Something in Baird went utterly still.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not to Filib, but to Davina.
Then he acted. With a roar torn from his chest, Baird hurled his sword. The blade cut clean through the air, end over end, true and unerring. It struck Filib squarely in the chest with a sickening finality. The man froze, disbelief flashing across his face.
Then he crumpled. The knife slipped from his fingers and clattered harmlessly to the stones as Filib collapsed in a heap. Blood bloomed dark against his tunic.
Davina staggered free with a broken gasp. Her hands flew to her throat as she sucked in air, shaking violently but standing and…alive.
“Davina!” Baird was already running.
He reached her in seconds, catching her as her knees buckled, crushing her to his chest as though sheer force might shield her from the world.
“I’ve got ye,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve got ye.”
Her fingers fisted in his blood-soaked tunic, and she looked up at him, lost in uneven sobs. “Baird,” she whispered. “I…”
“Ye’re safe,” he said fiercely, cupping the back of her head and pressing his forehead to hers. “Ye’re safe.”
Around them, the battle raged on, but for a single, suspended moment, Baird felt nothing but the fierce, unbearable relief of holding her alive in his arms. Only that relief lasted a mere heartbeat.
“Laird!” someone shouted. “They’re pushing the inner line!”
The roar of battle crashed back over him all at once. Baird pulled back just enough to see her face. Davina’s eyes were wide, staring at him.
“Can ye walk?” he asked urgently.
She nodded, swallowing hard. “Aye.”
He cupped her face briefly, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Stay safe… please.”
Her hand caught his wrist. “Baird?—”
“I will find ye,” he promised her. “This ends today.”
She searched his face for a heartbeat longer, then nodded. “Come back tae me.”
“I always dae.”
He turned then, already reaching for a fallen sword. The weight of it settling into his hand like fate reclaimed. Baird faced the courtyard once more. It was a brutal maze of fallen men, shattered shields and blood. But his focus cut through it all.
Then, he saw him. At the far side of the courtyard, emerging from the smoke like a specter of his own making, stood Ewan Sinclair.
His armor gleamed darkly beneath the torchlight, unmarred where others were dented and scarred. Blood streaked his sword, a testament to the lives taken. He moved with the easy confidence of a man who believed the field was already his.
Their eyes met.
The noise of battle seemed to fall away, reduced to a distant roar. For a breathless moment, there was only the two of them: laird to laird, enemy to enemy, the weight of years and bloodshed standing between them.
Sinclair’s mouth curved into a thin smile, which looked like a blade on a face. So,thiswas the man who had dared threaten everything Baird held dear. Baird lifted his sword, his every sense honed to a single, lethal focus.
Around them, men fought and died.
But between them, the war waited.
CHAPTER 40
Baird advanced.
