She nodded, though her heart thudded painfully beneath her ribs. Baird was already seated at the head table, surrounded by his Council and kinsmen. He rose when she approached.
“Me lady,” he said, offering a curt nod before gesturing to the seat beside him.
The feast began with a cheer that lacked conviction, with Baird clearing his throat.
“Me friends,” he began, “taenight we honor a union meant tae strengthen both our families. But also gather under the shadow of a loss none of us could have foreseen.”
A ripple of solemnity moved through the crowd. Kenny bowed his head. Even the rowdiest guests fell still.
Baird lifted his cup higher. “Me braither, Malcolm Kincaid, should be sitting among us.” Tears appeared in his eyes, which he immediately blinked away. “He was taken from us cruelly and too soon. But I’ll nae let his memory be swallowed by fear, nor by whispers, nor by the weight of what we’ve had tae dae today.”
His gaze swept the hall, then returned to his cup. “So, raise a dram fer him. Tae Malcom, me braither, yer friend, a man who deserved more years than fate gave him.” His voice broke. “And give him a moment’s silence.”
He bowed his head. The hall followed. Chairs creaked as men stood up. Somewhere, a serving lass sniffled. Even the children,sensing something sacred, fell quiet. After the minute had passed, Baird raised his glass one more time.
“Tae Malcolm!” Baird announced one last time, tears stinging his eyes.
“Tae Malcom!” the clan echoed.
Then, life returned to the hall. Servants continued to pour ale and set steaming platters of venison, bread, and roasted roots across the table. Conversation rose in fragments.
Kenny, the laird’s right-hand man, sat to Davina’s other side. He had the look of a seasoned soldier, all quiet confidence and quick eyes.
“Well, me lady,” he said after a moment, flashing a faint smile, “I didnae think I’d ever see a wedding quite like this one.”
Davina managed a small laugh. “Nor I. I must admit I had hoped fer a less dramatic entrance.”
“Ye handled yerself well, all the same,” he told her. “Nae every lass would stand steady in the face of death, of her betrothed and her own, with a blade at her throat.”
The compliment surprised her. “I wasnae steady,” she confessed. “I was frozen with fear.”
“Aye,” Kenny said, tilting his head. “But ye didnae scream or plead. There’s courage in that.”
Before she could answer, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Across the table, Baird was watching them. She couldn’t read a single thing in his expression, but his gaze lingered for a heartbeat too long before shifting away.
Davina looked quickly down at her plate, pretending she hadn’t noticed. He had every right to observe her and her behavior. She was his wife, after all, even if by circumstance. Still, the weight of his attention made her pulse quicken.
She turned back to Kenny, who was describing the harvest near the border, and forced herself to listen. But her awareness kept slipping toward Baird, drawn by a force she couldn’t quite name.
Then she heard a light laugh from Baird’s other side. A young woman had leaned close to him. She was a bright, graceful thing with auburn curls and knowing eyes. Davina recognized her from earlier introductions. It was Maisey, one of the household gentlewomen.
Maisey was speaking animatedly, her hand resting on the table near Baird’s arm. Whatever she said forced his smile, although his eyes remained sad. The sight of her tightened something strange and unwelcome in Davina’s chest.
What daes it matter?He’s nae truly me husband, nae in any way that counts.
And yet she couldn’t look away. Maisey gesticulated again, and Davina’s jaw clenched before she caught herself. She forced her gaze toward Kenny, trying to focus on his story about the guard rotation, but the words blurred.
“Are ye all right, me lady?” Kenny asked, noticing her distraction.
“Aye,” she said too quickly. “Of course.” She reached for her cup, nearly sloshing ale onto the table. “I’m only tired.”
Across from her, Baird’s eyes met hers for the briefest moment. If he noticed her discomfort, he gave no sign
The music began then, a soft strain of harp and fiddle. Guests rose to dance, and the mood lifted at last from grim to merely uncertain. Davina sat back, watching as the hall turned in a slow, uneven rhythm. Maisey tried to draw his attention once more. But when Davina dared a glance his way, she found him watching her again.
Her own hands itched with nerves. She could not quite tell whether the ache in her chest was loneliness or anger, or something in between. Whatever the lass told him drew the faintest quirk of amusement to his lips. Davina’s stomach tightened at the sight.
It was ridiculous. She had no claim on him beyond duty. He had married her to honor a bargain and protect his clan, nothing more. Yet the sight of Maisey’s fingers brushing his sleeve sent a sharp, unreasonable heat through her.
