“Come with me,” he said quietly. “Ye’re safe now. There’s naught more fer ye tae dae here.”
She seemed to hesitate only a heartbeat before nodding faintly. Baird placed a steadying hand at her back and guided her through the parting crowd. Heads dipped as they passed, though none dared speak. The whispers started again the moment the door shut behind them, but he didn’t pay any attention. He was focused on the woman by his side.
They climbed the winding stairwell to the upper chambers. Her steps were small and uncertain, so he slowed his pace without thinking, matching her stride. When they reached the chamber prepared for her earlier that day, he pushed the door open and gestured her inside.
“Sit,” he instructed, crossing to the hearth and tossing another log onto the coals. The flames caught with a crackle. “Take a breath. The worst is past.”
Davina sank onto the edge of the bed, dropping her trembling hands into her lap. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came.
Baird leaned a shoulder against the hearth, watching her for a long moment. He could almost hear the storm in her head: the disbelief, the horror, the questions he had no answers for. But they had no time for unraveling.
“Ye cannae sit there staring at the wall,” he said at last, realizing that she would not talk first. “Naething good will come of wondering why things happened as they did. The healer will find the truth soon enough. Fer now, ye’ll need tae pull yerself taegether.”
Only then did her head snap toward him, with disbelief flickering through the haze. “Pull meself taegether?”
“Aye.” He folded his arms, the flickering light glinting off the scar on his cheek. “Folks are unsettled enough as it is. If the new Lady Kincaid daesnae compose herself, they’ll take it as a bad omen. We cannae afford more whispers taenight.”
She rose to her feet. Although she appeared frail and vulnerable, her voice trembled with sharpness. “How can ye speak of feasts when yer braither lies dead just a few hours past?”
His jaw clenched. “Because life daesnae stop fer grief, me lady.”
Her eyes widened at the coldness in his tone. “Ye sound heartless.”
That word cut deeper than it should have. He straightened from the hearth, eyes hardening. “I never said I dinnae feel grief, I just dinnae carry it on me sleeve. Mind yerself, me lady. Ye’re in nay place tae judge me.”
She flinched at the edge in his voice, but didn’t back down. “I watched ye take his place at the altar without hesitation, as though none of it mattered?—”
“Enough.” His voice cracked like a whip. The silence that followed was heavy and even searing. He forced his next words through clenched teeth. “I’ll mourn Malcolm in me own way. But I’m laird now, and me people look tae me fer strength. If Icrumble, they crumble. If I falter, the clan falls tae ruin. Dae ye understand that?”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
He took a slow breath, his temper cooling by degrees. “I loved me braither,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But duty leaves nay room fer breaking down. Nae fer me.”
For a moment, only the crackle of the fire filled the space between them. Davina stood frozen, and he could see horror and confusion warring in her expression. Then she turned her gaze away, the shimmer of tears catching the light before she hid them.
He paused at the door. “Try tae eat something, if ye can.”
And before she could answer, he stepped out into the corridor, leaving behind the woman who would now share both his name and his burdens.
Davina sat motionless for what felt like an age after Baird left. The fire’s warmth did little to chase the chill from her skin. Her wedding gown felt heavy now, almost like a relic of someone else’s life, someone who hadn’t watched a man die before her eyes.
She had thought herself prepared for duty, for marriage, for the quiet obedience expected of a bride. But she had not been prepared for this, for vows spoken over a corpse, or for the way her new husband had looked at her: with command, with calculation, with not a flicker of visible grief.
A soft knock broke through her thoughts.
“Come in,” she managed. Her voice sounded strange in her own ears, thin and distant.
The door opened and a young woman stepped inside carrying a basin of steaming water.
“Me lady,” she said with a small curtsey. “The laird sent me.”
Davina blinked, caught off guard. “The laird?”
“Aye. Me name is Ailis,” she introduced herself, then set down the basin and began to stir the water with a careful hand. “He said ye’d need a warm bath and a bit of rest before the feast. I’ll fetch tea as well. It soothes the nerves.”
Davina could only stare for a moment, unsure what to say. Of all the things she expected of Baird Kincaid, such as commands, demands and cold orders of duty, kindness had not been one.
Ailis moved quietly about the chamber. She gently poured fragrant herbs into the water, and soon the air filled with the scent of lavender and heather. Steam rose in soft curls.
