Page 101 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

Me wife. Me wife.

I never thought I’d wed again. And this time feels so different.

Usually, he didn’t allow himself to think of his first wife. Still, he could remember the coldness of their wedding day. A bleak midwinter morning, with sleet clattering against the window and an icy draft creeping in under the door. His bride, pale as snow, grim-faced and austere. She hadn’t even looked at him. He wasn’t sure that he had looked much at her, either.

This time was something else entirely. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from Daphne, and she stared right back, almost entranced.

This time, everything will be all right. I’m sure of it.

When she was nearly at the head of the aisle, he reached out a hand toward her. She hesitated, just for an instant. He saw determination and even hope cross her face, before she reached for him.

Their fingertips were less than an inch away when the air changed.

It was hard to describe. A coldness, maybe? The hairs on the back of Hunter’s neck stood on end, his instincts screaming a warning. His body moved before his brain caught up.

He lunged forward, pulling Daphne into his arms and throwing her down on the floor. A gasp rippled through the congregation, but he hardly heard it. He could only hear the minute hiss of something flying overhead, barely an inch above.

They landed with a heavy thump. Daphne cried out, clutching her side, obviously bruised in the fall.

Hunter leaped to his feet at once. He glanced at the opposite side of the chapel and already knew what he would see.

A quivering arrow was embedded in a wooden windowsill, the shaft still vibrating. Experience told him that he wasn’t the target. No, that arrow had been aimed at Daphne.

He swung around, spotting the cracked window at once. He pointed at it. “Out there, an archer! Find him, men! Hurry!”

At once, the guards posted at the door scrambled to obey, flinging themselves out.

Hunter turned to Magnus, intending to tell him to go too, to get to the bottom of this, but the words died in his mouth.

Magnus stood very still, Willow’s wrist held tight in his large hands. A sharp knife hung loosely from his fingers.

Hunter’s mouth dried.

“Magnus?” he forced out, desperately racking his mind for a reasonable solution. “What are ye doing?”

“He’s hurting me,” Willow whispered, trying and failing to twist out of Magnus’s grip. The skin on her wrist was turning red. There’d be bruises.

A spark of fury warmed Hunter’s gut. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Magnus, but he was faintly aware of Daphne clambering to her feet behind him.

“Stay low,” he murmured, hoping she would realize that he was talking to her. “The archer might shoot again.”

“He willnae,” Magnus said shortly. “One arrow, then run. That was the plan. But ye had to bloody interfere, did ye nae, me Laird?”

A whimper came from somewhere in the chapel. The guests were all huddled together in the pews, nobody quite daring to escape.

Of course, nobody was armed, not even the neighboring lairds. It was rude to bring a weapon to a wedding. So, with his men all gone to find the archer, there was just him and Magnus.

Hunter suspected the whimper came from the third pew on the right-hand side, where his councilmen were all crammed in together.

“Magnus,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “did ye plan to kill me bride on our wedding day?”

“Ye were never meant to have a wedding day,” Magnus spat. “Ye vowed ye wouldnae! I kent this wee girl was yer bastard the moment I saw her.” He gave Willow’s arm a little shake. “But I was ready to forgive ye. I was. I still thought that ye would do the right thing, and yet here we are. Nae only did ye pressure the council into forgiving ye…”

“They were free to vote as they chose.”

“Oh, please! They’re all afraid of the consequences should they unseat ye. They’d just squabble among themselves to replace ye.”

“Because they ken that I am a good laird and nae easy to replace,” Hunter snapped, his eyes flashing. “Put down the knife, Magnus. We were always friends, ye and I. We can talk. Whatever I’ve done to offend ye, we can⁠—”