Page 35 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

“Why nae?”

She threw out her arms. “Why do ye think? I want to give me daughter the best life possible. I want her to grow up loved, cared for, and wanted—which she is. I willnae deny that me heart sank when I first learned that I was pregnant, but I daenae want her to ken that. A child of her age doesnae need to ken it. It doesnae affect how much I love her, but she will always have doubts. Why do ye think I was so keen to hide the circumstances of her birth from her? She’s too clever to be tricked.”

A long silence fell between them.

Daphne forced herself to remain silent. It was a trick she knew some lairds employed, staying silent for prolonged periods to keep the other party talking. It was human nature to fidget in a silence and rush to fill it.

Well, nae me. If ye wish to challenge me, Laird MacCrimmon, ye had better bring it on.

At last, Hunter spoke, and she immediately felt silly. He wasn’t trying to trick her; he was trying to gather his thoughts. Or so she hoped.

“I understand,” he said. “But ye must have told her something about her father. About me.” He added the last part somewhat hesitantly, as if he couldn’t quite believe he were saying it aloud. “What did ye tell her?”

Daphne took a moment to respond.

“In truth, she hasnae shown much interest in her father. She doesnae have many friends. She cannae play with the children of Lady Pilbury’s friends, after all.”

“What about yer friends’ children?”

She gave him a tight smile. “I’m a companion. I care for an elderly, sickly woman. Me work takes up most of me time. I use me time off to rest, nae socialize. I daenae have any friends.”

He shifted, sniffing. “Well, that makes two of us.”

“Willow asked once if she had a father. I thought honesty was the best option, so I said aye, she did, and that everybody had a father. I said that he was a good man and that he was traveling, but that we wouldnae see him again, in all likelihood. She accepted this. When she’s older, there’ll be more questions, no doubt, but for now she seems content with this.”

Hunter took a moment to mull this over, his brow furrowing. “Ye will have to tell her soon about her father. About me,” he corrected. “I want her to ken.”

Daphne let out a breath, pushing her hands through her hair. “But why? We will be leaving soon, once Lady Pilbury is…” Dead, but she didn’t want to say the word. “… finished with this place.”

He gave a low chuckle. “Did I nae tell ye that ye werenae leaving?”

Her temper flared. She took several steps forward, closing the space between them. She was forced to tilt her head back to glare up at him.

“Am I a prisoner, then?” she demanded.

He didn’t seem put off by her proximity. In fact, a slow grin spread across his face. He leaned in so that there were only a few inches between their faces.

“Would ye mind if ye were?” he purred. “It’s a fine prison.”

“A prison is still a prison, no matter if the bars are gold and the cell is prettily decorated,” she snapped. “Ye cannae command me.”

He reached out, his fingertips brushing the point of her chin. The unexpected touch sent fire down her spine, a pool of heat tightening in her gut. She exhaled sharply, her lips parting.

“A man must try,” Hunter whispered, his eyes darkening.

“Must he?” she whispered back.

He gave a brief, flickering smile, tilting his head. “A man can give up, if ye prefer.”

“I think that a man does as he wishes,” she responded, voice hitching in her throat.

He let out a low chuckle. “I think so, too.”

He lowered his head, fitting his lips to hers. Part of her had been expecting the kiss, but another part was completely taken aback. The heat in her belly began to bubble, a sharp pinprick of desire taking hold.

She gasped aloud, the sound swallowed up by his mouth. Automatically, she gripped his forearms to steady herself, feeling corded muscle shift under her fingers.

He made no move to deepen the kiss, simply pressing his lips to hers, tasting clean and fresh, like salt. His fingers pressed into her chin, but he made no other move to touch her.