Before the unease could grow again, Davina moved to his side. She did not raise her voice.
“Please,” she said tenderly, her voice addressing every single one of those faces individually. “Trust us.”
Every eye turned to her. Baird knew this was his moment to remain quiet, because he knew how much they all respected her.
“We will make room,” she continued. “There will be food, warmth and safety. This is nae abandonment. It is refuge.”
Something changed at that exact moment. Baird felt it like a change in the wind.
“Ye have me word,” he added. “I will nae leave ye behind.”
At last, heads began to nod.
Kenny let out a quiet breath beside him. “I was about tae start shouting… fer their own good.”
Baird murmured back. “Never shout at frightened people.” However, he didn’t allow the moment to linger. “Right,” he continued, clapping his hands once and the sharp sound cut through the murmurs. “Listen well.”
The guards straightened at once.
“Ye,” he said, pointing to two men nearest the well, “help the families with wagons. Children and the elderly first. Nay one rides alone.”
They moved immediately.
“Ye three, store sheds,” he continued. “Grain, dried meat, tools. Anything that keeps through winter comes with us.”
A guard nodded. “Aye, me laird.”
Baird turned slowly, taking in the square again, already changing shape as fear gave way to motion. “If it breathes and can be led, bring it. If it daes nae, lift it. If it breaks, leave it.”
There were no protests now, only hurried agreement. Davina stepped forward without waiting for instruction, already speaking gently to a woman struggling with a bundle far too heavy for her arms. She eased it from her grasp and redistributed its weight with practiced efficiency.
“Keep what matters,” she said softly. “The rest can be replaced.”
Baird watched her for a heartbeat too long, desperate to tell her how much her presence meant to him, but he knew that he had to be moving again. He helped a farmer hitch a stubborn mule. He forced his hands to steady, even as the animal balked. He lifted a crate onto a wagon with a grunt, ignoring the ache in his shoulders. When a boy froze in the middle of the square, looking as if he were about to cry, Baird crouched in front of him.
“Yer name, lad,” he said.
“Con—Connor,” the boy stammered.
Baird nodded. “Good name. Stay close tae yer maither, Connor. I will see ye inside the walls.”
The boy nodded fiercely and ran. Little by little, the village began to move as one. Guards and villagers worked shoulder to shoulder. Ropes were passed, carts were loaded, and animals were coaxed into line. Fear did not vanish, but it sharpened into purpose.
Davina reappeared at his side. Her hair was coming loose at her temples and her skirts were dusted with dirt. Yet, she had never looked more ravishing than at that very moment.
“The north cottages are nearly ready,” she told him, bringing him back to the present moment. “One woman refuses tae leave without her hens.”
Baird snorted. “Then we take the hens.”
Her mouth curved in quick relief. “I thought ye might say that.”
CHAPTER 35
Just as Davina allowed herself to believe they were ready, that the last crate had been tied down and the final child lifted into a wagon, a small voice cut through the noise.
“What about old Mrs. MacLeod?”
The boy stood near the edge of the square, with his fingers twisted in his sleeve and his eyes wide with sudden worry.
