Chapter 20
By the time they reached the castle courtyard, dusk had settled into a heavy blue. Torches flickered along the walls, their light catching the crimson on Baird’s sleeve.
Davina slid from her horse the moment her boots hit the ground. Baird dismounted too, slower than usual. She noticed the tightness in his shoulders and the way his fingers pressed into his wound as though to hide the weakness.
He turned to her. “Go up tae our chamber and get some rest. Ye’ve had enough fer one day.”
Rest?
Her brow rose. “And where are ye going?” she asked.
“Tae question the scout. Kenny’s already taking him down tae the cells.” Baird started toward the inner stair, as if he expected the matter closed.
Davina stepped in front of him.
“Nay, ye are nae.”
His eyes narrowed slightly in that way he had when he was trying to decide whether she was being unreasonable.
“I dinnae have time tae argue. This is important,” he told her patiently.
“So is the fact that ye’re bleeding.” She crossed her arms, planting herself firmly. “Badly.”
“It’s naething.”
“Ye’re pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“Ye’re swaying.”
“I am standing still, Davina.”
“Barely,” she muttered.
He exhaled sharply. “Davina—”
“Nay.” Her voice softened, but her resolve did not. “Ye are nae marching intae a cell dripping blood like some bull-headed hero. Ye will only make things worse fer yerself. And fer everyone else, if ye collapse while trying tae play the indestructible laird.”
Baird blinked slowly, but she wasn’t finished.
“And before ye protest again, ye should ken that ye are, without question, the most stubborn man I have ever met. Stubborn, and impossible, and too proud tae admit when ye’re hurt. Honestly, it’s a wonder ye’ve survived this long without someone dragging ye by the ear tae the healer.”
She watched him almost smile, then she pressed on.
“Ye are also infuriatingly brave, and it seems tae come with nay sense of self-preservation whatsoever. If sheer determination could stop bleeding, ye’d never need a healer in yer life. Unfortunately, it cannae.”
Now the corner of his mouth actually lifted, albeit just slightly.
“And,” she added more quietly, “ye scared me.”
That did it. His posture eased and the fight in him deflated just enough for her to see the pain underneath.
“All right,” he acquiesced. “We’ll go tae the healer.”
He didn’t protest when she guided his uninjured arm over her shoulder.
He didn’t argue when she steadied him. He simply allowed her to walk beside him, step for step, toward the healer’s chambers.
Inside, it smelled of crushed mint and old stone, but the air was warm from the small fire burning beneath an iron kettle.
Davina guided Baird to the nearest bench, where he sat with a grunt.
“What happened, me laird?” the man asked, already reaching for a basin.
“Scout’s blade,” Baird replied shortly.
Davina didn’t miss the slight tremor under his tone, which was so faint no one else would have heard it. The healer pulled back the torn sleeve, revealing the gash: long, deep, and angry-looking. Davina inhaled sharply.
Baird didn’t look at her. He stared straight ahead.
The healer cleaned the wound with brisk, practiced movements. Baird’s flinched just once, but his face stayed carved from stone. Davina stepped closer anyway, as if her nearness could soften something.
When the healer began stitching, Baird’s jaw flexed. His fingers curled. He did not make a sound. The healer tied off the stitches, then wrapped fresh linen tightly around the wound.
“Keep it clean,” he instructed. “And nay strain on that arm fer at least two days.”
Baird gave a humorless snort. “We’ll see about that.”
“Nay, we will nae,” Davina said sharply before she could stop herself.
Baird stared at her, but didn’t say anything.
The healer stepped back. “He’s finished. Take him upstairs and make sure he rests.”
Davina nodded. “I will.”
She helped him stand up, and together, they headed out into the corridor.
The walk to their chambers was slower than usual.
Baird insisted he could manage on his own, but Davina kept a steady hand beneath his uninjured arm anyway.
She felt him lean into her just enough to betray how much the wound pained him, and it was an intimacy so subtle it warmed her more than the torchlit corridor.
Inside their chamber, the fire glowed pleasantly. A basin of warm water already waited on the table beside the bed. Davina had sent word ahead through Ailis, and for once she was grateful for her own foresight.
“Sit,” she said, guiding him toward the bed.
He let out a sigh and sat. The mattress shifted under his weight. Davina dipped the clean cloth in the warm water, wrung it out carefully, and stepped before him.
“Davina,” he muttered as she pressed the cloth gently to his brow, “ye dinnae need tae fuss over me like this.”
“I’m nae fussing,” she replied, adjusting the cloth so it brushed the line of dried sweat near his temple. “I’m tending. There’s a difference.”
“A very small one.”
“Only tae someone stubborn.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, which was more air than sound. “Ye’ve called me stubborn too many times in the last hour.”
“Because ye’ve earned it.”
He glanced at her, his eyes half-lidded in the firelight. “If I’m stubborn, ye’re… what’s the word… ah, relentless.”
She raised a brow. “Is that an insult?”
“A compliment… mostly.”
Her lips twitched. “Good. Because I meant mine as compliments, too.”
Davina’s breath caught. She hadn’t meant to reveal so much. But she didn’t take it back either. She dipped the cloth again, brushing his cheekbone this time, then along the side of his neck where the tension deepened.
“Ye scared me today,” she said softly.
“Aye, well.” He swallowed as her fingers skimmed his skin. “Ye scared me, too.”
Her hand stilled. He didn’t look away this time. He didn’t hide behind duty or command or cold distance. For once, his honesty stood bare between them.
She resumed dabbing the cloth gently, feeling him relax under her touch. “Next time,” she murmured, “try nae tae get yerself sliced open.”
“Next time,” he returned just as softly, “try nae tae fall off yer horse.”
She tried to glare at him. It failed miserably. He smirked at her and it lit up the entire room.
“Ye win,” she said, shaking her head exasperatedly.
“I usually dae.”
Davina set the cloth aside and drew in a careful breath. He looked tired… more than tired. He looked worn in a way that made her fret for him.
“It’s late,” she murmured. “We should retire tae bed.”
His brow lifted faintly. “Should we?”
“Aye,” she insisted, trying for firmness despite the flutter in her stomach. “I promised the healer I would make ye rest.”
He huffed. “Some promises cannae be kept.”
“Mine are tae be kept,” she corrected, stepping closer, and settling her hands on his shoulders without quite meaning to. “Especially when they concern yer health. So, ye will sleep.”
“Will I?” he murmured, and there was that hint of a smile ghosting across his lips.
“Ye will,” she said firmly. “Because I will nae have ye tearing yer stitches or worsening that injury simply because ye insist on being…”
“Stubborn?” he teased.
She narrowed her eyes. “That, and a great many other things.”
His laughter rippled through her. It unsettled her in a way she didn’t want to examine too closely.
She smoothed her hand down his uninjured arm. “Lie back,” she urged softly. “Please.”
He didn’t move at first. Instead, he watched her with that storm-gray gaze.
“Davina, ye dinnae need tae fuss. I told ye already.”
“I’m nae fussing,” she corrected him. She fussed with his blankets anyway, drawing them up around his waist. “I’m making sure ye dinnae dae anything foolish.”
“Everything about this is foolish,” he said under his breath.
She froze. “What is that supposed tae mean?”
He closed his eyes, inhaled hard, then shook his head. “Naething. Forget it.”
But she couldn’t, not when the tension in him spoke louder than words.
She sat down next to him. “Baird.”
He opened his eyes again, and they were darker than before, shadowed with guilt and fear.
“This…” He gestured faintly between them. “This closeness. It could lead tae trouble.”
Her heart stuttered. “Trouble fer whom?”
“Fer me,” he said quietly. “Fer ye.” A pause. “Fer both of us.”
“I… I dinnae understand.”
He exhaled sharply, as if frustrated with himself for saying anything at all. “I shouldnae want what I want, lass.”
Her breath caught and before she could think, before she could stop herself, she reached out and touched his cheek in a featherlight caress.
“Baird…”
He didn’t pull away. In fact, he leaned forward. And then their lips met.
It wasn’t the frantic, startled kiss from the study, nor the accidental brush of longing.
This kiss was slow and aching, like he had been fighting himself for days and had finally lost the battle.
His good arm slid around her waist, drawing her down onto the bed beside him.
She melted into him, and the taste of his lips was both steady and devastating.
He answered that small plea with a soft groan at the back of his throat, and the sound vibrated against her lips. Davina’s heart hammered. She parted her lips without even thinking, and his breath caught, just before he deepened the kiss.
She felt it everywhere… in the warmth that spread through her limbs, in the flutter low in her stomach, in the way her knees weakened even though she was already sitting.
When they finally parted, their lips were still barely touching. He rested his forehead against hers, and her eyes fluttered open. He was looking at her like she was the most impossible thing he’d ever seen and the one thing he wanted most.
That was the kiss: deep enough to shake them, gentle enough to undo them, and dangerous enough to change everything.
“That,” he suddenly murmured, “was a mistake, too.”
Her heart dropped.
“But one I cannae seem tae stop making. And I think I dinnae want tae.”
He guided her down gently, easing her so her head now rested on his chest. She shifted without thinking, settling into his arms, into the curve of his body, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His heartbeat steadied beneath her cheek. Her breathing slowed. And that was how they fell asleep in each other’s arms.