Page 95 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

Willow’s face brightened. “I like Laird MacCrimmon!”

“I’m glad. There’s more, though. Do ye remember when ye were a little younger, ye asked me why ye didnae have a papa?”

A nod.

“Do ye remember what I said?”

Willow paused, scrunching up her nose, and shook her head.

“I told ye that ye had a father, remember? I knew that one day ye would meet him. That day is today, pet. Willow, this is yer father.” Daphne turned, placing a hand on Hunter’s shoulder.

Willow glanced between them, and Hunter could almost see the gears turning in her head. Then her eyes went wide, and she sucked in a breath.

“Oh! Ye are me papa?”

“Aye, lassie,” Hunter responded, offering an uncertain smile.

How should he act? He’d never really imagined the moment when Willow learned who he truly was. Twinges of uncertainty tugged at the pit of his stomach.

What if she was disappointed? Disinterested?

Willow leaped to her feet, clapping her hands. “Oh, that’s good! I’m glad!” she squealed. “I’ve always hoped me papa would be like ye!”

“Like me?” Hunter laughed, a pressure growing in his chest. The pressure formed a lump in his throat, large enough to make his eyes sting.

“Aye! Sweet and generous, very good at making toys, and good at hugs.”

“Good at hugs?”

She flung herself into his arms, and he caught her neatly, laughing and lifting her off her feet. River leaped to his feet too, his thick tail swishing, and gave a funny little bark. Not to be left out, he jumped up onto Daphne’s knee and scrambled over, licking Willow’s hair.

Hunter wrapped his arms around his daughter and closed his eyes. “When yer ma and I are married, we’ll be a proper family,” he breathed. “I’ll take care of ye. Both of ye. Fine clothes, good food, and safety. I’ll make ye happy,” he added, meeting Daphne’s gaze over Willow’s head. “I promise.”

Daphne gnawed on the corner of her mouth, her fingers twitching. “If we stay here, that is,” she mumbled.

Willow lifted her head. “Why would we nae stay here?” she queried.

Daphne reddened. “Never mind, pet. I shouldnae have said that.”

Hunter glanced at her again, furrowing his brow. He wanted to tell her not to worry, that he was not going to be unseated anytime soon, but what if he was wrong?

Before he could cobble together the right words to say that to her, a figure appeared in the doorway. The library door was, of course, broken, and they hadn’t gotten round to hanging a new one.

It was Magnus, his face impassive. He glanced at Daphne, stony-faced, and then at Hunter. He didn’t look at Willow at all.

“The council has convened, me Laird,” he said shortly. “They’re waiting for ye in the council chambers.”

Hunter stiffened. Willow must have felt it, because she wiggled back and frowned up at him, confused.

“Are ye going, Pa?” she asked.

It felt so strange, hearing a child call him Pa. His mouth dried, and the ache in his chest grew.

“Aye, I have to go for a little while,” he explained, gently setting her down on her feet and rising. “But I’ll be back soon. And when I get back, we’ll spend a lot of time together, aye? I’ll have time for lots of hugs.”

He glanced over at Daphne and found her watching him with a strange expression on her face.

“I hope it goes well,” she murmured, lowering her eyes.