He squeezed her hand. “And we are nae the same people we were.”
“Nay,” she agreed. “I am braver than I was.”
“And I,” he said, voice roughening, “am nae longer alone.”
Her breath caught. She felt the words gathering in him before he spoke them. She also felt the weight of his hesitation and the courage it took to let it fall away.
“Davina,” Baird whispered, without taking his eyes off her for even a single moment, “I love ye.”
The words landed softly and shattered her all the same. For a heartbeat, she could not speak. She only looked at him, this man forged by hardship and mercy alike, who had learned to open his heart not despite the world’s cruelty, but in defiance of it.
She smiled then, feeling her tears slipping free at last. “I love ye too, Baird.”
The words seemed to loosen something in him that had been held taut for years. Baird drew a slow breath, as though steadying himself, and did not look away from her.
“I love the way ye listen,” he said quietly. “Nae just with yer ears, but with yer whole self. The way ye tilt yer head, as if every word matters.”
Davina laughed softly through her tears. “That hardly seems?—”
“I love that ye pretend ye are braver than ye feel,” he went on, gently cutting her off, “and that ye are braver still than ye ken. Ye shake sometimes. I’ve seen it. And ye step forward anyway.”
Her throat tightened. She had never told him that.
“I love how ye remember names,” he added. “Every villager, every child. Ye say them as if they belong in yer keeping.”
She pressed her lips together, feeling overwhelmed by his words.
“I love that ye scold me with kindness,” he revealed, with a faint smile touching his mouth. “And that ye think it makes the words less sharp. It daesnae. It only makes me listen harder.”
Davina lowered her gaze, blushing. Yet, he didn’t stop.
“I love that ye hum when ye are tired,” he said softly. “Under yer breath. Ye dinnae even notice ye dae it.”
Her head snapped up. “I… I didnae ken?—”
“I noticed,” he smiled even more broadly.
He lifted her hand, brushing his thumb across her fingers. “I love the way ye carry sorrow without letting it harden ye. And the way ye laugh as if joy were an act of defiance.”
Tears spilled freely now. She had not known anyone saw her so clearly: every small habit, every quiet choice.
“I love ye,” Baird said again, not louder, but deeper. “Nae only fer what ye dae fer others, though that is nae small thing, but mostly fer who ye are when nay one is watching.”
Davina leaned forward and rested her forehead against his, careful of his wound.
“I didnae think,” she whispered, “that anyone would ever ken me so well.”
He smiled, not saying anything. He didn’t need to. He had already said more than she could ever have hoped to hear from him.
They stayed like that, bound together by truths finally spoken, the night holding them gently as if it, too, understood that something rare and unbreakable had been named at last.
EPILOGUE
About a week later
Several days had passed since the battle, and with them came a deceptive calm, one that invited ledgers, petitions, and the comforting illusion that order could be restored by ink and patience alone.
Baird was deep in both when the door to his study flew open.
