Chapter 13
Davina had managed to avoid Baird for nearly three days.
Not obviously, for she was too well raised for that, but with careful timing, shortened conversation, and sudden interest in anything that sent her walking in the opposite direction of wherever he happened to be.
To be quite honest, it was not a difficult task.
He’d thrown himself into council matters and patrols, emerging from his office each night looking more worn and hollower than the last.
Still, each time she glimpsed him across a corridor or passing through the hall, her breath tightened. She could not forget the warmth of his hands at her neck and the shocking nearness of his body pressed by accident to hers.
And she certainly couldn’t forget that moment when she realized she touched him…
Davina nearly tripped on the stair at the thought.
So, it was easier to simply avoid him… until this evening. She’d passed through the great hall late, long after dinner should have ended, only to find Baird’s seat empty and untouched again. By the time she reached the kitchens, she had already decided what to do.
The cook looked up from her simmering pot, with cheeks flushed from the fire. “Me lady? Ye’re out late.”
Davina stepped closer, hesitating before she dared to ask. “Has the laird eaten anything this evening?”
The cook snorted, wiping her hands. “Nae a bite that I’ve seen. He’s wearing himself tae threads, that man. Working himself hollow.”
Davina hesitated again. Then, with more resolve than she felt, she continued. “Could ye prepare something fer him? Something he likes? I’d like tae take it up tae him.”
The cook’s eyes lit at once. “Och, aye, I can dae that. And I’ll tell ye what he’ll eat without arguing: roasted venison sliced thin, a bit of barley bread, and cheese from the larder shelf. And broth, he always takes broth when he’s too stubborn tae admit he’s tired.”
A small smile tugged at Davina’s lips. “That sounds perfect.”
The cook’s hands moved quickly, assembling the tray as though the small act of care were a celebration. She nestled the food neatly, then added a napkin and a small clay cup filled to the brim.
When she finished, she stepped back proudly. “There, me lady. This will be more than enough tae put strength back in him. And he’ll eat it fer yer sake, if naething else. He always did mind his manners.”
Davina felt warmth creep into her cheeks. “Thank ye.”
She balanced the tray carefully in her hands.
It felt heavier than it should, perhaps because of its meaning.
Her pulse fluttered beneath her skin as she stepped into the dim corridor leading to Baird’s study.
The castle seemed almost asleep around her.
Her footsteps softened instinctively as she walked, as though the silence demanded gentleness.
When she reached his study door, she stopped. Her breath trembled.
She looked down at the tray, at the venison, the warm bread and the steaming broth. She realized she was holding it as if it were precious, as if bringing him this meal meant more than simple courtesy.
Perhaps it did.
Davina drew a slow breath, willing her hands to steady.
It was only kindness, she told herself.
Yet her heart thudded painfully as she lifted her hand to knock.
“Come in,” she heard his voice from inside.
She swallowed, lifted the latch carefully, and stepped into the room with the tray held steady in both hands. Baird sat behind his desk, a stack of parchment before him and a lantern casting tired shadows beneath his eyes. He looked up and stilled.
“Davina?” His brows drew together. “What are ye—?”
She stepped forward. “I… noticed ye didnae have dinner.”
He stared at her, at the tray, then back at her face.
“And when,” he said slowly, “did ye decide tae start playing the role of the dutiful wife?”
The words were not harsh, only guarded. It was as though he needed the armor of distance between them.
“Perhaps,” she said quietly, “it has naething tae dae with duty.”
“Nay?” he asked. “Then what is it?”
Davina froze. What was it?
She did not fully know. She only knew that seeing him exhausted, hollow-eyed, and alone had pulled at something in her heart she hadn’t expected.
She knew she had carried that tray up three flights of stairs with trembling hands, unsure whether he would welcome her or send her away. She knew it mattered to be there.
Stil, her lips parted, but no words came.
Baird rose from his chair slowly, as though any sudden movement might startle her. He rounded the desk, stopping a short distance away. Now, he was close enough that she felt the warmth of him, yet still far enough he didn’t crowd her.
“Davina,” he said, softer this time. “If it’s nae duty… then tell me what brought ye here.”
Her throat tightened. She looked down at the tray so she wouldn’t have to meet those storm-gray eyes, so she wouldn’t drown in all she wasn’t ready to confess.
“I just…” She swallowed. “Ye’ve had so much on yer shoulders and ye ferget tae eat. And… and it’s nae good fer ye. Fer anyone, really. I only thought—” Her voice faltered. “I only thought it might help.”
Baird stepped close and she felt the brush of his presence before he touched anything at all. Carefully, he took the tray from her hands, his fingers grazing hers for the briefest moment. The touch sent a shock up her arm, hot and startling.
Without looking away from her, he carried the tray to the writing table and set it down. Then he turned back toward her. He stopped just short of her, close enough that she had to tip her head back to hold his gaze. Davina’s breath stilled. Her skin prickled beneath the wool of her gown.
“So,” he said quietly, his voice like a low rumble in the space between them, “is that all ye came fer, Davina?”
Her mouth went dry. She should leave. She knew it. Every sensible thought she possessed whispered that she ought to turn, open the door, and retreat while her pride was still intact.
But she couldn’t move.
His eyes held hers. They swept over her face slowly, lingering as though he were memorizing the shape of her, the tremble in her breath, the faint flush at her throat.
She swallowed a tremor. “I… I brought supper.”
“Aye,” he murmured, stepping closer still. The space between their bodies narrowed to a whisper. “But that’s nae what I asked.”
Her pulse hammered at her ribs. She could hear it in her ears.
“Baird…” Her voice cracked. She hated how unsure it sounded.
His gaze flicked to her lips. She felt that look.
Heat surged through her in that wicked, unfamiliar and frightening intensity. She wanted him to close that final inch, to gather her in his arms, to kiss her until all the confusion in her chest made sense.
Shame followed swiftly. She had no right to want such things, not when their marriage had been born of tragedy and not when she barely understood her own heart.
“I should go,” she whispered.
But she didn’t move. She didn’t even shift her weight.
Baird’s breath stirred a loose strand of her hair. “Why?” he asked, but the question was a mere breath. “Why has ye been keeping away?”
She blinked, surprised by the gentleness in his tone.
“I had tae,” she whispered again, firmer this time. “But, I… I didnae ken ye noticed.”
“I notice a lot more than ye ken,” he revealed. “Fer example, the way ye tuck yer feet beneath ye when sitting by the fire.”
She swallowed heavily. Her breath lifted and fell too quickly, shallow with nerves, and every heartbeat rang loud in her ears. Her body betrayed her. Everything in her leaned toward him like a flower straining for the sun.
“Also, ye hum tae yerself when working,” he continued, not taking his eyes off of her even for a single moment.
“Ye rub yer thumb along the edge of yer sleeve when ye’re uneasy,” he divulged.
She almost gasped. Was she an open book to him?
In the next heartbeat which was as decisive as it was hungry, Baird caught her face in his hands and kissed her.
The force of it stole every breath she meant to take.
His mouth was fierce against hers, frightening in its intensity, as though he’d held himself back too long and something inside him had finally broken loose.
Heat flooded her skin, her bones, everything.
Davina’s knees nearly buckled, and she found her hands clutching the front of his shirt just to stay upright.
It was overwhelming and it was terrifying. It was also everything she didn’t know she wanted until that very moment.
He kissed her like a man starved, like he needed her breath to survive his own.
Davina gasped into him, and he deepened the kiss instinctively, then froze.
Abruptly, Baird tore himself away, breaking the kiss with a sharp inhale, as though he’d just realized how close he’d come to losing control altogether.
He stepped back, blinking heavily, as if the mist from his storm-dark eyes had just been lifted.
“Christ,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair as though trying to steady himself. “I should nae have—” His voice broke there.
Davina stood there, with a blanket of shock and yearning wrapped so tightly around her she couldn’t breathe. Her whole body seemed to hum with the aftershock of it.
Then he said it.
“This was a mistake.”
The words struck harder than any blade. They were cruel, though she knew he hadn’t meant them so. A hollow ache ripped through her stomach, stealing the air from her lungs. She blinked twice hard, fearing the tears gathering too quickly at the corners of her eyes.
“O–of course,” she managed in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
“Davina…”
“Nay, truly,” she said quickly. Her voice wavered, so she forced it steadier, slipping into that careful tone she’d been trained to use since childhood. “Ye’re right. It should nae have happened.”
He flinched, but his eyes flashed with regret.
She pressed on, desperate to fill the silence, desperate not to let him see how deeply the words had cut her. “We… we were tired. And overwrought. It was only a moment of… of confusion.”
Her throat tightened painfully.
Please, dinnae cry, Davina. Please…
She lifted her chin, though it trembled. “It will nae happen again. I should go.”
“Davina,” he called out her name as he stepped toward her.
She however, stepped back. If he came closer, she would break apart. She knew it. And she could not shatter there, not while he regretted kissing her.
“Please,” she whispered desperately. “Let me go.”
He froze at that. The hurt in her tone must have pierced even his iron restraint. He didn’t reach for her again.
Davina gathered her skirts in trembling hands, turned, and hurried toward the door.
She barely managed to lift the latch. Her fingers shook too violently.
Somehow, she forced it open. She didn’t look back as she fled into the corridor.
She didn’t run loudly, she’d been raised to move with grace, but she did move swiftly, as though running away from her own heart.
Only when she rounded the corner did the first tear fall. And by the time she reached the stairwell, she was clutching the banister, fighting to breathe through the ache that had settled like a stone inside her chest.
Mistake.
She wiped her eyes hard, refusing to let herself crumble completely.
“Then I’ll make sure,” she whispered to the empty hall, “that he never sees me make another.”