Chapter 35
Just as Davina allowed herself to believe they were ready, that the last crate had been tied down and the final child lifted into a wagon, a small voice cut through the noise.
“What about old Mrs. MacLeod?”
The boy stood near the edge of the square, with his fingers twisted in his sleeve and his eyes wide with sudden worry.
Baird turned at once. “What about her, Connor?”
Connor swallowed. “She lives past the alder trees, on the far path. She daesnae come intae the village much anymore.”
A woman stepped forward then. “She can barely walk now,” she explained. “She has nae been able tae fer weeks. If nay one went tae tell her, she will still be there… alone.”
The words settled heavily. Davina felt her chest tighten. She could picture it all too easily: a small cottage at the edge of the fields, quiet and unaware, and danger creeping closer with every hour.
Just as she expected, Baird did not hesitate. “Everyone else moves now,” he said firmly. “Head straight tae the castle. Dinnae stop. Guards at the front and rear.”
A murmur of protest stirred, but he cut through it cleanly.
“I said now.”
The wagons began to roll again, the line reforming with renewed urgency. Mothers clutched children closer. Men set their shoulders and followed.
Baird turned to Davina. “We will go fer her.”
She nodded at once. “Aye.”
Connor looked up at them, and now, there was hope breaking through his fear. “Ye will bring her back?”
Davina crouched in front of him, meeting his gaze. “We will,” she said gently. “I promise.”
Baird swung into his saddle and held a hand down for her. She took it without hesitation, mounting swiftly. As they turned their horses toward the narrow path leading out of the village, Davina glanced back once, watching the people move toward safety, trusting them to do what was right.
Then she faced forward again. The path narrowed quickly, hedged in by alder trees that whispered softly as they passed. Davina rode close to Baird, and the world seemed smaller and more fragile the farther they went from the village.
Mrs. MacLeod’s cottage appeared just beyond the bend, with smoke thinning from the chimney as though it, too, were tired. Davina dismounted before Baird could reach for her. The door was unlocked.
Inside, the air smelled of peat and lavender.
The room was neat despite its sparseness, and everything was arranged with the care of someone who had long ago learned to make little last. Mrs. MacLeod lay in the narrow bed near the hearth, propped up by pillows.
She had her white hair braided loosely over one shoulder. She smiled the moment she saw them.
“Oh,” she said brightly, as though they were unexpected guests rather than bearers of danger. “Ye’ve come a fair way fer a cup of tea, I’m afraid.”
“Mrs. MacLeod,” Davina said gently, stepping closer. “There’s trouble coming. The Sinclairs are moving through the land. Everyone’s heading tae the castle for safety.”
The old woman’s smile did not fade. It only softened.
“Well, that makes sense,” she replied. “I always kent trouble would come from that direction. Nasty hills, those.”
Baird stepped forward. “We’re here tae take ye with us.”
Mrs. MacLeod shook her head at once. “Oh nay, nay. That will nae dae at all.”
Davina knelt beside the bed. “Why nae?”
“Because ye have others tae look after,” she said kindly. “Families and children, strong folk who can still be useful. I’ll only slow ye down.”
“We are helping the others,” Davina corrected her tenderly. “And we will nae be leaving ye behind either.”
The old woman sighed. “Dear heart, I cannae walk. I have nae properly walked in months. Ye’ll be carrying dead weight.”
Baird’s voice was steady, and utterly without impatience. “Then the horses will dae the walking fer ye.”
She blinked at him. “The… horses?”
“Aye,” he confirmed. “One of them is stronger than he looks. The other is stubborn. Between them, they will manage.”
Mrs. MacLeod laughed in a light, tinkling sound that seemed far too cheerful for the moment. “Ye are very kind,” she chirped. “But truly, ye need nae trouble yerselves on me account.”
Davina reached out and took her hand. The sweet, old lady’s skin felt thin and warm beneath her fingers. “It would trouble me far more tae leave ye here.”
The old woman looked between them then and her eyes shone.
“Well,” she said at last, “if ye insist on fussing over an old woman, I suppose I will nae argue too fiercely.”
Baird smiled faintly. “That is all we ask.”
Davina helped Mrs. MacLeod sit up more comfortably while Baird fetched a cloak from the peg by the door.
“Is there anything ye would like tae bring with ye?” Davina asked gently. “Only what matters most.”
The old woman considered this with great seriousness, her lips pursed as though she were being asked to inventory an entire lifetime.
“Oh aye,” she said at last. “Just a few things.”
She gestured toward the small chest at the foot of the bed. Baird brought it closer, setting it gently within reach. Mrs. MacLeod opened it with careful hands.
“This,” she said, lifting a worn leather pouch no larger than her palm, “was me late husband’s. He kept his coins in it, though he never had many. Said it reminded him that a man need only carry what he can lose.”
Davina smiled, even as something tightened behind her eyes.
Mrs. MacLeod set it aside and reached again. “And this wee comb, he carved it himself, when we were first married. I used it every day after he was gone, just tae hear the sound of it again.”
Baird looked away for a moment, and Davina knew why.
“And this,” she finished, lifting a folded scrap of paper, yellowed with age. “A letter he wrote me before he went tae fight. He came back, mind ye, but I kept it anyway.”
“That is more than enough,” Davina said softly.
“Aye,” Mrs. MacLeod nodded. “Memories weigh less than furniture.”
Davina helped her wrap the items carefully in cloth. She knew they had told everyone to take little and to travel light, but she could not have refused her even if she wished to. These were not things. They were love, folded small enough to carry.
As they finished, Mrs. MacLeod glanced toward the pantry. “There’s oat bread, dried apples, and a bit of smoked fish,” she revealed. “Still good. I’d be glad tae bring it along and share. Nay sense letting it spoil when others might need it.”
“That is very generous of ye,” Davina managed to muster.
The old woman waved it off. “We all bring what we can, me dear lass. That’s how folk get through.”
They packed the food quickly and efficiently, and when they were done, Davina sat back on her heels, suddenly overwhelmed. Only, it was not by fear, nor by the coming danger, but rather by the quiet, steadfast kindness of the woman.
Baird went over the small room once more, already measuring distances and weight as naturally as breath.
“We will dae it this way,” he said. “The food and her things go on yer horse, Davina. I will take Mrs. MacLeod with me.”
Davina nodded at once. “That would be best. Me mare will manage the load easily.”
Mrs. MacLeod looked between them. “Ye’ve thought of everything.”
Baird set to work at once, strapping the parcel of trinkets and the basket of food securely behind Davina’s saddle, testing each knot twice. He did it with the same care he would give weapons or supplies meant for battle. When he turned back, Davina was already helping Mrs. MacLeod to her feet.
“Ready?” Baird asked gently.
“As I’ll ever be,” she replied.
He slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her with surprising ease. Mrs. MacLeod let out a soft, delighted laugh, light as birdsong.
“Oh my,” she said, with her cheeks coloring. “It has been a lifetime since anyone carried me like this. I feel like a lass again.”
Baird smiled. “Then we are honored tae provide the memory.”
As he carried her toward the door, she rested a hand lightly against his shoulder. Davina could tell she was content and unafraid. But just before crossing the threshold, she paused.
“Could we linger a moment?” she asked softly. “Just one last look.”
Baird stopped at once.
Mrs. MacLeod gazed around the cottage. Her eyes caressed the hearth worn smooth by years of tending, then the small table by the window and the bed where she had dreamed and grieved and loved. Her expression held only tenderness for everything in the little home.
Davina stepped closer. “It will nae be the last time ye are here,” she said gently. “When this is over, we will bring ye back.”
Mrs. MacLeod smiled. Her eyes were shining, as if she were on the brink of tears. “I ken. Homes remember their people.” Then, she patted Baird gently on the shoulder. “All right, me dear lad. We may go.”
Baird carried Mrs. MacLeod to his horse with the same care he had shown all along, moving and speaking softly as though afraid the moment itself might bruise her.
“Easy now,” he murmured as he turned her gently, settling her sideways against the saddle.
He adjusted the cloak around her shoulders and made certain her skirts were clear, with one strong arm firm around her back while the other tested her balance with practiced assurance. Davina stayed close, her hand never leaving the old woman’s arm.
“I’ve got ye,” she said quietly, ready to steady her at the smallest sway.
Mrs. MacLeod chuckled. “Between the two of ye, I feel safer than a hen in a warm coop.”
Baird smiled and tightened his hold just a fraction as he checked the stirrup length and the saddle straps once more. Only when he was satisfied did he step back enough to look at her properly.
“Are ye comfortable?” Davina asked.
“Very much so,” Mrs. MacLeod said at once. “Quite spoiled, if ye ask me.”
Her gaze moved between them then. It focused on Baird first, then Davina and her smile became even more cheerful.
“Ye make a lovely pair,” she told them gently. “Strong where it matters. Kind where it counts.”
Davina felt heat rise to her cheeks. “That is very kind of ye.”
“Aye,” Mrs. MacLeod said. “I’ve lived long enough tae ken when two folk are better together than apart.”
Baird cleared his throat, though there was no hiding the softness that crept into his expression.
“If ye are ready,” he said, “we will be off.”
Mrs. MacLeod nodded, patting his arm. “Whenever ye are ready, me laird.”
As Baird mounted behind her and gathered the reins, Davina swung onto her own horse, one last glance ensuring the old woman was steady and warm. Then they turned toward the road once more.
The path ahead was uncertain, but their small company was bound together by care, courage, and the quiet grace of not leaving anyone behind.