CHAPTER 14
Baird stood in the middle of his study long after Davina’s footsteps had faded down the corridor. The air still held the faintest trace of her warmth and something so soft he had no right to breathe in.
He dragged a shaking hand through his hair.
“Fool,” he muttered. “Bloody. Damn. Fool.”
He turned toward the tray she had brought him. It sat on the edge of his writing table untouched. The venison was still steaming faintly, the bread felt warm beneath the napkin, and the broth was fragrant with herbs.
She had come to care for him. And he had kissed her. Then, he had shoved her away with words sharp enough to slice her heart open.
He pressed both palms flat against the desk, bowing his head. “What have ye done?”
She ran. She didn’t walk… sheran,as though the very sight of him hurt her.
And it did. He’d seen it the moment his damned tongue declared the kiss a mistake. He had watched the light in her eyes flicker and fall.
The truth was far uglier. Ithadn’tbeen a mistake. That was exactly the problem.
He had wanted her with a fierceness he couldn’t name. It was a wanting that burned through guilt and duty and grief; a wanting that felt like betrayal even now, when his brother had barely been laid in the ground.
“Malcolm,” he whispered. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”
He reached for the edge of the table and lowered himself slowly into the chair, rubbing at the ache behind his eyes. He tried to eat. He truly tried. He broke the bread in half, stared at the soft white beneath the crust, lifted it toward his mouth, then set it down again. He couldn’t swallow a bite. The guilt was a stone lodged in his throat.
He needed a distraction, anything that didn’t involve thinking of Davina’s trembling breath or the shock in her eyes when he pushed her away. So, he turned toward the scatteredparchments on his desk, notes from the healer, guard rotations, the ledger of who had access to meals served to Malcolm in his final weeks.
He grabbed a quill, muttering under his breath. “Think! Use yer damn head.”
Who had served Malcolm? Who had brought him his wine, his bread, his broth?
His thoughts spilled out in jagged fragments. “Brian brings wine from the kitchens and sometimes food, but he’s been with me since we were lads… Maisey sees tae the hall… she could have placed anything at his setting without drawing notice… Filib oversees the council table arrangements, there is access… even Ailis, and all the other maids, servants, guards…”
He stopped himself with a violent shake of his head.
“Nay,” he growled. “This way leads tae madness.”
Because the truth was there were too many possibilities. There were too many trusted hands, familiar faces, people who had served the Kincaid household for years. If he pointed a finger without proof, he could create rifts in the clan that would spill blood before winter.
“We’re surrounded,” he said quietly, staring at the ink-stained parchment. “Surrounded by ghosts and shadows.”
Every name he examined had a weakness and also, an opportunity. And he had proof for none.
His quill slipped from his fingers, skittering across the parchment. He pressed both hands into his hair, with his elbows braced on the writing table.
“Damn ye,” he breathed.
Only, he wasn’t sure if it was to the poisoner, to himself, or to fate. He hadn’t only failed Malcolm in life. He was failing him in death, too. He couldn’t find his murderer, and now, he dreamed of lying with the woman who was meant for his brother.
A quill rolled from the desk and hit the floor with a dull clatter, jolting Baird from the haze of guilt that had settled around him like smoke. He blinked, staring at the lantern. Its flame had burned dangerously low, casting long, tired shadows across the room. It was very late.
He let out a slow breath, pushing himself to his feet. His body protested. It was stiff from hours hunched over unanswered questions, but he ignored it. His thoughts had circled themselves into knots. He needed rest, or at least the attempt of it. He left the cold supper where it sat.
Baird made his way to the chambers he shared with Davina, who was yet another weight, and another reminder of everything he had done wrong that night.
He reached the door only to find that it was dark inside. He stepped in carefully, feeling his heart lurching in a way he despised.
“Davina?”
