Sinclair looked up at him once. His eyes were empty now and the fight in him was gone. Then, he collapsed forward, lifeless, with the red of his banner darkening beneath him.
Baird stood over him, blood dripping from his side to mingle with his enemy’s on the stone. Around them, the battle faltered. The Sinclair laird was dead.
He glanced toward Davina. Sinclair’s men had released her from their grip, and she rushed to him, wrapping her tender arms around his weakened body. He allowed her.
“Baird…” she whispered, and that was enough for him to know that it had all been worth it to save everyone, to saveher.
His hand went instinctively to his side, pressing hard against the wound. The pain was sharp again now that the fury had burned down, but he stayed on his feet, breathing through it, forcing the world to hold steady.
He lifted his head. The courtyard had gone eerily still.
Sinclair soldiers stood frozen where they were, with their blades half-raised. Their eyes were darting between the body at Baird’s feet and the bloodied laird still standing over it. Some looked barely more than boys. Others were gray at the temples, and had exhaustion carved deep into their faces.
For the first time since the gate fell, Baird did not see enemies. He sawmen. Men with homes beyond those walls, with mothers who had once pressed kisses to scraped knees, with wives who waited, not knowing if they would return, with children who would ask why their fathers never came home.
The realization struck him harder than any blade.
Baird drew a slow breath and straightened as much as his wound allowed.
“Yer laird is dead,” he said, and the wind carried his voice all across the courtyard.
No one moved.
“The heart of this attack has stopped beating,” he continued. “There is naething left here fer ye but more death.”
A murmur rippled through the Sinclair ranks. Baird recognized it as fear, confusion, and dawning grief. He tightened his hand against his side.
“Ye showed nay mercy when ye came fer me people,” he reminded them, but there was no fury in his voice any longer. “Fer our homes, fer me wife.” He paused, wanting to be perfectly clear, wanting them all to hear him. “I will show ye mercy now.”
The words fell heavy and unmistakable.
“Lower yer steel,” Baird commanded. “Leave this keep. Go back where ye came from and never return.”
Silence stretched taut. Then, a sound filled the air, the sound of steel meeting stone. One sword fell, then another… then many.
The Sinclair soldiers began to back away. They appeared slow and uncertain at first, incredulous at the chance they were given. Their eyes never left Baird, as though he might change his mind. They retreated through the broken gate, some helping the wounded, others simply fleeing. Even their banners were sagging, because their will was now gone with their laird.
Baird did not move. He stood there, with blood still seeping through his fingers, watching until the last of them crossed the threshold of the courtyard. Only when the final Sinclair turned and vanished beyond the walls did he allow himself to breathe again.
“Baird.”
Kenny was at his side suddenly, gripping his arm. “Are ye… are ye all right?”
Baird nodded once. “I will be.”
Kenny glanced at the wound. “That’s a matter of opinion.”
He did not move. He turned his head slowly, looking around the courtyard one final time. He saw broken weapons, fallen men, Kincaid soldiers standing stunned and bloodied but victorious. Only when he was utterly certain that no Sinclair remained within his walls, did he finally allow his shoulders to unwind.
Then, and only then, did Baird Kincaid turn toward his wife.
CHAPTER 41
Davina was holding onto him tightly, pressing her face into his shoulder as though the world might steal him away if she did not hold fast.
“Baird…”
He stiffened and hissed sharply through his teeth. The sound froze her. She pulled back at once, her hands flying to his side. They came away slick and dark.
