Chapter 5
Hunter plunged into the woods, tearing through the greenery. Sharp branches caught at his clothes, snagging and tearing. He ducked, narrowly avoiding a low-hanging, spiky branch that could well have blinded him.
“Daphne!” he thundered. “Where are you?”
He caught movement up ahead. A crashing sound, like something running, or trying to run, through dense undergrowth. Skidding to a halt, Hunter forced himself to assess the situation.
There! There she was up ahead. He caught a glimpse of her hair, nut-brown in the watery light, flowing loose from her austere knot. Without a second thought, he ran toward her.
The close-packed trees and thick shrubbery made for hard going, so he caught up with her in just a few strides. Seizing her shoulder, he whipped her around to face him.
Her eyes were wide, panicked, and she clutched at his forearms as if she were drowning.
“She told me to turn around while she was going,” Daphne gasped. “I always do. Privacy, ye ken? Five-year-olds care about it more than ye would bloody think. And the next thing I kent, I heard twigs snapping. I turned around, and she was gone, running off in that direction!”
She pushed shaking hands through her hair.
“All right, well, she cannae have gone far,” Hunter responded as calmly as he could. “I’m sure she’s safe.”
“She’ll get lost in an instant!” Daphne wailed, pressing her hands over her face. “She’s never been in a forest like this before. Ye saw the village we lived in! It’s all nice, tame streets and friendly neighbors. What was I thinking, bringing her to the Highlands? What sort of mother am I?”
Hunter gripped her wrists, tugging her hands down.
“Look at me,” he said firmly. “Look at me, lass. This isnae the Highlands. We’ve nae even crossed the border yet.
She’s a small lass, and in a moment, she’s going to start looking around for her ma and wondering where ye are.
Let’s nae panic yet. For God’s sake, woman, I thought bandits had set on ye! ”
She yanked her hands free. “Oh, I’m so sorry that me daughter wandering off in dense woodland isnae enough of an emergency for ye.”
“Enough of that.”
“Daenae tell me what to do.”
“She’s me daughter, too!”
Daphne went silent.
“I keep forgetting that,” she mumbled, the panic easing out of her voice. “It’s only ever been me and her. When she was born, I held her in me arms, and we looked at each other and the world just… it just vanished. Poof. Like that. There was only me and her, and I never wanted it any other way.”
Hunter drew his lower lip between his teeth.
What must it feel like to feel that way about someone? To love someone so much instantly?
Too bad I vowed never to feel a love like that.
Although, had that been his vow? He’d vowed to his men never to marry or have children. Already the latter part of his vow was broken. Nothing was ever said about love.
“We’ll follow her,” he said, keeping his voice as calm as he could. “See? She’s left a trail. Let’s find her, aye?”
“Aye,” Daphne responded thickly, giving him a tired smile. “Thank ye, Hunter.”
This time, he didn’t ask what for. He nodded wordlessly and set off into the undergrowth.
Daphne followed, sticking close to his side.
Every pace felt like half a mile. After all, Willow’s legs were so much smaller. This distance would have felt longer to her.
What would make a child go running off into the forest, away from her mother? What had she seen?
With a pang of worry, Hunter thought of bandits, assassins, or just local, violent men.
England wasn’t exactly safer than Scotland, and anyway, dangers were the same everywhere.
He uneasily remembered that his mother and Lady Pilbury were alone in the carriage.
John ought to have returned by now, but what if he hadn’t?
What if he’d had his throat cut while he answered nature’s call? What if—
“I can see her,” Daphne breathed, her voice giddy with relief. “Just up ahead.”
Putting on a burst of speed, she hurried forward, clambering up a low, mossy hill. Hunter followed, his fingertips digging into damp earth. The moss made for slippery going, but he saw tiny footprints and scrapes in the ground which indicated that somebody small had already come this way.
Daphne, lighter and apparently more nimble than him, reached the top of the hill first. Trees swayed in the breeze, clustered together. She gave a ragged gasp.
Something tightened in Hunter’s chest, and it took him a moment to realize what it was.
Fear. He was afraid.
Worst-case scenarios flashed through his mind. He saw Willow dead on the ground. It didn’t matter how she died, only that she was dead and he’d failed her. Failed her once more.
Bile rose in his throat, and he gasped, staggering. Then he reached the top of the hill, only to find Daphne standing still, staring at their daughter.
Willow was crouched by a copse of trees, peering at something near the ground. “I saw it run,” she whispered, not turning around.
It was as if the little girl had known, without needing to look behind her, that they were following.
A long moment passed between them. Hunter was just about to step forward to see what she was staring at when Daphne lunged forward.
Dropping to her knees, she seized Willow by the shoulders. She stared at her for a moment, then pulled her into a tight embrace. Willow wound her small arms around her mother’s shoulder, holding tight.
“What were ye thinking?” Daphne cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” the little girl whispered. “I didnae mean to be bad.”
“Oh, nay, nay, lass, ye arenae bad. Ye are me good, sweet girl! But it’s dangerous here, ye ken that. Did I nae say nae to run away without telling me? Ye could have been hurt, lass, and then I… ye could have been hurt.” Daphne pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes.
Willow’s eyes widened at her mother’s distress. Her shoulders curled up under her ears, and she frowned, confused.
Hunter stepped forward at once and placed a hand on Daphne’s shoulder. “Lass,” he murmured.
That was all he needed to say. Daphne blinked, realization dawning in her eyes. She sniffled loudly, dragging a hand across her nose, and staggered back, releasing their daughter.
Hunter crouched down in front of William, and she stared at him, her brow furrowed.
“Mama is angry,” she mumbled. “Was I bad?”
“Nay,” Daphne answered loudly. She moved a few steps away, her back turned to them.
“Nay, lass,” Hunter said gently. “But this journey is tiring and stressful, and yer ma is a wee bit tired. Ye shouldnae have run away from her.”
“I ken, but I saw it, and I had to go after it.”
“It?” he echoed.
Willow gestured to a little hollow between the trees.
Hunter turned his head and caught sight of a patch of red fur. Frowning, he leaned forward. The pile of fur shivered and shifted, before a small head poked out of the grass, ears tucked back, eyes wide and yellow and terrified.
“It’s a fox,” he heard himself say. “A baby fox.”
Willow nodded, twisting her fingers together. She glanced up to where Daphne stood at a distance, probably still trying to compose herself.
“I saw it run away. It was so small. I thought I could take it with me to Scotland.”
Hunter tentatively extended a hand. The baby fox snapped at him with tiny white fangs. Willow copied him, reaching forward. Before he could warn her off, her small hand landed on the fox’s paw.
The little creature allowed the touch, staring up at her with curiosity equal to hers.
“It’s very cute,” Hunter murmured. “But there’ll be a mother fox nearby. We cannae take her baby away.”
Willow wilted. “Oh. Ye think so?”
“Aye, I’m sure of it.”
Hunter rose to his feet, glancing around. A quick scan of the area revealed why the fox had come back here of all places. Only a foot or two behind the tree glade, a larger pile of bloodied, matted fox fur peeked out from under a bush.
A quick glance confirmed that it was indeed an adult fox, probably a female, and probably dead. As he moved toward it, the baby fox rose gingerly, eyeing him uncertainly, as if unsure whether to guard its mother or not.
“What’s that?” Willow called.
Hunter extended a hand. “Stay over there, lassie. It’s the mother fox.”
“Can I see?”
“Nay. It’s dead.”
“Dead?” she echoed, horrified. “How come?”
“I daenae ken. Looks like something got it. A dog, or a wolf—something like that. I’m sorry, pet. This wee creature is an orphan.”
“Ohh,” Willow breathed, sinking onto her knees beside the baby fox.
The little creature eyed her uncertainly, then wriggled a few inches closer and laid its chin on her knee. Willow scratched the spot between its eyes, and the fox, miraculously, allowed her to do so.
Daphne sucked in a sharp breath, squared her shoulders, and turned back. Her eyes were red, but she had a brave smile on her face.
“What’s this? A baby fox?” she questioned.
“It’s mama is dead, Hunter says,” Willow mumbled, pouting. “I thought we could take the baby with us, but I suppose I must ask Lady Pilbury?”
“Actually, ye will need to ask Lady Helena. It’s her carriage we’re traveling in,” Daphne sighed.
Hunter cleared his throat. “Nae her carriage. Mine. And for what it’s worth, I say aye.”
Willow brightened. “Can I take the baby, then?”
“Of course ye can, if yer ma says ye can. But ye will have to take care of it.”
“I will, I will!” she cried, tearing off the thin shawl from around her shoulders. She wrapped it around the baby fox and lifted it into her arms.
The fox flinched, stiffening, but made no move to wriggle free.
“She can be a guest, too,” Willow added, blinking up at Hunter. “She’s like an orange cat.”
“I suppose there are similarities,” Hunter chuckled.
“I can be the fox’s ma,” Willow chortled, thrilled, and set off at a brisk jog back towards the carriage.
Hunter fell into step beside her, determined not to let her out of his sight.
“Ye will be sharing the carriage with a baby fox on the way back,” he murmured wryly. “I hope ye daenae mind.”