“Relentlessly,” Davina told him, taking him by the hand and leading him out of his study. “Now come.”
Baird allowed himself to be led, though every instinct in him bristled at abandoning his post, even for a moment.
“Where are ye taking me?” he asked as they turned down the narrower passage that led away from the main hall.
Davina did not look back. “It is a surprise.”
He slowed. “Ye ken I dinnae like surprises.”
She glanced over her shoulder then. There was mischief in her beautiful, dark eyes. “Ye married one.”
He huffed, teasing her. “That wasnae a surprise. That was a decision.”
“A distinction without comfort,” she said lightly. “Come along.”
Baird frowned. “If this is another ambush by the cook?—”
“It is an intervention,” Davina said. “Ye will survive.”
“I have been eating,” he protested.
“Ye have been standing near food,” she corrected. “Breathing daesnae count as nourishment, Baird.”
“I consumed broth this morning.”
She arched a brow. “Did ye swallow it, or merely glare at it until it fled in fear?”
A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “Ye are excessively bold fer a woman who is dragging her laird about against his will.”
“And ye are excessively thin fer a man claiming he will protect his clan with his sword,” she chirped back.
He opened his mouth to retort, then paused. The truth, inconvenient as it was, settled heavily in his chest. He had eaten little and thought even less of it. His father’s voice echoed faintly that hunger sharpened the mind, but Davina’s gaze held no patience for such nonsense.
“Very well,” he said. “But if Sinclair chooses this moment tae strike?—”
“Then ye will face him with a full stomach,” she said briskly. “Which I am told improves one’s disposition.”
They climbed in companionable silence until he realized, with mild confusion, that they were heading not toward the kitchens but higher still.
“The solar?” he said. “What business have I there?”
Davina smiled to herself. “Mine.”
She pushed open the door before he could object further. Golden sunlight filled the room, warming the stone and catching in the colored glass of the windows. Near the far wall, a blanket had been laid out. A small basket rested beside it, half-open. The scent of bread and cheese was unmistakable.
Baird stopped short. “What is this?”
“A picnic,” Davina said cheerfully. “Before ye scowl, aye, I ken it is indoors. The wind would have stolen half the food, and ye would have blamed Sinclair fer it.”
He stared at the spread. “Ye planned this.”
“I planned fer ye,” she corrected. “Come now.”
Despite himself, his mouth twitched. “Ye are far too comfortable commanding me.”
“Someone must be,” she replied lightly. “Sit. Or dae I need tae remind ye I am yers, and therefore allowed tae fuss?”
He hesitated only a moment before lowering himself onto the blanket. The act felt strangely intimate.
