Page 27 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

The little creature eyed her uncertainly, then wriggled a few inches closer and laid its chin on her knee. Willow scratched the spot between its eyes, and the fox, miraculously, allowed her to do so.

Daphne sucked in a sharp breath, squared her shoulders, and turned back. Her eyes were red, but she had a brave smile on her face.

“What’s this? A baby fox?” she questioned.

“It’s mama is dead, Hunter says,” Willow mumbled, pouting. “I thought we could take the baby with us, but I suppose I must ask Lady Pilbury?”

“Actually, ye will need to ask Lady Helena. It’s her carriage we’re traveling in,” Daphne sighed.

Hunter cleared his throat. “Nae her carriage. Mine. And for what it’s worth, I say aye.”

Willow brightened. “Can I take the baby, then?”

“Of course ye can, if yer ma says ye can. But ye will have to take care of it.”

“I will, I will!” she cried, tearing off the thin shawl from around her shoulders. She wrapped it around the baby fox and lifted it into her arms.

The fox flinched, stiffening, but made no move to wriggle free.

“She can be a guest, too,” Willow added, blinking up at Hunter. “She’s like an orange cat.”

“I suppose there are similarities,” Hunter chuckled.

“I can be the fox’s ma,” Willow chortled, thrilled, and set off at a brisk jog back towards the carriage.

Hunter fell into step beside her, determined not to let her out of his sight.

“Ye will be sharing the carriage with a baby fox on the way back,” he murmured wryly. “I hope ye daenae mind.”

Daphne said nothing. She stared after Willow, as if determined not to let her out of her sight. She kept in step with Hunter, but barely glanced up at him.

“I can manage a fox,” she said shortly.

For some reason, that sounded like an insult. Hunter didn’t bother to ask for an explanation.

Willow leaped easily across the difficult terrain, all the way back to the path and the carriage.

She was never lost, then, he thought, half-pleased.

That was impressive. A child of Willow’s age should have gotten lost in the forest easily. He’d known children to get lost only a handful of steps off the pathway, but not Willow, apparently.

Can we thank me blood for that, or Daphne’s?

No answer to his question. Probably for the best.

They were a few feet away from the path when he finally stopped, turning to face Daphne. Willow had burst onto the road, and he could hear her chattering away, explaining the fox’s appearance. He heard Lady Pilbury’s voice and the driver’s, and his mother’s peal of laughter.

Daphne stared up at him, a furrow between her eyebrows.

“So, ye have seen what a terrible mother I am, then,” she said flatly. “Tell me, do ye plan to take me child from me?”

He rocked back on his heels. “What are ye saying? Terrible mother? Of course ye arenae a terrible mother. Willow adores ye.”

“I shouted at her. I scared her.”

“Aye, because she ran off into the woods and disappeared. When I was a boy, me sister and I would have gotten a good clout for that because it’s dangerous.”

Daphne pressed her lips together. “A clout? From Lady Helena? I daenae believe that.”