Page 23 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

Hunter glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow. “That’s good to hear, John.”

John nodded, his face carefully neutral.

Hunter watched him carefully for a moment, learning nothing.

Suddenly, there was a rustling inside the carriage. The curtain slid back, and Daphne poked her head out of the window.

“Excuse me,” she called. “Hunter?”

Hunter nodded at John, who slowed the carriage to a halt.

“Aye?” he murmured, eyeing her. “What do ye need?”

She drew her lower lip between her teeth. “We… We may need to stop for a while.”

He frowned. “Here? We’re in the middle of the forest. A few more miles, and we should find an inn.”

“It’s nae for me,” she explained. “It’s for⁠—”

On cue, Willow stuck her head out of the window beside her mother and beamed up at him. “I’m tired of sitting still!” she yelped. “I want to run around. Just for a little while. Please, Mama, please!”

“It’s Laird MacCrimmon ye must convince,” Daphne murmured, her eyes fixed on him.

Nae Hunter, he thought faintly. She’s trying to put distance between us.

It had occurred to him before that maybe she hadn’t dreamt of him the way he’d dreamed of her. After all, after their encounter, he’d gone on his way, his life unchanged. She’d fled the country, with a baby as a result of their time together. Unwed mothers weren’t treated well, especially not in England, to say nothing of their lives being doubly hard.

Did she resent him? Maybe.

“I want to look in the forest,” Willow added, breaking into his thoughts.

Daphne bit her lip. “She needs a wee bit of privacy, too.”

Ah, so Willow needed to answer a call of nature.

“We’ll stop here, then,” he decided, nodding. “Daenae go far. I assume ye will take her?”

“Of course,” Daphne responded, sounding insulted. “Ye think I’d let me own daughter wander off into the woods alone? I think nae.”

Should he apologize?

Before Hunter could decide, Daphne pushed open the door and clambered out, stretching stiff legs. Turning back to the carriage, she held up her arms, and Willow jumped easily into them.

Chuckling, Daphne spun her around, pressing a kiss to her temple. Willow laughed gleefully, winding her arms around her mother’s neck.

“Can we pick flowers, Ma?”

“Maybe if we daenae have to go out of our way to get them. We daenae want to keep the others waiting, do we?”

She gently set Willow down on her feet, and the two went off hand in hand into the forest.

“Remember what I said. Daenae go far,” Hunter called after them.

He found himself watching them disappear into the undergrowth, duck under branches, and step carefully over raised roots and around dense bushes. Willow clung to her mother’s hand, her chatter fading gradually into nothing.

A family.

A weight settled over his chest, pressing down. Swallowing, he rubbed a fist against the center of his chest and slid down from the saddle.