At last, he dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Ye can come.”
She smiled in a victorious manner, while Baird forced his gaze forward, barking orders to his men. The villagers led them through narrow lanes still slick with rain. Mud clung to boots, wooden beams dripped steadily, and the distant roar of the burn echoed between the houses.
When they reached the flooded storehouse, Baird felt his stomach drop. The lower planks of the building were buckled inward, with the water still pooling inside. A dozen villagers worked frantically hauling barrels, carrying sacks of grain and shouting instructions to one another in a desperate chorus.
Baird stepped forward. “Show me what’s stable.”
One of the men pointed. “That corner’s holding. We’ve been moving everything we can tae the dry stores just across the way.”
Baird nodded once, turning to his guards. “Move the unbroken barrels first. If any of the sacks are only soaked on the outside, salvage them. We’ll dry the grain at the keep.”
“Aye, laird.” The chorus came back in unison.
Davina, already rolling up her sleeves, approached one of the torn sacks. “These can still be saved if we move them quickly,”she said, examining the threads. “The inner layers are barely damp.”
One of the women beside her nodded in relief. “Aye, me lady, if ye dinnae mind getting yer hands dirty.”
Davina dropped to her knees without hesitation. “Show me where tae take them.”
Baird watched her for a moment. He watched how she didn’t flinch at mud, or frayed rope, or the weight of a soaked grain sack. She lifted beside villagers twice her size, guided the children who scampered in to help, and encouraged every weary worker with sincerity rather than command.
She was unlike any woman he had ever met, and he knew that he would never again meet anyone like her.
He forced himself back to work, lifting a heavy barrel with a grunt. One of the villagers rushed to help him. “Careful, laird, the bottom’s soaked through.”
“I’ve got it,” Baird muttered, maneuvering it toward the dry store.
Hours passed in a blur of labor. Barrels rolled, and sacks were lifted. Planks were pried loose to release trapped water. Throughout it all, men shouted, while women organized and children darted between adults carrying handfuls of tools.
And Davina matched them step for step.
By late afternoon, the worst of it was done. Nearly all the grain had been saved, with only a small corner of the storehouse lost entirely.
Davina leaned against a beam, with her cheeks flushed.
“We saved most of it,” she said, breathless but smiling.
Baird wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Aye. More than I expected when we arrived.”
One of the older villagers approached, bowing his head respectfully. “Thank ye, laird. If ye hadnae come when ye did… we’d have lost everything.”
Davina tilted her head toward the man. “It was everyone here who saved it. We merely helped.”
Baird glanced at the mud on her hem, at her reddened hands and at the light in her eyes. This woman always managed to find new ways to make him speechless.
“Ye did more than help,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him with a sweet smile. “I only did what needed daeing.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer than he should have. “Aye. That ye did.”
A villager called Baird’s name from across the square, breaking the moment. He cleared his throat and stepped back.
“We’ll check the south stores next,” he said. “Make sure nothing else was damaged.”
Davina nodded, falling into step beside him. And as they walked through the softened mud and fading afternoon light, Baird realized that despite the chaos, despite the exhaustion, despite the strain of the morning, having her at his side felt right.
