“Ye’ve every right,” he said, sheathing his sword. “But ye kept yer wits. That may have saved us both.”
Baird stood motionless for a moment. The sharpness in his gaze had not dulled. It had simply turned inward, cold calculation overtaking fury.
“Captain,” he called to the man who was closest to him. “Send for the council members, all of them. Me advisors, the Fletcher envoys, anyone of rank who remains in the castle. Bring them tae me study at once.”
The guard hesitated. “Me laird, the corridors?—”
“Then clear them,” Baird snapped. “Now.”
The man hurried off.
“Ye should sit,” Baird turned to her. “Ye’ve been through enough.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, though her voice trembled. “Just… unsteady.”
He offered his arm. “Come with me, then. The study’s secure. We need tae speak, tae decide what comes next.”
She hesitated only a moment before taking his arm. His grip was firm, grounding her as they moved through the castle’s narrow halls. Guards lined the corridors now, but somehow, that didn’t make her feel any safer. They reached a tall oak door at the end of the corridor. Two guards stepped aside as Baird pushed it open, ushering her inside. The study was dimly lit, lined with books and maps.
Baird guided her toward a chair near the fire. “Sit. Rest if ye can.”
She did as she was told, as her father bid her to do. The study filled slowly, and one by one, the councilman lined in, men of rank and age, wrapped in heavy plaids and wearing grim expressions. They took their places by the hearth or against the wall, muttering to one another in low, uncertain tones.
Davina sat where Baird had left her, with hands clasped in her lap. Her throat still burned where the knife had grazed her. Her thoughts were heavy and slow, caught between disbelief and dread.
When the door finally opened again, Ramsay Fletcher entered. His bearing was as proud as ever, though the lines around his mouth had deepened. His eyes flicked briefly to Davina, then to Baird.
“We’re all here?” he demanded, as if it was his study that they all gathered in.
Baird gave a single nod. “All that matter.”
“Good.” Ramsay stepped into the center of the room. “Then let us speak plain. A tragedy has struck, aye, but the agreement between our families remains. The marriage must go through.”
A murmur spread through the Council. One man, old and gray-bearded, frowned. “Fletcher, yer daughter’s groom lies dead. Ye cannae mean tae proceed as though naething’s happened.”
“I mean precisely what I said,” Ramsay replied. “Our clans forged this union for strength, nae sentiment. If it falls apart now, we invite ruin and give our enemies cause tae celebrate.”
Another councilman shook his head. “The people will see it as heartless. There must be a period of mourning?—”
“We dinnae yet understand the man’s death,” Ramsay cut in sharply. “Aye, we shall honor him, but alliances dinnae pause fer grief.”
A stout man near the back spoke next. “The lady has suffered much. Surely, ye’d nae?—”
Ramsay’s hand cut through the air. “Me daughter understands her duty.”
All eyes turned to Davina. She felt their stares like a weight pressing against her chest. Her lips parted, but no sound came. She looked to her father, then to Baird, who was silent, still watching the fire.
The gray-bearded councilman sighed. “Even if the girl consents, who would she wed? The ceremony cannae continue with the groom in his grave.”
Ramsay stepped forward, as his voice cut through the murmurs. “There is another Kincaid son,” he said. “The bloodline need not end here.”
A ripple of protest swept through the council chamber.
“Absurd!” one man barked.
“’Tis no small matter tae replace a groom,” another added.
The uproar broke off when Baird rose to his feet. “Aye,” he said in a voice that carried through the hall like thunder. “There is another Kincaid. And that means she will marryme.”
