Page 41 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

“And there’s nay sign of foul play? Nay blood, nay signs of a struggle? Nobody heard a scream?”

“Nay, but they’re saying that the Wolf moves in silence.”

Hunter let out a low breath, sitting back in his chair. “There are a hundred explanations for what could have happened to them in the dark. They could have fallen, could have gotten lost…”

“Both of them?”

He sighed. “I’m sorry that these women are missing, but where are our leads? How are we supposed to find them with nay evidence?”

“I daenae ken, but me concern is public opinion. Ye ken what people are like, me Laird. Panic is spreading through some of the villages. Only today, I heard of a man who locked his four daughters in the woodshed for days and stood guard outside. He seemed to think the Wolf was coming for them next, and was determined to protect them. He had good motives, I suppose, but ye should have seen the state of those poor lasses when we got them out.”

Hunter let out another sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Wonderful. I couldnae think of a better welcome home than this.”

“I just need a few pointers on how to search for the girls and how to reassure the clansfolk that we have their best interests at heart,” Magnus stated. Leaning forward, he rested his hands on the desk, staring intently at Hunter. “Ye ken how delicate things have been with some of the lairds lately. We’d do well to get on top of this. And if ye daenae mind me saying, yer sudden trip to England made people uneasy.”

“That was for me mother.”

“Aye, I’m sure it was, but ye must admit, dashing off so that Lady Helena can visit an old friend looks a wee bit strange. Daenae get angry with me,” he added, lifting his hands. “I’m just telling ye what others will think. Now is a tricky time, and it’s nae as if we’re on good terms with the English.”

“Aye, but nae against individual folks. Lady Pilbury is a sweet old lady.”

“I’m sure she is, but just think on what I said, me Laird. Now, about the Wolf…”

Hunter sighed heavily and rose to his feet. His head was already pounding. He felt sick and hungry, but no food had been offered. The servants generally steered clear of the study when he was in here with Magnus. He could send for food, of course, but Magnus had a way of making him feel like he was wasting time.

Not that he was complaining about his old friend. Without Magnus’s help, he would never feel secure enough to leave the keep at all. He was lucky to have a loyal man to help him. Some lairds didn’t even have that.

Moving over to the window, he stared out at the courtyard below. Weak sunshine washed the cobbles, casting long shadows.

He caught movement in one of the shadows. He blinked, leaning forward. A tiny ball of red fur frolicked across the stones, its mouth open in glee. He turned, paw raised, head tilted inquisitively, as if waiting for somebody out of sight.

Sure enough, a moment later, a little girl came skipping after the fox.

Willow, he thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

She had a small ball made of knotted fabric and tossed it high in the air. The fox leaped up, catching it in tiny, powerful jaws, and shook its head delightedly.

Laughing, Willow hurried to the fox, and they both began what looked like a complicated game. The fox dodged this way and that, trying to prevent her from snatching the ball from its mouth. It almost looked real, but the moment she stopped, distracted by something else, the fox stopped too, staring up at her as if to ask, Is the game over?

Hunter chuckled aloud.

Magnus appeared silently at his side, his gaze trained on the courtyard.

“Some children play with puppies or kittens,” Hunter observed wryly. “This wee lass finds herself a fox kit, of all things.”

Magnus said nothing for a moment. But when he spoke, his voice was heavy with disapproval.

“The bairn is the Englishwoman’s, is she nae? The young Englishwoman.”

“If ye are speaking of Daphne, she’s nae English. She’s a Highlander, and as Scottish as ye and I.”

Hunter felt Magnus shoot him a long, disapproving look. It seemed easier to pretend not to notice, so he kept his gaze on the courtyard, watching Willow and the fox play.

Had she decided what to name her new pet or not?

He would have to ask her.

A moment later, a woman stepped into view. Daphne, of course.