Chapter 32
She passed him an apple. “If ye had tae choose,” she said lightly, “between never wearing boots again or never sharpening a blade again, which would it be?”
Baird paused mid-bite. “I willnae answer that. It is a ridiculous question.”
“Aye,” she agreed. “That is the point.”
He shook his head and returned his attention to the food with a focus so intense she suspected he believed it might frighten her into silence. It did not.
She poured a small cup of cider. “Very well. Another, then. Which of yer hounds is the cleverest, and which only pretends?”
“That is unfair,” he muttered. “They are all clever.”
“Mhm,” Davina teased. “Ye hesitated.”
He shot her a look. “I am nae indulging this.”
She leaned back on her hands, entirely at ease. “Fine. I shall simply assume Bracken is the clever one, and Rowan only pretends.”
His spoon stilled. “Rowan daesnae pretend.”
“Oh?” she said innocently. “Then it is Bracken.”
He sighed. “Rowan.”
Her smile widened. “There. That was painless.”
“I answered naething of consequence.”
“Ye answered,” she corrected. “That is progress.”
They ate in companionable quiet for a few moments. Davina watched the tension in his shoulders ease, just enough to encourage her onward.
“Tell me,” she said, “if ye had nae been laird, what would ye have been?”
His jaw tightened. She saw the instinctive retreat, the closing of doors she had begun to recognize.
“That is nae a silly question,” he said.
“Nay,” she admitted. “But ye need nae answer properly. Make something up.”
He scoffed softly. “I am a terrible liar.”
“I ken,” she chuckled sweetly. “That is why it would be amusing.”
He glanced at her, then away. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “a horse breeder. Or a soldier without land.”
She blinked. “That was almost thoughtful.”
“Dinnae encourage me.”
She laughed and the sound echoed off the stone, impossible to ignore. Their eyes locked.
“Ye are trying tae distract me,” he noticed.
“Aye,” she replied readily. “Is it working?”
He considered. “Against me will.”
She beamed. “Excellent.”
He reached for more bread. “Ask another, then.”
Her heart lifted at the concession. “Gladly. If ye were forced tae attend a ball, which ye despise, who would ye prefer as yer partner: me in a gentlemanly suit or Kenny in a gown?”
He choked in a chuckle. “That is vile.”
“So ye have considered it.”
“Absolutely nae.”
She grinned. “Ye didnae answer.”
He glared, then sighed. “Ye.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he said dryly, “Kenny would enjoy it far too much.”
Her laughter spilled out unchecked, and this time he joined her in a sound that surprised them both. For a little while longer, the shipment did not exist.
After a while, she gathered the plates and set them aside, then hesitated, watching him. He looked calmer now, though the line between his brows had not entirely vanished. It never did, not when responsibility lived so close beneath his skin.
“Baird,” she said gently.
“Aye?”
“Lie down.”
He blinked. “I beg yer pardon?”
She rose and smoothed the blanket, patting the space beside her. “Dinnae argue. Just this once, dae as ye are told.”
His suspicion returned at once. “What mischief is this?”
“Nay mischief,” she promised. “Only rest.”
He studied her face as though weighing the truth of it, then slowly, he yielded. He stretched out on the blanket with careful stiffness, with his arms folded loosely across his chest and his boots still on as though he feared relaxation might ambush him somehow.
Davina retrieved the small harp from its stand near the window. She settled at his side, cradling the instrument.
“I’ve never heard ye play,” he admitted.
“Nay,” she smiled.
She began softly, moving her fingers with unhurried grace. The melody was simple and lilting, meant not to impress but to soothe. Sunlight danced across the strings, while the sound filled the solar, as gentle as a breath.
Baird’s gaze drifted upward, his lashes lowering inch by inch. She watched his hands unclench and his shoulders sink into the blanket as though the stone beneath had turned suddenly kind.
“Davina,” he murmured, not opening his eyes.
“Yes?”
“I am meant tae be thinking.”
“That is precisely why ye should nae,” she replied.
The tune slowed and deepened. Her playing grew more intimate, shaped for him alone, each note placed with care.
His breathing evened. One hand lifted slightly, brushing the edge of her skirt.
It was not grasping, only resting there as if to reassure himself she was real.
She leaned closer as she played, the melody winding around them like a promise neither dared speak aloud.
Then, Baird opened his eyes. For a moment he remained as he was, staring up at the ceiling, as though uncertain whether to disturb the peace she had woven around him. Then he turned his head. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, sitting on the blanket with one knee drawn close.
Davina kept playing. She felt his gaze before she truly saw it.
She felt it like warmth along her skin. When she looked up, their eyes met.
The world narrowed to that one moment. Sunlight caught in his gray eyes, turning them almost silver.
There was no restlessness there now, no guarded distance.
Only focused attention, as though she were the only thing in the room worth seeing.
She did not stop.
The harp sang softly between them, each note lingering just long enough to make the silence feel deliberate rather than empty. Her fingers trembled from the awareness of being seen so completely.
Baird did not speak. He simply watched her. The way he looked at her made her breath hitch, though she kept the melody flowing, slower now and even deeper, as though her hands were answering something unspoken in his gaze.
His hand lifted, hovering near the harp.
He was not touching the strings, only resting against the wood beside them, but he was still close enough to feel the vibration of the music through his palm.
She let the final note fade naturally, allowing it to dissolve into the quiet. Still, neither of them moved.
“Ye play,” he confessed, “as though ye ken exactly what a man needs.”
Her throat tightened. “Perhaps I ken what ye need.”
He reached out then, brushing his thumb along the back of her hand where it rested on the strings. The contact was feather-light, yet it sent warmth spiraling through her. His thumb lingered against her hand, as though he had forgotten the rest of the world entirely.
“Davina…” he began, but the words somehow got lost.
“Yes?” she whispered.
He drew a breath, searching her face as though the words he meant to say required courage he was not accustomed to spending. But that was the moment when someone aggressively knocked on the door.
“Me laird?” Kenny’s voice rang from the outside.
“Come in,” Baird called out, and the magic of the moment was gone.
Kenny rushed into the solar without ceremony. The abruptness of it shattered the quiet like glass struck too hard. Davina’s fingers stilled on the harp strings.
Baird rose to his feet. “When did ye get back?”
“Just now,” Kenny said.
Baird’s posture shifted instantly. The ease was gone, with command snapping back into place. “What is it?”
Kenny’s gaze flicked briefly tae Davina, then back tae Baird. “Ye need tae come downstairs. Now.”
The tone was enough, and all three headed downstairs.
The smell struck him first.
Blood. Sweat. Iron. Wet wool.
The hall was crowded with men pressed close, murmuring in low, unsettled tones, but the center lay starkly clear.
One body had been laid out upon a table hastily cleared for the purpose, and a cloak was drawn over the man’s chest but not his face.
He was young. His eyes stared sightlessly toward the rafters.
Baird stopped short.
The shipment had come, but it had not come clean.
His gaze moved, cataloguing damage the way battle had taught him to do.
Two more men lay near the hearth. Both were alive, but barely.
One groaned softly as a healer worked at his leg, where blood had soaked through bandages already darkened and reapplied. The other was silent and too still.
Baird felt the tension in his muscles. Kenny came up beside him. “We lost one on the road. Two others took blades meant tae slow them, nae tae kill them outright.”
“Sinclairs,” Baird said. It was not a question.
“Aye,” Kenny replied. “They waited in the narrow pass past Glenarraidh. They kent the route. And they kent the numbers.”
Baird’s hands curled slowly into fists. “They were testing us.”
“That is me thought,” Kenny said grimly. “They pulled back too cleanly and left before we could pursue.”
Baird turned to him. “Say what ye are nae saying.”
Kenny hesitated only for a breath. “On the return ride, we saw movement. They were nae scouts, but troops, making their way north.”
Baird felt the weight of it settle in his chest like stone. “How long?”
“Two days,” Kenny said. “Three at most. When they come again, it will nae be fer the shipment.”
“It will be fer blood,” Baird said.
“Fer the keep,” Kenny added. “And if they breach us, we will be in trouble.”
Baird looked again at the dead soldier, at the wounded, and at the faces of his men watching him now. They were not panicked, but waiting. Behind him, he felt Davina’s presence like a steady flame at his back.
“Then we prepare,” Baird said quietly. “And we make certain the Sinclairs learn the cost of attacking a Kincaid.”
Outside, the wind rose against the stone walls, carrying with it the promise of war.