Page 26 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

“I’m sorry, Mama,” the little girl whispered. “I didnae mean to be bad.”

“Oh, nay, nay, lass, ye arenae bad. Ye are me good, sweet girl! But it’s dangerous here, ye ken that. Did I nae say nae to run away without telling me? Ye could have been hurt, lass, and then I… ye could have been hurt.” Daphne pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes.

Willow’s eyes widened at her mother’s distress. Her shoulders curled up under her ears, and she frowned, confused.

Hunter stepped forward at once and placed a hand on Daphne’s shoulder. “Lass,” he murmured.

That was all he needed to say. Daphne blinked, realization dawning in her eyes. She sniffled loudly, dragging a hand across her nose, and staggered back, releasing their daughter.

Hunter crouched down in front of William, and she stared at him, her brow furrowed.

“Mama is angry,” she mumbled. “Was I bad?”

“Nay,” Daphne answered loudly. She moved a few steps away, her back turned to them.

“Nay, lass,” Hunter said gently. “But this journey is tiring and stressful, and yer ma is a wee bit tired. Ye shouldnae have run away from her.”

“I ken, but I saw it, and I had to go after it.”

“It?” he echoed.

Willow gestured to a little hollow between the trees.

Hunter turned his head and caught sight of a patch of red fur. Frowning, he leaned forward. The pile of fur shivered and shifted, before a small head poked out of the grass, ears tucked back, eyes wide and yellow and terrified.

“It’s a fox,” he heard himself say. “A baby fox.”

Willow nodded, twisting her fingers together. She glanced up to where Daphne stood at a distance, probably still trying to compose herself.

“I saw it run away. It was so small. I thought I could take it with me to Scotland.”

Hunter tentatively extended a hand. The baby fox snapped at him with tiny white fangs. Willow copied him, reaching forward. Before he could warn her off, her small hand landed on the fox’s paw.

The little creature allowed the touch, staring up at her with curiosity equal to hers.

“It’s very cute,” Hunter murmured. “But there’ll be a mother fox nearby. We cannae take her baby away.”

Willow wilted. “Oh. Ye think so?”

“Aye, I’m sure of it.”

Hunter rose to his feet, glancing around. A quick scan of the area revealed why the fox had come back here of all places. Only a foot or two behind the tree glade, a larger pile of bloodied, matted fox fur peeked out from under a bush.

A quick glance confirmed that it was indeed an adult fox, probably a female, and probably dead. As he moved toward it, the baby fox rose gingerly, eyeing him uncertainly, as if unsure whether to guard its mother or not.

“What’s that?” Willow called.

Hunter extended a hand. “Stay over there, lassie. It’s the mother fox.”

“Can I see?”

“Nay. It’s dead.”

“Dead?” she echoed, horrified. “How come?”

“I daenae ken. Looks like something got it. A dog, or a wolf—something like that. I’m sorry, pet. This wee creature is an orphan.”

“Ohh,” Willow breathed, sinking onto her knees beside the baby fox.