“Sinclairs,” Baird said. It was not a question.
“Aye,” Kenny replied. “They waited in the narrow pass past Glenarraidh. They kent the route. And they kent the numbers.”
Baird’s hands curled slowly into fists. “They were testing us.”
“That is me thought,” Kenny said grimly. “They pulled back too cleanly and left before we could pursue.”
Baird turned to him. “Say what ye are nae saying.”
Kenny hesitated only for a breath. “On the return ride, we saw movement. They were nae scouts, but troops, making their way north.”
Baird felt the weight of it settle in his chest like stone. “How long?”
“Two days,” Kenny said. “Three at most. When they come again, it will nae be fer the shipment.”
“It will be fer blood,” Baird said.
“Fer the keep,” Kenny added. “And if they breach us, we will be in trouble.”
Baird looked again at the dead soldier, at the wounded, and at the faces of his men watching him now. They were not panicked, but waiting. Behind him, he felt Davina’s presence like a steady flame at his back.
“Then we prepare,” Baird said quietly. “And we make certain the Sinclairs learn the cost of attacking a Kincaid.”
Outside, the wind rose against the stone walls, carrying with it the promise of war.
CHAPTER 33
“We willnae panic.”
Davina’s voice carried farther than she expected, cutting through the rising murmur of the great hall mere minutes later. Several women turned toward her at once. They were maids, wives, older matrons who had seen more winters than she had years.
“We will prepare,” she continued, drawing strength and courage from her love for that place and those people. “And we will dae so quickly.”
The keep had shifted almost at once into a state of sharp awareness. Doors were barred and unbarred again, and men were moving with purpose rather than ceremony. Somewhere beyond the walls, horns sounded low and brief, which were signals passing from tower to tower.
Baird did not linger. He kissed her brow with a pressure that spoke of apology rather than farewell and was gone within moments. His voice was already rising in the yard as he called his men to arms.
Davina watched him disappear. She felt that familiar fear tugging at her chest, but she did not allow it to root. She turned instead to the women gathered near the long tables.
“Every hand is needed,” she reminded them. “Those who can cook will go tae the kitchens. Those who can sew, mend, or bind wounds will stay close. We will need bread, broth, and bandages in equal measure.”
A murmur of assent followed, as uncertainty gave way to motion.
“Mary,” Davina called, “see tae the stores. Count what we have and what must be stretched. Elspeth, hot water, always ready. And herbs, all of them.”
The women moved, creating an armor of resolve.
Davina took up her place among them without hesitation. She rolled up her sleeves, and very soon, her own fingers were dusted with flour, her thoughts sharp and ordered.
Fear would come later, she knew. Until then, there was work.
By midday, the kitchens were alive with heat and sound. Loaves were shaped and slid into ovens, cauldrons were set to simmer.Davina moved between them, offering calm words, redirecting effort and lifting spirits where she could.
The grounds were being cleared of anything that might be turned against them. Loose stones were gathered. Barrels were secured. Paths were widened where possible. She directed boys too young to fight and men too old to march, setting them to work with purpose.
More than once her gaze strayed to the far field where Baird trained the soldiers. His voice was steady thunder over the clash of steel. She did not go to him. He had his duties, she had hers.
Everyone kept doing their part, and by dusk, exhaustion crept into her bones, but she welcomed it. It left little room for imagining what might come with the Sinclairs. Realizing that they needed rest as much as they needed action, she headed to the training grounds, only to see that Baird was still there, pushing everyone, even himself, to the limit.
