Chapter 1
Ten Years Later
Moira McPherson was trying not to fidget. It was a bad habit of hers when she found herself stuck sitting for a long period of time, but no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the words being said, her hand longed to tap against something.
Tucking into the fold of her skirt, Moira gazed down the long table.
At her right was her second-in-command, Will.
He was currently arguing with the man across the table, who was his second-in-command of the warriors that protected the border of the McPherson land.
For the better part of an hour, the two men had argued what was best to keep the recent skirmishes from getting close to the keep, and from what Moira could tell, they were getting nowhere.
So much so that their mugs of ale were now empty and they had yet to notice.
“I’m telling ye! We cannae keep pushing them back!”
Will glared at the man. “Ye must. We cannae afford for them tae attack another farm. Soon we will lose our own clansmen because we have failed tae protect them.”
“Then I will need more men.”
“Enough,” Moira said softly, catching their attention. “We have been discussing this for too long. Make a decision.”
Will clenched his jaw. “Ye dinnae need more men, just a better plan tae place them. I will ride out with ye tomorrow.”
“Then it’s settled,” Moira said, standing. “I expect a full report.”
The other man dipped his head and strode out of the great hall, leaving Moira and Will alone. “I thought we discussed ye would let me figure it out,” Will said, leaning back in his chair.
“Ye weren’t making any headway,” Moira replied, starting toward the silver tray that held the ale. “Besides, I am the lady of the keep. I should be able tae speak.”
“Perhaps ye should speak earlier in the process,” Will grumbled as Moira grabbed the pitcher of ale and brought it to the table, filling his mug, then hers. “Thank ye.”
She nodded and settled back into her chair, cupping the mug in her hand. “I was waiting for the right moment.”
Will chuckled. “There’s never a good moment, lass. Just start bleating yer words and we will both listen to ye.”
Moira smirked. “I doubt that.”
Will took a long drink of his ale, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic. “I’m proud of ye, Moira, as everyone else is. Ye handled everything better than we could have thought.”
Moira tried not to show her surprise at his words.
Will often told her how she was doing in her role and she trusted his assessment far more than anyone else.
She had been the laird of Clan McPherson for a little over a year, and though she had tried everything to have the clan accept her in such a lofty position, there were still those that did not believe a woman should be ruling.
Even though Will had not spoken of it, Moira knew that some of the skirmishes had been over her and her ability.
Still, Moira knew she had to press on. Her sister, Fennella, who had married a laird herself, had told her that times would be hard, and Moira believed it.
It had taken some time for Moira to pull out of the shell she had been in and take her rightful place at the head of Clan McPherson.
She loved this clan and all that it stood for.
It had never been her intention to be in this position, but now that she was, Moira couldn’t imagine herself anywhere else.
“Ye know they are asking again,” Will stated after a few moments of silence, his voice carrying in the empty hall.
Moira sighed. He was referring to the elder clansmen, the ones she had done her best to win over and get their support in her reign as laird.
The ask? Well, that was far more difficult.
They wanted her to pick a husband so that she could have the heir that would be the future of the clan.
At nineteen, Moira knew that most women her age were already wed and with a passel of bairns pulling at their skirts.
It would have been her fate if her father and brothers had not tried to win a war they could not win, therefore thrusting Fennella into power and subsequently handing it over to Moira.
Had she wanted a family before? Moira had thought that one day she would have her own husband, her own children as every young woman did in her position.
She had been the daughter of a laird and knew that her sole existence was to be married off in some sort of union to extend peace or to pay off a debt that her da had ensued.
She had just waited for that day.
But none of her thoughts had included her being the new laird, in charge of the fate of her fellow clansmen. “What will it take tae have them stop?”
Will chuckled. “A husband at yer side and a wee bairn in yer belly. They dinnae believe that ye can remain unwed, Moira.”
She looked down at her mug, frowning. Though she would never admit it to Will, there wasn’t a man who had caught her fancy in the clan nor was there any desire to be pawned off to a laird seeking to unite clans either. She wished to not be removed from her own home.
Though, it appeared to have worked out well for her sister in the end. “Don’t they know we have far more important matters tae worry about than mah romantic state?”
“I wish I could give ye better advice,” Will sighed, placing his mug on the scarred table. “But ye will have tae. It’s the way of the clan.”
“I know,” she said softly. “And I will, in my own time.”
Her second-in-command stood, adjusting his belt. “Don’t make them force yer hand, Moira. I would hate tae see ye married tae a bastard.”
She didn’t respond as he walked out, leaving her alone in the great hall. Moira didn’t want to force anyone’s hand, especially when it came to her life. She wanted the freedom to choose, but it seemed like every day the subject was being brought up.
Sighing, Moira pushed herself out of her chair. She had no time to dwell on a subject she could not solve today or any other day. There were things she must do, and it didn’t involve her sitting at this table.
After a brief change in clothes, Moira tucked the basket on her arm and walked outside, stopping briefly to feel the warmth of the sun on her face. Had it really been just a year ago that she was allowed to frolic in the meadows behind the keep?
Now, a laird did not frolic.
She did not skip.
Or laugh too loudly.
Or pilfer her own kitchens to give to those that were far needier in the clan.
Oh wait, she did still do that. Now that her father was gone, the clan was just starting to flourish without the strain of their previous laird.
The keep had been repaired, the walls along the border starting to be rebuilt, and the huts in the village were well on their way to being habitable once more.
Moira had pilfered everything she could find of her father’s and her brother’s worth any value, turning it into the seed for the fields or stone to replace the broken ones.
Slowly, over the span of the last year, she had gained some of the respect that had been lost and now the clan was starting to come to life.
One of her personal guards fell in step beside her as she walked to the heavy-walled door, motioning for the others to open it on her behalf. “Where tae today mah lady?” he asked.
“Today we go visit a sick member of our clan,” she told him as the door opened. “In the village.”
He let out a breath, likely remembering the last time he had accompanied her and they had been forced to ride out past what the warriors and Will deemed as safe for their leader. Moira had gotten a blistering earful from Will for that little journey. “As ye wish mah lady.”
She didn’t respond, knowing that he would follow her wherever she wished to go.
The village was abuzz with activity as she walked through, nodding to those that acknowledged her and accepting a bunch of wildflowers from one sweet child that dared to approach her.
These were her people and she would fight to the ends of the earth for them.
The sick clansman lived in the middle of the village and Moira allowed her guard to knock on the door, holding the basket close. His wife opened it and she gave her a surprised smile. “Mah lady. Whatever brings ye here?”
“I hear that yer husband has fallen ill,” Moira explained, giving the woman a kind smile. “I’ve brought some things from the keep tae aid in his recovery. May I come in?”
The woman opened the door wider and Moira stepped inside, the smell of sickness heavy in the air.
The man lay on a narrow bed in the corner, his chest rattling with each breath.
“I’ve brought some herbs that ye can make into a poultice,” she said to the woman, handing over the basket.
“Place it on his chest tae draw out the sickness.”
“Bless ye,” the woman said, tears in her eyes.
“There is also food for ye and yer family,” Moira continued, clutching her hands together so she wouldn’t reach out and hug the woman. She had found out long ago that her guard did not like her showing displays of affection, partly because he could not protect her from any close attacks.
Moira tried to keep to his rules, but every once and a while, she broke them.
Moira stayed only a few more minutes, conversing with the woman before walking out, hoping what she brought would help the poor man.
“Would you like tae go anywhere else mah lady?” her guard asked softly as he closed the door behind them.
“A walk,” she decided, wanting to feel the sunshine on her face just a little longer.
He fell back and Moira allowed her feet to carry her to the edge of the wood, where the birds sang in the trees and the air was crisp.
She would have to marry. She knew that. It was her duty to her clan to ensure that the clan remained in the McPherson name and not overthrown by another laird who didn’t think she was strong enough to lead.
The problem was the last thing Moira wanted to do was marry a man who fancied himself laird in her place and would take over everything she had worked so hard to make happen in the last year.
She didn’t want a man like her da was, one that instilled fear into the hearts of everyone that he came in contact with and had squandered everything for the sake of his own greed.
No, she wanted a man who would work as hard as she had for the clan, a man who was kind but fair. Most importantly, a man who cared for her and would not treat her as her da had her mum.
She wanted a relationship like Fennella had.
Sighing, Moira turned her face to the sunshine, closing her eyes against the onslaught of its rays. The elder clansmen would have to wait a bit longer for her happy union, for only the perfect Scot would do.