Page 130 of Wed to the Highland Brute
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.
