The south stores lay closer to the river, tucked beneath an old stone overhang that offered enough shelter to keep the worst of the rain at bay. Baird approached cautiously, scanning the ground for signs of water damage.
A few villagers were already outside, wringing out cloths and checking for leaks.
“How bad is it?” Baird asked.
One of the men straightened. “Nae near as bad as the east, laird. A bit of seepage under the door, but we caught it early.”
Davina stepped by his side, kneeling to examine the damp threshold. “It hasnae reached the sacks,” she said, with reliefsoftening her voice. “If we lift the lower crates tae the shelves, it should dry quickly.”
Baird nodded, motioning to two guards. “Ye heard her. Raise anything that sits low. We’ll reinforce the door after.”
The work took far less time. The guards hauled the crates to the shelves, one of the villagers patched a crack in the wall with clay and straw, and Davina sorted through the herbs and smaller stores to ensure nothing had spoiled.
Baird helped wedge a thick plank under the door to prevent more water from slipping through. When he straightened again, Davina stood beside him, brushing dust from her hands.
“That should hold,” she said.
“Aye. And we’ll have it checked again tomorrow.” He glanced at her, watching how she skimmed through the shelves with careful, assessing eyes. “Ye did well today.”
She looked up, surprised. “So did ye.”
He snorted softly. “This is me job.”
“Mine as well,” she returned gently.
By the time the last ropes were tied and the villagers sent home, the sky was deepening into early evening. The storm clouds hadthinned, leaving streaks of dying light across the hills. The air smelled of wet earth and wood smoke drifting from chimneys.
“We should head back,” Baird said. “The horses willnae thank us fer keeping them out longer.”
Davina nodded. Her cheeks were flushed from the day’s labor and her skirts muddied at the hem, but she looked…happy. He realized that was how he always wanted her to be.
The guards gathered, tightening straps and checking saddles. Baird helped Davina mount her horse before swinging into his own saddle. As they began the ride toward the castle, the village quieted behind them.
It struck him, as they made their way home, how naturally she fit beside him in moments like those: weathering storms, solving crises, tending to their people without hesitation. He told himself not to think too deeply on it. But the truth pressed in anyway.
They were halfway across the stretch of winding path that cut through the moor when Baird’s horse halted beneath him with a stiff, uneasy jerk.
Davina was riding a few paces ahead before realizing he’d stopped. She turned in her saddle. “Baird? What?—”
He lifted one hand sharply.
“Quiet.”
Her words died instantly. The guards behind them tensed, and now, their eyes were on every shadow gathering along the ridge. Baird’s pulse steadied into a cold, controlled rhythm. He knew that feeling. He knew when he was being watched.
And there, just beyond the far jut of rock, half-hidden by a cluster of wind-beaten gorse, he noticed a slight movement.
“Sinclair scouts,” he whispered, feeling his blood cold in his veins.
CHAPTER 19
The moment Baird’s eyes fixed on the ridge, the nearest guard edged closer, his hand already on the hilt of his sword.
“What are yer orders, laird?” he murmured.
Baird didn’t answer immediately. His mind raced, comparing the number of men, distance to cover, Davina at his side, the failing light.
Then, a sudden movement snapped his thoughts clean through.
