It was the cold truth and one he bore as laird, but also as a brother. And what did he do with that grief? He nearly kissed the woman Malcolm had been meant to wed. He nearly forgot why she was his wife at all.
A bitter laugh scraped his throat. “Some brother ye are.”
He resumed walking at a pace that was more measured now, but the weight inside him felt heavier. The castle halls stretched long and empty, and the air was damp with the coming night. His thoughts churned with every step.
He had married her to protect the clan, to secure the alliance, to honor what Malcolm had begun. It was duty and nothing more.
So why did he feel a traitor for wanting to be content in that marriage? Why did he feel he owed Malcolm more than grief?
He reached Kenny’s chambers and paused outside the door, squaring his shoulders. He was the laird again, not a man nearly undone by the sight of his wife’s bare shoulders, and not a man wrestling ghosts and desire like a bloody adolescent.
He knocked once, then pushed the door open, locking the storm inside of him behind bone and will.
Kenny stood the moment Baird entered, wearing a grim expression. Beside him, the castle healer rose as well, an older man with ink-stained fingers and a jaw set like a man who disliked what even he himself had to say.
“Me laird,” the healer greeted, bowing his head.
Baird nodded once, forcing his turmoil aside. “What’s this about? The lad said it was urgent.”
Kenny exchanged a look with the healer before speaking. “We thought ye’d want the report as soon as the healer finished his examination.”
Baird crossed his arms, bracing himself for the worst, although the worst had already happened. “Go on.”
The healer stepped forward, clearing his throat. “We’ve finished with examining the body of… yer braither, me laird and I’m afraid the cause of death is clear.”
The words punched through Baird like a blow. He locked his jaw. “Tell me.”
“It was poison,” the healer said softly. “But nae a single dose. This was something given in increments, in small amounts over a longer period of time.”
The chamber felt suddenly colder.
Baird frowned. “So, he was being poisoned fer how long?”
“A few weeks, at least.” The healer folded his hands. “Long enough that his body weakened. The final dose at the wedding,whatever he drank or ate just before, only pushed him past the edge.”
Kenny swore under his breath.
Baird stared at the healer, and the floor beneath him seemed to tilt. “Incremental doses,” he repeated slowly. “Damn near daily, then.”
“Aye,” the healer confirmed. “That opens a new line of investigation, me laird, because… well, a stranger could nae have managed that. Nae without being caught, at least. Whoever did this had access tae yer braither.Regularaccess.”
Baird’s stomach hardened to stone. “Ye mean someone inside the castle.”
“There’s nay other way,” the healer said. “Yer braither was careful with his food and drink after the Sinclair troubles began. The poisoner must have been someone he trusted.”
Someone he trusted.
Baird’s pulse throbbed in his temple. For days, grief had been churning beneath his ribs. But this… this was fury; fury that someone under his roof had murdered his brother drop by drop, smiling to his face, breaking bread at the same table.
He had failed Malcolm.
The thought tore through him again, sharp as the first moment the healer spoke the wordpoison. It hollowed out his chest and left a roar in his ears. He felt like slamming his fist against the wall, but other than pain, that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make him feel any less useless.
He forced a steady breath. “What kind of poison?”
“Likely a plant extract,” the healer explained. “One that weakens the heart over time. We’re testing a few I suspect, but the pattern is unmistakable.”
“And Malcolm never noticed?” Kenny asked incredulously.
