Page 17 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

He was silent for a moment. He stared down at her, and she stared at her feet.

The panic and terror of those early months still lingered in her mind. Her courses had always come on time, so when they hadn’t, she’d known at once what had happened.

Fear set in. Everybody knew that the English were much stricter and crueler when it came to moral matters. Unwed mothers were often turned out onto the street, or else forced into hellish workhouses where they were separated from their children.

She’d even heard horror stories of poor unwed mothers being told that their children were stillborn and died before taking their first breath. The babies, alive and well, were given over to orphanages or wealthy couples with no children of their own.

She could still remember the tension thrumming through her gut when she finally stood before Lady Pilbury in the morning room, her fingers laced over her belly, and told her the plain truth.

Lady Pilbury had only blinked at her, her teacup poised before her mouth. Carefully, she’d set down her cup with a clatter.

“Well,” she said, “it certainly has been a while since we’ve had a baby in the house. How exciting!”

And that was it. No reproach, no awkward questions, just excitement and tales of when she’d raised her own children.

The thought that this woman would soon die lodged in the back of Daphne’s throat like a splinter. Tears were never far away, but she never allowed them to fall.

No, Lady Pilbury needed her support now, her strength, not her tears.

She dragged her gaze up from the floor and found Hunter watching her, his eyes narrowed.

“The Wolf once took me mother's sister,” she stated, lifting her chin. “That’s what me mother told me. He takes first daughters, and I am a first daughter. I always believed it to be a myth. But me mother doesnae, nor does me sister. And then I heard all the stories that night, before we met…”

He gave a low grunt. “And ye think I couldnae kill the bastard for ye?”

She flinched. That was unexpected.

Kill him? She wanted to gasp. For me? Why?

Instead, she dropped her gaze and shook her head.

“It wasnae just fear of the Wolf that made me leave. I broke off me engagement, remember? I ran away from me betrothed. I had a bairn. The man I was meant to marry…” She let out a long breath and raked a hand through her hair.

Usually, she wore her hair in a neat, demure knot at the back of her head. Companions were supposed to be neat and well-dressed, but not showy. Modesty was the order of the day.

The movement of her fingers through her hair dislodged a few strands. Out of habit, she twisted the strands back, tucking them back into the knot. Hunter’s keen gaze followed the movement, and she felt goosebumps crawl over her skin. A shiver, but a pleasant one.

Enough, lass! Focus!

“Me betrothed was the current Laird Gilmore,” she revealed quietly. “I imagine he’s offended at me absence.”

“I shouldnae fret,” he responded. “I can handle Gilmore.”

“Perhaps ye can, but I daenae wish to cause trouble for anyone. So, I came here, and I stayed here. That’s all there is to it.”

Hunter folded his arms, leaning back. He hadn’t been looming over her too intensely, but even so, Daphne let out a ragged sigh when space opened up between them, feeling as though she’d been holding her breath.

The warmth didn’t retreat from her chest, however. The burning sensation remained.

She cleared her throat, glancing away, and waited for him to speak. He certainly had something to say, that was clear in his tense shoulders and tight jaw, so it seemed better to let him get it out.

“Ye daenae trust me to keep ye safe.”

She glared at him. “Why should I? Why should ye?”

“Because ye are the mother of me child.”

“Ye daenae ken that.”