Chapter 39
“Easy… easy now…”
Davina’s voice was steady, though her heart hammered hard enough she feared it might give her away. The courtyard had become a storm of noise and motion, but she kept her focus narrow and sure.
On the ground before her, a young soldier struggled to breathe, his face pale beneath the grime.
“I’ve got ye,” she said, kneeling despite the chaos, ignoring the sting in her knees as stone bit through her skirts. “Look at me. Stay with me.”
His eyes flickered toward her, unfocused but clinging with desperation.
“I… I cannae feel me leg,” he whispered.
“That’s all right,” Davina said calmly, though fear twisted sharp in her chest. “Ye dinnae need tae walk just now. We will see tae that.”
She signaled to two villagers sheltering nearby. “Help me lift him. Gently.”
They hesitated only a heartbeat before obeying. Together, they hoisted the soldier. His weight was slack and frighteningly light. Davina kept one arm braced around his shoulders, murmuring reassurance all the while.
“Ye’re safe,” she told him. “We’re getting ye out of the way.”
A clash rang too close for comfort. Davina did not look up.
She moved when there was space and waited when there was not, trusting the guards who had formed a partial shield around those tending the wounded.
They reached the doorway at last, the inner hall Davina had designated for the injured.
The healer was already there, with his sleeves darkened with blood.
“Here,” Davina said. “He needs attention.”
The healer nodded and took over at once.
Davina stepped back, feeling her breath unsteady now that the task was done.
She pressed her hand briefly to the wall, grounding herself, then turned back toward the courtyard.
There were more voices calling, and more hands reaching.
She went to them. This was where she was meant to be, not with a blade, but with steadiness.
Davina had just taken three hurried steps back into the courtyard when she saw him. Another soldier lay slumped near the fallen fountain, with one arm clutched tight to his side. Blood was darkening his sleeve. He was barely conscious and trying to drag himself toward shelter.
“I see ye,” she called, already moving. “Hold on.”
She did not see the shadow shift until it was too late. A rough hand seized her from behind, yanking her back so hard the breath tore from her lungs. Cold steel kissed her throat.
“Dinnae scream.” The voice was a whisper, yet still shaking with fury.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, but she forced herself still.
She recognized Filib at once, though his face was changed. His eyes were the eyes of a madman, his mouth was twisted by bitterness and he had grime streaked across his cheek. He was a man unmoored, broken loose in the chaos by some unseen hand.
“The Kincaids ruined me,” he hissed, pressing the knife harder. “Took everything. Me coin, me standing, me future.”
Davina’s hands lifted slowly, with her palms open, careful not to brush the blade. Around them, the fight roared on. It was far too loud and too frantic for anyone to notice what was happening in this small pocket of terror.
“Filib,” she said calmly, though her pulse thundered. “This willnae save ye.”
He laughed without any joy. “Nay? But it will hurt them.”
His grip tightened, dragging her backward toward the shadows near the inner wall. “They’ll hear about this,” he snarled. “How the laird lost his lady while he played at being a hero.”
Filib shoved her harder, forcing her back against the cold stone of the inner wall.
The shadows swallowed them almost at once, the smoke and noise of battle closing like a curtain.
The courtyard felt suddenly very far away.
The knife pressed closer, its edge biting just enough to sting.
She could feel his hand shaking with the wild, desperate energy of a man who had already lost everything.
“Quiet,” he hissed again. “One sound, and I finish this.”
Her heart hammered so loudly she was certain he must feel it through her back. Every instinct screamed at her to cry out, to fight, to draw attention, but she did not. She had to bide her time. She strained her gaze toward the chaos beyond the shadows, searching desperately for one familiar figure.
Baird.
Fear coiled tight in her chest, cold and suffocating. The memory of this already happening once rose unbidden, threatening to steal her breath.
Nae again. Nae like this.
She forced herself to stay still, to breathe slowly through her nose despite the blade at her throat. If she screamed now, Filib would panic. And panicking men were the most dangerous of all.
“Look at them,” Filib whispered, nodding toward the battle with a bitter laugh. “All this blood fer a laird who never cared what happened tae men like me.”
“That is nae true,” Davina said quietly, though her voice trembled despite her will. “Ye chose this path.”
His grip tightened. “They chose fer me.”
She swallowed hard, her eyes still looking around the smoke-filled courtyard, willing Baird to look her way, to feel her absence. The shadows pressed in. Davina stood frozen between terror and resolve, holding herself together by sheer force of will.
She had no idea how much time had passed.
But she knew with dreadful certainty that time was slipping through her fingers.
She still couldn’t see Baird, but she knew he was there.
She knew him too well not to. Somewhere beyond the clash of blades and the crush of bodies, he was fighting and driving forward.
If I wait, I may nae get another chance.
Her heart thundered. Her throat burned. The knife pressed closer. And Davina made her choice. She drew in a breath that felt as though it tore her open and screamed.
“Baird!!”
For an instant, the world seemed to hold its breath. Her cry echoed against stone and steel, carrying her terror, her faith and her defiance all at once.
And somewhere in the chaos, she knew he would hear her.
Baird’s blood went cold. For a single, terrifying moment, everything else fell away. The clash of steel dulled. The shouts blurred into noise. There was only her voice, torn raw with fear.
“Nay,” Baird breathed.
He spun toward the sound, frantically searching left and right through smoke and bodies.
Then, he saw her. Davina was being half-dragged and half-stumbling backward toward the stables at the far edge of the courtyard.
A man’s arm was locked around her, and there was a knife flashing at her throat.
Rage exploded through Baird so violently it nearly blinded him.
“Davina!!” he roared.
He surged forward, carving a path through the chaos with brutal efficiency. A Sinclair soldier lunged, but Baird cut him down without slowing. Another blocked his way. Baird drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, sent him sprawling, then struck again.
Across the courtyard, Filib laughed.
“Too late!” he shouted, dragging her harder. “Yer clan will pay fer what ye did tae me! Fer me imprisonment! Fer ruining me!”
Davina fought him, Baird could see it now. Her hands were clawing at his arm, her feet were scrambling for freedom. But Filib was desperate, fueled by hate and panic, and desperation made men stronger than they were.
Baird’s lungs burned. His legs felt leaden.
Filib was too far, and there were too many people between them.
“Let her go!” Baird bellowed.
Filib only pressed the knife closer, backing toward the dark mouth of the stables. “Come closer, laird,” he snarled. “See what that costs her.”
His gaze locked on hers.
Hold on. Just a moment longer.
One wrong step and Davina would pay for it. Baird’s hand tightened around his sword.
If I wait, I lose her.
The thought came clear and merciless. Filib’s eyes flicked to the blade in Baird’s hand, a mad grin twisting his mouth.
“Ye will nae make it in time,” he sneered. “And she’ll die kenning it.”
Something in Baird went utterly still.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not to Filib, but to Davina.
Then he acted. With a roar torn from his chest, Baird hurled his sword. The blade cut clean through the air, end over end, true and unerring. It struck Filib squarely in the chest with a sickening finality. The man froze, disbelief flashing across his face.
Then he crumpled. The knife slipped from his fingers and clattered harmlessly to the stones as Filib collapsed in a heap. Blood bloomed dark against his tunic.
Davina staggered free with a broken gasp. Her hands flew to her throat as she sucked in air, shaking violently but standing and… alive.
“Davina!” Baird was already running.
He reached her in seconds, catching her as her knees buckled, crushing her to his chest as though sheer force might shield her from the world.
“I’ve got ye,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve got ye.”
Her fingers fisted in his blood-soaked tunic, and she looked up at him, lost in uneven sobs. “Baird,” she whispered. “I…”
“Ye’re safe,” he said fiercely, cupping the back of her head and pressing his forehead to hers. “Ye’re safe.”
Around them, the battle raged on, but for a single, suspended moment, Baird felt nothing but the fierce, unbearable relief of holding her alive in his arms. Only that relief lasted a mere heartbeat.
“Laird!” someone shouted. “They’re pushing the inner line!”
The roar of battle crashed back over him all at once. Baird pulled back just enough to see her face. Davina’s eyes were wide, staring at him.
“Can ye walk?” he asked urgently.
She nodded, swallowing hard. “Aye.”
He cupped her face briefly, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Stay safe… please.”
Her hand caught his wrist. “Baird—”
“I will find ye,” he promised her. “This ends today.”
She searched his face for a heartbeat longer, then nodded. “Come back tae me.”
“I always dae.”
He turned then, already reaching for a fallen sword. The weight of it settling into his hand like fate reclaimed. Baird faced the courtyard once more. It was a brutal maze of fallen men, shattered shields and blood. But his focus cut through it all.
Then, he saw him. At the far side of the courtyard, emerging from the smoke like a specter of his own making, stood Ewan Sinclair.
His armor gleamed darkly beneath the torchlight, unmarred where others were dented and scarred. Blood streaked his sword, a testament to the lives taken. He moved with the easy confidence of a man who believed the field was already his.
Their eyes met.
The noise of battle seemed to fall away, reduced to a distant roar. For a breathless moment, there was only the two of them: laird to laird, enemy to enemy, the weight of years and bloodshed standing between them.
Sinclair’s mouth curved into a thin smile, which looked like a blade on a face. So, this was the man who had dared threaten everything Baird held dear. Baird lifted his sword, his every sense honed to a single, lethal focus.
Around them, men fought and died.
But between them, the war waited.