Baird offered his hand, and Davina hesitated only a heartbeat before placing hers in his. His palm was warm and steady,calloused from battle, and the strength of his grip anchored her to a world that no longer felt real.
The corridor beyond the study glowed with torchlight. Servants and guards stepped aside as they passed, bowing in silence. Somewhere ahead, the faint hum of voices drifted from the great hall. It all felt distant, unreal, as though she were walking through someone else’s dream.
When they reached the tall doors of the great hall, two guards pulled them open, and the sight beyond stole her breath.
The hall, only hours ago a scene of joy and tragedy, now stood reborn under the heavy silence of necessity. Candles burned anew, their golden light trembling in reverence across polished stone. The guests had returned, pale and uneasy, filling the pews once more. No one spoke. Their gazes followed her as she entered, while whispers died on their tongues.
Her father and mother stood near the front. He gave her a short nod, nothing more.
Beside him, the minister waited, his prayer book trembling slightly in his hands. “Me laird, me lady,” he began softly. “If it is yer will…”
Baird’s hand tightened gently around hers. “It is.”
Davina’s pulse thundered in her ears as they stepped forward. The same path she had walked just a few hours before stretchedbefore her. The people were the same, the candles were the same and so were the flowers, yet everything had changed. The space felt haunted by echoes of laughter that would never return.
Each step felt heavier than the last. Her gown whispered against the stone, while her heart was singling a frantic rhythm beneath the lace. And still, Baird’s hand did not waver.
They reached the altar. The minister began to speak. “We gather again, though sorrow shadows this union. Yet vows spoken bind nay less truly in hardship…”
Davina scarcely heard him. She looked up at Baird, at the man who had been a stranger only hours ago.
When the minister asked if he took her hand, Baird answered without hesitation. “I dae.”
The sound of it sent a shiver through her. It was not passion that stirred her then, but the strange certainty that her life would change forever.
As she repeated the priest’s words, symbolizing their union, the hall seemed to exhale. It was a whisper of fate sealing itself in stone.
Baird turned to her, with his hand still wrapped around hers. She knew the ceremony ended with a kiss, but she realized she would be kissing the wrong man.
That was when he leaned in, and she felt his lips brushing against hers with a quiet finality that felt less like a kiss and more like a vow. The solemn taste of it lingered even when she pulled away, symbolizing a bond neither of them had chosen, yet which both would have to bear.
CHAPTER THREE
“Me laird, what in God’s name happened?”
“Was it poison, dae ye think?”
“Who’ll lead the men now? Will the Fletchers still honor the pact?”
Questions came like arrows from every direction. The chapel doors had barely closed before half the clan pressed in around him. The councilmen, the guards, the servants and kin were all demanding answers he didn’t yet have.
Baird stood unmoving beneath the onslaught. His jaw worked, as the weight of command settled heavy across his shoulders once more. Around him, the air stank of fear. He could sense hot breath, sweat, and the copper tang of spilled wine mingled with the echo of Malcolm’s collapse all around him.
He caught sight of Davina through the crush of bodies. She stood alone where the ceremony had ended, with her white gown rumpled and her veil hanging askew. No one spoke to her. No one even looked her way as they crowded him.
Someone brushed past her shoulder too roughly, and she stumbled, catching herself against a pew. The flowers in her hand slipped to the floor, trampled under a careless boot.
“Enough!” The word ripped out of Baird before he knew he’d spoken.
His voice filled the hall, sharp as steel. The crowd froze at once. Men who’d faced battle at his command now held their tongues like chastened boys.
He turned in a slow circle. “Still yer tongues and clear some space,” he ordered. “There’s naught tae be gained by clamor.”
A hush fell. The nearest men stepped back, and in the new silence he strode toward Davina. She had gone utterly still, her lovely face as pale as linen.
“Lady Kincaid,” he said, gentler now. She didn’t respond. He reached out, his fingers brushing her arm. “Davina.”
Her gaze flickered to him, distant and uncomprehending.
