Page 119 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

He grunted in his sleep, stirring, and gradually rolled over. She let her palm flatten over sleep-warmed skin, watching him wake slowly.

When he was about halfway awake, he smiled. “Morning, love.”

“Morning to ye, too.”

He reached out, his fingertips grazing her cheek. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us,” he remarked.

Before she could respond, a knock sounded at the door.

“Mama! Pa!” came a little voice from outside. “Can I come in?”

“Aye, if ye like,” Daphne called.

The door creaked open, and Willow came pattering in. She leaped up onto the bed, crawling up to deposit herself against the pillows between them.

“Did ye forget?” she asked. “Ye are getting married today. I’m already in me best dress!”

Daphne chuckled, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her close, showering her with kisses. “We didnae forget, pet! We’re going to get ready soon.”

“Ye had better hurry.”

“We are the bride and groom,” Hunter laughed. “What are they going to do, start without us?”

An hour later, Daphne and Hunter walked hand in hand toward the small chapel on Lady Pilbury’s estate.

“It’s nae ordinary for a bride and groom to walk to the chapel together,” Daphne remarked. “Neither in England nor in Scotland.”

“Well, neither ye nor I are good at doing things the ordinary way,” Hunter drawled, grinning down at her. His hand tightened around hers, and she leaned against him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

As they approached the chapel, a figure hurried toward them. It was Helena, who had traveled down to England as soon as she heard the news. She was clutching a paper in her hand and had a glimmer in her eyes.

The door stood open, and Daphne caught glimpses of the guests inside. She saw her sister perching on the edge of her seat, her eyes bright. She saw Skye and Evander craning their necks to peer back down the aisle. A couple she guessed were Nora and Creighton sat beside them.

Lady Pilbury was there, of course, standing at the front and leaning on her cane, whispering to Willow, who stood beside her. River was there too, entirely unconcerned by the importance of the day.

“It’s a letter,” Helena breathed. “Delivered today by express messenger. For ye, Hunter.”

Hunter took the envelope, tore it open, and read the letter silently.

“Hunter?” Daphne whispered after a moment.

He held out the letter for her to read and glanced back at his mother.

“The council wants me to return as Laird MacCrimmon,” he announced. “There’s nobody who can replace me, they say. Nobody rightful, that is. Already, they’re losing money. Bandits are coming back. The councilmen cannae work together. They say…” He paused, biting back a smile. “They say that they need me.”

Daphne let out a ragged breath. “And what will ye do?”

“I daenae ken,” he confessed, meeting her gaze. “At least, I daenae ken yet.”

Tactfully, Helena slipped back into the chapel and closed the door to give them a little privacy.

Daphne took a step toward him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Ye were born to do this,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “Ye are the best laird in the world.”

“Well, that’s an exaggeration.”

“Maybe,” she acknowledged. “But I think we’ll both agree that England doesnae suit ye. It’s time to return home.”