That was when her voice broke. “If ye push me away, Baird… I dinnae ken how long I can keep reaching fer ye.”
That struck him. She saw it in a flash of something pained, raw and unguarded before he slammed it down again.
“Well,” he said hoarsely, “mayhap ye should stop reaching.”
The world tilted. Davina’s breath left her in a silent gasp. Her vision blurred, not with tears but with that utter, crushing shock at the cruelty he hadn’t meant to speak.
His face changed the moment the words left him, and regret flooded in, but it was too late.
“Davina… I?—”
“Go,” she whispered, and the word felt like cracked glass.
He reached for her instinctively, but she stepped back.
“Go,” she repeated.
He swallowed hard, and there was agony flickering in his eyes. Then he jerked the reins, swung into the saddle, and forced his horse forward with more force than necessary. He didn’t look back.
Davina stood alone, with her every breath shaking. The keep that had once felt cavernous now felt colder still, and the shadows were drawing close around her like a tightening noose.
CHAPTER 24
Night settled heavily over Kincaid Castle. The corridors were now hushed and hollow as if the stones themselves mourned. Davina could not sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Baird’s face, and heard the words that broke her heart.
Mayhap ye should stop reaching.
The words cut anew each time she remembered them.
At last, unable to bear the restless ache in her chest, she slipped from the chamber. The guards stationed outside the door looked startled, but she shook her head.
“I need only a walk,” she murmured.
They exchanged glances but did not stop her. Perhaps even they could sense her heartbreak. Davina’s footsteps echoed softly as she moved through the dimly lit hall. Shadows gathered in thecorners, stretching long across the floor, reaching for her like cold fingers. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing foolishly for the warmth of Baird’s embrace.
But warmth was the one thing he withheld.
She wandered until she found herself before a door she had not opened since the day of her arrival. It was the portrait room. Ailis had mentioned it once, in passing, how it held the likenesses of former lairds and ladies.
Davina hesitated only a moment before entering.
The chamber smelled faintly of dust and oil paint. Moonlight streamed through a high window, casting pale beams across rows of paintings, of faces long gone, yet forever watching.
Her gaze drifted until it snagged on a portrait hanging near the center.
Laird Alastair Kincaid… Baird’s father.
Davina stepped closer. The man in the frame was tall, imposing, his posture rigid as though carved from stone. His expression was severe, his mouth was set in a thin line, while his eyes were hard and cold. Even captured in paint, he radiated a chill that raised gooseflesh along Davina’s arms.
This was a man who commanded fear, a man who expected perfection, a man who had never known softness, and likely crushed it wherever he found it.
Davina swallowed, unable to look away.
Is this why Baird pushes me away? Is this the shadow he lives beneath every day?
She imagined a young Baird standing before his father, a boy yearning for approval, receiving only scorn; a son taught that vulnerability was weakness, affection a liability, love a threat.
Her heart clenched. Davina reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame, not touching the painted man, but acknowledging him, nonetheless. Then, she stepped back, drawing a steady breath, only to turn around and leave the portrait room behind.
