Three years later
Davina sat by the window with her son cradled in her arms. Outside, the keep hummed with quiet preparation, but there there was only the soft rise and fall of her child’s breath and the small, earnest sounds he made as though the world were already a conversation worth joining.
“There ye are,” she murmured, smiling down at him. “Talking already, just like yer faither.”
The baby answered with a pleased little coo, his tiny fingers curling around the edge of her sleeve with surprising determination. Davina laughed under her breath and kissed his dark, downy hair.
“Maxwell,” she said softly, testing the name again as she had done a dozen times already. “Maxwell Kincaid. Today, everyone will know ye by it.”
He blinked up at her, solemn and curious, as though considering the matter.
“The christening is tae take place today,” she went on. “The chapel’s been dressed with flowers, and Mrs. MacLeod has already informed half the castle that she intends tae weep openly. I expect there will be far too much food, and at least one speech that goes on longer than it ought.”
Maxwell gurgled, utterly unimpressed.
“Yes, I thought so, too,” Davina said amusedly. “But it matters. Nae just because of tradition, though yer faither would insist upon that, but because it means ye are welcomed, loved and claimed by more than just us.”
She adjusted him gently, rocking as the light shifted and shadows lengthened. The day would bring voices and ceremony, blessings and expectations. But this moment was quieter. It belonged only to her.
“And whatever comes,” she whispered, resting her forehead briefly against his, “ye will always ken this, that ye were wanted from the very first moment.”
That was when the door opened softly. Davina looked up at once. Baird stood there, having shed his coat but not the quiet authority that seemed now as natural to him as breath. His gaze went first to her and then, inevitably, to the small bundle in her arms.
“There ye are,” he said, his voice already gentler than it had been all day.
Maxwell chose that moment to make a pleased, bubbling sound, as though announcing himself.
Baird crossed the room in a few long strides and crouched beside her chair, resting his forearms on his knees as he looked at his son with an expression that still caught Davina by surprise. It was wonder softened by reverence.
“He’s been talking,” Davina said, smiling. “I believe he has opinions.”
“God help us,” Baird murmured, reaching out one careful finger. Maxwell grasped it at once. Baird laughed quietly. “A strong grip already, just like his maither.”
Davina tilted her head. “I wasnae aware that was one of me qualities.”
“One of them,” he said, glancing up at her with warmth in his eyes.
He straightened then, leaning closer so that the three of them formed a small, perfect circle. “Everything is ready,” he told her. “The chapel is full. The guests are all here… just as planned.”
She blinked. “Already?”
“Aye,” he said.”
Davina laughed. “Oh, Baird… I am so happy.”
Baird reached up and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “So am I.”
Davina leaned into the touch for a brief, perfect moment until a knock sounded at the door.
She turned and called out. “Come in.”
A guard stepped inside, pausing respectfully just within the threshold. “Me lady, me laird.”
“Aye?” Baird asked, his hand still resting lightly at Davina’s waist.
“There is a guest,” the guard said carefully, “who wishes tae see ye both before the ceremony.”
They exchanged a glance.
“Before?” Davina echoed. “Why such a special request? Everyone will be taegether shortly.”
“Aye,” Baird added, his brow furrowing. “This is hardly the hour fer private audiences.”
The guard cleared his throat, clearly aware of the weight of the moment he was interrupting. “The guest is Ualan Fletcher, me laird. He comes on behalf of Lady Davina’s faither and maither. They were… unfortunately prevented from traveling, as they had already written and informed her some weeks ago.”
She had known her parents would not be there. She had accepted it. Still, the reminder stirred something tender.
She nodded once. “Please,” she agreed. “Let him enter.”
The guard bowed and stepped back to open the door. Davina drew a careful breath and shifted closer to Baird.
“Here,” she murmured, and gently placed their son into his arms.
Baird adjusted at once, cradling the baby against his chest. Maxwell blinked up at him, solemn as ever, then settled with a soft, contented sound.
A moment later, the door opened and Davina’s heart lifted instantly.
“Ualan,” she breathed.
Her cousin stepped into the chamber with a smile that was unmistakably Fletcher: warm, proud and touched with emotion he made no attempt to hide. He looked older than she remembered and a little broader in the shoulders. But his eyes were the same. They were keen and kind.
“Davina,” he said, and crossed the room without hesitation.
She embraced him at once, her arms wrapping tight around him. She felt laughter and tears threatening her in equal measure. “I am so glad tae see ye.”
“And I would nae have missed this,” Ualan replied cheerfully. “Nae fer the world.”
Ualan waited until Davina had stepped back beside Baird before he reached for his satchel.
“I thought it best,” he said gently, “tae show ye what was sent, so ye may ken the care with which it was chosen.”
He opened the first parcel and unfolded the cloth with deliberate reverence. Inside lay a small silver quaich, finely wrought, its twin handles engraved with interlaced thistles and oak leaves. Along the rim ran a line of careful lettering: Fletcher and Kincaid, bound in peace.
Davina inhaled softly. “A cup of welcome,” she murmured.
“Aye,” Ualan said. “Fer when he is grown enough tae understand what it means tae offer and receive trust.”
Baird inclined his head, visibly moved.
From the second wrapping, Ualan revealed a length of tartan, rich and deep in color, the Fletcher pattern woven together subtly with threads of Kincaid green.
“This was commissioned specially,” he explained. “It is nae meant fer wearing, nae yet at least, but fer keeping. May it be a reminder that he belongs tae two histories and need never choose between them.”
Davina’s fingers brushed the fabric. “It is beautiful.”
The third gift was smaller still: a leather-bound prayer book. Its pages were edged in pure gold, and the spine was stamped simply with Maxwell’s name. Inside the cover, a careful hand had written a blessing for strength tempered by mercy.
“Me maither insisted upon that one,” Ualan said with a fond smile. “She said every child should be given words before the world gives him demands.”
Davina felt tears prick her eyes.
Last of all, Ualan drew out a small carved brooch, fashioned of polished antler and silver. It boasted a knot design encircling a single stone of pale green.
“This belonged tae our grandmaither,” he divulged. “She asked that it be given tae the child who would know peace nae as a hope, but as a beginning.”
Baird looked down at Maxwell, then back to Ualan. “These gifts are nae merely generous,” he said quietly. “They are… meaningful.”
“That was the intention,” Ualan replied. “Nay riches alone, but remembrance of what was survived and what is now possible.”
Davina reached for her son, resting her hand lightly over his small back. “He will grow up kenning he was welcomed by more than one hearth,” she said. “Thank ye… fer all of this.”
Ualan smiled. “Then me task is done.”
Outside, joyful bells began to ring, calling them all forward. Davina gathered Maxwell closer with her heart full, knowing that when her son was carried into the chapel, he would not enter it merely as a Kincaid, but as a living promise of peace, held carefully in loving hands.
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