Page 115 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

“Ye see now why I didnae want to tell ye,” he whispered. “Me friend’s father declared war. He didnae believe what had happened to Arthur and only kent that his son was dead. There was war, of course. Bloodshed. Misery. Death. The usual things that accompany war. We lost many men, and women too. I was furious. I couldnae be stopped until I’d burned the bastard’s whole clan to the ground. As if that’d bring me son back.”

He shook his head. “At last I accepted the other Laird’s surrender and terms. The man went home and mourned his son, much like I should have done. I swore to me people that I’d never wed again, nor have a child, since it was a wife and baby that caused so much pain. And at the time, I meant it. I never wanted anyone near me again.”

He breathed out slowly.

“And then I met ye.”

She swallowed thickly. “Hunter…”

“Daphne, I have loved ye since we first met. I didnae ken it at the time. I am nae sure what I thought it was. Desire, maybe. Obsession, or just a lust for something better. But it was always ye in the back of me mind. I searched for ye after we parted. I’d all but given up finding ye. And then I found ye, and I… I found the wee lass, too. Willow.” His voice cracked.

Rising on his knees, he cupped her face in his hands.

“I love ye,” he whispered. “I gave up me title for ye. If ye daenae feel the same way, I willnae pressure ye. I’ll simply go to me estate next door and content meself with being part of me daughter’s life. But make nay mistake, Daphne, it’s ye I want. It’s always been ye.”

She stared back at him, her eyes misty with tears. He hardly dared breathe.

Then, abruptly, she rose to her feet and moved to the door.

“We cannae talk here,” she whispered. “Come upstairs. I’ll show ye me room.”

CHAPTER 27

Hunter’s hand was warm in hers. He followed her silently up the narrow, curving staircase that led to her room. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She was pretty sure that if she encountered anyone else on the stairs, even a servant, she’d lose her nerve and that would be that.

Nobody stepped in her way.

She withdrew a key from her pocket, unlocked a plain, narrow door at the end of a bare landing, and stepped into a small, neat room.

There was a sturdy bed in the corner, piled high with blankets and cushions. Furniture was scattered around the room, and a rug covered the floor.

“Yer room?” Hunter asked, pushing the door closed with his heel. “Wee bit dusty.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Very funny. And nay, it’s nae me room, nae anymore. After we returned from the Highlands, Lady Pilbury said that enough was enough, and it was high time she began to treat me as an equal. She gave me a large guest room downstairs, and when Willow is a little older, she’ll have her own room, too. This room is… well, it’s nobody’s at the moment, but truly, it still feels like mine.”

He nodded, crossing the room to where a bookcase stood against the wall. Idly, he let his fingers caress the spines, then turned slowly to face her.

“I love ye, Daphne,” he said bluntly. “I never was a man for romance tales or sentimentality. I thought it was beneath me. I married a woman who didnae want love—nae from me, in any case—and I had what I cared for ripped away from me. I thought it was a punishment, I suppose. It’s easy to keep people at arm’s length. And then there was ye.”

The last moisture drained from Daphne’s mouth. She stood still, transfixed, as he took one step toward her and then another.

Had her room always been so small? Somehow, it seemed ludicrously tiny, with no space between them at all.

“Since that night under the willow tree, me dreams have been full of ye,” he confessed, reaching out a hand. His fingertips brushed her chin.

Daphne leaned into the touch, closing her eyes.

“How would ye feel if I told ye that I felt the same?” she whispered. “I never imagined lying with a stranger, but the truth is that ye never seemed a stranger to me. Ye were just ye.”

“Just me,” he echoed.

She opened her eyes enough to see a slow smile spread across his face. She gasped, her lips parting, and a hard knot of desire pulsed in her gut. She leaned forward, hardly knowing what she was doing, and curled her fingers around his shoulders.

He met her halfway, pulling her tight against him. Their lips crashed together, tongue and teeth, his mouth hot and insistent. Daphne wound her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

It wasn’t enough, and yet it was too much, much too much. Too much, too little, and if he let her go, she would die.

Funny, really.