Page 100 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

She swallowed, her tongue darting out to moisten her dry lips.

It would be a lie to say that she hadn’t spent most of last night lying awake and thinking about him. They were drawn to each other by a strange sort of magnetism that had kept each of them thinking of the other for over five years. She’d have been a fool not to consider the possibility of love, real love.

After all, why not? Why shouldn’t they share a bed and be like an ordinary married couple? Why not?

Time would tell. But they already had a good start, in her opinion. They both loved Willow and wanted her to be happy. Surely their own happiness would follow.

Ceana rested her hand gently on her sister’s shoulder. “Are ye sure about this?” she asked quietly. “If this isnae what ye want…”

“It is what I want,” Daphne assured her. “I think I can be happy, Ceana. I wasnae sure for a while, especially nae with Hunter’s vow.”

“Vow?” Ceana repeated, frowning. “I suppose that could be a bit upsetting. His clan didnae hold him to it, which is a good thing, but I always thought the vow was an excuse nae to wed again.”

Daphne glanced at her sister. “What do ye mean?”

“Did he nae tell ye? He was married before. And he had a child, a son.”

She froze. “A child? He has another child?”

Ceana shook her head. “Nay. The child died. Wait, he didnae tell ye?”

Daphne opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words.

I always kent it would be a terrible story, she thought dimly.

For a moment, she imagined turning on her heel and running away, fleeing down the hall. Only for a moment.

Whatever his story is, I’ll hear it sooner or later, she promised herself. I imagine that once I hear whatever tragedy lies in his past, I’ll understand him better.

“Ma?” Willow chirped, peering up at her. “Are we going?”

Daphne smiled affectionately down at her. “Aye, lass. We’re going.”

Hunter had almost been afraid that she wouldn’t come. The castle was hardly locked down like a fortress, since the clan was not at war. If she wanted to escape, she could.

When the chapel doors opened, he hardly dared look around. The guests rose to their feet, all craning their necks. He heard Skye whisper to Helena, “She looks lovely.”

At last, he allowed himself to turn around.

Magnus stood by the wall, always on guard, his face blank. Hunter gave him a nod, then glanced toward the front pew. Helena, Skye, and Lady Pilbury sat there, the latter delicately dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Elspeth had been given a place of honor beside them, having worked late into the night to prepare Daphne’s dress.

It had been worth the effort.

The dress was a simple one, rich green, but it hugged her curves well and suited her coloring. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders in a torrent, a faint draft brushing the ends.

Willow skipped in front of her, River padding along at her side. She carried a small basket full of rose petals mixed with chopped herbs, and tossed the colorful, savory-smelling mix gleefully out into the crowd.

She reached the head of the aisle first and beamed up at Hunter.

“She’s coming!” she announced, somewhat unnecessarily.

Me daughter, Hunter thought, emotion clogging his throat. She’s me daughter. And now, at last, everybody kens.

Whatever the future held, he’d have his daughter by his side. And Daphne, if that was what she wanted.

Willow stood beside him, clutching River in her arms. She had the rings, or so he hoped.

As Daphne approached, Hunter found himself curling his fingers into fists.