Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The knife pressed harder, cold and sharp against Davina’s throat. She dared not breathe too deeply. One movement and it might all be over.
“Please,” she whispered, not sure to whom she spoke: to Baird, to the heavens, or to the man who held her life in his hands.
“Quiet,” the intruder hissed, jerking her closer.
That was his mistake.
In that fraction of a second, Baird moved in a flash of steel. His sword swept upward in a clean, controlled arc, striking the intruder’s wrist with brutal precision. The knife flew from his hand, clattering across the floor.
Davina stumbled away as Baird closed in.
The intruder swung wildly, landing a blow against Baird’s shoulder.
The clang of metal on metal echoed through the corridor.
Baird struck back, a fierce downward slash that the intruder barely dodged.
Sparks flew as his blade scraped the wall.
The man lunged, catching Baird’s arm, and they crashed hard into the stone.
Davina pressed herself against the wall, watching in horror as the two men fought in a blur of movement and gritted breath. Baird’s strength was relentless; he drove the intruder back with each strike, his sword cutting through the air with savage precision.
The intruder ducked low, grabbed the fallen dagger, and slashed toward Baird’s ribs. Steel grazed flesh. Baird grunted but did not falter. He caught the man’s wrist, twisted sharply, and slammed his fist into the intruder’s jaw.
The masked man staggered. Baird followed through, one hard shove against his chest that sent him sprawling onto the flagstones. The dagger clattered free again. Before he could rise, Baird’s boot pressed down hard on his throat.
“Yield,” Baird growled.
The intruder wheezed, and his eyes were flashing hatred. He tried to reach for another hidden blade, but Baird’s sword was faster, and it acted in a single, brutal thrust beneath the ribs. The breath left the intruder in a ragged gasp.
Baird stepped back as the body of his opponent went still, the scarlet bloom spreading across the man’s tunic. Two guards came sprinting up the corridor.
“Me laird!” one shouted.
Baird didn’t look up. He wiped his blade clean on the dead man’s cloak. “Too late,” he said quietly. “He made his choice.”
Davina pressed a trembling hand to her neck, where the knife had grazed her skin. “It’s over?” she asked softly.
Baird turned to her, his chest rising and falling with the weight of battle. “Fer now.” His voice softened as he stepped closer. “Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head, though her knees threatened to give way. “Only frightened.”
“Ye’ve every right,” he said, sheathing his sword. “But ye kept yer wits. That may have saved us both.”
Baird stood motionless for a moment. The sharpness in his gaze had not dulled. It had simply turned inward, cold calculation overtaking fury.
“Captain,” he called to the man who was closest to him. “Send for the council members, all of them. Me advisors, the Fletcher envoys, anyone of rank who remains in the castle. Bring them tae me study at once.”
The guard hesitated. “Me laird, the corridors—”
“Then clear them,” Baird snapped. “Now.”
The man hurried off.
“Ye should sit,” Baird turned to her. “Ye’ve been through enough.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, though her voice trembled. “Just… unsteady.”
He offered his arm. “Come with me, then. The study’s secure. We need tae speak, tae decide what comes next.”
She hesitated only a moment before taking his arm.
His grip was firm, grounding her as they moved through the castle’s narrow halls.
Guards lined the corridors now, but somehow, that didn’t make her feel any safer.
They reached a tall oak door at the end of the corridor.
Two guards stepped aside as Baird pushed it open, ushering her inside.
The study was dimly lit, lined with books and maps.
Baird guided her toward a chair near the fire. “Sit. Rest if ye can.”
She did as she was told, as her father bid her to do.
The study filled slowly, and one by one, the councilman lined in, men of rank and age, wrapped in heavy plaids and wearing grim expressions.
They took their places by the hearth or against the wall, muttering to one another in low, uncertain tones.
Davina sat where Baird had left her, with hands clasped in her lap. Her throat still burned where the knife had grazed her. Her thoughts were heavy and slow, caught between disbelief and dread.
When the door finally opened again, Ramsay Fletcher entered. His bearing was as proud as ever, though the lines around his mouth had deepened. His eyes flicked briefly to Davina, then to Baird.
“We’re all here?” he demanded, as if it was his study that they all gathered in.
Baird gave a single nod. “All that matter.”
“Good.” Ramsay stepped into the center of the room. “Then let us speak plain. A tragedy has struck, aye, but the agreement between our families remains. The marriage must go through.”
A murmur spread through the Council. One man, old and gray-bearded, frowned. “Fletcher, yer daughter’s groom lies dead. Ye cannae mean tae proceed as though naething’s happened.”
“I mean precisely what I said,” Ramsay replied. “Our clans forged this union for strength, nae sentiment. If it falls apart now, we invite ruin and give our enemies cause tae celebrate.”
Another councilman shook his head. “The people will see it as heartless. There must be a period of mourning—”
“We dinnae yet understand the man’s death,” Ramsay cut in sharply. “Aye, we shall honor him, but alliances dinnae pause fer grief.”
A stout man near the back spoke next. “The lady has suffered much. Surely, ye’d nae—”
Ramsay’s hand cut through the air. “Me daughter understands her duty.”
All eyes turned to Davina. She felt their stares like a weight pressing against her chest. Her lips parted, but no sound came. She looked to her father, then to Baird, who was silent, still watching the fire.
The gray-bearded councilman sighed. “Even if the girl consents, who would she wed? The ceremony cannae continue with the groom in his grave.”
Ramsay stepped forward, as his voice cut through the murmurs. “There is another Kincaid son,” he said. “The bloodline need not end here.”
A ripple of protest swept through the council chamber.
“Absurd!” one man barked.
“’Tis no small matter tae replace a groom,” another added.
The uproar broke off when Baird rose to his feet. “Aye,” he said in a voice that carried through the hall like thunder. “There is another Kincaid. And that means she will marry me.”
A ripple of shock ran through the gathered men. One councilman stepped forward, and there was disbelief etched across his face. “Me laird, that cannae be wise. The lady was promised tae yer braither, nae tae ye. The matter should end with his death.”
Another spoke more sharply. “She is nae even a laird’s daughter, me laird. The match was already a stretch fer the second-born. Fer ye, the laird himself tae take her, it would upset the order of things.”
Baird’s gaze swept the room, resting on every single man for a moment. “The order of things,” he repeated in a loud challenge. “And what order is that? Tae break a pact made in good faith? Tae bring shame upon me clan?”
Davina’s father seized the moment. “Me daughter has done naething tae deserve disgrace,” he said firmly. “If the Kincaids withdraw now, every clan in the Highlands will take it as an insult: tae us, and tae the memory of the braither ye’ve lost.”
Murmurs filled the chamber. One man shook his head. “But the people will talk. They will say the laird married his braither’s bride before the grave was cold.”
Baird’s jaw tightened. “Let them talk.” He looked toward Davina then, and she felt herself blush under the weight of his gaze. “The honorable path is clear. The Fletchers stood beside us in loyalty and blood. If we falter now, their trust dies with me braither.”
He turned back to the Council. “There will be nay disgrace. The ceremony will go forward. Lady Davina Fletcher will be me wife, and by that vow, the bond between our clans will stand unbroken. Gather in the Grand Hall, all of ye. The witnesses must see the vows kept, or rumor will eat us alive by morning.”
The councilmen exchanged uneasy glances, some bowing their heads, and others whispering in protest. But none dared to defy him.
“As ye command, me laird.”
The room stirred. Chairs scraped and whispers rose as one by one, the men began to leave.
“Lady Davina stays,” Baird suddenly said as soon as he noticed Davina stand up.
Her father turned sharply. “Fer what purpose?”
Baird met his gaze respectfully. “Tae hear her own mind before I lead her tae the altar.”
The words seemed to give even her father pause, as her own heart was beating wildly at the thought of remaining alone with this man who had just saved her life, the same man who was about to become her husband.
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “She has already given her word—”
“She gave it tae me braither,” Baird reminded him. “I’ll nae bind her twice without at least hearing her voice.”
For a moment, Davina’s father and her future husband stood at odds. Then, her father exhaled through his nose, a man conceding ground he disliked.
“Very well. A moment, and nae more.” He cast Davina a look which seemed to be part warning and part worry, before turning to follow the others out.
The heavy door closed behind him, leaving Davina and Baird alone in the dim study.
For the first time that evening, Davina truly looked at him.
The firelight carved the sharp lines of his face and she could see it all: the strong jaw, the dark sweep of his hair, the storm-gray eyes that caught the light and seemed to hold it.
He was nothing like Malcolm. There was no charm in him, no practiced gentleness, only quiet strength and a shadow of the grief he was feeling that made him all the more striking.
Her heart gave an unfamiliar flutter. It startled her as much as the thought that followed: that man would be her husband.
“Ye mean tae go through with this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Baird turned toward her fully then. “I dae.”
She swallowed, her fingers tightening in her lap. “Even after what’s happened? Even after yer braither—”
“Aye.” His jaw flexed, and a flicker of pain crossed his face before vanishing. “Because what’s happened changes naething about duty. If anythin’, it makes it heavier.”
Davina studied him, searching for something beyond the hard calm of his words. She wanted to find anything human enough to match the turmoil in her chest. But there was only steadiness, carved deep into him like the stone of the castle itself.
“And what of choice?” she asked softly. “Dae we have any left?”
Baird’s eyes lingered on hers for a long moment, unreadable but not unkind. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost gentle. “Perhaps nae, but we still have honor. And that, Lady Davina, is the only thing either of us can keep.”
Her breath caught, not from fear this time, but from the quiet conviction in his voice. Beneath all his restraint, she sensed something fierce, something that could steady her even as the world crumbled.
He nodded toward the door. “Come. It’s time.”
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 stretched before 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.