Chapter 18
The storm had eased by dawn, leaving the tavern quiet except for the soft creak of settling wood. Pale morning light slipped through the shutters, brushing across the tiny bed where Baird lay half-awake, and Davina still nestled lightly against him.
For one peaceful heartbeat, he allowed himself to breathe in the faint scent of lavender from her hair and the warmth of her resting against his shoulder. He hadn’t slept so soundly in… he couldn’t remember how long.
Years, perhaps.
But the moment she stirred, he forced his arm to loosen, letting her shift away.
Davina blinked up at him. “Good morning.” Her voice was still laced with a dreamlike quality that made her not only appear, but also sound, ethereal.
“Aye,” he murmured, sitting up.
She stretched delicately, brushing hair from her eyes. “Ye look well rested.”
He stilled. Her tone was innocent, even pleased. But the words struck deeper than she knew.
Davina sat up too, smoothing her wrinkled chemise. “I mean… usually ye toss and turn much more.” She offered a small, cautious smile. “I thought that was simply… how ye were.” Her gaze grew thoughtful. “But it seems ye can sleep calmly.”
Baird’s stomach tightened.
Calmly.
The only reason he had slept calmly was because she was there, because her presence quieted the nightmare he’d never once spoken aloud. But calm sleep was something he didn’t deserve. Not when Maither’s face still haunted the dark, and not when Malcolm’s death hung like iron around his neck.
And certainly not because of a comfort he had no right to take from Davina.
He swung his legs off the bed abruptly. “We should leave.”
Davina seemed startled by the sudden shift, and there was confusion flickering across her face. “Oh, I… yes, of course.”
He stood and began gathering their things too sharply. He needed anything to keep his hands busy or to avoid the warmth in her eyes. His mood had soured like milk left too long, and he knew it, but he couldn’t tame it.
“Baird?” she tried again, softer this time. “Did I… say something wrong?”
“Nay.” His tone came out colder than he intended. “We dinnae have the luxury of lingering. We need tae be heading home.”
She looked at him for a moment that felt longer than eternity. Her lips were pressed together in a way that hinted at hurt. But she said nothing more. She simply gathered her own things with quiet, careful movements.
Her silence made something twist inside him. But he hardened himself. Better she think him distant than look too closely at a man who usually slept sweating and shaking because of ghosts she didn’t know about.
When they stepped out of the room and into the tavern hallway, Davina followed him without complaint, though her steps were slower. This time, she didn’t even try to keep up with him. Baird forced himself not to look back.
Distance is safer.
Outside the tavern, puddles pooled between the cobblestones, and villagers hurried about, with their voices rising in distress. The moment they spotted Baird, a cluster of townsfolk rushed toward him.
“Me laird!” one of the older men called. “The storm flooded the east store!”
“Aye,” another added anxiously. “We’re trying tae move what we can, but the barrels are soaked through and we cannae lift them fast enough.”
“Some of the sacks have burst,” a woman said, wringing her apron. “We’re losing grain.”
Baird’s jaw clenched. Of all the catastrophes they couldn’t afford, this was among the worst.
“I’ll go now,” he said, already signaling to his guards. “Where are the stores that still stand dry?”
“North side of the square,” the villager replied. “We’ve been carrying what we can, but it’s nae enough.”
Baird nodded sharply, then turned to Davina.
“I’ll organize fer ye tae go back tae the castle with Davis and Ewan,” he said. “I’ll take the rest of the men and deal with this here.”
Davina’s eyes widened first in surprise, then in defiance. “Nay.”
His head snapped toward her, and even the guards seemed to shift uneasily at her refusal. “Nay?”
“I’m nae going back,” she said plainly.
“Ye are.” His voice hardened, partly from worry, partly from the lingering frustration of the morning.
She stepped closer. It seemed that every time he looked into those beautiful eyes, he found more reasons to be furious… with fate, with her, with himself.
“Me place,” she said steadily, “is by me husband’s side.”
Her voice was soft, but it hit him like a blow. The villagers glanced between them, looking awkward and uncertain.
Baird opened his mouth, then closed it. What argument could he give to that? What right did he have to command her away when she had just claimed allegiance to him in the one way that stripped all resistance?
He searched that lovely, defiant face of hers. She wasn’t being reckless or dramatic for the sake of making a scene. That was unlike her. She was simply choosing him, choosing to stand with him. In all honesty, he wasn’t certain whether that filled him with pride or terror.
At last, he dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Ye can come.”
She smiled in a victorious manner, while Baird forced his gaze forward, barking orders to his men. The villagers led them through narrow lanes still slick with rain. Mud clung to boots, wooden beams dripped steadily, and the distant roar of the burn echoed between the houses.
When they reached the flooded storehouse, Baird felt his stomach drop.
The lower planks of the building were buckled inward, with the water still pooling inside.
A dozen villagers worked frantically hauling barrels, carrying sacks of grain and shouting instructions to one another in a desperate chorus.
Baird stepped forward. “Show me what’s stable.”
One of the men pointed. “That corner’s holding. We’ve been moving everything we can tae the dry stores just across the way.”
Baird nodded once, turning to his guards. “Move the unbroken barrels first. If any of the sacks are only soaked on the outside, salvage them. We’ll dry the grain at the keep.”
“Aye, laird.” The chorus came back in unison.
Davina, already rolling up her sleeves, approached one of the torn sacks. “These can still be saved if we move them quickly,” she said, examining the threads. “The inner layers are barely damp.”
One of the women beside her nodded in relief. “Aye, me lady, if ye dinnae mind getting yer hands dirty.”
Davina dropped to her knees without hesitation. “Show me where tae take them.”
Baird watched her for a moment. He watched how she didn’t flinch at mud, or frayed rope, or the weight of a soaked grain sack. She lifted beside villagers twice her size, guided the children who scampered in to help, and encouraged every weary worker with sincerity rather than command.
She was unlike any woman he had ever met, and he knew that he would never again meet anyone like her.
He forced himself back to work, lifting a heavy barrel with a grunt. One of the villagers rushed to help him. “Careful, laird, the bottom’s soaked through.”
“I’ve got it,” Baird muttered, maneuvering it toward the dry store.
Hours passed in a blur of labor. Barrels rolled, and sacks were lifted. Planks were pried loose to release trapped water. Throughout it all, men shouted, while women organized and children darted between adults carrying handfuls of tools.
And Davina matched them step for step.
By late afternoon, the worst of it was done. Nearly all the grain had been saved, with only a small corner of the storehouse lost entirely.
Davina leaned against a beam, with her cheeks flushed.
“We saved most of it,” she said, breathless but smiling.
Baird wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Aye. More than I expected when we arrived.”
One of the older villagers approached, bowing his head respectfully. “Thank ye, laird. If ye hadnae come when ye did… we’d have lost everything.”
Davina tilted her head toward the man. “It was everyone here who saved it. We merely helped.”
Baird glanced at the mud on her hem, at her reddened hands and at the light in her eyes. This woman always managed to find new ways to make him speechless.
“Ye did more than help,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him with a sweet smile. “I only did what needed daeing.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer than he should have. “Aye. That ye did.”
A villager called Baird’s name from across the square, breaking the moment. He cleared his throat and stepped back.
“We’ll check the south stores next,” he said. “Make sure nothing else was damaged.”
Davina nodded, falling into step beside him. And as they walked through the softened mud and fading afternoon light, Baird realized that despite the chaos, despite the exhaustion, despite the strain of the morning, having her at his side felt right.
The south stores lay closer to the river, tucked beneath an old stone overhang that offered enough shelter to keep the worst of the rain at bay. Baird approached cautiously, scanning the ground for signs of water damage.
A few villagers were already outside, wringing out cloths and checking for leaks.
“How bad is it?” Baird asked.
One of the men straightened. “Nae near as bad as the east, laird. A bit of seepage under the door, but we caught it early.”
Davina stepped by his side, kneeling to examine the damp threshold. “It hasnae reached the sacks,” she said, with relief softening her voice. “If we lift the lower crates tae the shelves, it should dry quickly.”
Baird nodded, motioning to two guards. “Ye heard her. Raise anything that sits low. We’ll reinforce the door after.”
The work took far less time. The guards hauled the crates to the shelves, one of the villagers patched a crack in the wall with clay and straw, and Davina sorted through the herbs and smaller stores to ensure nothing had spoiled.
Baird helped wedge a thick plank under the door to prevent more water from slipping through. When he straightened again, Davina stood beside him, brushing dust from her hands.
“That should hold,” she said.
“Aye. And we’ll have it checked again tomorrow.” He glanced at her, watching how she skimmed through the shelves with careful, assessing eyes. “Ye did well today.”
She looked up, surprised. “So did ye.”
He snorted softly. “This is me job.”
“Mine as well,” she returned gently.
By the time the last ropes were tied and the villagers sent home, the sky was deepening into early evening. The storm clouds had thinned, leaving streaks of dying light across the hills. The air smelled of wet earth and wood smoke drifting from chimneys.
“We should head back,” Baird said. “The horses willnae thank us fer keeping them out longer.”
Davina nodded. Her cheeks were flushed from the day’s labor and her skirts muddied at the hem, but she looked… happy. He realized that was how he always wanted her to be.
The guards gathered, tightening straps and checking saddles. Baird helped Davina mount her horse before swinging into his own saddle. As they began the ride toward the castle, the village quieted behind them.
It struck him, as they made their way home, how naturally she fit beside him in moments like those: weathering storms, solving crises, tending to their people without hesitation. He told himself not to think too deeply on it. But the truth pressed in anyway.
They were halfway across the stretch of winding path that cut through the moor when Baird’s horse halted beneath him with a stiff, uneasy jerk.
Davina was riding a few paces ahead before realizing he’d stopped. She turned in her saddle. “Baird? What—”
He lifted one hand sharply.
“Quiet.”
Her words died instantly. The guards behind them tensed, and now, their eyes were on every shadow gathering along the ridge. Baird’s pulse steadied into a cold, controlled rhythm. He knew that feeling. He knew when he was being watched.
And there, just beyond the far jut of rock, half-hidden by a cluster of wind-beaten gorse, he noticed a slight movement.
“Sinclair scouts,” he whispered, feeling his blood cold in his veins.