He squinted. “That one? I think she called it the Hunter.”
“A fitting companion,” Davina said.
He glanced at her. “And that?”
She considered. “That one looks stubborn. Perhaps it is a Kincaid star.”
A low laugh escaped him, surprising them both. They lingered there, the night stretching comfortably around them, neither in any hurry to break the quiet.
“Which one is that?” Davina asked, lifting her hand toward a crooked line of stars.
Baird squinted. “I cannae recall its proper name.”
“Then we shall invent one,” she said. “That is clearly a stag. See the antlers?”
He studied it. “A proud one.”
“Aye. He’s running,” she said, feeling pleased. “Probably from something foolish.”
Baird huffed a soft laugh. “Or toward it.”
She shifted slightly, the cold stone seeping through her skirts. “Me maither used tae say the stars remember everything we forget.”
“Did she?” he asked.
“She did,” Davina replied. “Which makes them terribly indiscreet.”
His cloak moved then, settling around her shoulders before she quite realized he was doing it.
“Better?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” she said, surprised by the warmth in more ways than one. “Thank ye.”
They sat a while longer. She didn’t even notice that their voices were lowering, while their stories were growing shorter.
“I used tae count them when I couldnae sleep,” Baird said after a moment. “Tried tae give each one a name.”
“Did it help?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted.
Her head tipped gently against his chest, a motion so natural it startled her only after it had happened.
“I hope they remember this,” she murmured, gazing upward.
“The stars?” he asked.
“Aye.”
He rested his cheek lightly against her hair. “Then they will have tae.”
Neither quite recalled when sleep claimed them. The battlements held them through the night, with stars wheeling slowly overhead as the world turned toward morning.
CHAPTER 38
Baird stood at the battlements, dawn had only just begun to pale the sky. Mist clung to the low ground, curling like smoke, but through it he could see dark lines advancing with grim purpose. Sinclair banners broke through the haze, crimson snapping in the morning wind.
“Archers!” Baird called, his voice carrying clean and sharp along the wall. “To yer marks.”
