Page 29 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

CHAPTER 6

The dream was a curious one. Daphne had always been lucky enough to know when she was dreaming, and she knew now that she was dreaming.

In the dream, she was standing on a high, mossy hill overlooking a place she didn’t recognize. She knew, in strange dream-logic, that it was Keep MacCrimmon.

Below her, Willow was racing away down the hill, back turned. Daphne felt a pang of unease and took a step towards her, shouting for her to slow down, to wait.

At least, she tried to step and shout. It was a dream, so of course she couldn’t move at all. Fear skittered up and down her spine. She tried to scream, but her teeth remained glued together.

Willow continued toward the rough gray walls of the keep. A man stood there, MacCrimmon tartan fluttering around him, a ragged cloak and a kilt. He was facing her, and she knew without doubt that it was Hunter. Willow was running toward him, gaining speed down the hillside. Beside her, a dark presence crept forward, its shadowy fingers⁠—

The Wolf. It was always coming for ye. Always.

Daphne jolted awake, her eyes widening, her jaw clamping down on a scream. She knew at once where she was. The carriage, tucked in a corner, with a rug pulled up around her shoulders.

Lady Pilbury slept in the opposite corner, with Willow curled up against her. The baby fox lay half-hidden in a nest of blankets.

They’d been workshopping various names for the fox. Willow liked Foxglove, which was possibly a little unimaginative. Lady Pilbury’s suggestion of Rusty was marginally better, and Lady Helena’s contribution of River was possibly best of all.

As she watched, the little creature stirred. A glossy black nose and two intelligent yellow eyes briefly appeared above the top of the nest, watching them both coolly, and then retreated.

“Bad dream, me dear?”

Blinking, Daphne glanced over at Lady Helena, who sat beside her, having moved to give Lady Pilbury and Willow more room.

“N-Nay,” she mumbled.

“Ye seemed a wee bit distressed in yer sleep. Tossing and turning, face crumpling. I was about to wake ye up.”

Daphne cleared her throat. “I’m fine. I’ll be better when this journey is over. Are we close?”

“Oh, aye, very close.” Helena marked her place in the book and set it aside. “I ken this place well. I’ve been Lady MacCrimmon since I was younger than ye, pet. And even now, since me son isnae wed, I am still Lady MacCrimmon. I’d happily step aside, however, if he’d just marry. Every woman wants her child to be happy and settled. I’d like to see him with a fine woman.”

Daphne cleared her throat again. Already it was getting sore. “I’m nae sure that Laird MacCrimmon is the marrying kind.”

Helena fixed her with a long, cool look. “Oh, I daenae ken about that,” she murmured, the tremor in her voice hinting at a fine joke that she knew and nobody else did. “By the way, if ye look out the window on yer left, ye will see our destination. We’re home, just about.”

Daphne had been so sure that she’d be calm and cool. In reality, however, she jerked forward, eyes wide, and all but pressed her nose against the glass, watching the Highlands slip past.

Oh, I’ve missed this, she thought with a pang.

The green was greener here, somehow. The sky certainly was less blue, a dark and oppressive gray, threatening danger at any moment.

The carriage took a sharp turn onto a cobbled road leading up a steep hill toward a high-walled castle.

“Keep MacCrimmon,” Helena murmured, somewhat unnecessarily. “Ye never saw it, did ye?”

“Nay, I never did.”

“Remarkable, is it nae? The finest castle in the Highlands. Of course,” she added, her lips twitching, “I would say that, would I nae? I’m a wee bit biased.”

Daphne said nothing, but fortunately Helena didn’t seem to expect a response.

The carriage climbed steeply upward. Carts and coaches passed them, evidently heading up or down the broad, well-maintained road to the keep itself. However, folks mostly walked on foot.

Still glued to the window, Daphne watched people walk by in ones, twos, and threes, talking and murmuring, some bearing baskets, others carrying heavy bags or boxes, one or two even dragging laden carts behind them, laboring in the shafts themselves in place of a donkey or pony.

Up and up they went, steeper and steeper. It occurred to her that she hadn’t caught sight of Hunter.