Chapter 36
By the time they reached the castle gates, dusk had settled heavy and blue over the hills.
Baird could feel the exhaustion in every step of the horse beneath him, in the way Mrs. MacLeod leaned back against his chest, in the quiet lag of the wagons ahead. The villagers had done well. In fact, better than he might have hoped, but fear and haste were poor companions for long travel.
The gates loomed open, as torches flared on either side, their light spilling outward like a promise. Guards hurried forward at once as they recognized the returning party.
“Inside,” Baird ordered. “All of them.”
The villagers moved through the gates in uneven lines, some dragging their feet, others clutching children half-asleep in their arms. A few looked back over their shoulders, as though expecting shadows to follow them in.
Nothing did.
Within the walls, the castle swallowed them whole, but they were enshrouded by was warmth, not cold stone. Fires had been lit in every hall that could bear them. Straw had been laid in cleared rooms, blankets distributed, bread passed hand to hand.
Baird dismounted carefully, lifting Mrs. MacLeod down once more.
“There we are,” he said quietly.
She patted his arm. “I kent ye would get us here.”
The words settled deeper than praise ever had.
Before Baird could reply, a small blur of movement broke free from the crowd.
“Mrs. MacLeod!”
Connor came running across the courtyard. His face was bright with relief. He skidded to a stop in front of her.
“Ye came,” he said, as though it were a miracle he had scarcely dared hope for.
Mrs. MacLeod laughed, and the sound was warm and delighted. “Of course I did, lad. Did ye think I would miss all this fuss?”
Connor grinned, then turned solemnly toward Baird. “Ye said ye would bring her,” he said. “And ye did.”
Baird crouched slightly so he was nearer the boy’s height. “Of course,” he replied simply. “A man is only as good as his promise.”
Connor nodded, taking that in as though it were something important enough to keep forever. “Thank ye,” he said, earnest and fierce all at once.
The words struck Baird.
He rested a hand briefly on the boy’s shoulder, in a quiet, grounding touch. “Go on now,” he said. “Help yer maither. She’ll be wondering where ye vanished tae.”
Connor ran off at once, with his purpose renewed.
Mrs. MacLeod watched him go. “Ye’ve a good heart,” she said gently.
Baird swallowed. He was not accustomed to being seen that way.
He straightened and glanced across the courtyard, to Davina, moving among the people with calm assurance, to the villagers settling in, to the children already nodding with sleep.
Kindness, he was learning, was not weakness. It was strength given shape.
Those were the thoughts he had even as he continued to help the villagers.
He stayed on his feet long after his muscles began to protest. He helped settle the last few families into corners of the great hall, directed guards to quieter posts, and ensured the doors between wings were barred, just in case.
Every task felt necessary, because every face mattered. Yet as the night deepened, the noise softened. Voices dropped to murmurs. Children slept curled against mothers. Even the hearth fires burned lower, as though mindful of the hour.
It was then he noticed how still it had become. Davina stood near the far end of the hall, speaking quietly to an older couple. Baird watched her a moment too long. Then he went to her.
“Davina,” he said quietly.
She turned at once. “Is something wrong?”
“Nay,” he replied. “Something is finally right. Everyone’s settled.”
She glanced around, instinctively counting the sleeping bodies, the guards at their posts, and the healer dozing upright on a bench.
“Are ye ready? It’s late,” Baird added. “Ye should go up. I’ll follow shortly.”
Her brow furrowed. “Are ye sure?”
“Aye.”
She did not answer immediately. Instead, she walked the length of the hall once more, checking blankets, adjusting a cloak here, murmuring reassurance there. Baird waited, watching the way she moved, as though care itself were a duty she would not abandon lightly.
At last, she returned to him.
“Very well,” she said. “But only because there is naething left undone.”
He nodded. “That is why I asked.”
She smiled faintly. “Dinnae be long.”
“I willnae.”
She hesitated a heartbeat, then reached out, squeezing his hand once before turning toward the stairs. Baird remained where he was, listening to the steady breathing of those around him, the castle holding its charge like a living thing.
Only when he was truly certain that everyone within those walls was safe for the night did he allow himself to follow Davina into the quiet.
Just as she was unpinning her hair, a gentle knock interrupted her. She turned to find Baird standing just inside the door, with a tray balanced carefully in his hands.
“I brought food,” he said, as though that explained everything.
She blinked. “Baird, it is…” She glanced toward the window, where the night pressed close. “Very late.”
“Aye,” he replied, setting the tray down on the small table. “And ye ate almost naething all day.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. He turned to face her fully, with his arms folding across his chest.
“Ye made certain everyone else was fed,” he continued. “Ye checked the children, the elders, the wounded. Ye gave away half yer own bread at one point, and I saw ye dae it.”
“That was different,” she said softly. “They needed it.”
“So did ye,” he replied at once.
Davina sank down onto the edge of the bed, suddenly more tired than she had allowed herself to feel. “I was nae hungry.”
“That,” Baird said, moving closer, “is rarely true.”
She laughed faintly. “Ye sound like me maither.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” he told her. “I appreciate what ye dae. More than I can rightly say. But I will nae have ye burning yerself away fer everyone else.”
He lifted the cover from the tray, revealing simple food, which was warm and thoughtfully chosen: bread, cheese, and a small bowl of stew.
“Sit,” he repeated, gentler now.
Baird took a seat across from her, watching as she lifted the spoon and tasted the stew. Color returned slowly to her cheeks, and only then did he seem to relax.
“Ye spend so much time taking care of others,” he said. “I want tae make sure someone takes care of ye as well.”
Davina met his gaze, emotion pressing close to the surface. “Ye dae already.”
He shook his head. “Nae enough.”
She smiled at that. “Then I suppose we will have tae look after each other.”
He returned the smile. “Aye. That seems a fair arrangement.”
After a while, Davina set the empty bowl aside, content and drowsy in that pleasant way that came only after a long, spent day. She flexed her fingers absently, only to still when Baird reached for her hands.
“Come here,” he said quietly.
She let him draw her closer. He took her hands gently into his. His thumbs pressed into her palms, working away the ache she had not admitted even to herself. The relief was immediate, almost dizzying.
“Oh,” she murmured before she could stop herself.
His mouth curved faintly. “That bad?”
“I had nae noticed,” she confessed, her eyes fluttering closed. “Until now.”
He said nothing, only continued. His strong fingers were coaxing warmth back into joints that had lifted, carried, soothed, and steadied all day long.
She felt herself soften under his touch, tension unspooling thread by thread.
When he released her hands, she barely had time to miss them before he shifted, kneeling to guide her feet into his lap.
“Baird—” she began.
“Trust me,” he murmured.
She did.
His hands were warm as they cradled her heel, his thumbs pressing into the arch of her foot with practiced care. Davina inhaled sharply. The sensation was startling in its intimacy.
“That feels… unfairly pleasant,” she said, breathless.
He glanced up at her. “Good.”
He worked slowly and methodically, as though the act itself were a promise. When he moved from her foot to her calf, the room seemed to grow warmer. Her skin tingled where he touched her, awareness pooling low and insistent.
“Ye should stop,” she said weakly, though she made no move to pull away.
He did not stop. Instead, his hands slid higher, his thumbs tracing along the curve of her calf, then higher still, where her skin was more sensitive, where her breath hitched despite her best efforts to remain composed.
Davina opened her eyes and found him watching her with a hunger he did not bother to hide.
“Baird,” she whispered, her voice barely steady.
He leaned closer, one hand resting on her thigh now, warm and possessive without being rough. “I want ye,” he said simply.
The honesty of it sent a shiver through her.
“Are nae ye tired?” she asked softly, searching his face.
“I will never be too tired,” he murmured, “tae satisfy me wife.”
She laughed under her breath in delight and leaned into him. “That sounds dangerously like a promise.”
“It is,” he replied, and kissed her.
There was nothing hurried in what followed. He drew her closer, as the room narrowed to the steady press of his hands and the quiet cadence of their breaths. The fear, the strain and the unrelenting care of the day fell away as though laid gently aside.
She felt cherished, not claimed; desired, not taken. When he guided her back against the bed, it was with reverence, as though every touch were an answer to all she had given.
She allowed him to relinquish her off all her clothes, and then to kiss a trail of warmth down her body. His hands were on her, feeling her breasts, caressing her nipples, toying with her need. His knee gently spread her thighs, as he adjusted himself on top of her.
She was not the least bit tired now. Instead, she was enflamed by his desire mirroring her own.
Her hips thrusted up toward him, offering herself to him, allowing him to claim her.
Their tongues danced together, while his fingers gently circled around her pebbled nipple.
The sensation was wild and warm, and she was already so close to that explosion she knew so well.
He slid into her in one slow motion, filling her to the brim. She moaned against his lips, feeling those familiar flutters of pleasure. He kept claiming her in steady pulses that hastened with each thrust. He sank inside of her, deer and deeper each time, grinding against her sensitive bud.
He knew exactly what he was doing, that wicked man, and he knew that she wanted all of him.
It didn’t take her long to explode, to tremble underneath him, as his manhood sank inside her channel, remaining there. Her lips parted, and she gasped loudly, as a million little pinpricks rushed down her back, only to come back up, dispersing somewhere at the nape of her neck.
When she opened her eyes, she knew he would be watching her back. He smiled. So did she.
Outside the walls, danger waited. Inside, they chose one another.