Page 49 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

Daphne glanced up at Hunter. He stood very still, his shoulders squared, and a muscle jumped in his jaw as he stared after his mother.

Well, I cannae stay quiet, can I?

Daphne placed her hands on the table, palm down, and made herself look straight at him. “Ye shouldnae have said that.”

He shot her an incredulous look. “It was ye she was going at.”

“She wasnae being cruel.”

He leaned forward. “Ye think she wouldnae have gotten all the information out of ye about yer kin and where ye came from? Eh?”

“That’s nae the point.”

“Ye wanted to tell her everything?”

“I daenae think ye should speak to yer mother like that,” Daphne insisted. “It’s nae fair.”

He gave a short laugh. Snatching up a greasy glass of whisky from the table, he downed it at once, pulling a face that made her think that it didn’t taste as good as it should.

“Me mother is tougher than ye think. She might sulk for a day or two, but probably nae even that. I wouldnae insult her. I ken her better than ye.”

“I didnae say that ye didnae. I just didnae like it, that’s all. Even if she was prying for more information than I wanted to give.”

He stared down at her, and she thought she caught a hint of bafflement in his eyes.

“I cannae make ye out at all,” he huffed. “I leap to yer defense, and ye scold me?”

She sniffed. “I’m sure ye arenae a man who balks at a scolding.”

“Didnae say I was. But ye can see why I am upset?”

She twisted her fingers together. “I didnae mean to scold ye.”

He grunted and sat down with a thud that made the dishes rattle.

For a moment, there was silence, but she could feel his eyes on her.

What do I do now? Should I go? Finish me meal? What?

Back in England, things were a little simpler. A lady didn’t stay in the same room as a gentleman, not if they were alone. Servants and common women weren’t ladies, of course, and therefore their reputations were guarded a little less carefully. But since Daphne was a companion, not a maid, she did have a reputation to uphold. Unnecessary, considering that she’d already borne a child out of wedlock, but that was supposed to be a secret.

But here, it was different. Women had more freedom, to be sure, but not necessarily freedom from consequences. For example, she had been bartered in a treaty between clans, meant to marry Laird Gilmore to keep the peace. Because she hadn’t done that, her return would bring danger to her clan and to herself. In England, marriages of convenience were done a little more subtly. Just a little.

And that brought her back to the original point. Should she remain in the room with Hunter, or should she go?

Something made her think his gaze had darkened. Glancing up, her eyes met his, and the air tightened between them.

“I willnae let anyone talk about ye and the bairn until ye are ready to admit it to everyone,” Hunter said quietly, not even blinking. “Nae even me own mother.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Thank ye. That is kind, very kind.”

“In fact, I willnae even talk about it meself, if ye prefer it. But”—he leaned forward, his gaze searing into hers—“about that kiss…”

At once, Daphne jerked to her feet, nearly tripping over her own hem as she did so. She scrambled back from the table, putting distance between them.

Her heart hammered in her chest so hard she thought it might break her ribs. Tension fluttered through her, tightening and loosening at random, giving her an odd, unsteady feeling.

“That kiss was a mistake,” she said firmly, making sure to look him dead in the eye.