Davina reached out and took her hand. The sweet, old lady’s skin felt thin and warm beneath her fingers. “It would trouble me far more tae leave ye here.”
The old woman looked between them then and her eyes shone.
“Well,” she said at last, “if ye insist on fussing over an old woman, I suppose I will nae argue too fiercely.”
Baird smiled faintly. “That is all we ask.”
Davina helped Mrs. MacLeod sit up more comfortably while Baird fetched a cloak from the peg by the door.
“Is there anything ye would like tae bring with ye?” Davina asked gently. “Only what matters most.”
The old woman considered this with great seriousness, her lips pursed as though she were being asked to inventory an entire lifetime.
“Oh aye,” she said at last. “Just a few things.”
She gestured toward the small chest at the foot of the bed. Baird brought it closer, setting it gently within reach. Mrs. MacLeod opened it with careful hands.
“This,” she said, lifting a worn leather pouch no larger than her palm, “was me late husband’s. He kept his coins in it, though he never had many. Said it reminded him that a man need only carry what he can lose.”
Davina smiled, even as something tightened behind her eyes.
Mrs. MacLeod set it aside and reached again. “And this wee comb, he carved it himself, when we were first married. I used it every day after he was gone, just tae hear the sound of it again.”
Baird looked away for a moment, and Davina knew why.
“And this,” she finished, lifting a folded scrap of paper, yellowed with age. “A letter he wrote me before he went tae fight. He came back, mind ye, but I kept it anyway.”
“That is more than enough,” Davina said softly.
“Aye,” Mrs. MacLeod nodded. “Memories weigh less than furniture.”
Davina helped her wrap the items carefully in cloth. She knew they had told everyone to take little and to travel light, but she could not have refused her even if she wished to. These were not things. They were love, folded small enough to carry.
As they finished, Mrs. MacLeod glanced toward the pantry. “There’s oat bread, dried apples, and a bit of smoked fish,” she revealed. “Still good. I’d be glad tae bring it along and share. Nay sense letting it spoil when others might need it.”
“That is very generous of ye,” Davina managed to muster.
The old woman waved it off. “We all bring what we can, me dear lass. That’s how folk get through.”
They packed the food quickly and efficiently, and when they were done, Davina sat back on her heels, suddenly overwhelmed. Only, it was not by fear, nor by the coming danger, but rather by the quiet, steadfast kindness of the woman.
Baird went over the small room once more, already measuring distances and weight as naturally as breath.
“We will dae it this way,” he said. “The food and her things go on yer horse, Davina. I will take Mrs. MacLeod with me.”
Davina nodded at once. “That would be best. Me mare will manage the load easily.”
Mrs. MacLeod looked between them. “Ye’ve thought of everything.”
Baird set to work at once, strapping the parcel of trinkets and the basket of food securely behind Davina’s saddle, testing eachknot twice. He did it with the same care he would give weapons or supplies meant for battle. When he turned back, Davina was already helping Mrs. MacLeod to her feet.
“Ready?” Baird asked gently.
“As I’ll ever be,” she replied.
He slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her with surprising ease. Mrs. MacLeod let out a soft, delighted laugh, light as birdsong.
“Oh my,” she said, with her cheeks coloring. “It has been a lifetime since anyone carried me like this. I feel like a lass again.”
