Chapter 41
Davina was holding onto him tightly, pressing her face into his shoulder as though the world might steal him away if she did not hold fast.
“Baird…”
He stiffened and hissed sharply through his teeth. The sound froze her. She pulled back at once, her hands flying to his side. They came away slick and dark.
“Oh…” Her voice broke. “Ye’re hurt. Goodness, ye’re badly hurt.”
“It’s naething,” he assured her as he always did, though his face had gone pale beneath the grime. “There are others who—”
“Nay,” Davina said, cutting him off with a firmness that left no room for argument. “I have been tending tae everyone all this time.”
She slid her arm around his waist carefully, bracing him before his knees could give. “Now it is time tae tend tae me husband.”
He looked at her then and the last breath of the battle drained from him.
“Davina,” he murmured, as though saying her name were an anchor.
“Inside,” she said gently but firmly. “Ye are nae allowed tae argue.”
Kenny moved at once to help, and together they guided Baird toward the inner hall. With every step, Davina kept herself close, one hand pressed to his side, and the other steadying him. Her focus narrowed to the simple, fierce truth of keeping him upright.
As they crossed the threshold, the noise of the courtyard faded behind them. The healer ushered them into a quieter chamber just off the hall.
“Let me see, me laird,” he said, pressing cloth aside and prodding carefully.
Baird clenched his jaw but did not protest. Davina stood close, watching every movement with a tight, aching focus.
At last, the healer leaned back. “It looks worse than it is,” he said. “A surface wound, deep enough tae bleed impressively, but it missed anything vital. Our laird will live.”
Davina let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. “Thank the saints.”
“It will need cleaning and stitching,” the healer added. “And rest.”
She nodded at once. “I’ll take him upstairs. I’ll see tae it.”
Baird opened his mouth immediately. “Nae, there are still—”
Kenny stepped in before he could finish. “Everything’s handled,” he told him firmly. “The Sinclairs are gone. The gate’s secured. Men are posted. The villagers are settled.”
Baird frowned. “I should stay. The laird should—”
“The laird,” Kenny interrupted gently, “has already done his part. More than his part.”
Davina tightened her hold on Baird’s arm. “Ye heard him,” she said softly. “We’re all safe, because of ye.”
Baird looked between them, torn. Even now, even bleeding and exhausted, his instinct was to stand watch and to bear it all alone. Davina felt the pull of that instinct in him like a taut wire.
Then she saw Connor. The boy emerged from the edge of the hall, moving carefully, with one small arm braced beneath Mrs. MacLeod’s elbow. The old woman leaned on her cane and on him in equal measure as she walked in slow steps, approaching them.
“Mind the stone,” Connor whispered to her, earnest as ever.
“I see it, lad,” Mrs. MacLeod replied, patting his arm. “I’ve been stepping around stones longer than ye’ve been alive.”
They stopped before Baird.
Connor swallowed, straightened, and looked up at him with solemn courage. “Me laird,” he announced solemnly, “I wanted tae say thank ye. Ye kept yer promise. Ye kept all of us.”
Mrs. MacLeod nodded with a smile. “Ye did what good men dae,” she said gently. “Ye stood when it mattered. And ye chose mercy when ye could have chosen none.”
Baird seemed speechless. Davina felt it, the moment his strength wavered not to pain, but from being truly seen.
“I only did me duty,” he told her.
Mrs. MacLeod shook her head. “Nay. Duty is cold. What ye did was kinder than that.”
Connor beamed, and although he seemed exhausted, he was also proud. “The castle’s safe,” he added, as if offering proof. “We’re safe.”
That was when Baird reached for Connor, wincing despite himself. “Ye did well today,” he patted the boy on the shoulder. “Helping others. That matters.”
Connor nodded fiercely. “I’ll keep daeing it. Like ye.”
“I ken ye will.”
Baird looked at Davina.
Mrs. MacLeod smiled at them both. “Go on,” she spoke kindly. “Yer people are held. Yer walls are standing. And yer wife has earned her husband’s arms.”
Davina felt her eyes sting. She slipped her arm around Baird’s waist. This time, he leaned into her without protest.
“All right,” he said quietly.
And together, with the gratitude of a child and an old woman warming the air behind them, they turned toward the stairs.
The chamber was quiet in a way that felt almost unreal after the roar of battle.
Baird was seated on the edge of the bed. His bloodied and torn shirt was discarded, the lamplight tracing the hard lines of his shoulders and the fresh bandage wrapped around his side. Davina knelt before him with a bowl of water and clean cloths.
“Tell me if it hurts,” she murmured.
“It already daes,” he replied faintly. “But I’ve survived worse.”
She shot him a look that brooked no levity. He fell silent at once.
Davina dabbed gently at the wound, cleaning away the last traces of blood with hands that trembled only slightly. Up close, the reality of it pressed in on her. She could see the depth of the cut, the way it could so easily have been worse.
Her throat tightened.
“Baird,” she said softly.
He looked down at her at once. “What is it?”
She swallowed. “Thank ye… fer saving me… again.”
The words felt small compared to what she meant, but they were all she had. In response, he reached for her hand, closing his fingers around it with surprising gentleness for a man who had just fought a war.
“There was never a choice,” he said simply. “I will always be there tae save ye. Nay matter the cost.”
Davina lifted her head slowly. Now, he held her hand pressed to his chest, and she could feel the solid proof of him beneath her palm. “That cost… it terrifies me.”
His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “It reminds me why I stand at all.”
In the lamplight, his face was stripped bare. He wore no armor and gave no command. Now, he was simply the man she had come to know through fear and fire.
“Dae ye remember,” she asked quietly, “our wedding day? How little we knew of one another?”
“Aye,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “I thought duty would be enough.”
“And I thought resolve would carry me through,” she replied. “I did nae expect… this.”
He nodded. “Nor did I.”
Silence settled around them, and every inch of it was filled with a memory. The chapel. The blood on stone. The knife at her throat. The bath, the stars, the battlements. The moment she had screamed his name and trusted he would hear.
“We survived so much,” Davina whispered. “Taegether.”
He squeezed her hand. “And we are nae the same people we were.”
“Nay,” she agreed. “I am braver than I was.”
“And I,” he said, voice roughening, “am nae longer alone.”
Her breath caught. She felt the words gathering in him before he spoke them. She also felt the weight of his hesitation and the courage it took to let it fall away.
“Davina,” Baird whispered, without taking his eyes off her for even a single moment, “I love ye.”
The words landed softly and shattered her all the same. For a heartbeat, she could not speak. She only looked at him, this man forged by hardship and mercy alike, who had learned to open his heart not despite the world’s cruelty, but in defiance of it.
She smiled then, feeling her tears slipping free at last. “I love ye too, Baird.”
The words seemed to loosen something in him that had been held taut for years. Baird drew a slow breath, as though steadying himself, and did not look away from her.
“I love the way ye listen,” he said quietly. “Nae just with yer ears, but with yer whole self. The way ye tilt yer head, as if every word matters.”
Davina laughed softly through her tears. “That hardly seems—”
“I love that ye pretend ye are braver than ye feel,” he went on, gently cutting her off, “and that ye are braver still than ye ken. Ye shake sometimes. I’ve seen it. And ye step forward anyway.”
Her throat tightened. She had never told him that.
“I love how ye remember names,” he added. “Every villager, every child. Ye say them as if they belong in yer keeping.”
She pressed her lips together, feeling overwhelmed by his words.
“I love that ye scold me with kindness,” he revealed, with a faint smile touching his mouth. “And that ye think it makes the words less sharp. It daesnae. It only makes me listen harder.”
Davina lowered her gaze, blushing. Yet, he didn’t stop.
“I love that ye hum when ye are tired,” he said softly. “Under yer breath. Ye dinnae even notice ye dae it.”
Her head snapped up. “I… I didnae ken—”
“I noticed,” he smiled even more broadly.
He lifted her hand, brushing his thumb across her fingers. “I love the way ye carry sorrow without letting it harden ye. And the way ye laugh as if joy were an act of defiance.”
Tears spilled freely now. She had not known anyone saw her so clearly: every small habit, every quiet choice.
“I love ye,” Baird said again, not louder, but deeper. “Nae only fer what ye dae fer others, though that is nae small thing, but mostly fer who ye are when nay one is watching.”
Davina leaned forward and rested her forehead against his, careful of his wound.
“I didnae think,” she whispered, “that anyone would ever ken me so well.”
He smiled, not saying anything. He didn’t need to. He had already said more than she could ever have hoped to hear from him.
They stayed like that, bound together by truths finally spoken, the night holding them gently as if it, too, understood that something rare and unbreakable had been named at last.