Page 70 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

Hunter opened his eyes and found Daphne staring at him. There was no point in hiding any longer, so he stepped forward, pushing open the door.

Daphne’s face, steady and keen, didn’t change. He guessed that she’d steeled herself to meet him.

Willow yelped in delight and scrambled off her mother’s lap. The little fox, dislodged from somewhere, neatly jumped down onto the floor and came scuttling toward him.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Maybe that the fox would speed past him? Instead, River jumped up on his hind legs, like a little dog, and sniffed his hands.

Willow came next, winding her arms around his middle.

“Laird MacCrimmon, I’m so happy to see ye!” she gushed, tipping back her head and beaming. “I asked Mama if ye would come here, but she said she didnae think that ye would. But ye are here now, ye are here! Is it nae wonderful, Mama?”

Both of them glanced over at Daphne, who was now sitting upright on the settee, her feet on the floor, the blanket folded neatly beside her.

“Come in, come in!” Willow urged, tugging him inside.

Hunter let himself be dragged along, unable to hold back a smile. River scampered after them.

Willow pushed him down onto a wooden chair opposite the settee and tilted her head up at him. River leapt up on his knee.

“Are we going to playfight again?” she asked. “I was practicing with me sword all of last night.”

He glanced up at Daphne, quirking his eyebrows, and she gave a faint smile.

“It’s true. She was swinging the sword around for hours until I made her stop.”

“I had to practice!” Willow argued.

“We can practice again later,” Hunter promised. “For now, daenae ye want to hear the rest of yer ma’s story?”

“Well, Mama always changes the endings.” Willow pursed her lips. “If they’re sad endings, she makes them happy.”

Daphne blinked. “How on earth do ye ken that?”

“Children are clever,” Hunter sighed.

River turned around in a circle on his knee and settled down with a dog-like sigh. Unable to help himself, Hunter stroked the fox’s head, and he closed his eyes in bliss.

“I mostly like ye, me Laird,” Willow remarked thoughtfully. “But I hate it when ye are River’s favorite.”

“Ahh, but I’m nae his favorite,” Hunter responded. “Ye see, River kens that ye will never ever leave him. So, he comes to me because he wants to make friends, but he kens that he can always count on ye. He’s trying to decide if he can trust me.”

Willow smiled, seeming to like that explanation.

At that moment, River seemed to have grown tired of sitting on Hunter’s knee and leaped down, scrabbling on the rug by the fireplace. Willow gave a squeal of delight and rushed over to play with him.

Hunter watched them for a moment or two, a small smile playing on his lips.

Me daughter. This is me daughter, me child.

I’m a father. Never bloody thought I’d be a father. Never thought it would be so terrifying, either.

His eyes traveled back to Daphne and caught her looking at him, her gaze unreadable.

“We never finished our conversation last night,” he murmured.

Her expression hardened. “Oh, I think we did. And keep yer voice down.” She jerked her head in Willow’s direction.

He was just gathering his thoughts to respond when the door creaked open, revealing Lady Pilbury leaning heavily on a stick. Daphne leaped to her feet, hurrying toward her.