Page 42 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

Her hair had come undone entirely from her knot, streaming down her back like a tangled curtain. She folded her arms, laughing at Willow’s antics. She had her back to the keep, and therefore to Hunter, but he felt a familiar tingle even so, a tug of wanting deep in his gut, a desire that threatened to turn him inside out.

The power of the sensation reminded him of that night under the willow tree. He’d meant to let her go on her way. Really, he had. And then he just… hadn’t.

A mistake. Or was it a mistake? When I look at Willow, I cannae think that.

When I look at Daphne, it doesnae seem like a mistake.

“So, this woman,” Magnus said shortly, cutting into his thoughts. “Care to tell me who she is?”

Hunter narrowed his eyes at him. “What are ye implying?”

Magnus shrugged. “I am implying nothing. I am implying that this woman has caught yer interest, and I’d like to ken what that means for us. By us, I mean yer clansfolk.”

Hunter turned to face his friend. Magnus returned his gaze placidly.

“She’s nothing to me,” Hunter said shortly. “But this is none of yer concern, man.”

“Oh, but it is me concern.” Magnus took a step forward. “Ye made a vow to the whole clan, or did ye forget?”

Hunter tightened his jaw. “Forget? Of course I didnae forget.”

“Well, just so long as ye remember. Because I remember. Ye must keep yer promises, me Laird. Ye ken that.”

“Who ever said I’d forgotten?”

“Well, I’m just reminding ye,” Magnus huffed. “I daenae want the pretty wee English lass to distract ye.”

“For the last bloody time, she’s nae English. And now, if ye will excuse me…” Hunter stepped past his friend, heading to the door.

“Wait a moment!” Magnus called after him. “We’re nae done.”

“The beauty of being Laird MacCrimmon,” Hunter shot back, “is that I get to decide when we’re done. I need to stretch me legs, man. I need a rest. As for this business with the Wolf, choose a few clever men to investigate the missing women. Look at their lives, where they might have gone during the festival, who they kent, what happened during the celebration, and so on. Just investigate everything, and something will turn up. Make sure the men are seen investigating. The people need to ken that we’re taking this seriously. Aye?”

“Aye,” Magnus murmured sourly.

Hunter hurried out of the room, leaving the door swinging behind him.

He headed down the same long, narrow hallway he’d led Daphne through when they first entered the castle. As he approached the courtyard, he slowed.

Maybe Daphne and Willow wouldn’t appreciate his intrusion. After all, Willow had no idea who he was, and Daphne seemed terrified that she would find out.

Well, she will find out, he reminded himself grimly. Eventually.

He stepped out into the courtyard. The sun was warmer than it looked, the light bouncing off the cobblestones.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness after the gloom of the castle. Once he’d blinked a few times, however, things slid gradually into view.

Willow crouched on the ground, inspecting what appeared to be a large spider making its way across a cobblestone. The fox, too, was watching the spider, equally enthralled. The spider, probably sensing scrutiny, had come to an uneasy stop and waved one leg uncertainly in the air.

It would do well to stay still. The second that spider started scuttling, the fox would pounce on it. A snack.

Daphne stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, laughing. She’d stepped aside to greet a woman holding a basket of laundry, and now they were both talking in low voices about something or other.

Hunter took a few steps toward them. Daphne didn’t notice, but the laundrywoman did. She smiled at him, nodded her head, and murmured something to Daphne. Then she stepped away.

Daphne’s head whipped toward him, a frown on her face.

Willow glanced up at the same moment and gave a squeal of delight. “Hunter! Hunter!” she cried.