When he reached the stairs, he descended quickly, heading toward the yard where Kenny held the reins of his horse.
“Before ye go,” Kenny said, voice low, “the Council’s been asking questions about the guards, about the ban on visitors, and about why ye’ve sealed off half the damned keep.”
“They’ll have answers when I have answers,” Baird replied.
“That’ll nae hold them much longer.”
Baird mounted, settling into the saddle with practiced ease. “Then they can stew in their doubts. I care nae.”
Kenny stepped closer. “Baird… cook told me ye have nae eaten since yesterday morn. Ye’re running yerself tae the bone.”
Baird’s voice cut like frost. “I said I care nae.”
Kenny’s expression hardened. His frustration was rising. “This isnae strength, laird. This is punishment.”
Baird pulled the reins tight. “And who says I dinnae deserve it?”
Kenny stared at him, at the hollow look in Baird’s eyes, at the bruised shadow beneath them and at the wound on his arm that had reopened from overuse.
Then Kenny exhaled through his teeth. “Fine. Ride yerself tae death if ye must. But the clan will need ye alive.”
“They’ll manage.”
“Nay,” Kenny said quietly. “They will nae.”
Baird didn’t answer. The wind tore at him as he dug his heels in and rode for the gate, leaving Kenny scowling behind him.
He didn’t ride fast, but he rode far. He rode across the fields, through the tree line, down toward the old bridge where shadows collected in morning mist. He searched for signs of Sinclair intruders, for anything that would give purpose to the storm inside him. But the woods offered nothing.
When he returned, torchlight flickered off the wet stone of the gatehouse. Kenny met him again, with his arms crossed.
“Find anything?”
“Nay.”
Kenny nodded once. “The Council requested yer presence.”
“They can wait until morning.” Baird swung down from the saddle, wincing as his arm pulled.
“And Davina?” Kenny asked, more softly now.
Baird froze.
“She’s keeping tae her chamber. Ailis says she’s worrying. Dinnae ye think ye should?—”
“Nay.” Baird’s voice was a blade. “I will nae drag her intae this.”
Kenny sighed. “She’s already in it, whether ye speak tae her or nae.”
Baird walked past him. “Nae if I can help it.”
He did not look toward the chamber windows as he crossed the courtyard. He did not allow himself to imagine whether she was awake, whether she was watching from behind the curtains, whether she wondered if he still thought of her.
He stepped into the keep, and the heavy door boomed shut behind him like a final pronouncement. He spent the night pacing the war room, reviewing patrol routes, and sharpening his father’s old knife until the blade gleamed cruelly in the firelight.
Only once did he pause. Only once did he glance toward the staircase that led to the chambers he shared with Davina.
But he did not climb it. He could not.
