The ride was not long, yet it unsettled him a bit, not knowing where they were heading. As they drew nearer to the village, Baird began to notice things, which were small at first, easily dismissed. Lanterns hung where there had been none days before. A ribbon was tied to a fence post. The faint sound of laughter carried on the evening air, then cut short, as if someone had thought better of being heard too soon.
He glanced at Davina. She rode serenely beside him, her lips betraying not a thing.
“Is the village expecting company?” he asked.
“Only the right sort,” she replied.
That did little to clarify matters. However, when they turned into the square, the truth announced itself all at once. Torches flared. Lanterns were lifted. And suddenly the space was filled with people. Villagers stood shoulder to shoulder, by the side of the men from the castle and women he recognized from the kitchens and halls. Children perched on barrels and steps, their little eyes bright with excitement.
And then they cheered.
The sound struck him like a physical blow.
Baird reined in sharply, his horse skittering a half-step as the roar rose again. There was applause and shouted greetings. His name carried again and again on voices thick with affection and relief. All he could do was stare, utterly stunned by the sight before him.
He dismounted as if in a dream, and Davina did so beside him. Someone thrust a mug into his hand. Another person clappedhim on the shoulder. Flowers were pressed forward by a child who grinned up at him missing two teeth.
Baird turned slowly to Davina, utterly at a loss.
“What,” he asked, unable to find the right words, “is all this?”
“A celebration,” she replied, grinning from ear to ear. “Of ye.”
He frowned. “Of me?”
“Our laird,” she corrected gently.
The cheers rose again as if in agreement. Baird looked out over them, at these people he had fought for, bled for and commanded, and for the first time truly saw what stood before him…hispeople.
“I did naething extraordinary,” he said quietly, almost to her alone.
Davina leaned closer. “Ye saved them. Ye chose mercy. Ye came back alive. Tae them,” she said, nodding toward the crowd, “that is extraordinary enough.”
His throat tightened. The music began somewhere near the well, fiddles and pipes striking up with determined cheer. Suddenly, the square shifted and joy claimed the space where fear had lived only days before.
Davina reached for his hand.
“Go on,” she murmured. “Let them see ye.”
Baird moved through the crowd as though in a dream. Hands reached for him gripping his arm, clasping his shoulder and pressing cups and words upon him in equal measure. Thankscame from every side, some spoken plainly, others wrapped in emotion too thick to shape properly. He answered as best he could, nodding, smiling when he remembered, and humbled into near silence when he did not.
He had faced armies with less unease.
It was Davina who rescued him.
She appeared at his side as naturally as breath, her fingers closing around his wrist with unmistakable intent. “Come,” she said, already tugging him away.
“Where?” he asked, though he allowed himself to be pulled.
“Ye will see,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye.
The music had grown bolder near the center of the square. The fiddles were lively and the feet were stamping in time. Couples were already forming laughing, appearing clumsy but still unashamed. Davina led him straight into it before he could summon a sensible objection.
She turned to face him, placing her hands upon his shoulders.
The music filled the air around them, and they were moving. Not gracefully, perhaps, but together.
He stopped thinking. He stopped measuring. He stopped worrying. He let the rhythm take him, let her guide him when needed, and to his astonishment, he found that he was smiling through it all.
