Chapter 12
Baird strode down the corridor with a far quicker pace than necessary.
I nearly kissed her.
He cursed under his breath, low enough the walls alone bore witness. “Fool. Absolute fool.”
Her scent still clung to him, as did the memory of her soft gasp when he had touched her neck. They were far too close and his self-control, usually ironclad, had cracked like thin ice under her feet.
He reached the turn near the stairwell and braced a hand against the cold stone, bowing his head. He needed a moment. But the moment brought no relief.
He could still see her standing there in his mind’s eye, wrapped in his blanket, with her cheeks flushed and her chemise clinging damply to her shoulders.
Beautiful. Too beautiful.
And he wanted her. He wanted her with a fierceness that frightened him.
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Ye had nay right,” he muttered. “None.”
He was her husband, but not by design and certainly not by her choosing. He was a stand-in for the man who should have stood at her side. Malcolm should have been the one lifting blankets around her shoulders, washing the mud from her skin, coaxing shy smiles from her lips.
Malcolm should have lived.
The thought sliced through him. It always did.
He clenched his teeth and forced himself upright, shoving the guilt down deep where it had dwelled since the moment Davina had almost fainted into his arms at the altar, and he’d seen his brother lying lifeless on the stone floor.
Malcolm was gone.
It was the cold truth and one he bore as laird, but also as a brother. And what did he do with that grief? He nearly kissed the woman Malcolm had been meant to wed. He nearly forgot why she was his wife at all.
A bitter laugh scraped his throat. “Some brother ye are.”
He resumed walking at a pace that was more measured now, but the weight inside him felt heavier. The castle halls stretched long and empty, and the air was damp with the coming night. His thoughts churned with every step.
He had married her to protect the clan, to secure the alliance, to honor what Malcolm had begun. It was duty and nothing more.
So why did he feel a traitor for wanting to be content in that marriage? Why did he feel he owed Malcolm more than grief?
He reached Kenny’s chambers and paused outside the door, squaring his shoulders. He was the laird again, not a man nearly undone by the sight of his wife’s bare shoulders, and not a man wrestling ghosts and desire like a bloody adolescent.
He knocked once, then pushed the door open, locking the storm inside of him behind bone and will.
Kenny stood the moment Baird entered, wearing a grim expression. Beside him, the castle healer rose as well, an older man with ink-stained fingers and a jaw set like a man who disliked what even he himself had to say.
“Me laird,” the healer greeted, bowing his head.
Baird nodded once, forcing his turmoil aside. “What’s this about? The lad said it was urgent.”
Kenny exchanged a look with the healer before speaking. “We thought ye’d want the report as soon as the healer finished his examination.”
Baird crossed his arms, bracing himself for the worst, although the worst had already happened. “Go on.”
The healer stepped forward, clearing his throat. “We’ve finished with examining the body of… yer braither, me laird and I’m afraid the cause of death is clear.”
The words punched through Baird like a blow. He locked his jaw. “Tell me.”
“It was poison,” the healer said softly. “But nae a single dose. This was something given in increments, in small amounts over a longer period of time.”
The chamber felt suddenly colder.
Baird frowned. “So, he was being poisoned fer how long?”
“A few weeks, at least.” The healer folded his hands. “Long enough that his body weakened. The final dose at the wedding, whatever he drank or ate just before, only pushed him past the edge.”
Kenny swore under his breath.
Baird stared at the healer, and the floor beneath him seemed to tilt. “Incremental doses,” he repeated slowly. “Damn near daily, then.”
“Aye,” the healer confirmed. “That opens a new line of investigation, me laird, because… well, a stranger could nae have managed that. Nae without being caught, at least. Whoever did this had access tae yer braither. Regular access.”
Baird’s stomach hardened to stone. “Ye mean someone inside the castle.”
“There’s nay other way,” the healer said. “Yer braither was careful with his food and drink after the Sinclair troubles began. The poisoner must have been someone he trusted.”
Someone he trusted.
Baird’s pulse throbbed in his temple. For days, grief had been churning beneath his ribs. But this… this was fury; fury that someone under his roof had murdered his brother drop by drop, smiling to his face, breaking bread at the same table.
He had failed Malcolm.
The thought tore through him again, sharp as the first moment the healer spoke the word poison. It hollowed out his chest and left a roar in his ears. He felt like slamming his fist against the wall, but other than pain, that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make him feel any less useless.
He forced a steady breath. “What kind of poison?”
“Likely a plant extract,” the healer explained. “One that weakens the heart over time. We’re testing a few I suspect, but the pattern is unmistakable.”
“And Malcolm never noticed?” Kenny asked incredulously.
“He would have felt tired, slightly unwell, perhaps dizzy. But he would have thought it fatigue, or perhaps stress…”
Baird closed his eyes for a brief moment. He remembered Malcolm’s pallor the last week and some complaints about waking with a tightness in his chest. Baird had told him he needed sleep.
Sleep.
He opened his eyes again, feeling steel in his bones. “Have ye told anyone else these findings?”
“Nay,” the healer divulged. “Only Captain Kenny. And now ye, me laird.”
“Good.” Baird’s voice was controlled and deadly calm. “Keep it that way.”
Kenny straightened, understanding the shift in the air. “What’s yer plan, me laird?”
He didn’t answer immediately. He stepped to the narrow window, staring into the dark courtyard below. Someone in his walls had murdered Malcolm, someone who believed they could strike the Kincaids from within, someone who might be watching still and listening.
He turned back to them, with an expression that seemed carved in stone.
“Finding the traitor becomes our first priority,” he ordered. “Nay one breathes a word of this beyond this room. If the scum thinks we’re blind, they may slip.”
Kenny nodded. “I’ll tighten the guard rotations, quietly.”
“Dae it.” Baird adjusted the dagger at his belt. “And keep eyes on the Council, every one of them.”
Kenny hesitated. “Ye think it’s one of them?”
Baird’s jaw flexed. “I think the poisoner needed freedom tae move. Freedom usually comes with authority, and that would provide them with access tae me braither’s meals. Malcolm wasnae careless. Someone made him vulnerable.”
The healer bowed again. “I’ll continue me tests, me laird.”
“Good. Report tae me alone.” Baird dismissed him with a nod.
When the healer left, Kenny stepped closer. “Me laird… this is heavy news.”
“Aye,” Baird said, feeling as if an invisible hand was stabbing him in the gut over and over again, without any intention of stopping. “He was murdered under me roof, while I was looking straight past him.”
“It’s nae yer fault,” Kenny insisted.
But Baird’s eyes darkened. “Then whose is it? Malcolm trusted me. He trusted this house, which turned out tae be his grave.”
“Aye,” Kenny agreed, “someone poisoned him. A coward with access and intent. But that’s the bastard’s sin, nae yers.”
Baird didn’t speak. Inside of him, anger, grief and shame tortured him with their daggers.
Kenny went on. “Ye’re the laird, aye. But ye’re nae God. Ye cannae be everywhere at once. Ye cannae see every dark thought hiding in a man’s skull.”
“I should’ve seen something,” Baird snapped, lifting his head sharply. “I should’ve kept him safer. Should’ve—” His voice cracked. “I was meant tae protect him.”
“And ye did,” Kenny said firmly. “All his life, ye did. Malcolm wasnae a bairn, me laird. He was a grown man. He made his own choices. Nay one expects ye tae have eyes in the back of yer skull.”
Baird stared at the lantern flame, with its thin, trembling light reflecting in his eyes. It flickered too much like Malcolm’s life.
Kenny stepped closer. “Listen tae me. Ye’re carrying guilt fer something that was never yers tae bear.”
Baird clenched his hand in his lap. “It feels like mine.”
“I ken, but feelings are nae truth.” He then clapped a hand to Baird’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, me laird. One step at a time. But dinnae ye dare think Malcolm would want ye miserable fer the rest of yer days. Stop punishing yerself fer things beyond yer control.”
Baird looked away. “I’ll try.”
“Aye,” Kenny said with a nod. “That’s all anyone can ask.”
The weight on Baird’s shoulders wasn’t any lighter, but at least he knew that he wasn’t alone in his quest for the truth.