capturing her hand. “Centuries ago, one of our ancestors married a woman with inexplicable powers. Since then, every seventh son in our line has inherited aspects of her abilities. Before he married her, the seventh son had powerful luck, but it’s different now.”
“Gifted?” Moira questioned, recalling Granny’s tales.
“Aye, gifted,” Brodie confirmed, his grip tightening. “But it’s a secret that could tear apart our clans if known. Can I trust ye not to reveal what runs through me blood?”
Moira felt honor-bound to protect him. “Ye have me word,” she whispered back. She wasn’t certain she could explain it if she tried.
“And what of me sisters and me? Will we have seven sons each?” she asked. She wasn’t sure she believed it, but glancing at his arm, she knew it had to be true, no matter how improbable it seemed.
“Only the wife of the seventh son bears that fate,” he clarified.
