Page 53 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

“I had a thought,” she repeated, eyeing him defiantly. “We should host a cèilidh.”

He hadn’t been expecting that. He frowned, swirling his drink in his goblet. It was too early for wine, even though he couldn’t help but wish for the sweet-sour tang of it. Instead, he had decided to stick with water. It seemed safer.

Unlike some other lairds, Hunter preferred his family to eat separately from the rest of the ladies, councilmen, and important people. The dining room was large, large enough to easily contain the main table—a heavy, long wooden thing—and a smaller table for him and the guests. For special occasions, of course, he joined the main table, but usually it was easier to eat separately. More private, too.

He could feel Daphne’s eyes on him. She’d chosen to sit at the opposite end of the table, with Lady Pilbury on one side and Willow on the other. Whenever he glanced at her, she seemed deep in conversation, but when he looked away, he could feel her stare.

Best to ignore it for now, probably.

“I’m nae sure that now is the time for a cèilidh, Mother,” he said.

“Well, why nae?” Helena pressed. “Our guests will enjoy it.”

“We daenae want to tire them out. Besides, there’s a great deal of uncertainty amongst the clans at the moment.”

She leaned forward. “And that’s exactly why we ought to host one. People need a morale boost. When yer father was Laird, we threw parties outside the keep, too, so that common folk could join in and celebrate with us. They loved it. They kent that a celebration at the keep was a celebration for everybody. People talked about it for days after and looked forward to it for weeks. It’s what we need.”

He cleared his throat, eyeing his food. None of it looked very appetizing. His appetite was simply nonexistent today.

“Lady Pilbury is here for her health,” he said firmly. “A cèilidh would exhaust⁠—”

“Oh, don’t deny yourselves on my account,” Lady Pilbury piped up. “I love to see people enjoying themselves. I’ll sit and watch, and if I get tired, well, I’ll simply take myself off to my room. No harm done.”

“As for Daphne, I’m sure she’ll want to dance,” Helena chipped in. “Wouldnae ye, lass? To oblige an old woman like me?”

Daphne dragged her gaze up from the table. “Hm? Dance? Aye, if that’s what ye want, Lady Helena.”

“What’s a cèilidh?” Willow asked.

“Oh, it’s a party, lassie!” Helena explained, brightening. “Will it nae be fun?”

To their surprise, the little girl pulled a face. “I daenae like parties.”

“Ah, I think I’m to blame for that,” Lady Pilbury sighed. “I have occasionally brought Willow to small, informal parties with my friends. They’re very quiet affairs. We sit around and talk, drink tea, and so on. I enjoy it, but I suppose it’s not much fun for a little girl. Willow, dearest, I think that a cèilidh is very different from an English party.”

“It is that,” Helena confirmed, nodding earnestly. “There’s music, dancing, and lots and lots of food. Oh, and games! We sometimes play games too. There’ll be children of yer age, so ye will have people to play with.”

Willow sat up a little straighter. “Friends? Might I have friends?”

Hunter’s chest tightened. “Aye, lass,” he said firmly. “As many friends as ye want.”

He caught Daphne’s eye as she shot him a quick, thoughtful look. The moment passed, of course, and then it gradually occurred to him that everybody was staring at him, waiting expectantly.

He was going to have to decide.

Really, was now a good time for a cèilidh? No, he didn’t think so, but they were all looking at him…

A soft, warm weight abruptly leapt up onto his lap, making him jump. Squinting down, Hunter found himself staring back into the bright yellow eyes of a red fur ball.

“It’s the bloody baby fox,” he muttered. “Nearly made me jump out of me skin.”

“Why didnae River jump up on me knee?” Willow mumbled, pouting. “I give him treats all the time.”

“Ye have to be patient with animals, lass,” Daphne explained quietly. “And the ribbons⁠—”

“But the ribbons are so pretty!”

“Wild animals often daenae like ribbons, lass. I’m sorry to say it.”