“Oh…” Her voice broke. “Ye’re hurt. Goodness, ye’re badly hurt.”
“It’s naething,” he assured her as he always did, though his face had gone pale beneath the grime. “There are others who?—”
“Nay,” Davina said, cutting him off with a firmness that left no room for argument. “I have been tending tae everyone all this time.”
She slid her arm around his waist carefully, bracing him before his knees could give. “Now it is time tae tend tae me husband.”
He looked at her then and the last breath of the battle drained from him.
“Davina,” he murmured, as though saying her name were an anchor.
“Inside,” she said gently but firmly. “Ye are nae allowed tae argue.”
Kenny moved at once to help, and together they guided Baird toward the inner hall. With every step, Davina kept herself close, one hand pressed to his side, and the other steadying him. Her focus narrowed to the simple, fierce truth of keeping him upright.
As they crossed the threshold, the noise of the courtyard faded behind them. The healer ushered them into a quieter chamber just off the hall.
“Let me see, me laird,” he said, pressing cloth aside and prodding carefully.
Baird clenched his jaw but did not protest. Davina stood close, watching every movement with a tight, aching focus.
At last, the healer leaned back. “It looks worse than it is,” he said. “A surface wound, deep enough tae bleed impressively, but it missed anything vital. Our laird will live.”
Davina let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. “Thank the saints.”
“It will need cleaning and stitching,” the healer added. “And rest.”
She nodded at once. “I’ll take him upstairs. I’ll see tae it.”
Baird opened his mouth immediately. “Nae, there are still?—”
Kenny stepped in before he could finish. “Everything’s handled,” he told him firmly. “The Sinclairs are gone. The gate’s secured. Men are posted. The villagers are settled.”
Baird frowned. “I should stay. The laird should?—”
“The laird,” Kenny interrupted gently, “has already done his part.Morethan his part.”
Davina tightened her hold on Baird’s arm. “Ye heard him,” she said softly. “We’re all safe, because of ye.”
Baird looked between them, torn. Even now, even bleeding and exhausted, his instinct was to stand watch and to bear it all alone. Davina felt the pull of that instinct in him like a taut wire.
Then she saw Connor. The boy emerged from the edge of the hall, moving carefully, with one small arm braced beneath Mrs. MacLeod’s elbow. The old woman leaned on her cane and on him in equal measure as she walked in slow steps, approaching them.
“Mind the stone,” Connor whispered to her, earnest as ever.
“I see it, lad,” Mrs. MacLeod replied, patting his arm. “I’ve been stepping around stones longer than ye’ve been alive.”
They stopped before Baird.
Connor swallowed, straightened, and looked up at him with solemn courage. “Me laird,” he announced solemnly, “I wanted tae say thank ye. Ye kept yer promise. Ye keptallof us.”
Mrs. MacLeod nodded with a smile. “Ye did what good men dae,” she said gently. “Ye stood when it mattered. And ye chose mercy when ye could have chosen none.”
Baird seemed speechless. Davina felt it, the moment his strength wavered not to pain, but from being truly seen.
“I only did me duty,” he told her.
Mrs. MacLeod shook her head. “Nay. Duty is cold. What ye did was kinder than that.”
