Chapter 2 #2
“Nay, man. Daphne and I have things to discuss. She stays with me.”
Thoroughly offended, Smithy turned on his heel and limped back along the hall, clutching the candlestick in his fist.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Daphne pressed her hand over her mouth, fighting back a giggle.
“Ye have hurt his feelings. He’ll over-stew yer tea now.”
“What horror,” Hunter deadpanned.
He turned to face her again, and the lightheartedness faded away. Her hand dropped heavily to her side.
A second or two ticked by between them. Daphne, trained to listen to every sound in the quiet old house, heard its heartbeat.
She heard Lady Pilbury and Helena talk in low voices in the next room. She heard Smithy and one of the footmen conversing in sibilant whispers two rooms away. She even heard the distant thump and snick of vegetables being crushed and chopped, prepared for a luncheon that might not even be eaten.
And then Hunter breathed out slowly, shifting his massive shoulders, and she realized that he hadn’t looked away, not even blinked, since he’d last looked at her.
“Why didnae ye tell me?” he asked shortly.
She dropped her gaze. “About what?”
“Daenae play games with me, woman. That lass is mine.”
“Ye daenae ken that.”
“Do I nae?”
“I could have been with hundreds of men after ye.”
The air tightened between them.
He moved forward, and Daphne automatically moved back. The small of her back knocked against a narrow sideboard, rattling the ornaments on top of it.
Her eyes had fixed on Hunter. She couldn’t look away, not quite. Her pulse hammered in her neck.
Could he see it?
“And have ye?” he asked, as conversationally as if he were wondering whether it were raining outside or not. The heat in his eyes, however, told a different story.
She could have lied. At least, theoretically, she could have lied. Somehow, though, the lie wouldn’t take shape.
“Nay,” she responded, with a hitch in her breath.
He pursed his lips, just briefly.
She couldn’t have guessed what he would say or do next, only that she couldn’t move. The edge of the sideboard dug into her spine, and yet moving away was entirely impossible.
The sound of two stockinged feet hitting the floor with a thud echoed from the next room. On cue, Willow came charging through the half-open door and threw her arms around Daphne’s leg.
“Ma! The grandmas are pinching me cheeks!” she gasped.
Daphne clutched the little girl almost reflexively. “Grandmas, lass?”
“Aye. Lady Pilbury says that I can call her Grandma if I like.”
“But our guest…”
“Lady Helena said it was fine, too,” Willow assured her. “Ye can ask her.”
Daphne gave a tiny smile. “Nay, lass, I daenae need to do that.”
“Are ye coming back in, Ma?”
“In… In a moment. Laird MacCrimmon and I have some business to attend to.”
Willow’s tiny nose scrunched up. She turned, inspecting Hunter with open curiosity. He stared down at her for a long minute, then slowly and gracefully lowered himself into a crouch, putting himself at eye level with her.
“Ye have beautiful eyes, lassie,” he said gravely. “Green is a rare color. And that hair of yers… jet black! Different from yer mother's.”
Daphne fingered her own chestnut-brown curls and tried not to notice Hunter’s hair, dark as a moonless night.
Willow nodded. “Aye, but I look a good deal like her. Lady Pilbury says so.”
“She is right. So, yer name is Willow, eh, lass?”
“Aye, that’s me. Willow.”
“Willow,” he breathed.
His eyes widened for an instant, and Daphne just knew that the same succession of memories was flooding his mind. Hands, lips, the blunt edge of teeth, sighs and gasps, and willow fronds waving elegantly above them.
“That’s a pretty name,” Hunter said, after a beat.
“And what is yers?” Willow asked, bold as ever. Still, she clutched at Daphne’s skirts, holding the material out in front of her as if to hide behind it.
“Me name is Hunter.”
She wrinkled her nose. “And are ye? A hunter?”
He tilted his head. “If the situation calls for it.”
Daphne cleared her throat and tapped the top of her daughter’s head. “Willow, go on back into the room with the ladies. I’ll join ye soon.”
“But me cheeks…”
“They’ll get tired of pinching yer cheeks soon, I’m sure of it. Why nae read a book to them? Lady Pilbury is near the end of Mysteries of Udolpho; I’m sure she’d love to hear ye finish it.”
Willow considered this, nibbling on her lower lip. “But I daenae ken all the words.”
“Ah.” Daphne threw a half-smile down at her. “But that’s all the fun of it! If ye daenae ken the words, ye can make them up, and before ye ken it, ye have made up half of the story, too!”
Willow’s eyes lit up at the prospect of telling stories. She nodded happily, threw one last cautious look at Hunter, then dived back into the bedroom. The door swung shut behind her with a dull thud.
Hunter moved at once. Leaning forward, he seized Daphne’s wrist. His grip was strong, not hard enough to hurt or to leave marks, but she knew without trying that there’d be no wriggling out of it.
“Unhand me!” she hissed.
Hunter barely glanced at her. “I think nae.”
“I’ll scream.”
“I doubt it.”
The wretched man was calling her bluff already.
Daphne growled under her breath. Screaming seemed ridiculous. Surely he didn’t mean her any harm? Besides, Lady Pilbury ought not to be disturbed, not now when she was ill.
It wasn’t fair.
“What are ye doing?” Daphne demanded instead.
“We need to talk, ye and I,” Hunter responded shortly, pulling her after him down the corridor. “Ye are coming with me, lass.”