Chapter 29
Laird Ewan Sinclair stood rigid beside the narrow window of his study, with his fingers drumming against the stone sill. The Highlands stretched before him, yet even their familiar expanse did nothing to cool the fury simmering beneath his skin.
The message from his riders lay torn on the floor behind him, crushed under his heel.
The scout has been taken. The inside man is exposed. Worthless, every last one of them.
“So,” he murmured to the empty room, “the Kincaid bastard solved the riddle sooner than expected.”
He had known Baird Kincaid was not a fool. No one held a clan together through winters and border feuds without a spine of iron, but this… this was irritatingly swift.
Ewan turned from the window and crossed the room with silent, predatory steps. His study was stark by design, with maps, ledgers, and a single long table strewn with the bones of plans half executed. The air smelled faintly of cold steel and the wax from his seal.
The image of Malcolm Kincaid rose inside his mind.
“So, it seems ye didnae live long enough tae wed the Fletcher lass,” he whispered. “A pity. Ye would have been easier tae break.”
Baird, however… Baird was a different matter entirely. That man was a stubborn, unyielding brute who had somehow managed not only to contain the scandal but to marry the girl himself, securing the alliance Ewan had spent months trying to sabotage.
He paced slowly, with fury giving way to calculation.
Davina Fletcher. Well, now Kincaid.
The name alone rankled him, like grit beneath a blade.
He thought of the Fletchers’ wealth, of their grain and their upcoming shipments meant to stabilize the Kincaids through the coming seasons… shipments his scouts had already reported moving.
A slow, sharp smile curled along Ewan Sinclair’s mouth.
“So the laird has his bride,” he murmured. “But let us see how well he fares without her precious supplies.”
The knock that sounded was extremely poorly timed, making Ewan’s smile vanish.
“Enter,” he snapped.
The heavy door creaked open, revealing Captain Lorcan, with his helmet tucked beneath his arm. “Ye sent fer me, me laird?”
“Aye,” Ewan replied, turning fully toward him. “Tell me again, are the Fletcher wagons still moving along the northern pass?”
Lorcan nodded. “Aye, sir. Scouts tracked them this morn. They should reach Kincaid lands within days, if nae tomorrow.”
Ewan clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “Ach. Pity if they dinnae make it.”
Lorcan shifted uneasy weight from one foot to the other. “Ye want an ambush, then?”
Ewan’s eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction. “What I want is tae remind Baird Kincaid of his place. He thinks himself strong again. He thinks the Fletchers’ riches will patch over the cracks in his walls.”
Lorcan hesitated. “And the councilman inside the castle… he failed?”
“Aye.” Ewan’s jaw tightened with disdain. “Filib was taken. Confessed, nay doubt. The fool let sentiment and old ghosts rule him.”
He paced across the room, and each one of his steps was predatory.
“I will nae allow Baird Kincaid tae regain strength,” he said, as his voice found a slow, dangerous rhythm.
“He has humiliated this clan too many times. Insults at Councils. Slights in treaties. His faither spitting on mine before witnesses.” He slowly smiled, but there was nothing kind in the expression. “Nay more.”
Lorcan cleared his throat. “Then… ye want the supplies gone? Or taken?”
“Burned,” Ewan answered without hesitation. “Scattered tae ash so the wind may carry proof of Sinclair justice.”
The captain nodded stiffly. “It will be done.”
Ewan stepped closer, lowering his voice to a silken threat. “Make certain ye leave survivors. Let them run home and tell their laird exactly who stole his lifeline.”
Lorcan swallowed. “Aye, me laird.”
“Good.” Ewan waved him off with a flick of his fingers. “Send fer the rest of the captains. We strike within the day.”
Lorcan bowed and retreated, pulling the door shut behind him.
Ewan stood alone once more, with his arms folded behind his back. He imagined it clearly: the Fletcher caravan in flames, Kincaid men dead or dying, grain blackened to nothing, and Baird Kincaid’s carefully rebuilt hope crumbling to dust.
A cruel smile returned to his lips.
“Let the laird come undone,” he murmured. “Let the Highlands remember the name Sinclair.”
He leaned toward the window. “Round two begins, Kincaid. And this time… ye willnae rise so quickly.”
“Ye’ve gone quiet, Davina,” Baird said, lifting a brow as he reached for his cup the following morning. “That usually means ye’re thinking something dangerous, something that might get me in the deep waters of the loch again.”
Davina bit back a smile. “Dangerous? I was merely wondering if ye always scowl at yer porridge like that, or if today is special.”
His mouth twitched in an effort to suppress a smile. “It’s lumpy.”
“It is nae,” she teased, nudging his boot beneath the table.
He shot her a look, one that promised he knew exactly what she was doing, and that he wouldn’t stop her. After everything that had happened, it felt almost miraculous to sit there like that, simply sharing food and warmth, in something dangerously akin to peace.
He took another spoonful of porridge, as though proving something to her or perhaps to himself. Davina hid a smirk behind her cup.
“Better?” she asked.
He huffed a soft breath. “Marginally.”
“We could order the cook tae start making it with honey,” she suggested.
“That would only encourage ye,” he countered.
“And what, precisely, would I be encouraged tae dae?”
He looked at her then with the memory of yesterday’s sunlight on the loch flickering behind his eyes. Heat crept into her cheeks so quickly she dropped her gaze to her plate.
“Oh,” she murmured.
His voice gentled. “Aye. Oh.”
Davina dared a glance up. His lips curved, just slightly. He was softness wrapped in steel. She wondered if anyone else had ever seen him like this.
Probably not.
She reached for her bread, tearing off a piece to keep her hands busy. “It’s strange,” she said quietly. “This… calm.”
His spoon stilled. “Aye,” he agreed, more quietly than before. “It is.”
Then, he suddenly reached into the pocket of his plaid and drew out a small bundle of cloth, folded tightly.
“Since we’re nae used tae calm, I figured I might stir up things a wee bit,” he grinned.
“What is that?” she beamed at the sight.
“Hold out yer hand,” he told her instead of a reply.
Curious, Davina did so. He placed it in her palm, his callused fingers brushing her skin in a way that made her breath catch. With careful fingers, she opened the cloth and gasped.
Inside lay a delicate silver pendant, shaped like a rose. It was not overly ornate, nor ostentatious. It was exactly how she loved her jewelry: simple, elegant, and beautifully wrought. The petals curled softly inward, as though caught mid-bloom.
“Oh… Baird,” she breathed, touched in a way she couldn’t quite put into words. “It’s beautiful.”
“It reminded me of ye,” he admitted.
Her heart stuttered.
“Roses dinnae thrive without care. They need patience and warmth. Ye’ve given both tae this place.” His eyes softened, and the faintest smile ghosted his lips. “Like the garden, ye restored this castle. Brought life back tae it. Back tae… us.”
Davina pressed her fingers over the pendant, overwhelmed. “I scarcely ken what tae say.”
“Dinnae say anything, just take it,” he murmured. “It is a reminder that even places that look barren can bloom again.”
She swallowed hard. “Then… put it on me? Please?”
He hesitated only a second before rising. She turned in her chair, lifting her hair from her neck. His hands were warm and steady as he clasped the chain behind her. When she let her hair fall again, she felt the weight of the pendant settle against her skin like a promise.
Davina touched it gently. “Thank ye,” she said softly. “It means more than ye ken.”
He cleared his throat again, trying and utterly failing to appear unaffected. “Good.”
A bright idea sparked in her chest then, lifting her spirits even more.
“Ye’ll see,” she told him, unable to stop smiling. “When the garden is ready, when it is fully blooming, we’ll hold a celebration. A spring gathering fer everyone in the castle.” She met his eyes. “A way tae welcome a new season properly.”
Baird considered that for a long, thoughtful moment. Then he nodded. “Aye. A celebration would dae us good… all of us.”
Her smile grew. “Then it’s settled.”
And just like that, the future felt nearer and brighter, stretching out before them like the first unfurled leaf of spring.