Chapter 25
Baird had not slept. He had barely eaten. The walls felt tighter each day, the air heavier. A traitor lived among them, and this was the day that he would find out his name.
He was halfway to the stairs leading to the lower cells when Kenny rounded the corner at a fast clip with a folded slip of parchment gripped in his hand.
“Me laird,” Kenny said, as his breath misted in the cold air. “I’ve got it.”
Baird halted. “Is this what I asked fer?”
Kenny nodded, jaw tight. “Aye. The names of kins listed, as ye said.”
Baird took the parchment and unfolded it. There were four names written in Kenny’s steady hand. He read each one silently. Each name had a designated role: sister, mother, brother, betrothed.
His jaw set. He did not speak. He did not react. But his heartbeat shifted as pieces began aligning in ways he did not voice aloud yet.
Kenny watched him closely. “It’s all correct, me laird. Verified twice.”
Baird folded the parchment with slow precision and slipped it into his pocket.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Come with me.”
Kenny blinked. “Tae the cells?”
“Aye.” Baird turned, already striding toward the stairwell. “It’s time I spoke tae our guest again.”
The captain fell into step beside him. “What are ye planning?”
“Questions,” he answered with a shrug. “The same as before.”
“And if he still refuses?”
Baird’s voice was calm.
“Then he’ll refuse with more difficulty than he did the last time.”
Kenny exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “He’s already half broken.”
“Then he’ll break the rest of the way,” Baird said, without slowing.
They reached the top of the stairwell. The scent of stone and damp earth drifted upward from below.
Kenny hesitated on the first step. “Ye’re certain ye want tae go in yerself?”
“Aye,” Baird replied, his tone soft as a blade sliding from its sheath. “This is between him and me.”
“And the list?” Kenny asked cautiously. “Dae ye want me tae pass copies tae the others?”
“Nay.” Baird’s voice hardened. “Only I need it.”
In the next moment, the dungeon swallowed them whole. Cold seeped from the stones, damp clung to the back of Baird’s throat, and the torchlight flickered in thin, miserable lines across the floor. Kenny closed the iron door behind them. There was no way back, and Baird knew it.
The prisoner hung where Baird had left him. He was chained to the wall, slumped but conscious, his face a ruin of bruises and dried blood. New purple shadows ringed his eyes. His lip was split anew, while his breath rasped through cracked lips.
For a moment, pity stirred in Baird’s chest. That man looked half-dead, like a cornered animal. But then Baird remembered Malcolm collapsing at the altar. He remembered Davina with a blade pressed to her throat. And pity died on the spot.
He stepped forward. “I need the name of the traitor.”
The prisoner let out a hollow, rasping laugh. “Then ye might as well kill me now, laird. I’ll nae speak. Nae fer ye and nae fer any man.”
Baird clicked his tongue lightly, as if bored. “I had a feeling ye’d say that again.”
The man blinked, confusion threading through his exhaustion.
“So,” Baird drawled, “I did a bit of research of me own.”
He reached into his coat and withdrew the folded parchment. Kenny watched in still silence, with his arms crossed. Baird unfolded the page with deliberate slowness. The prisoner’s gaze flicked toward it, then away, as if sensing danger without understanding it yet.
“I asked meself,” Baird continued, “if ye would nae give me the name I wanted, what other names might matter tae me?”
The man stiffened, sensing danger. Baird’s eyes settled on him. Then, he looked down at the list.
“Let’s begin, shall we?” His tone was almost pleasant, as if he were reading the menu for an important feast. “Morven.”
The prisoner jerked as though struck, his chains clanking against stone.
Baird glanced up, watching the man’s face drain of color. “Yer sister, is she nae?”
Silence answered him, but the terror in the scout’s eyes was louder than any scream.
Baird continued. “Eilidh. A fine name. Sounds like a maither’s name tae me.”
The prisoner’s breathing turned ragged and frantic, but Baird didn’t pause.
“Ronan,” he read next. “Yer braither, aye?”
A strangled sound tore from the man’s throat.
“And lastly…” Baird let the paper lower slightly so he could look the prisoner dead in the eye. “Mairead… yer betrothed.”
The scout’s face went utterly white, white as winter snow. His knees buckled, but the chains held him upright. If the room had been warmer, he might have sweated. As it was, he trembled violently, while his breath came in harsh, panicked gasps.
His voice cracked on a whisper. “How… how dae ye ken those names?”
Baird stepped closer, folding the parchment with a neatness that bordered on cruel discipline.
“Because ye would nae give me the name I needed,” he said softly, “so I found the names ye need.”
The scout shook his head desperately, and there was fear crawling across every inch of his battered face. “Leave them out of this—”
“Speak,” Baird demanded, “and they remain safe. Refuse… and I start asking questions about them next.”
The prisoner sagged. For the first time, he truly understood that he held no power there.
Only Baird did. The man’s whole body was shaking, not just with fear, but with rage, helplessness.
He was stuck in the agony of a man who finally realized the blade handing over not just his head, but the heads of everyone he loved.
His chains rattled as he struggled to stand properly.
“Promise me.” He paused to swallow. “Promise me they’ll be safe.”
Baird tilted his head, with one brow lifting slowly.
“Safe?” he repeated, almost lightly. “Ye want me tae promise yer kin safety?”
The prisoner’s eyes burned with desperate hope. “Aye. Aye, I… if I talk… ye’ll keep them safe, aye? Ye’ll make sure naething touches them?”
Baird let out a breath that might have been a laugh, except there was no humor in it. There was only ice.
“Please… they’ve naething tae dae with this—”
“Like me braither had naething tae dae with this?” Baird snapped.
The prisoner flinched.
“Ye mean, safe like Malcolm is safe?” Baird stepped closer. “In a coffin? In the ground where ye and yer laird put him?”
The prisoner’s eyes widened, filling with dread.
“Dae ye ken what his death did tae this clan?” Baird’s voice was a controlled snarl. “And now ye stand here begging me fer mercy on yer own kin when ye offered mine none.”
Kenny stiffened in the corner but did not intervene.
Baird leaned in, inches from the prisoner’s face. “Tell me what I need tae ken… and yer family will have a chance at a life.”
The prisoner trembled violently, as tears of rage and terror mixed with blood on his cheeks.
“A chance?” he whispered.
“Aye,” Baird said coldly. “A chance. Which is more than ye or any Sinclair bastard gave me braither.”
The man squeezed his eyes shut. Baird didn’t look away. He remained perfectly still and perfectly steady. Fury was burning him up, yes, but his being was locked behind iron discipline.
The prisoner’s breath rattled in his chest as he sagged against the chains, beaten, trembling, and finally broken.
“It was Filib.”
Kenny stiffened beside Baird. The name hung in the air like a lit fuse.
“Filib,” the prisoner repeated, louder now, as if forcing himself not to choke on it. “Yer councilman… Filib… he’s the one who met with us. Passed messages, took coin. He… he said he’d see the clan fall if it killed him.”
The world went deathly quiet. Baird’s vision tunneled for one blinding heartbeat.
Filib.
He was his father’s old advisor. He was a man Malcolm trusted, the man he trusted.
“Ye’re certain,” Baird said. It was not a question, but rather a demand.
“Aye,” the prisoner croaked. “He was the one. The only one. I swear it.”
Baird didn’t reply. He turned sharply.
“Kenny,” he said in a vice that was like cracking frost. “With me.”
There was no need for more words. They stormed out of the dungeon, up the stairs, through the corridors.
Baird was moving so fast his cloak snapped behind him like a banner of war.
Kenny kept pace. The guards followed, sensing something dangerous in the laird’s stride.
By the time they reached the council chamber, people were already gathered in the hall, all drawn by the thunder of Baird’s steps.
He slammed the doors open so hard they struck stone.
Filib jolted upright from the table, with the quill still in his hand. “Laird? What is—”
Baird crossed the room in three strides, seized the man by the front of his robes, and slammed him back against the table. Papers scattered like startled birds.
Filib gasped, while his face was going white. “Me laird!”
“Ye murdered me braither.”
A collective gasp surged through the chamber.
Filib sputtered, shaking his head rapidly. “What? Nay, nay, I—”
Baird slammed him again, harder. “Ye poisoned Malcolm!”
That was when chaos erupted. Council members stumbled backward. Guards rushed forward. Kenny barked orders, trying to maintain order.
Filib clawed at Baird’s wrist, with his panic rising like bile. “Ye’ve lost yer senses!”
“I’ve found the truth,” Baird snarled.
Filib’s eyes darted wildly. “This is madness!”
“Madness?” Baird snarled, slamming him against the table again. “Tell me, Filib, what’s madder than poisoning me braither at his own wedding? Than selling out yer clan tae the Sinclairs like a coward?”
“I—” Filib choked, his gaze cutting around the room at the crowd forming, the guards, the servants, the councilmen. His voice cracked. “I had tae dae it.”
The hall erupted into shocked murmurs. Baird froze for only a heartbeat before his rage surged anew.
“Had tae?” he roared. “Ye had tae?!”
Filib’s legs buckled under Baird’s grip. “Aye! Aye, I… there was nay other way!”
Kenny stepped closer. “Filib, think very carefully before ye speak another word.”
But Filib spoke anyway. He spoke because terror had flooded past caution.
“I loved her,” he gasped.
Baird’s hands tightened. “Loved who?”
“Yer maither!” Filib sobbed. “I loved her! Long before yer faither claimed her. I would’ve given her a gentler life, ye ken I would’ve! She’d still be alive if she’d chosen me!”
A stunned silence ripped through the hall. Baird’s blood ran cold. Understanding sparked in his eyes.
Filib went on, desperate and unhinged. “It was Malcolm’s fault that she died! She, who most deserved tae live, died at the hands of those who supposedly loved her… I couldnae bear it! If only she had chosen me…”
Baird’s muscles trembled with murderous restraint.
Filib’s voice cracked as he pressed on. “And the Sinclairs… they gave me coin, but I would have done it fer free…”
Baird stared at him with a stillness that made Kenny tense beside him. “So ye killed me braither.”
Filib squeezed his eyes shut. “There was nay other way. Yer faither was already gone, but the memory of yer maither was nae avenged, nae fer me. Ye… ye were always too strong, too… stubborn. So, I took Malcolm, because in taking him, I took me revenge. Now, ye ken what it is like tae lose everything ye’ve ever cared fer. ”
The hall gasped. Someone cursed loudly. Kenny stepped forward.
“Filib,” he said fiercely, “ye’re confessing tae treason and murder—”
Filib laughed in a broken, hollow sound. “I dinnae care. I’d dae it again if I had tae.”
That was the moment Baird broke. His hand moved before thought, before breath, before mercy. He drew his blade. The steel flashed in the torchlight.
“Baird, nay” Kenny shouted, wrestling forward.
But Baird didn’t hear him. He heard nothing but the roaring in his ears; saw nothing but the memory of Malcolm’s body collapsing beside the altar. Davina’s face appeared before the eye of his mind, in the moment when the intruder had seized her, frightened and alone.
And beneath it all, he could hear the cold and poisonous voice of his father.
Weakness lets traitors live.
Weakness lets blood be spilled.
Weakness destroys clans.
Baird raised the blade. Filib shrieked, scrambling back and knocking over a chair as he fell to the floor.
Kenny lunged for Baird’s arm, but he missed by an inch. “Baird! Stop! Stop!”
But Baird was beyond stopping. He saw nothing but betrayal. The blade swung and Davina’s voice cut through the fog like a crack of lightning in the darkest of nights.
“Baird!”
Everything inside him halted. The blade froze mid-swing. His heartbeat crashed into silence. Terrifyingly slowly, his head turned toward the doorway. Davina was standing there, pale and trembling, her eyes wide with horror and fear.
“Baird…” she whispered, her voice on the verge of breaking. “Please, dinnae.”
The room held its breath. And for the first time since he learned the traitor’s name, Baird felt the weight of what he was doing.