Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“Me laird, what in God’s name happened?”
“Was it poison, dae ye think?”
“Who’ll lead the men now? Will the Fletchers still honor the pact?”
Questions came like arrows from every direction. The chapel doors had barely closed before half the clan pressed in around him. The councilmen, the guards, the servants and kin were all demanding answers he didn’t yet have.
Baird stood unmoving beneath the onslaught. His jaw worked, as the weight of command settled heavy across his shoulders once more. Around him, the air stank of fear. He could sense hot breath, sweat, and the copper tang of spilled wine mingled with the echo of Malcolm’s collapse all around him.
He caught sight of Davina through the crush of bodies. She stood alone where the ceremony had ended, with her white gown rumpled and her veil hanging askew. No one spoke to her. No one even looked her way as they crowded him.
Someone brushed past her shoulder too roughly, and she stumbled, catching herself against a pew. The flowers in her hand slipped to the floor, trampled under a careless boot.
“Enough!” The word ripped out of Baird before he knew he’d spoken.
His voice filled the hall, sharp as steel. The crowd froze at once. Men who’d faced battle at his command now held their tongues like chastened boys.
He turned in a slow circle. “Still yer tongues and clear some space,” he ordered. “There’s naught tae be gained by clamor.”
A hush fell. The nearest men stepped back, and in the new silence he strode toward Davina. She had gone utterly still, her lovely face as pale as linen.
“Lady Kincaid,” he said, gentler now. She didn’t respond. He reached out, his fingers brushing her arm. “Davina.”
Her gaze flickered to him, distant and uncomprehending.
“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 I crumble, 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.
“Off with the gown, me lady,” Ailis said kindly. “I’ll make sure it is seen tae.”
Davina hesitated, then nodded. The fabric slipped away like the weight of the day itself. When she finally stepped into the bath, the warmth nearly undid her. She let out a sound between a sigh and a sob.
“There now,” Ailis murmured, setting a cup beside the tub. “Drink this. It’s chamomile and mint. It’s supposed tae calm the heart.”
Davina took the cup with trembling hands. The tea was sweet, and it steadied her breath. For the first time since the morning, her thoughts slowed.
Ailis sat nearby, folding a cloth with deft fingers. “It’s a cruel thing, what happened,” she said softly. “Nay one should have tae stand through a wedding and a death in the same breath.”
Davina swallowed. “I can hardly make sense of it. He was alive one moment… gone the next.”
Ailis nodded, with eyes full of quiet understanding. “The healer’s looking intae it, but what’s done is done. All ye can dae now is take care of yerself.”
“I’m nae certain how,” Davina admitted. “I scarcely ken who I am anymore.”
“Ye’re Lady Kincaid,” Ailis said simply. “And from what I’ve seen already, a braver lady than most.”
Davina’s throat tightened. “Ye’re kind tae say so.”
“I only say the truth, me lady.”
They shared a small, tentative smile. The sound of the fire crackling filled the silence that followed.
It was gentle and comforting. When Davina finally rose from the bath, her skin was flushed from the heat and her mind felt clearer.
She found clean garments laid out beside the bed: a soft wool gown in deep blue, a shawl to match, and a comb resting beside the mirror.
“Did the laird ask ye tae bring these as well?” she asked, running her fingers over the fabric.
Ailis smiled faintly. “He did. He said ye should have something warm and proper fer the feast.”
Davina paused, taken aback again. She had thought him cold, all iron and command, but perhaps beneath that armor there was some consideration.
“Thank ye, Ailis,” she said softly.
“Rest a bit before ye go down,” the maid advised, gathering the used linens. “And if ye need anything, just call fer me.”
When she was gone, Davina sat down by the fire, with a tea cup in hand and the scent of lavender still hanging in the air. The shock of the day lingered, but the warmth in the room, which was the result of his small, unexpected gesture, softened its edge.
Maybe Baird Kincaid wasn’t heartless after all.