Page 47 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

“If her friends treat ye that way, are they worth keeping?” Hunter asked shortly.

Helena clicked her tongue. “For goodness’ sake, Hunter! People’s lives are complicated. We cannae say that. Forgive him, Daphne. Me son has strong opinions.”

Hunter tossed his knife down onto the table. It landed point-first into the wood, the handle quivering.

“I ken that if I were Willow’s mother,” he said pointedly, “I’d nae permit her to be pushed aside and treated like a lesser thing under any circumstances. Her mother is a lady from a powerful clan. Her grandfather is a laird, and her aunt… well, we all ken Lady Ceana’s story, daenae we? Willow hasnae met any of them yet, but one day, she will.”

Daphne’s hand tightened, her knuckles turning white. “I daenae let her be pushed around or treated as lesser. I do me job to earn us a living. Willow doesnae work for Lady Pilbury, so there’s nay need for her to be around Lady Pilbury’s friends. How could ye possibly understand⁠—”

“Has anyone tried this mutton?” Helena interrupted, with a note of desperation in her voice. “It’s lovely. Here, I’ll put a slice on each of yer plates. Eat up, eat up.”

Daphne politely cut a slice from the mutton. It was very good. She chewed slowly, trying to swallow down her temper along with the meat.

I’m a guest. Helena has been kind to us. The least I can do is nae snap at her son.

Hunter didn’t meet her eyes. He cleared his throat, shifting. The warm, blunt curve of his knee momentarily pressed against hers. He shifted away at once, so quickly that she was sure it was an accident.

The touch lingered. She could feel it, even though he’d moved his knee. The twinge of desire mingled with her anger, creating a potent fire deep in her belly.

After a moment or two of awkward silence, Helena glanced up from her plate.

“I cannae help but think that Edith already looks better,” she announced. “A wee bit more color in her cheeks, maybe?”

“She fell asleep quickly enough,” Daphne managed. “Ordinarily, she tosses and turns. Perhaps the climate will suit her.”

“Aye, well, it might. Rhiannon thinks that it could be the proximity to the sea, and I think that it’s the healing drafts. Either way, I am inclined to hope.”

“I would be glad to see her recover,” Daphne agreed. “She acts almost like a grandmother to Willow. She’s a kind woman, and a fair one. And anything that delays her sons’ inheritance is even fairer.”

Helena winced. “Aye, whenever she writes about those thankless boys in her letters, me blood boils. But let’s nae talk about them, in case I have apoplexy.”

“What do ye want to talk about, Mother?” Hunter enquired, arching an eyebrow. “I must confess that I’m nae in the mood for gossip.”

Helena leaned back in her seat, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. “Ye want plain talk? Fine. Here’s some plain talk for ye. When were ye going to tell me that I had a granddaughter?”

Daphne dropped her fork with a clang. It bounced across the floor, scattering little bits of meat and grease.

Hunter’s eyes darkened, and he leaned forward, resting his weight on the table until the wood creaked.

“What did ye say?” he asked, somewhat hoarsely.

“Oh, I think ye heard me perfectly well,” Helena responded sweetly.

Daphne glanced wide-eyed at him. He met her gaze, and there was a faintly baffled look on his face.

Clearing her throat, Daphne managed a faint smile and faced Helena. “I daenae ken what ye are talking about,” she said faintly. “I⁠—”

“Oh, come off it, lass,” Helena interrupted, waving a hand. “Ye are a terrible liar.”

Daphne closed her mouth with a snap, reddening.

Hunter leaned forward. “Mother, what are ye saying?”

“Enough of this,” Helena snapped. “Willow is yer child, is she nae, Hunter? That makes her me granddaughter.”

Daphne and Hunter exchanged another quick, bewildered look.

What do we do? She hoped her eyes conveyed the question. Do we keep denying it? Will that work?