Epilogue
About a week later
Several days had passed since the battle, and with them came a deceptive calm, one that invited ledgers, petitions, and the comforting illusion that order could be restored by ink and patience alone.
Baird was deep in both when the door to his study flew open.
“Baird!”
He looked up at once. Davina stood in the doorway, with her eyes bright with a purpose that did not bode for the orderly completion of his correspondence. Her cloak hung half-fastened, as though she had forgotten it entirely in her haste.
He set down his quill. “Is something the matter?”
“Nay,” she said quickly, crossing the room and seizing his hand. “Everything is perfect.”
His brow furrowed. “Those two statements rarely appear together.”
She smiled, looking mischievously unapologetic. “Ye cannae work any longer.”
“I beg yer pardon?”
“Ye have been working since dawn,” she continued briskly. “Ye have ignored two meals and frightened at least one steward. It is time ye came with me.”
Baird leaned back in his chair, studying her with narrowed eyes. “And where, precisely, am I being abducted?”
“That,” she said, “is the surprise.”
He sighed theatrically. “Davina, if the keep collapses while I am gone—”
“It willnae,” she assured him. “I have something tae show ye.”
He tilted his head. “Could ye nae show me here? After all, ye’ve already shown me quite a number of things I find highly distracting.”
She laughed playfully. “If ye are very good,” she said, tugging his hand again, “I might show ye that later.”
Baird rose at last, surrendering with exaggerated reluctance. “Very well,” he said. “Lead on. But if this surprise involves fresh air or cheerfulness, I will hold ye personally responsible.”
She did not answer him at once. Instead, she dragged him with surprising determination through the corridor and out into the cooling air of early evening, only slowing when the scent of hay and leather announced the stables.
It was there that Baird noticed it. The sight stopped him short.
Davina turned curiously. “What is it?”
He looked at her properly then, as though seeing her for the first time that day and perhaps for the first time at all.
The dress was unfamiliar: dark green, deep as pine needles after rain, cut simply but with an elegance that seemed to belong entirely to her.
The color set off her eyes, her hair and that quiet confidence with which she stood before him.
“Well,” he said slowly, “that answers a question I had nae yet thought tae ask.”
She lifted a brow. “Which is?”
“Why ye look unusually lovely this evening,” he replied. “Even by yer own dangerous standards.”
She laughed, a little breathless now. “Dae I?”
“Ye dae,” he said firmly. “And I am reasonably certain I would remember such a dress.”
“It is a special night,” she said, smoothing the skirt as though the explanation were sufficient.
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
She stepped closer, placed a hand on his chest, and smiled with maddening mystery. “Just ride with me.”
He studied her a moment longer, weighing curiosity against common sense. Curiosity won.
“Very well,” he said. “But if this is an ambush of any sort, romantic or otherwise, I reserve the right tae complain later.”
Her smile widened. “Agreed.”
The ride was not long, yet it unsettled him a bit, not knowing where they were heading.
As they drew nearer to the village, Baird began to notice things, which were small at first, easily dismissed.
Lanterns hung where there had been none days before.
A ribbon was tied to a fence post. The faint sound of laughter carried on the evening air, then cut short, as if someone had thought better of being heard too soon.
He glanced at Davina. She rode serenely beside him, her lips betraying not a thing.
“Is the village expecting company?” he asked.
“Only the right sort,” she replied.
That did little to clarify matters. However, when they turned into the square, the truth announced itself all at once.
Torches flared. Lanterns were lifted. And suddenly the space was filled with people.
Villagers stood shoulder to shoulder, by the side of the men from the castle and women he recognized from the kitchens and halls.
Children perched on barrels and steps, their little eyes bright with excitement.
And then they cheered.
The sound struck him like a physical blow.
Baird reined in sharply, his horse skittering a half-step as the roar rose again. There was applause and shouted greetings. His name carried again and again on voices thick with affection and relief. All he could do was stare, utterly stunned by the sight before him.
He dismounted as if in a dream, and Davina did so beside him. Someone thrust a mug into his hand. Another person clapped him on the shoulder. Flowers were pressed forward by a child who grinned up at him missing two teeth.
Baird turned slowly to Davina, utterly at a loss.
“What,” he asked, unable to find the right words, “is all this?”
“A celebration,” she replied, grinning from ear to ear. “Of ye.”
He frowned. “Of me?”
“Our laird,” she corrected gently.
The cheers rose again as if in agreement. Baird looked out over them, at these people he had fought for, bled for and commanded, and for the first time truly saw what stood before him… his people.
“I did naething extraordinary,” he said quietly, almost to her alone.
Davina leaned closer. “Ye saved them. Ye chose mercy. Ye came back alive. Tae them,” she said, nodding toward the crowd, “that is extraordinary enough.”
His throat tightened. The music began somewhere near the well, fiddles and pipes striking up with determined cheer. Suddenly, the square shifted and joy claimed the space where fear had lived only days before.
Davina reached for his hand.
“Go on,” she murmured. “Let them see ye.”
Baird moved through the crowd as though in a dream.
Hands reached for him gripping his arm, clasping his shoulder and pressing cups and words upon him in equal measure.
Thanks came from every side, some spoken plainly, others wrapped in emotion too thick to shape properly.
He answered as best he could, nodding, smiling when he remembered, and humbled into near silence when he did not.
He had faced armies with less unease.
It was Davina who rescued him.
She appeared at his side as naturally as breath, her fingers closing around his wrist with unmistakable intent. “Come,” she said, already tugging him away.
“Where?” he asked, though he allowed himself to be pulled.
“Ye will see,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye.
The music had grown bolder near the center of the square. The fiddles were lively and the feet were stamping in time. Couples were already forming laughing, appearing clumsy but still unashamed. Davina led him straight into it before he could summon a sensible objection.
She turned to face him, placing her hands upon his shoulders.
The music filled the air around them, and they were moving. Not gracefully, perhaps, but together.
He stopped thinking. He stopped measuring. He stopped worrying. He let the rhythm take him, let her guide him when needed, and to his astonishment, he found that he was smiling through it all.
Davina looked up at him. She was breathless and radiant.
For once, Baird Kincaid was not laird or warrior or shield against the world. He was simply a man, dancing with his wife, letting joy claim him without resistance.
By the time the music slowed and the dancers began to peel away in laughing pairs, Baird felt warm in places he had long forgotten.
Davina led him toward the long table set with refreshments, where jugs of cider caught the lantern light and plates bore the cheerful evidence of generous planning.
He accepted a cup she pressed into his hand, still faintly astonished that his feet had survived the experience.
“That,” he confessed mischievously, “was dangerously close tae enjoyment.”
She smiled over the rim of her own cup.
Before he could reply, a familiar hand clapped him on the back with friendly force.
“Well,” Kenny said, grinning, “that was a surprise, eh?”
Baird turned, squinting at him over the rim of his cup. “Ye,” he said slowly, “had something tae dae with this.”
Kenny laughed outright. “Me? I only helped a little.”
Baird’s eyes narrowed. “Were ye in on it?”
“We all were,” Kenny said cheerfully. “Villagers, guards, cooks, and Mrs. MacLeod was giving orders like a general. Terrifying woman.”
Davina hid her smile behind her cup.
Baird shook his head in disbelief, allowing a reluctant smile to tug at his mouth. “Ye all planned an entire celebration behind me back.”
“Aye,” Kenny said. “Seemed fair. Ye plan everything else fer us.”
Baird looked around the square. The sight of the lights, the laughter, the easy movement of people who had only days ago sheltered in fear was pure perfection. He let out a slow breath.
“Well,” he said at last, “I suppose I’ll fergive the conspiracy.”
Kenny raised his cup. “High praise.”
Kenny was pulled away moments later by a shouted name and the promise of a full jug somewhere else in the square. He departed with a grin and a careless salute, leaving Baird and Davina momentarily untouched by the press of the celebration.
They drifted toward the edge of the square, where the lantern light softened and the noise became a warm murmur rather than a roar. Baird leaned one shoulder against the low stone wall, watching the dancers spin past with an expression of quiet wonder.
After a moment, he turned to her.
“I ken,” he said mildly, “that this was yer daeing.”
Davina lifted her cup, and once again, there was that sparkle in her eyes he loved so much. “Dae ye now?”
“Aye. The dress. The ride.” His mouth curved. “It has yer hand all over it.
She pretended to consider this. “Maybe.”
He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Thank ye,” he said simply.
“Fer what?”
“Fer seeing me,” he replied. “Nae the laird, nae the man who stands on walls and gives orders. Just… me.”
She stepped closer, resting her free hand against his chest. “Ye stood between them and everything they feared,” she said softly. “Ye chose mercy when it would have been easier nae tae. They needed tae celebrate that. And so did ye.”
“We have been through more than I ever thought two people could,” he said quietly.
“And yet,” she replied, “here we are.”
His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “I love ye,” he said, as if the words had finally found a place where they belonged.
She smiled up at him. “I love ye, too.”
They stood there together, in the midst of a village alive and laughing, and for a little while longer, the past lay gently at rest, honored and remembered, but no longer heavy.
What remained was two people, changed and chosen, holding fast to one another in the soft glow of a hard-won peace.
Three years later, hearts have grown and new life is celebrated. Join Davina and Baird as they welcome family, share gifts, and savor the joys of their happy future in the Extended Epilogue.