Silence answered him. He frowned, looking about the room. The bed was neatly turned down, the fire was low but warm, and her shawl was missing from its hook. She hadn’t returned. Or she had… and had left again.
A coil of concern tightened in his chest.
He told himself she was safe. The guards would have seen her pass. The keep was secure at night. She was strong, capable, not prone to wandering without reason. And still, he looked for her, fully aware of the fact that they had a traitor in their midst, making even his home a dangerous place. He had to find her.
The corridor was empty. However, there were places in the keep she favored.
The solar.
He walked there quietly, unwilling to draw attention, but also unwilling to disturb her if she needed solitude after what he had done. The closer he got, the more he heard faint sounds drifting down the corridor, weaving a soft, distant thread of music.
It was neither lively, nor bright. It was gentle and melancholic, and it forced him to stop just short of the doorway.
He could see her clearly.
Davina was sitting by the window, with moonlight brushing pale silver across her hair. The harp rested lightly against her shoulder, and her fingers were moving over the strings with a delicacy that made his chest ache. The melody was soft, filled with longing and regret.
He didn’t enter.
He just stood outside the solar, with his back against the stone wall, unseen by her, but close enough to hear every note. He closed his eyes, letting the music seep into him.
She was hurting. He could hear it in every chord. And he knew that he was the culprit. So he remained hidden, listening to the woman he should not want, the woman he had wounded, the woman who played like her heart was breaking.
As the last note lingered in the air, Baird stepped inside.
“That was beautiful,” he said softly.
Davina startled and turned toward him. “Oh, me laird… I didnae hear ye come in.”
“Aye, I gathered.” He forced a faint smile. “Or ye might have stopped playing sooner and that would’ve been a shame.”
Her blush deepened. She dipped her head. “Thank ye.”
He took a careful step closer, as though approaching a skittish bird. “It’s late, and I… I am a man with many regrets,” he said gently. “I am sorry, Davina. Will ye come back tae our chamber?”
She hesitated. He saw it immediately, that brief flicker of conflict in her eyes and the tightening of her fingers on the harp’s frame. What if merely saying he was sorry changed nothing?
“Davina,” he murmured. “I ken I am nae the… easiest man tae get along with. But I also ken when someone is troubled. Ye can tell me anything. Although…” He paused, searching her face. “I can guess what’s weighing on ye.”
She looked away, twisting a fold of her gown. “I… I dinnae understand the way I feel around ye.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “It frightens me.”
He moved a step closer, leaving only a few feet between them, so that he was close enough to see the faint tremble in her hands, yet far enough not to corner her.
“How dae ye feel?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “I dinnae ken how tae say it.”
He lifted a hand, but didn’t touch her, letting it hover just a moment at his side. “Then let me try,” he said as his voice vibrated in the quiet room. “And ye tell me if I’m wrong.”
Her breath caught.
“Dae ye feel,” he began slowly, “that yer whole body goes warm when I’m near? That heat rushes up yer neck and tae yer cheeks before ye even ken it?”
Davina’s cheeks flushed a deeper red. He liked that response.
He stepped a little closer, not once looking away from her eyes. “Dae ye feel yer stomach twist… like a thousand butterflies battering their wings all at once?”
Her fingers clutched her gown. His own touched the back of her hand with just his fingertips. His touch made her shiver. When she didn’t pull back, he let his hand drift higher, brushing the fabric of her sleeve where her arm met her shoulder.
