Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Davina drifted somewhere between sleep and waking, tangled in blankets and lingering warmth. For one blissful moment, she forgot where she was. She forgot the tragic death, the marriage, the feast, the too-large man sharing the bed with her.
Then the world tilted. Her arm swooped. Her body slid. She was dreaming of tumbling down a hill when she abruptly realized that she was actually rolling off the side of the bed.
“Oh!”
Her breath left her in a startled gasp as her body pitched toward the floor.
Except she never hit it. Strong arms closed around her in a swift, startling motion.
One moment she was weightless and falling, and the next, she was lifted clean of the edge of the bed, pulled firmly and securely right against her husband’s chest.
Davina blinked up, stunned and disheveled. His heartbeat thudded under her ear, maddeningly solid.
“Well,” he rumbled in a voice still thick with sleep, “good morning tae ye, too, lass.”
Mortification hit like a blow. She shoved herself out of his arms so quickly she nearly fell of the bed again.
“I… ye… Saints above!”
He sat up, watching her with infuriating calm as she scrambled across the mattress like a startled cat.
She pointed a shaking finger at him. “Ye! I slept horribly because of ye!”
His brows rose slowly, as if he were still waking up. “Because of me?”
“Aye!” She wrestled her hair out of her face, glaring at him. “Ye were… ye were there and everywhere, breathing and taking up all the space. Being,” she gestured helplessly at his entire frame, “ye.”
A smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I was in me own bed, Davina.”
“Well, I was in it, too!”
“That tends tae happen when two folk share a bed.”
She huffed so forcefully, a stray strand of hair flew off her forehead.
Baird stretched as his long limbs shifted the mattress, and she could have sworn the bed dipped closer to him on purpose.
He eyed the collapsed heap of pillows, her carefully engineered barrier now demolished. “Seems yer grand wall didnae save ye.”
“It would have,” she said crisply, “if ye hadnae moved.”
He blinked once. “I didnae move.”
She bristled. “Well, the wall clearly did! And it’s yer fault.”
“How so?”
“Because… because ye’re large, and the mattress tilts, and—” She cut herself off, feeling her cheeks burning. “Ye are impossible.”
Baird scrubbed a hand over his face and gave a low laugh from deep in his chest. The sound was warm, maddening, and far too pleasant for this early in the morning… and given everything that had happened the day before.
“Well then,” he said, shifting to sit at the edge of the bed, “ye’ll need tae figure out a way tae sleep better.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is that an order?”
“A suggestion.” He paused. “Unless ye’d rather build a taller wall.”
She ignored the way her pulse jumped. “I may dae exactly that.”
He nodded solemnly. “Might want tae use stones this time. Pillows dinnae stand a chance.”
She opened her mouth for a sharp retort, but the moment she drew her breath, his expression changed. The humor faded. His eyes lowered.
“Stones,” he added quietly. “We’ll… lay me braither tae rest this afternoon.”
The warmth drained from her face. The air thickened around them.
“Oh.” Her voice came out small and fragile. “I… I’m so sorry about everythin’ that happened. ”
“Aye.” He shifted his gaze toward the shuttered window. His jaw was working as though the words cost him something. “The healer finished the examinations last night. There’s nay reason tae delay longer.”
Her chest tightened painfully. A moment ago she’d been complaining about her sleep, about him taking up too much space in the bed. A moment ago, she’d been flustered and petty and entirely consumed with herself.
And he had been gentle and patient. Even amused.
She swallowed hard. “I uhm… if I seemed thoughtless, I’m… sorry about that as well. It is just, there is so much happening, ‘tis a bit overwhelmin’ and I lost me perspective.”
He looked back at her. His expression was not cold. It was simply… contained.
“There’s nay need tae apologize.” His response was devoid of any emotion. “Ye’ve had enough thrown at ye in a single day. I dinnae expect ye tae carry me burdens as well.”
The words should have eased her guilt, but they didn’t. How could they, when she sat there remembering his steady hands catching her, his effortless care… and how she, in turn, had accused him of making her sleep poorly.
She pressed her fingers to her brow.
Ye foolish lass. The man lost his braither. And ye’re building pillow walls.
Baird stood, gathering a fresh shirt from the chest at the foot of the bed. “We’ll dress, then break our fast with the men,” he informed her. “Afterward… we’ll see Malcolm honored as he deserves.”
Davina nodded. “Of course.”
The room felt smaller now. The faint light spilling through the shutters seemed subdued and respectful, or maybe that was simply the heaviness settling between them.
The courtyard felt too still, as if the very air held its breath.
Malcolm’s bier stood at the center, draped in deep Kincaid blue, with the clan’s stag sigil embroidered by steady hands sometime in the night. The people gathered in rows, all dressed in somber hues. Their usual chatter was now replaced by deafening silence.
Baird stood at the head of the bier. This was his place, his duty and his burden.
The sky above was gray, with clouds shifting low enough to brush the tops of the battlements. Snow threatened but did not fall, as if waiting for the ceremony to end before letting the world collapse into winter. He kept his shoulders straight. His cloak stirred in the cold wind.
He felt, rather than saw, Davina move into place at his right side. She wore a deep, muted gown, which was respectful and elegant, not calling attention to herself. Her veil was pinned neatly, and her expression was solemn. She didn’t speak, but her presence was steady.
She understands the weight of this.
He was strangely grateful.
Behind Davina stood her family: Ramsay Fletcher, tall and proud, and Eleonor beside him, with quiet strength in her gaze. There were even a few cousins who had traveled with them. They formed a wall around Davina, symbolizing a family standing together.
Baird had no such wall. He had no parents. He no longer had a brother. And he had no kin left who shared his blood. All he had was his clan, who looked at him with a mixture of fear, expectation and grief reflected through a leader they needed to be unbreakable.
He did not look at Davina’s family. He couldn’t. The sight of them only sharpened the hollowness in his own chest.
The castle healer stepped forward, offering a quiet blessing, while his voice carried softly over the courtyard. Baird barely heard the words. His mind kept drifting to Malcolm beside him.
He could still hear Malcolm laughing at supper. He could still see him sparring in the yard.
Malcolm, who should have stood with Davina … who should have lived another fifty years at least.
The ache in Baird’s chest was sharp enough to cut him from the inside. He did not blink. He would not.
When it came time, Baird stepped forward and rested his hand atop the bier. The cold wood bit into his palm.
“Farewell, braither,” he said quietly. He cleared his throat, then turned to the gathered clan. “Ye’ll honor him in yer memories, in yer deeds, and by keeping this clan strong.”
A murmur of assent rippled through the crowd. It was weak, but sincere. Then, Davina stepped forward next, placing a single sprig of heather atop the bier: a Highland symbol of protection. Baird blinked in brief surprise. She hadn’t asked anyone for permission to do so. She had simply chosen to.
And for one moment, her gaze met his. It was a brief exchange of understanding. She didn’t touch him. She didn’t offer support, either. She simply stood near enough that the chill of the morning didn’t feel quite so sharp.
The ceremony continued, solemn and unbroken. When the bier was lifted for burial, the clan bowed their heads. Baird remained standing tall, though his heart felt like stone.
Eyes forward, back straigh.
He remembered his father’s instructions.
Grief had to be locked away, because a laird’s grief had no place in the open.
When the bier passed him, Davina stepped subtly closer, just enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. It was barely a touch, a whisper of warmth, easily missed by anyone not watching closely. But Baird felt it like a jolt. He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t step away either.
The funeral ended with the quiet thud of earth on wood. The last shovelful of earth had barely settled over Malcolm’s grave when the mourners began drifting back toward the keep. Soft murmurs rose and one by one, the clanspeople dispersed, leaving the courtyard strangely hollow.
Baird remained where he stood. He wasn’t ready to move. A cold wind tugged at the edge of his cloak. He inhaled deeply, letting the chill steady him.
Davina was speaking quietly with her parents a few paces away.
Ramsay Fletcher had a hand on her shoulder, and her mother was brushing a strand of hair from her face with gentle fingers.
They formed a small circle of warmth in the cold afternoon, a family bound together in grief and duty alike.
Davina turned toward him then, and her parents followed.
Ramsay Fletcher inclined his head deeply. “Our deepest condolences, me laird.”
“Thank ye,” Baird nodded in return.
Eleonor Fletcher dipped a graceful curtsey. “Our hearts are with ye today,” she said softly. “A loss like this… nay one deserves tae bear it.”
Baird inclined his head. He didn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself to. If he opened his mouth, grief might slip through in a way he couldn’t afford.
Davina stepped slightly closer, with her hands clasped before her. Her gaze flicked from her parents to Baird and back again, torn between two worlds, neither of which she belonged to fully.
Ramsay turned his attention to Baird. “Everything we agreed upon stands,” he said firmly. “Trade, contracts, the winter shipments, naething changes because of this tragedy.”
Baird exhaled slowly, the words hitting harder than he expected. “I appreciate ye keeping yer word,” he confessed. “Especially now.”
The man gently gripped him by the shoulder, only for a moment. “A man can grieve without losing his honor.”
Baird’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Aye.”
Davina’s mother stepped forward, touching her daughter’s cheek. “Write tae us,” she whispered. “Often.”
“I will,” Davina whispered. She sounded as if she were on the edge of tears.
Ramsay turned to her, cupping her face briefly between his large hands. “Ye dae what ye must, me sweet lass,” he murmured. “Ye’ll make a fine Lady Kincaid. I’ve nay doubt of it.”
Davina tried to smile. “Thank ye, Faither.”
Then a few steps, a bowed head, the turning of cloaks in the wind, and suddenly they were gone, following the departing horses toward the gate. The Fletcher banners dipped once before disappearing beyond the walls.
Davina stood very still. Baird watched her from the corner of his eye. She looked… small in a way she hadn’t before. She did not appear weak, but rather alone, just like him. He understood that feeling too well.
He cleared his throat. “We should head inside,” he said quietly. “The air’s cold.”
Her steps faltered though as her gaze lingered on the path where her family had disappeared. He didn’t think. He simply offered his arm. She hesitated before taking it, her fingers curling lightly around his sleeve.
They walked together toward the keep: two people bound by marriage, duty, and a grief neither yet knew how to share.