Page 37 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

Magnus stuck his head out of the door. A soldier appeared at once and received his orders, and just like that, Daphne found herself hustled out of the room, dismissed with courteous determination.

“Oh,” Hunter added as she stepped over the threshold. “Take yer time to settle in, but I expect to see ye at dinner tonight. It’ll take place in the dining hall; anybody can direct ye there.”

There was no chance to object or say anything at all. The door was closed gently but firmly behind her.

For a moment, she was tempted to put her ear to the keyhole, to hear what she could about the Wolf. But the soldier was there, shifting from foot to foot impatiently.

She sighed.

“Lead the way, then,” she mumbled.

CHAPTER 8

Daphne followed the soldier through the hallways, quietly seething.

How dare he? How dare he kiss her like that and then… and then dismiss her?

I daenae care, she told herself, scowling. He can do as he likes. I’m only here until Lady Pilbury wants to return home. Or until⁠—

She stopped that thought. Lady Pilbury was going to die, but it didn’t mean that they had to think about it all the time.

The soldier stopped dead in front of a neat little door, painted yellow.

“The English lady was put in here,” he said shortly. “Yer room is the next door, the red one.”

Daphne blinked. “I have me own room? I thought I’d stay with her.”

The soldier gave her a curious look. “We daenae tend to jam all our guests in together. Do ye need anything else from me?”

“Nay, thank ye.”

The soldier made to go, then hesitated, turning back.

“I probably shouldnae ask,” he said carefully, “but why are ye here, me lady? And the old woman, the English lady, why is she here?”

“She and Helena are old friends. I am Lady Pilbury’s companion,” Daphne answered shortly.

From what she remembered, gossip spread through a castle like wildfire. This soldier would repeat everything she told him to everybody; she was sure of that. Best to keep the details thin.

The soldier looked disappointed. “So, ye arenae one of Laird MacCrimmon’s women, then?”

She stiffened. “Does he have lots of women?”

That was the wrong question to ask, for his eyes lit up with excitement. She knew immediately that he’d repeat their conversation to everybody, being sure to elaborate on how ‘jealous’ she had seemed.

Daphne was not, of course, jealous. She had no right to be. She would not let herself be jealous, not even in her head. Not even a little.

“Nae many,” the soldier admitted. “Some lairds have different women in their beds every night. They’ll take a wife and twenty mistresses.”

“Nae all at once, I hope.”

The soldier gave a surprised chuckle, shaking his head. “But Laird MacCrimmon isnae like that. There have been women, or at least rumors of women, but he’s nae wed. It’s curious, for a laird.”

It was curious, but it was none of her business. It affected the soldier, to be sure, since this was his clan that Hunter would leave heirless.

Nae quite heirless. There’s Willow.

No wonder he was so keen for her to ken who he was.