Page 57 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

She wrinkled her nose. “A pig?”

“Oh, daenae get it twisted, lass. A wild boar is like nay pig ye have ever seen. They’re wild, aggressive, and very strong. They have tusks that can gore a man with one blow.”

“What’s goring?”

He cleared his throat. “Never mind. Here, look, I’m going to start putting in some details on the fox’s face now. Watch.”

She leaned forward, engrossed.

Movement caught his eye, and he paused momentarily, glancing over her head.

Daphne stood at a distance, watching, a faint smile playing on her lips. Hunter returned his gaze to his work and tried to ignore the pulse in his ears.

CHAPTER 13

Daphne decided to keep her distance, for now. She stood at the edge of the field, watching Willow and Hunter together.

Hunter was talking in a low voice, the tip of his knife working deftly. Tiny flakes and spirals of wood curled up, drifting away in the breeze. Willow was transfixed, splitting her attention between the wood and Hunter’s face.

I cannae remember the last time I saw her so fascinated.

Guiltily, Daphne had to admit that sometimes Willow wasn’t at the forefront of her mind. With Lady Pilbury’s illness and the constant stream of visitors, Willow often had to be left in her room with her dolls.

Sometimes, Lady Pilbury would have Willow in her room, and they would entertain each other for a while as Daphne did any chores which took her away from her employer’s side. But lately, Lady Pilbury was just too ill, and even the servants, such as Cook, simply didn’t have the time to watch Willow.

And the little girl never complained, never really misbehaved. Still, in the back of Daphne’s mind was a niggling worry that she wasn’t giving her the best life she could have.

But now, here, out in the fresh air, with a new little wooden sword, Willow was practically glowing with happiness.

It was the right thing, coming here, Daphne thought with a rush. I’ve made me daughter happy. What more could I ask for?

At that moment, Hunter glanced up, his cool gaze catching hers all the way across the field. Her breath caught in her throat, and she coughed, half-turning away.

“The Laird is good with children,” remarked a familiar voice, making her jump.

Daphne glanced over her shoulder to find Elspeth standing there, a large hamper of laundry balanced on one hip. She was smiling fondly in their direction.

“Aye, he seems to like Willow very much,” Daphne managed.

“He always has a wee smile for the children of the keep,” Elspeth responded, taking a step forward so that they were standing side by side. “Some lairds are awfully stern, ye ken. They daenae care for children, or anyone, really. But nae Laird MacCrimmon. He’s a man of the people, through and through. I admire him; we all do. And like I said, he has a knack for making children like him. Children and animals adore him, and I always say that they’re the best judges of character.”

“Amen to that,” Daphne responded, relaxing a little. “Me daughter adopted a baby fox, and it climbed onto his lap at breakfast.”

Elspeth snorted. “Did it really? Well, I’m nae surprised. It’s just a pity that he’ll never have another child of his own.”

Daphne paused, her blood running cold. “Wait, what did ye say?”

Elspeth tore her gaze away from Hunter and Willow. “Only that Laird MacCrimmon willnae have another child.”

“Well, why nae?”

Elspeth stared at Daphne for a long moment. “I suppose ye wouldnae ken,” she murmured. “Everybody kens, but it’s nae the sort of thing we talk about.”

The back of Daphne’s neck prickled. “Elspeth, what are ye talking about?”

It occurred to her that she should be less interested. It wasn’t seemly to talk about what heirs a man might have, especially a man who wasn’t supposed to mean anything to her.

Elspeth didn’t seem wary, however. She just sighed, shaking her head. “He swore a vow years ago, in front of half of the army, that he’d nae wed or have a child of his own. A laird’s vow, made like that, is binding. He cannae go back on it.”