Page 24 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

“Now’s the time to stretch yer legs, if ye need to do so,” he called.

“No fear,” Lady Pilbury chuckled from inside the carriage. “Once I get out of this little box, I will never get back in.”

“Amen to that,” Helena added, and the two women fell back to comfortable gossip and chatter.

The driver wandered off into the trees on the other side of the path, presumably to answer a call of nature himself.

That left Hunter standing alone on the path. His legs ached, and the small of his back began to throb. Glancing up, he caught his horse’s eye, sad and damp.

“Sorry, lass,” he sighed, rubbing her nose. “Long journey home for us. But once we’re there, ye will be safe back in yer stall. Nice and warm, with plenty of oats, hay, and apples.”

At the word apples, her favorite treat, the horse’s ears flicked forward hopefully.

“I shouldnae have said it,” Hunter groaned. “That was me mistake. Nae long now, though. A few days of discomfort at most, and then we’re home. I’ll be glad to get out of this English forest; I can tell ye that. In fact, I⁠—”

A female cry broke the silence. It came from the direction Daphne and Willow had gone, echoing through the trees loud enough to make the birds flutter up from the branches.

At once, every nerve in Hunter’s body bristled, trilling out a warning. He leaped to the edge of the path, trying to squint into the green gloom within. The yelp could mean a broken ankle, or a spider falling unexpectedly on a person’s hand.

It could also mean something much, much worse.

“Daphne?” he shouted urgently. “Willow?”

Worried murmurs came from inside the carriage, and the springs creaked as if someone was moving inside.

“Stay in there,” he commanded. “Mother, I mean it! Close the door.”

Where is John?

Still pissing, probably.

Suddenly, Daphne’s voice echoed out of the undergrowth.

“Willow!” she cried, panic seeping into her voice. “Willow, nay!”

CHAPTER 5

Hunter plunged into the woods, tearing through the greenery. Sharp branches caught at his clothes, snagging and tearing. He ducked, narrowly avoiding a low-hanging, spiky branch that could well have blinded him.

“Daphne!” he thundered. “Where are you?”

He caught movement up ahead. A crashing sound, like something running, or trying to run, through dense undergrowth. Skidding to a halt, Hunter forced himself to assess the situation.

There! There she was up ahead. He caught a glimpse of her hair, nut-brown in the watery light, flowing loose from her austere knot. Without a second thought, he ran toward her.

The close-packed trees and thick shrubbery made for hard going, so he caught up with her in just a few strides. Seizing her shoulder, he whipped her around to face him.

Her eyes were wide, panicked, and she clutched at his forearms as if she were drowning.

“She told me to turn around while she was going,” Daphne gasped. “I always do. Privacy, ye ken? Five-year-olds care about it more than ye would bloody think. And the next thing I kent, I heard twigs snapping. I turned around, and she was gone, running off in that direction!”

She pushed shaking hands through her hair.

“All right, well, she cannae have gone far,” Hunter responded as calmly as he could. “I’m sure she’s safe.”

“She’ll get lost in an instant!” Daphne wailed, pressing her hands over her face. “She’s never been in a forest like this before. Ye saw the village we lived in! It’s all nice, tame streets and friendly neighbors. What was I thinking, bringing her to the Highlands? What sort of mother am I?”

Hunter gripped her wrists, tugging her hands down.