|c.5|

For three days, Moira stayed within the MacLeod hold, immersing herself in the life of the clan. Her days were spent exploring the grounds, observing the rhythm of the people’s lives, and learning the inner workings of the MacLeod clan. By night, she assisted the women in preparing meals, the warmth of the firelight casting shadows over her delicate features as she focused on learning Finlay's favorite dishes. Her determination to understand this world—and her place in it—was palpable.

The MacLeod village sprawled across a valley, surrounded by hills dotted with patches of heather and bramble. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of stone cottages, and the air was rich with the mingling scents of freshly tilled earth and livestock. Children darted between homes, their laughter ringing out like bells, while men returned from the fields with weary smiles, axes slung over their shoulders. The hold itself stood tall at the heart of the village, a formidable structure of gray stone crowned with banners bearing the MacLeod crest.

Moira’s presence stirred curiosity and whispers, but her gentle demeanor and readiness to help soon endeared her to many. She spent her mornings with the women of the clan, weaving through the bustling kitchens and gardens. Moira took careful note of names, alliances, and subtle dynamics between the women—who was bonded to whom, who held sway over the group, and who was most respected. Her black gown set her apart from their earthy wool dresses, but her golden eyes, filled with warmth and intrigue, made her approachable despite her otherworldly beauty.

The afternoons were hers to explore. She wandered the fields, soaking in the sunlight she had so rarely experienced, marveling at how it warmed her skin. She walked through the forest edges, observing the way the trees swayed in the wind and the birds chirped in rhythms foreign to her nocturnal world. Each day, she grew more entranced by the vibrancy of human life.

By night, the clan gathered in the great hall for meals, and Moira worked alongside the women to prepare feasts. She learned Finlay’s favorite dishes—roast venison with juniper berries and oatcakes with heather honey. She took great care in replicating them perfectly, watching Finlay’s face light up in recognition and satisfaction.

But her nights with Finlay were reserved for more intimate connections. Their passion for each other burned like the hearths in the great hall, fiery and consuming. She wanted to tell him everything—the truth about her kind, the curse she bore, and the danger she brought—but fear held her tongue.

Moira had heard countless tales of vampires whose human mates had rejected them, driven by fear or ignorance. In such cases, secrecy had to be preserved, even at the cost of a mate’s life. Yet there were rare, beautiful exceptions—humans who embraced the bond, forging a love that transcended species and mortality. Moira clung to the fragile hope that Finlay could be one of those rare souls. But what if he wasn’t? What if her confession led to heartbreak—or worse, his death at her hands?

Guilt gnawed at her as she watched him, his strong, chiseled face alight with happiness as he introduced her to his people. He had suffered so much already, and she couldn’t bear to add to his pain.

---

Meanwhile, the MacLeod laird and his son worked tirelessly to address the fallout from the broken treaty with the MacDonnells. For years, the truce had kept their lands free of skirmishes, and its dissolution had set the clan on edge.

The lairds of nearby clans began arriving, bringing their entourages to witness what was meant to be a grand wedding between Finlay and Ailsa. Now, they were greeted with a very different reality. Some had already received riders from the MacDonnells, who claimed that the MacLeods had insulted their honor by choosing another woman over Ailsa.

Unbeknownst to Finlay, his father had taken quiet action against the MacDonnells. The elder laird had dispatched scouts to monitor the rival clan and discovered a cache of hidden weapons scattered across their lands. His suspicions of an imminent attack solidified when several MacLeod guards reported finding damaged crops and sabotaged watchtowers. The MacDonnells were preparing for war, but the MacLeods were one step ahead.

“We’ll nae touch the evidence,” the laird ordered after the latest damage was reported. His voice was sharp, like the edge of a blade. “Let the other lairds see for themselves. We’ll show them who’s breaking peace and who’s holding it.”

Finlay felt a swell of pride for his father, who had outmaneuvered the MacDonnells in silence. The older man was a strategist at heart, a leader who commanded loyalty with respect rather than fear.

---

That night, as the household settled, Finlay sought solace in Moira’s company. Her chambers were lit softly by the glow of a single candle, casting flickering shadows over her silhouette as she stood by the window.

“Yer quiet tonight,” he remarked, stepping into the room.

Moira turned, her golden eyes locking with his. “Just… thinking,” she replied, her voice soft.

“Care tae share?” he asked, crossing the room and pulling her into his arms.

She hesitated, the truth on the tip of her tongue, but instead, she whispered, “Not tonight.”

Their lips met in a fervent kiss, and words became unnecessary. Finlay’s hands roamed her body, tracing the curves he had come to adore, while Moira’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. They moved to the bed, where their passion ignited once more.

“Moira,” he murmured against her neck, his voice thick with desire. “I want ye tae bear me a son.”

She stilled for a moment, the weight of his words pressing on her chest. This was more than a declaration of love; it was a request that required her to make an impossible choice.

This time, she didn’t distract him. Instead, she smiled and said, “If that’s what ye want, Finlay, then so be it.”

Her agreement lit a fire within him, and he claimed her body with renewed fervor. Their movements were a perfect dance, a blend of possessiveness and tenderness that left them both breathless.

---

The next morning, Moira rose early, slipping from the bed to avoid waking Finlay. She needed to clear her mind. As she wandered through the village, she was greeted by familiar faces and kind smiles.

The women she had befriended waved her over, inviting her to join them in the fields. She worked alongside them, listening to their stories and laughter, and felt a sense of belonging she hadn’t expected.

But the peace was short-lived. By midday, word spread of new damage to the fields and guard towers. The evidence was undeniable: the MacDonnells were escalating their attacks.

Back in the hold, Finlay and his father presented the findings to the visiting lairds, laying out their case against the MacDonnells. The tension in the great hall was palpable, but the elder MacLeod’s calm demeanor and well-documented evidence swayed many.

As the day wore on, the lairds began to side with the MacLeods, recognizing the MacDonnells as the aggressors. Finlay’s father ordered the clans to prepare for potential conflict, but he reassured them that the MacLeods would fight only in defense, not in offense.

That night, Finlay returned to Moira’s chambers, his mind heavy with the events of the day. But as soon as he saw her, standing in the soft glow of the candlelight, his worries melted away.

“Ye keep me sane,” he told her, pulling her into his arms.

“And ye keep me whole,” she replied, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Their love was a beacon in the growing storm, a reminder that even in the face of uncertainty, they had each other. But as Moira lay in his arms that night, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought that her secret might one day tear them apart.