Chapter 4
About three-quarters of the boxes and bags loaded onto the carriage belonged to Lady Pilbury. That wasn’t much of a surprise.
She had suggested bringing her own carriage.
It wasn’t a bad idea, but Hunter had taken one look at the thin-axled, fashionable little barouche with its high springs and spindly wheels and said no.
The thing would barely make it a mile once they reached the Highland roads.
One good hill would make it fall apart as if it were built of matchstick wood.
So, that meant the women would all travel inside Hunter’s heavy, ugly carriage, which was fairly comfortable inside with its cushions and rugs, and he would ride alongside.
Riding all the way from England to the Highlands wasn’t going to be pleasant, but needs must.
Lady Pilbury’s staff trundled to and from the carriage, bringing boxes and bags, and one colossal trunk that he had to help haul up onto the top of the carriage, lashing it down as tightly as possible.
Finally, the old woman herself appeared in the doorway. The poor thing was almost invisible under layers of blankets and shawls. She leaned heavily on a stick, but twin bright spots were burning in her cheeks, and excitement danced in her eyes.
Helena escorted her, the two of them leaning toward each other and whispering excitedly. Smithy and half a dozen other servants crowded around the doorway. A brawny woman whom Hunter just knew was Cook dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron.
“We shall keep the house ready for you, my Lady,” Smithy promised, his voice tight. “For when you return.”
Hunter bit the inside of his cheek. It seemed likely that the old woman wouldn’t return.
Helena placed a hand on his forearm as she passed by. “Thank ye,” she whispered.
He felt a twinge of guilt. He would have to tell her about Daphne, of course, and about Willow.
Not yet, though. Not yet.
As always, his eyes slipped back to the door, waiting. He hadn’t seen Daphne since they parted ways earlier.
What if she changes her mind? What if she decides to stay? I cannae force her to come with me.
His chest tightened at the thought, which shocked him a little.
I havenae seen her in five years. I shouldnae feel so strongly. What even is this feeling? Tension, apprehension, and… what? Guilt?
No, it wasn’t guilt. He didn’t feel guilty at all, only about letting Daphne and Willow live alone for so long.
And that really wasn’t his fault. If he’d known…
Enough of this. I didnae ken. There’s no changing it.
A shadow crossed the threshold before stepping out into the daylight.
Daphne blinked in the sunshine, eyeing the sky hesitantly. She carried a medium-sized carpetbag and not much else. Willow tugged impatiently on her hand, her gaze fixed on the carriage.
Daphne met Hunter’s gaze, and something passed between them. A moment of understanding, maybe? Hope? Or something else altogether?
She averted her gaze, and the moment vanished.
Willow tugged again, and Daphne let go of her.
The little girl came cannoning across the courtyard toward the carriage. Lady Pilbury had just managed to clamber in, and Helena was maneuvering herself to climb in after her.
Skidding to a halt, Willow eyed the carriage, taking in the plush cushions piled inside, along with the thick furs and heavy blankets. Then, quite slowly and deliberately, she glanced up at Hunter.
“It is too hot for all those blankets,” she remarked.
He leaned against the side of the carriage. “For ye and yer ma, maybe. But me mother and Lady Pilbury are old, and thin, and tend to get cold. Besides, it’ll be a lot colder up in the Highlands than here.”
She digested that for a moment, then glanced back at the house. Daphne stayed by the front door, talking earnestly with Smithy and Cook.
“We didnae bring all of our clothes,” Willow stated. “Ma said we would be coming back. Should we have packed more things?”
“Nay.”
“Why nae?”
He considered. “Well, ye will have everything ye need at me house.”
“Where is yer house?”
“Far away. It’s called Keep MacCrimmon. And ye will have whatever ye need, because ye are guests, and we treat our guests very well.”
Her expression lightened up, and she spun around to stare at her mother.
“Ma! Did ye hear? We are guests! Proper guests!” She swung back to stare up at Hunter. “Is it a holiday? We daenae have holidays very much. Lady Pilbury needs lots of help, and Ma doesnae like to leave her alone.”
“I suppose it is a holiday.”
“But will Lady Pilbury be looked after?”
“She’ll receive the best care,” Hunter promised. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Reassured, Willow scrambled into the carriage, settling herself between Helena and Lady Pilbury. The two older ladies whispered to her, smiling, and pulled heavy rugs over their knees.
Noiselessly, Daphne approached him. Her gaze bored into him, clear green, unblinking. He wordlessly held out a hand for her carpetbag, and she shook her head.
“I’ll take it with me in there. It looks like I’ll have a seat all to meself. And ye are riding, nae sitting in with us?”
“I might change me mind if the rain starts. I’ll be cramped with us five in there, I warn ye.”
A muscle tightened in her jaw. “I believe ye.”
For a moment, Hunter imagined it. He would end up crammed on one seat with Daphne, her knee pressed against his, her shoulder brushing against him.
His gut tightened with desire.
Clearing his throat, he glanced away and looked for his horse.
But Daphne didn’t immediately clamber inside. She paused, one hand on the side of the carriage, one foot braced on the fold-up step. He could feel her gaze lingering on him, sharp enough to sting.
“Thank ye,” she said in a rush, her voice lowered so the occupants of the carriage couldn’t hear.
He eyed her for a long moment. “What are ye thanking me for?”
For one wild moment, he thought that she was thanking him for coming to get her, for bringing her back to Scotland.
However, that wild fantasy didn’t last.
She smiled bashfully, her gaze flitting away.
“For Willow. For making her feel special, like a guest. We… We’ve always been treated well in Lady Pilbury’s house.
She is a wonderful woman, truly, but there’s no getting away from the fact that I’m a companion, almost a servant.
Her sons treat me like a servant, certainly.
I suppose Willow has always considered us to be lesser, somehow.
And now she’s a guest. I can see how excited she is. ”
His chest tightened.
Me daughter, always a servant? Never a guest?
“It’s no trouble,” he managed. As Daphne turned to clamber into the carriage, he spoke again. “But daenae forget, I’ll soon ask ye to tell her the truth.”
Daphne flinched and turned back to him, wide-eyed. “The truth?” she stammered. “What do ye mean?”
He resisted the urge to laugh. “What truth do ye think I mean? I mean the truth about who she is and where she comes from. She must ken.”
Daphne pressed her lips together and stepped away from the carriage.
“Daenae rush me,” she hissed, glaring up at him. “Of course she must ken the truth, eventually, but I am her mother. I have raised her. I ken what she needs, what she wants to hear, and when she needs to hear it!”
He held her glare. “I think ye need a wee bit of perspective, lass.”
“Do ye really nae understand?”
“I understand that she must have asked. Children always do. Has she never asked ye who her father is? Why she and ye speak differently from the people around ye? Hm?”
Daphne flinched a little, just enough to confirm that he was right.
It made sense. Willow was a vibrant, clever little girl, full of curiosity and questions. She would have asked where she had come from, without a doubt.
“When I’m ready,” Daphne said, then pointedly turned back toward the carriage.
We’ll see, he thought, faintly amused, but didn’t bother saying it aloud.
The carriage door closed, and the driver clambered up onto the seat. He threw Hunter a questioning look, and Hunter nodded, hoisting himself up into the saddle.
“Off we go, then,” he ordered brusquely. “This good weather willnae hold, and God kens we’ll have bad weather waiting for us when we cross the border.”
The driver chuckled and flicked the reins.
The rain started a few hours into their journey.
It was a light rain, nothing like the heavy downpours common in the Highlands.
Even so, Hunter pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head.
The drizzle wasn’t enough to penetrate the thick wool, so he estimated he had a good few hours before the cold and damp forced him inside the carriage.
The road they were following steadily got worse as they headed further north.
The cobbles cracked and were missing altogether in some places.
The trees and undergrowth hemmed in close around the path, a gentle susurrus echoing from the greenery, rain pattering its way down through the foliage onto the soggy ground.
A green, earthy smell followed them, clean and fresh.
He was glad that Daphne hadn’t been living in London. Not only was that at least several days’ travel further, but everybody knew that city was cloaked with smog and smoke and filth, cluttering up the lungs of anybody who dared breathe deep on its streets.
Me daughter has been breathing clean air, at least.
A shiver rolled down his spine at that thought.
Me daughter. I have a daughter.
He hadn’t told his mother, of course. He hadn’t even told his sister, not that Skye would approve of him spending the night with a strange woman under a willow tree.
It wouldnae surprise me if Ma had guessed there was something going on, he thought grimly, half-amused. Not a lot got past his mother.
The great question remained, however. For now, they could concentrate on the journey and getting there safely. But once they’d reach the keep, what then?
I will have to do the right thing. I must wed Daphne.
‘The right thing’ made it seem like a sacrifice.
Hunter allowed himself a small smile at that. Sacrifice? He’d dreamt of the wretched woman ever since that night.