Page 6 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

He still didn’t look away. She lifted her hand, tentatively placing it on his.

I could be dead tomorrow. Or married. They’re almost the same thing. I’m alive tonight, though.

She surged upwards, the tension in her stomach coiling into desire. Their lips met clumsily, and she was fairly sure that their teeth clacked together.

“Sorry,” she stammered, sitting back down. “I only…”

He lunged forward. A warm, strong hand curled around the nape of her neck. His other hand landed on her waist, long fingers spanning her ribs. His lips pressed against hers, carefully but no less hungrily, just with a little more finesse than she’d managed.

So this is a proper kiss, she thought dizzily, winding her arms around his neck and tugging him against her, hard.

Heat surged through her, and when they broke apart to breathe, she gasped.

“Stay,” he breathed, his forehead resting against hers.

She inhaled deeply and smelled crushed grass and rainy earth.

“I will,” she responded, her voice wobbling.

Wind shivered through the willow fronds, making them shake and dance in the darkness, hiding them from prying eyes.

Daphne was grateful for that. One last bit of magic before it all ended.

She woke to a gentle, rhythmic thumping in her eyes. She lay still for a minute, her eyes closed, trying to work out why her bed felt so strange.

Memories flooded back. She remembered the story of the Wolf, the festival, and of course, Hunter.

He’s still here, she thought, with a jolt of surprise. She’d fully expected dawn to come and for her to wake up alone and cold.

Gingerly, she opened her eyes. She was lying with her head on Hunter’s chest. It was his heartbeat she could hear in her ears.

He lay on his back, his head propped up against the base of the trunk, sleeping soundly. Full daylight hadn’t yet arrived. She guessed that there was maybe an hour to go until dawn.

Gingerly, she sat up, bits of grass and dirt falling from her clothes. The willow fronds swished faintly in the breeze. Between the fronds, she could see that the light had taken on a bluish hue, a sure sign that proper daylight wasn’t far off.

I cannae stay, she thought, her heart sinking. She glanced down at him, watching his chest rise and fall. She briefly considered waking him up to say goodbye. It felt appropriate, after the intimacy they’d shared.

But then he might ask questions. He might not want her to go.

Or, worst of all, he might not care whether she stayed or left. That would hurt more.

Daphne carefully leaned forward and bent down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He shifted in his sleep, but didn’t stir.

Nothing for it. No more excuses.

She clambered to her feet and tiptoed away. She wondered if her friends had noticed her disappearance. Probably not. With Marion married and Jeannie determined to get married, it seemed likely that they’d all drift apart over the years.

That doesnae matter. We had tonight, did we nae? Better than nothing.

With those insincere words echoing in her head, Daphne peered over her shoulder, squinting through the dark at where Hunter lay. A lump lodged in her throat.

She didn’t let herself look again. She slipped out between the willow fronds and didn’t look back.

CHAPTER 1

“I hate this bloody festival,” Hunter muttered, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Magnus choked on the spiced ale he was gulping down.