“I willnae linger,” Kenny finished. “We will clear the road.”
Within moments, the guards were moving and the horses were being led out. Kenny mounted swiftly, casting one last look back.
“We will be right behind ye,” Baird assured him.
Then they were gone, and the sound of the horses’ hooves echoed both like a promise and a warning. Davina drew a steady breath.
Baird turned to her. “Are ye ready?”
She nodded without hesitation. “Aye.”
He did not argue. Instead, he gestured for the stable hands. “Our horses.”
They rode out soon after, as the gates creaked open to release them into the widening morning. Davina sat tall in the saddle, feeling the rhythm of the horse beneath her familiar and grounding. The land stretched before them. The fields were still green, and deceptively peaceful, dotted with small cottages that did not yet know how close danger crept.
As they rode, Baird glanced at her. “If this turns ugly?—”
She cut him off gently. “We ride together.”
He accepted that with a single nod.
The road unspooled ahead of them, carrying them toward the villages, toward fear and upheaval, but also toward purpose. Davina felt it settle in her bones.
Whatever the Sinclairs meant to take, they would not find these people unprotected.
Baird reined in hard at the edge of the village square. The sight before him set his teeth on edge.
Every villager had gathered. Man, women and children were clustered together like startled sheep, with bundles clutched to their chests and their faces pale with fear and confusion. A baby cried somewhere near the well. An old man argued in sharp whispers with a guard who looked one breath away from shouting back.
Kenny stood near the center. His hands were spread in a placating gesture, and his voice raised but clearly failing him.
“I said ye will be safer inside the walls,” Kenny was saying. “This is nae a request?—”
“That is precisely the problem,” a woman snapped. “Ye ride in at dawn and tell us tae abandon our homes with nay explanation?”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Baird swore under his breath. He swung down from his horse and strode forward before the tension could snap outright. The guards stiffened at once, but relief was plain on more than one face.
“That will dae,” Baird said, and his voice cut clean through the noise.
The square fell silent. He stood where all could see him.
“I am Baird Kincaid,” he told them, although all of them knew it. “Laird of these lands.”
His name calmed them down, and their fear now sharpened with expectation.
“Ye are afraid,” he continued. “And ye have every right tae be. There has been an ambush on the eastern road. A soldier is dead. More are wounded.”
Gasps broke out. A woman crossed herself. A man swore aloud.
“The Sinclairs are moving troops,” Baird continued, not even trying to soften the truth. “This is nae rumor. It is fact. And they will nae spare villages on their way.”
A heavy silence followed, thick with dawning understanding.
“We are bringing ye intae the castle,” he informed them. “All of ye, with yer supplies and yer animals, where possible. The gates will hold. Me men will guard ye.”
A farmer stepped forward. His voice was shaking but it was a question that needed to be asked. “And our homes?”
Baird gave them the truth once again. “We will protect what we can. But lives matter more than stone and timber.”
