Chapter 30
“Ye all ken why we’re here,” Baird began, his voice echoing through the council chamber. “Filib has confessed tae betrayin’ this clan, tae poisoning me braither and tae aiding the Sinclairs. There’s nay doubt left.”
A murmur rippled across the table. Councilor Mungo leaned forward, clasping his weathered hands tightly. “Aye, me laird. His guilt is clear.”
“But his punishment…” Councilor Fergus hesitated, glancing uneasily at the others. “Filib’s kin are strong in the north. If we put him tae death, we risk a blood feud.”
Baird’s jaw tightened. “The law demands death fer treason.”
“Aye,” Fergus agreed quickly, “but law daesnae quiet families. His braithers will nae take it lightly.”
Baird stared him down. “Should we spare a traitor because his kin might throw a tantrum?”
The room fell into uneasy silence. He could feel the tension coil under his skin, heavy and taut. It was far easier to imagine putting Filib to the sword and being done with it. But he knew well enough that every decision made in this hall rippled outward. Every action echoed.
Councilor Duff cleared his throat. “We dinnae argue his guilt, me laird. Only the consequence. The north respects Filib’s line. Kill him, and we may invite a new enemy before the Sinclairs are even dealt with.”
“Aye,” Mungo added reluctantly. “It may be better tae… delay the sentence.”
“Delay?” Baird’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous calm. “After what the man has done, ye’d have me delay?”
Fergus lifted his chin. “I’d have ye consider the greater good, laird. Malcolm is gone. The Sinclairs press at our borders. And now another northern clan may turn hostile if we spill Filib’s blood. We must weigh every consequence.”
Baird braced his hands on the table, his fingers curling against the wood. He could feel the anger simmering, rising, threatening to break loose, but he kept it caged… barely.
“These consequences,” he said quietly, “are his doing. His choices. His betrayal.”
“Aye,” Duff said gently. “But the fallout will be yers.”
Silence followed, thick and suffocating.
Baird’s thoughts drifted unbidden to the dungeon, to Filib pacing like a rat in a trap, to Malcolm, clutching his chest at the altar, to Davina’s face when she had realized a man standing beside him every day had helped kill her intended groom, and finally, to the clan outside these walls, who were all tired, strained and afraid.
He straightened slowly. “So, ye believe that killing him would dae more harm than good?”
Fergus nodded. “Fer now, aye.”
“And ye’d have him live out of fear?”
“Nae fear,” Fergus corrected. “Strategy.”
Baird’s lip curled. “Strategy would have been him keeping his loyalty in the first place.”
Councilor Mungo shifted uncomfortably. “What would ye have us dae, me laird?”
Baird looked around the table, meeting each man’s eyes, letting them see the weight he carried.
“I’ll nae show mercy,” he said firmly. “But I’ll nae hand the north a reason tae come marching down upon us either.”
He exhaled, having reached a decision.
“Filib remains alive… fer now. His execution is delayed until we’re done with the Sinclairs. Once we’ve dealt with Ewan Sinclair, we’ll return tae Filib’s judgment.”
A few councilors relaxed. Others tensed further.
Mungo inclined his head. “It’s a sound choice, me laird.”
Fergus nodded. “A wise one.”
Baird wasn’t sure wise was how he’d describe the feeling in his gut. It felt like swallowing fire, like betrayal wrapped in patience, like restraint that cost him far more than simple bloodshed would have. But leadership was rarely the choice that let him sleep at night.
He looked around the chamber, bracing his palms against the table.
“Before we end this Council, there is something I must say.” He paused, to assure that everyone was listening.
“Me braither… Malcolm…” His voice caught for half a breath, the first crack any of them had heard.
“He stood in this hall with all of us. He trusted all of us. And he died because one among us chose silver and spite over loyalty.”
A ripple of shame passed through the room.
“I willnae ferget that,” Baird continued, feeling overwhelmed by grief. “And neither should any of ye. Our strength has never come from numbers, nor lands, nor coin. It comes from loyalty, from kenning that the man beside ye will stand firm even when the wind howls and the ground shifts.”
He straightened, wondering if he had any more traitors in his midst. His eyes traversed the distance of the entire chamber.
“Filib broke that bond. Betrayal of that kind is death by our law, and by the laws of every clan worth its name. And make nay mistake, he will answer fer it. But we must be clever as well as just. Justice without wisdom is only vengeance. And vengeance without thought tears a clan apart.”
Several men lowered their gazes, chastened.
“So, hear me well,” Baird said, while his voice was ringing through the chamber.
“We honor Malcolm not by spilling more blood than needed, but by protecting the people he would have bled fer. We will show fairness. We will show strength. And when the time comes, Filib will face the fate he earned with his own hand.”
He let the silence settle, and his words sink in.
“Stand loyal,” Baird finished quietly. “Stand fair. Stand taegether. It’s what Malcolm would have wanted. And it’s the only way we win what’s coming.”
“Aye, me laird,” came the chorus of voices.
They filed out one by one, leaving Baird alone with the echo of their footsteps and the heavy shadow of unspoken truths. For a moment, he let himself sag back into his chair, pressing a hand to his brow.
He had spared Filib today. But it was not mercy… it was war.
“So that’s how it ended,” Kenny said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the edge of Baird’s desk. “Filib lives, fer now. The Council was split, but they’ll stand behind the laird’s decision.”
Davina stood near the hearth, listening with a thoughtful crease between her brows. She had insisted on hearing everything that transpired, and Baird hadn’t stopped her. She deserved to know.
Baird exhaled slowly. “The law says treason deserves death. But killing him now would stir up more trouble with his clan than we can afford.”
Davina nodded, stepping a little closer. “Ye made the right choice.”
He lifted his gaze to hers, surprised by how steady and certain her voice sounded.
She continued softly. “Filib will face justice. But ye showed restraint. Ye chose what was wisest fer the clan, even though…” Her voice gentled further. “Even though I ken it didnae come easy.”
It hadn’t. Every muscle in his body had fought him. Every memory of Malcolm had screamed for blood. And there she stood, seeing him in a way few ever had.
“Aye,” he admitted quietly. “It didnae come easy.”
Davina’s eyes softened. “That is how ye ken that it was the right choice.”
Kenny cleared his throat, offering a small, tactful interruption. “She’s right, ye ken. Malcolm was a good man, but he’d have chosen caution over starting a needless feud.”
“Ye’re both right,” Baird nodded. Then, he turned to Davina. “I appreciate yer words.”
A faint blush warmed her cheeks. “I only spoke what I felt.”
Before he could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the study door.
“Enter,” Baird called, glancing up from the maps spread across his desk.
A young messenger stepped inside, with his cheeks flushed from running. He held out a folded letter sealed with Fletcher wax. “From Clan Fletcher, me laird.”
Baird nodded. “Leave us.”
The boy bowed and slipped out. Baird stood with the letter, as if he had no idea what to do with it.
“Well,” Davina murmured, “open it. Please.”
Her voice brought him back to the present moment. Baird broke the seal, and the parchment crackled softly in rebellion. His eyes went over the words, soaking them up.
Kenny shifted. “What daes it say?”
Baird lifted the sheet. “The Fletcher supplies left two days ago. They should reach our borders within the coming days.”
Davina released a breath, one she’d clearly been holding. “Thank heavens. We desperately need those grains and cloth bolts.”
“Aye,” Baird agreed. “This will carry us through the season.”
Kenny nodded. “Good news, then.”
Baird hesitated as he always did, out of habit, and the instinct to weigh every piece of information like a stone in his palm.
“Aye,” he said finally. “Good news.”
Davina’s smile bloomed. It struck him with surprising force.
“Yer faither sends his regards,” Baird added, skimming through the last lines. “And he says he looks forward tae seeing ye again this spring.”
Davina’s expression softened. “Then all is well.”
He wanted to say aye, to share her ease, but years of leadership made him wary of calling anything well until the goods were safely within his walls. Still… her hope was contagious.
Kenny stepped forward. “Will ye be sending men tae meet the wagons, laird?”
“Of course. I’ll send scouts tae watch the road. Routine precaution.”
Davina nodded approvingly. “It will make me faither feel better tae know his gift arrives safely.”
Baird folded the letter and set it atop his ledger. “We prepare the storehouses,” he decided. “Clear space, inventory what we have left. Once the wagons come, I want everything counted and locked.”
Davina stood, smoothing her skirts. “I can help with that. The steward will listen tae me.”
Baird looked up. “I dinnae doubt it.”
Her cheeks warmed at the tone of his voice, but she didn’t look away.
Kenny cleared his throat lightly, hiding an amused smirk. “I’ll get the men ready fer the watch.”
“Dae that,” Baird said.
Bowing courteously, Kenny closed the door behind him. Davina lingered.
“Ye’re quiet,” she said softly.
“Just thinking,” he answered.
“About the supplies?”
“Aye… and other things.”
She touched the silver pendant at her throat, the one he’d given her that morning. “We’ll be ready fer the wagons,” she said gently. “There is nay need tae worry.”
He exhaled slowly, gaze dropping to the papers before him.
“There is,” he admitted.
For once, he did not hide behind orders or clipped explanations. The moment felt too honest for half-truths.
“Our stores dinnae run deep enough,” he said quietly.
“Winter took more than I let on. The farms closest tae the Sinclair border were hit the hardest. Livestock thinned. Crops failed. And with all the raids…” His jaw tightened.
“I’ve been stretching our rations thin fer months.
The people pretend nae tae notice, but they dae. ”
Davina’s face fell with concern, the kind that reached her eyes and sat there, full and warm.
“Hence the marriage?” she whispered. “It was meant tae help with that?”
He nodded. “The Fletchers’ trade routes… their ships… their land. A joining of clans meant survival. Malcolm understood it. It was why he accepted the match so readily.”
She stared at him in silence, absorbing every word. For a moment, he thought she might take offence for some reason. Then slowly, she tilted her head at him. Her voice was playful when she spoke.
“And here I thought ye stepped up at the altar because ye wanted me.”
Although her tone was mischievously humorous, he saw the real question hiding beneath it. His brows rose, surprised by the jest… and even more surprised that she would make it.
She shrugged a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. “But I suppose I was wrong. It was all for the resources.” Then, there was a small, falsely thoughtful hum. “A shame, truly. I had hoped me husband had at least some fondness fer me.”
Baird’s heartbeat stumbled once. Then steadied with a heat he did not bother to hide. He moved toward her across the rug until he stood close enough to feel her breath against his chin. She blinked, startled but not retreating.
“Davina,” he murmured, “I didnae realize ye doubted I wanted ye.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came. He reached out, sliding his hand around her waist. He was not pulling, not yet, at least. He was simply touching her. The warmth of her seeped through her gown and into his palm, burning straight up his arm.
“I’ve wanted ye,” he said, “from the moment I saw ye walk up that aisle.”
Her breath hitched.
He leaned in slightly, his forehead almost brushing hers. “The resources mattered,” he allowed. “But ye…” His thumb stroked once at her hip. “Ye were never part of the bargain. Nay man bargains fer something he already desires.”
Color flooded her cheeks in streaks that were beautiful, bright, and utterly undoing.
“Baird…” she whispered.
His voice dropped even lower, a rumble only she could hear. “If ye need proof of how much I want ye, Davina…” He paused, and the moment he did so, his eyes darkened with pent up desire. “I’ll be very happy tae provide it.”
Her breath trembled. She didn’t step away. He felt her lean into his touch, and that was all the invitation his blood roared for.