Chapter 11
Davina slipped into their chamber with a soft groan, feeling the mud crack at the hem of her gown.
She had not expected laughter today, much less to be coated in half the garden.
Baird came in after her, equally filthy, and shut the door with a sigh that sounded like half-exasperation and half-laughter.
Ailis appeared in the doorway just then, stopping short when she saw the state of them. “Saints preserve us… what happened tae ye both?”
“The garden,” Davina said at once.
“The bairns,” Baird corrected under his breath.
Ailis blinked but wisely did not ask further.
“Ailis,” Baird said, straightening slightly, “bring warm water fer washing, and have a bath drawn.”
The maid nodded and hurried off.
Davina stared at him, utterly stunned. “A bath?”
“Aye.” He began peeling dried mud from his sleeve. “We’re both covered in enough dirt tae sow fields with.”
“In here?” she demanded. “Ye expect me tae bathe here? With ye standing about as though it’s the most natural thing in the world?”
He looked genuinely puzzled. “This is our chamber.”
“That is precisely the issue!”
He raised a brow, slow and maddeningly calm. “Where else would ye clean yerself?”
“I dinnae ken,” she hissed. “Anywhere that isnae ten feet from ye.”
He crossed his arms, which unfortunately only made his shoulders seem broader. “Ye’re me wife.”
“Yes, by accident of catastrophe, nae because we planned it,” she snapped. “I’m nae about tae sit in a tub while ye… mill about.”
His mouth twitched. “Mill about?”
“Ye ken what I mean.”
“I dae,” he said, far too quietly for her comfort. “But ye’re the one assuming I intend tae stand and watch.”
Her cheeks burned. “Ye have given me every reason tae assume it!”
“Have I?”
“Aye!”
He stepped closer, with the faintest hint of a smile tugging his scarred cheek. “Tell me one reason of those many I have given ye.”
She opened her mouth. No reason came. There was only the memory of his hands steadying her in the garden, the way he had looked at her with that heat she pretended not to notice.
He seemed to read every flustered thought racing through her. It was uncanny.
“Well?” he asked, in a voice that was soft enough to be a challenge.
She stepped back, the bed nearly brushing her calves. “I… I simply refuse tae clean meself in front of ye.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Ailis reappeared carrying a steaming bucket. Another servant followed with more.
Ailis set the basin down and curtsied. “The bath will be ready in a few minutes, me lady.”
Davina tried to compose her expression. Baird looked entirely too satisfied for a man covered in mud.
“Good,” he said, not taking his eyes off Davina. “Me wife will make good use of it.”
She wanted to fling the closest pillow at him, but unfortunately, Ailis was still in the room.
So, Davina simply lifted her chin. “Yes. I suppose I will.”
The moment they were left alone, Davina snatched one of the cloths Ailis had left and thrust the other into Baird’s hand. “Here,” she said sharply. “If ye will nae be a gentleman and give me peace, then ye might as well see tae yerself.”
He took the cloth, but not his eyes off her. “I am being a gentleman.”
“Ye are nae. Ye are staring at me as if this were all wildly entertaining.”
“It is,” he said without shame.
She glared at him, but he only grinned in that infuriating manner. The man was impossible.
Davina focused on the mud instead, rubbing at a streak on her arm until the pale skin beneath showed again. The simple act steadied her breath. She could handle dirt. What she could not handle was the warmth crawling up her neck under his gaze.
The worst of it, of course, was behind her. She lifted her hair and awkwardly reached back, trying to wipe the dried mud clinging along the line of her neck. Her wrist bent at an uncomfortable angle, and the cloth slipped.
She tried again and again. The spot refused to come clean.
“I can see ye fighting with it,” Baird said from behind her. “Ye’ll wrench yer arm off.”
“I’m perfectly capable,” she muttered, straining to reach farther. “If someone would stop looming.”
“I’m nae looming.”
“Ye are absolutely looming.”
He stepped closer. “Davina.”
“Nay.”
“Davina,” he repeated, amused. “Let me.”
She stiffened. “I said I can handle—”
“I ken what ye said.” His voice felt like a caress. “I also ken ye cannae reach it.”
She hated how right he was. She hated even more the quiet patience in his tone. There was nothing mocking, nothing forceful, only certainty and care. And care was much worse than him mocking her.
She refused to turn around, even as her arm ached from trying. “I dae nae need—”
“Give me the cloth.”
She let out a sharp breath. “Ye are insufferable.”
“Aye,” he said, utterly unrepentant. “But I’ve two hands that work, and ye have mud running down the back of yer neck.”
Her shoulders sagged in defeat.
“Fine,” she whispered.
The word barely left her lips before she felt him behind her, warm and entirely too near. She lifted her hair again, this time with trembling fingers.
Baird took the cloth gently from her hand. “Hold still.”
She did.
Heat pooled under her skin the moment the warm cloth touched her neck, gliding in slow, deliberate strokes. His hands were steady and careful, as though he feared hurting her. It was ridiculous. He fought raiders and trained hardened soldiers, yet he washed her neck as if she were glass.
“This isnae necessary,” she murmured, though the protest had lost all conviction.
The cloth swept across her skin once more, and Davina closed her eyes, letting herself feel the warmth, the gentleness, the strange safety of it.
Dangerous things, all of them.
Davina let out a slow breath, steadying herself, only for her eyes to fly open a heartbeat later. Baird’s hands had moved not toward her skin, but toward the fastenings of her filthy gown.
She spun around quickly. “What are ye daeing?” she hissed, clutching the fabric at her collar.
He blinked at her as though she were the unreasonable one. “Trying tae get this thing off ye before it takes root. There’s mud caked through the seams.”
“That daesnae require yer involvement!”
“It daes if ye expect tae get clean in this lifetime,” he said, lifting both hands in exaggerated surrender. “Christ’s bones, woman, I’m nae attacking ye. I’m trying tae help ye remove this so ye can get intae the bath.”
She stared at him, mortified. “Ye said ye were a gentleman!”
“I am.” His mouth twitched. A grin threatened his lips.
Davina dragged her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to steady her breath. The truth was, her gown was an absolute disaster. It was heavy with wet mud, cold against her skin, and clinging unpleasantly everywhere.
But letting him help? Saints almighty, she could scarcely breathe at the thought.
His tone was surprisingly soft. “Ye’re standing there shivering, smudged head to toe.”
She bit her lip. He stepped closer, but not too close this time. There was no looming and no teasing grin, just quiet steadiness.
“Let me help,” he urged almost tenderly. “Ye’ll still have yer chemise on. I’m just want tae help ye with the laces and the gown as ye cannae dae it yerself.”
Davina glanced down at herself. Mud clung everywhere: to the sleeves, the bodice, even the ribbon at her waist and she was already exhausted from the day.
She inhaled. “If I… allow this, ye must be respectful.”
His expression sobered instantly. “Davina, I would never be otherwise.”
A flicker of shame warmed her cheeks for even hinting at the other possibility. She lowered her gaze.
“All right,” she whispered.
He waited, as if giving her time to change her mind, before reaching carefully for the ties of her gown.
His fingers brushed nothing but the stiff, mud-streaked fabric, and yet she felt each movement as though the air itself had thickened around them.
He loosened the ties slowly, gently, as though she were fragile in a way she did not wish to be.
When the gown slid down her arms, she clutched the edges of her chemise.
“Turn,” he murmured.
She did, while feeling her heart thundering and her face burning, yet trusting him despite everything.
He kept fiddling with her ties. Through the thin linen of her chemise, she could feel warmth but no impropriety; only the simple, steady care of his touch.
“Ye have the patience of a saint,” she muttered, partly to distract herself.
“Nay saint,” he said barely in a whisper. “But I have eyes. And ye’re shaking.”
“I’m cold.”
“Aye, I ken.” He continued washing gently. “I’ll be quick.”
But he wasn’t hurried. He took his time, each movement careful and measured. This was not a warrior, but a man tending to something precious.
Davina’s throat tightened. No one had ever touched her with such quiet reverence, not even her own mother when she was a child.
He slid his hand across the line of her collarbone, down to her chest.
“Baird…” Her voice came out thinner than she intended. “What… what are ye daeing?”
His gaze lifted to hers, utterly unashamed. “Taking care of me wife.”
She swallowed. “This is more than helping.”
“Aye,” he murmured, “feels like more, daesnae it?”
Heat swept up her neck. She wanted to deny it, to claim she felt nothing but embarrassment, but her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. His touch was careful, always careful, yet her whole body seemed tuned to every pass of the cloth, every shift of his breath.
Feeling overwhelmed, she stepped slightly backward, seeking balance. Her hand brushed against him. And his reaction was immediate, as he inhaled through his teeth. Davina froze. She felt something hard, and she pulled her hand away immediately, as if scorched.
Her brow furrowed. “What was that?”
“Naething,” he replied, withdrawing the cloth from her skin.
“That was nae naehing,” she insisted, feeling confused and flustered. “Did I hurt ye?”
He let out a strangled laugh, which startled her even more. “Nay, lass. Ye didnae hurt me.”
“Then what—?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Ye truly dinnae ken what that was?”
Davina shook her head, mortified by how warm her cheeks felt. “Should I?”
His gaze swept over her chemise clinging damply to her from the washing and her hair tousled from his hands. She felt as if he were drinking in the sight of her as she was, dirty and messy and utterly unlike herself. The thought made her blush even more fervently.
He stepped closer again, slower this time, and his voice brushed her ear like a touch. “It means, Davina… that I’m a man. And that ye are standing very, very close.”
She blinked rapidly. “Oh.”
“Aye,” he said, a teasing note returning to his tone despite the tension riding through him. “Oh.”
She felt suddenly dizzy. “Is that… normal?”
“Fer me?” He gave a tight smile. “Around ye?”
Just as she was about to nod, a knock on the door interrupted them. Davina startled so violently she nearly dropped the useless cloth in her hand. Baird stepped back at once and for a moment they only stared at each other breathlessly, the heat between them still trembling in the space left behind.
Another knock. “Me laird?”
Baird muttered something under his breath, then reached for the nearest blanket. “Here,” he said gruffly.
Before she could protest, he draped the blanket around her shoulders. His hands lingered only a heartbeat, making sure it covered her chemise completely. The gesture was gentle, protective, and infuriatingly thoughtful.
Davina clutched the blanket tight, cheeks burning. She wished she didn’t feel the loss of his nearness so sharply the moment he stepped away.
Baird raised his voice. “Aye, come in.”
The door opened. One of his younger men bowed his head apologetically.
“Me laird,” he said, eyes flicking quickly away from Davina as he realized she was wrapped in a blanket. “Forgive the interruption. Captain Kenny sent me. He says it’s urgent.”
Baird’s jaw flexed, and the shift in his expression was sudden and unmistakable: he was the laird again, not the man who had just washed mud from her skin with steady hands.
He nodded once. “Tell him I’m coming.”
The man bowed and left.
Baird exhaled slowly and turned toward her. “This wasnae how I meant tae leave ye,” he said, and even his voice was roughened by the moment they’d been interrupted.
Davina tightened the blanket around herself. “It’s fine,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure anything was fine. Her pulse had not yet settled. Her thoughts were a storm.
He hesitated, looking as though he wanted to say something more—explain himself, perhaps, or apologize, or admit what they both had felt only moments ago. But duty pulled him away.
“Stay warm, have a bath. I’ll return when I can.”
Baird reached for the door, paused, then looked back at her, with that blanket clutched to her chest and her hair falling in soft, damp waves around her face. His eyes were fathomless, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He took one last look. Then, he left.
Davina stood in their chamber, still wrapped in the blanket he had given her, wondering how she was supposed to breathe normally again.