Nothing did.
Within the walls, the castle swallowed them whole, but they were enshrouded by was warmth, not cold stone. Fires had been lit in every hall that could bear them. Straw had been laid in cleared rooms, blankets distributed, bread passed hand to hand.
Baird dismounted carefully, lifting Mrs. MacLeod down once more.
“There we are,” he said quietly.
She patted his arm. “I kent ye would get us here.”
The words settled deeper than praise ever had.
Before Baird could reply, a small blur of movement broke free from the crowd.
“Mrs. MacLeod!”
Connor came running across the courtyard. His face was bright with relief. He skidded to a stop in front of her.
“Ye came,” he said, as though it were a miracle he had scarcely dared hope for.
Mrs. MacLeod laughed, and the sound was warm and delighted. “Of course I did, lad. Did ye think I would miss all this fuss?”
Connor grinned, then turned solemnly toward Baird. “Ye said ye would bring her,” he said. “And ye did.”
Baird crouched slightly so he was nearer the boy’s height. “Of course,” he replied simply. “A man is only as good as his promise.”
Connor nodded, taking that in as though it were something important enough to keep forever. “Thank ye,” he said, earnest and fierce all at once.
The words struck Baird.
He rested a hand briefly on the boy’s shoulder, in a quiet, grounding touch. “Go on now,” he said. “Help yer maither. She’ll be wondering where ye vanished tae.”
Connor ran off at once, with his purpose renewed.
Mrs. MacLeod watched him go. “Ye’ve a good heart,” she said gently.
Baird swallowed. He was not accustomed to being seen that way.
He straightened and glanced across the courtyard, to Davina, moving among the people with calm assurance, to the villagers settling in, to the children already nodding with sleep.
Kindness, he was learning, was not weakness. It was strength given shape.
Those were the thoughts he had even as he continued to help the villagers. He stayed on his feet long after his muscles began to protest. He helped settle the last few families into corners of the great hall, directed guards to quieter posts, and ensured the doors between wings were barred, just in case.
Every task felt necessary, because every face mattered. Yet as the night deepened, the noise softened. Voices dropped to murmurs. Children slept curled against mothers. Even the hearth fires burned lower, as though mindful of the hour.
It was then he noticed how still it had become. Davina stood near the far end of the hall, speaking quietly to an older couple. Baird watched her a moment too long. Then he went to her.
“Davina,” he said quietly.
She turned at once. “Is something wrong?”
“Nay,” he replied. “Something is finally right. Everyone’s settled.”
She glanced around, instinctively counting the sleeping bodies, the guards at their posts, and the healer dozing upright on a bench.
“Are ye ready? It’s late,” Baird added. “Ye should go up. I’ll follow shortly.”
Her brow furrowed. “Are ye sure?”
