He felt, rather than saw, Davina move into place at his right side. She wore a deep, muted gown, which was respectful and elegant, not calling attention to herself. Her veil was pinned neatly, andher expression was solemn. She didn’t speak, but her presence was steady.
She understands the weight of this.
He was strangely grateful.
Behind Davina stood her family: Ramsay Fletcher, tall and proud, and Eleonor beside him, with quiet strength in her gaze. There were even a few cousins who had traveled with them. They formed a wall around Davina, symbolizing a family standing together.
Baird had no such wall. He had no parents. He no longer had a brother. And he had no kin left who shared his blood. All he had was his clan, who looked at him with a mixture of fear, expectation and grief reflected through a leader they needed to be unbreakable.
He did not look at Davina’s family. He couldn’t. The sight of them only sharpened the hollowness in his own chest.
The castle healer stepped forward, offering a quiet blessing, while his voice carried softly over the courtyard. Baird barely heard the words. His mind kept drifting to Malcolm beside him.
He could still hear Malcolm laughing at supper. He could still see him sparring in the yard.
Malcolm, who should have stood with Davina … who should have lived another fifty years at least.
The ache in Baird’s chest was sharp enough to cut him from the inside. He did not blink. He would not.
When it came time, Baird stepped forward and rested his hand atop the bier. The cold wood bit into his palm.
“Farewell, braither,” he said quietly. He cleared his throat, then turned to the gathered clan. “Ye’ll honor him in yer memories, in yer deeds, and by keeping this clan strong.”
A murmur of assent rippled through the crowd. It was weak, but sincere. Then, Davina stepped forward next, placing a single sprig of heather atop the bier: a Highland symbol of protection. Baird blinked in brief surprise. She hadn’t asked anyone for permission to do so. She had simply chosen to.
And for one moment, her gaze met his. It was a brief exchange of understanding. She didn’t touch him. She didn’t offer support, either. She simply stood near enough that the chill of the morning didn’t feel quite so sharp.
The ceremony continued, solemn and unbroken. When the bier was lifted for burial, the clan bowed their heads. Baird remained standing tall, though his heart felt like stone.
Eyes forward, back straigh.
He remembered his father’s instructions.
Grief had to be locked away, because a laird’s grief had no place in the open.
When the bier passed him, Davina stepped subtly closer, just enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. It was barely a touch, a whisper of warmth, easily missed by anyone not watching closely. But Baird felt it like a jolt. He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t step away either.
The funeral ended with the quiet thud of earth on wood. The last shovelful of earth had barely settled over Malcolm’s grave when the mourners began drifting back toward the keep. Soft murmurs rose and one by one, the clanspeople dispersed, leaving the courtyard strangely hollow.
Baird remained where he stood. He wasn’t ready to move. A cold wind tugged at the edge of his cloak. He inhaled deeply, letting the chill steady him.
Davina was speaking quietly with her parents a few paces away. Ramsay Fletcher had a hand on her shoulder, and her mother was brushing a strand of hair from her face with gentle fingers. They formed a small circle of warmth in the cold afternoon, a family bound together in grief and duty alike. Davina turned toward him then, and her parents followed.
Ramsay Fletcher inclined his head deeply. “Our deepest condolences, me laird.”
“Thank ye,” Baird nodded in return.
Eleonor Fletcher dipped a graceful curtsey. “Our hearts are with ye today,” she said softly. “A loss like this… nay one deserves tae bear it.”
Baird inclined his head. He didn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself to. If he opened his mouth, grief might slip through in a way he couldn’t afford.
Davina stepped slightly closer, with her hands clasped before her. Her gaze flicked from her parents to Baird and back again, torn between two worlds, neither of which she belonged to fully.
Ramsay turned his attention to Baird. “Everything we agreed upon stands,” he said firmly. “Trade, contracts, the winter shipments, naething changes because of this tragedy.”
Baird exhaled slowly, the words hitting harder than he expected. “I appreciate ye keeping yer word,” he confessed. “Especially now.”
The man gently gripped him by the shoulder, only for a moment. “A man can grieve without losing his honor.”
