Chapter 10
Daphne inspected her reflection. Could she have done better? Should she have taken him up on his offer to have a dress made up for her?
Daenae be foolish, she told herself firmly. This dinner is just to talk about Willow, nay doubt. It isnae about me. It isnae about us. There isnae an us.
She didn’t have many dresses, just a few neat ones, suitable for a lady’s companion when out and about.
She’d chosen the best one. It was dark blue, hemmed with gold, with gold embroidery on the cuffs. The gown wasn’t in the latest fashion, but somehow she didn’t think that would matter up in the Highlands.
“Ye look very pretty, Mama,” Willow said drowsily.
Daphne glanced at her daughter’s reflection behind her and smiled. “Thank ye, sweetheart. Now, ye have to go to sleep once I go, all right? Ye have had yer supper, and I’ll be back very soon. Lady Pilbury is just next door.”
“Our room looks just like hers. It’s big and comfy. Elspeth says she’s going to teach me how to start a fire in the hearth.”
Daphne winced, imagining Willow with the skill to set fire. A bad idea.
“I might talk to Elspeth about that. It’s very kind of her to offer, though.”
“Why can I nae come down to dinner?” Willow pouted, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “I’d be good.”
“I ken ye would be, lassie, but it’s late, and ye are very tired.”
“I’m nae so tired,” Willow insisted, smothering a yawn.
Daphne tore her gaze away from her own reflection. It was no good. She looked exactly like what she was now: a companion. Nobody special. Nobody meant to draw attention.
And why should I want to draw attention? Blending into the background never bothered me before.
Drawing attention was not a good thing, not for a servant or a companion.
She’d heard horror stories of pretty maids and companions who were unlucky enough to attract the attention of the masters of the house, or their sons, or their brothers, or their male guests.
Bad things could happen when a man focused his attention on a woman of low status. She’d seen it herself.
And while Lady Pilbury’s sons lived away, the youngest in particular had always made Daphne’s skin crawl. He stared at her a little too intensely, and if they all traveled in a carriage together, he always managed to sit right beside her, leaning into her space, smelling of tobacco and bad breath.
In short, it had been a while since she’d wanted to be noticed.
Well, I’m nae going to be noticed. Nae in that way, she reminded herself.
“Do ye remember when we stayed at Lady Tomlinson’s?” Willow mumbled, lying back on the pillow.
Daphne leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Aye, I remember,” she said, conjuring up a memory of a tiny, bare box-room, with only a narrow bed with old ropes and a rusted iron frame.
Aside from that and a chipped chamberpot, there was no furniture, not even a trunk or a stool.
Moisture dripped down the walls, which were black with mold, and made them cough and wheeze.
“This should be sufficient for you,” Lady Tomlinson’s housekeeper had said with a haughty sniff, gesturing to the room and leaving Daphne and Willow to drag in their bags.
What a change to the fine guest room they had now, just as plush and comfortable as the one at Lady Pilbury’s.
“We really are guests, are we nae?” Willow yawned, her eyes drooping closed.
“Aye, lassie,” Daphne murmured. “I suppose we are.”
She waited until Willow’s breathing had evened out, then slipped out of the room. Her heart beat fast, and tension knotted her limbs.
It’s just dinner. I can manage dinner.
The dining room wasn’t hard to find. It branched off the Great Hall, the cavernous room she’d encountered before. Light glowed out from a large doorway, and when she poked her head inside, she saw a long table in a medium-sized room. Candles stood everywhere.
A fire burned in the grate, and the table creaked under the weight of food: meat of all kinds—pork, chicken, goose, beef, quail—along with bowls of boiled eggs, tureens of thick gravy, and large dishes with golden buttery pies.
There was plenty of bread, of course, and bowls of vegetables prepared every way a person could think. Boiled, roasted, stewed, and so on.
When was the last time she’d seen so much food?
Hunter sat at the head of the table, twirling a short knife in his hand. The metal caught the light, glinting. Helena sat beside him, spooning vegetables onto her plate.
She glanced up first. “Ah, Daphne, pet, here ye are! Come in, sit down.”
Daphne cleared her throat, smoothing down the bodice of her dress. “Thank ye.”
Hunter’s gaze landed on her. His eyes trailed down her gown, which was admittedly a little tighter than the one she’d worn before. The blue one, she’d been told, suited her.
“Ye have yer hair down,” he noted.
She felt color rise to her cheeks. Hesitantly, she lifted a hand, tugging on the ends of her hair.
“Me scalp hurts from twisting it up in a knot too often,” she heard herself say. “I thought I could leave it down. We’re in the Highlands, after all.”
“It looks very pretty,” Helena complimented, smiling. She gestured to a chair opposite her and on Hunter’s left-hand side. “Sit, sit. Aye, I ken the English are strict about things like that. Ye wouldnae be permitted to go outside with Lady Pilbury with yer hair loose like that, would ye?”
“Nay, I wouldnae.”
“Stupid rule,” Hunter muttered. He leaned forward, spearing a piece of meat with his knife. “It’s just hair.”
Daphne said nothing. She settled herself in the chair, except it wasn’t a chair at all, but a long bench. She hardly dared fidget too much, but when she moved, her knee brushed against Hunter’s, sending a thrill through her.
Stop it, she cursed herself, trying to force the blush down from her cheeks.
“Nae hungry?” Helena asked innocently.
Daphne forced a smile. “I’m quite hungry.”
She shifted on the hard bench, gnawing on her lower lip, while Helena piled her plate high with meat, vegetables, and bread.
Quite hungry didn’t quite cover it. Lady Pilbury didn’t bother with fashionable hours anymore, and so they all ate their dinner at a reasonable hour.
Hunter, apparently, waited until seven or eight to eat.
They had had some light snacks in the carriage, and of course regular stops, but mostly nothing substantial. Her stomach cramped, demanding food.
However, with the first few bites, it became clear that she’d passed the boundary of hunger and reached nausea. She kept eating determinedly, although the grease on the meat turned her stomach.
Just me luck. I waited all day for a meal, and now I daenae want it.
Silence fell over the table, broken only by the quiet crunch of jaws and the scrape of Hunter’s knife on his plate.
Clearing her throat, Daphne glanced from face to face.
“Is it just us, then?” she asked, her voice weak. “For dinner?”
“Aye.” Helena nodded. “I asked Edith to join us, but she’s too tired tonight. Did Willow join ye at yer mealtimes?”
“Aye, if that’s all right. Often, when we travel with Lady Pilbury, her friends want Willow to stay out of sight.”
Daphne had meant that as a throwaway comment. Perhaps it was a stupid thing to say, but she was tired, her head ached, and her stomach was churning.
At once, Hunter’s head snapped up. “Why?”
She blinked at him. “Why do ye think? She’s the daughter of Lady Pilbury’s companion. They are scarcely interested in their own children. Besides, I reckon that most of them guess the truth. We tell them that I’m a widow, but that’s a common excuse.”
“It’s a pity that ye must be treated that way,” Helena remarked, frowning. “I wonder why Edith puts up with it.”
“Oh, Lady Pilbury rarely sees it all. Her friends are clever enough to slight me behind her back, at least. I daenae like to complain. Especially in recent years, she’s had fewer and fewer friends. She’s been good to me, and I daenae want to put her off people she cares about.”
“If her friends treat ye that way, are they worth keeping?” Hunter asked shortly.
Helena clicked her tongue. “For goodness’ sake, Hunter! People’s lives are complicated. We cannae say that. Forgive him, Daphne. Me son has strong opinions.”
Hunter tossed his knife down onto the table. It landed point-first into the wood, the handle quivering.
“I ken that if I were Willow’s mother,” he said pointedly, “I’d nae permit her to be pushed aside and treated like a lesser thing under any circumstances.
Her mother is a lady from a powerful clan.
Her grandfather is a laird, and her aunt…
well, we all ken Lady Ceana’s story, daenae we?
Willow hasnae met any of them yet, but one day, she will. ”
Daphne’s hand tightened, her knuckles turning white. “I daenae let her be pushed around or treated as lesser. I do me job to earn us a living. Willow doesnae work for Lady Pilbury, so there’s nay need for her to be around Lady Pilbury’s friends. How could ye possibly understand—”
“Has anyone tried this mutton?” Helena interrupted, with a note of desperation in her voice. “It’s lovely. Here, I’ll put a slice on each of yer plates. Eat up, eat up.”
Daphne politely cut a slice from the mutton. It was very good. She chewed slowly, trying to swallow down her temper along with the meat.
I’m a guest. Helena has been kind to us. The least I can do is nae snap at her son.
Hunter didn’t meet her eyes. He cleared his throat, shifting. The warm, blunt curve of his knee momentarily pressed against hers. He shifted away at once, so quickly that she was sure it was an accident.
The touch lingered. She could feel it, even though he’d moved his knee. The twinge of desire mingled with her anger, creating a potent fire deep in her belly.
After a moment or two of awkward silence, Helena glanced up from her plate.
“I cannae help but think that Edith already looks better,” she announced. “A wee bit more color in her cheeks, maybe?”
“She fell asleep quickly enough,” Daphne managed. “Ordinarily, she tosses and turns. Perhaps the climate will suit her.”
“Aye, well, it might. Rhiannon thinks that it could be the proximity to the sea, and I think that it’s the healing drafts. Either way, I am inclined to hope.”
“I would be glad to see her recover,” Daphne agreed. “She acts almost like a grandmother to Willow. She’s a kind woman, and a fair one. And anything that delays her sons’ inheritance is even fairer.”
Helena winced. “Aye, whenever she writes about those thankless boys in her letters, me blood boils. But let’s nae talk about them, in case I have apoplexy.”
“What do ye want to talk about, Mother?” Hunter enquired, arching an eyebrow. “I must confess that I’m nae in the mood for gossip.”
Helena leaned back in her seat, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. “Ye want plain talk? Fine. Here’s some plain talk for ye. When were ye going to tell me that I had a granddaughter?”
Daphne dropped her fork with a clang. It bounced across the floor, scattering little bits of meat and grease.
Hunter’s eyes darkened, and he leaned forward, resting his weight on the table until the wood creaked.
“What did ye say?” he asked, somewhat hoarsely.
“Oh, I think ye heard me perfectly well,” Helena responded sweetly.
Daphne glanced wide-eyed at him. He met her gaze, and there was a faintly baffled look on his face.
Clearing her throat, Daphne managed a faint smile and faced Helena. “I daenae ken what ye are talking about,” she said faintly. “I—”
“Oh, come off it, lass,” Helena interrupted, waving a hand. “Ye are a terrible liar.”
Daphne closed her mouth with a snap, reddening.
Hunter leaned forward. “Mother, what are ye saying?”
“Enough of this,” Helena snapped. “Willow is yer child, is she nae, Hunter? That makes her me granddaughter.”
Daphne and Hunter exchanged another quick, bewildered look.
What do we do? She hoped her eyes conveyed the question. Do we keep denying it? Will that work?
Hunter’s face gave nothing away. He cleared his throat, shifting.
He’s uncomfortable. Did he think he could hide this from his mother forever? Maybe.
Now she had a choice. Did she stay silent and wait for Hunter to decide how to answer his mother?
Helena glanced at them both, making it clear that Daphne was still very much part of the conversation.
Or should she speak up? After all, she had a reputation for honesty. Such a thing was hard to earn, and very, very easy to lose.
Daphne cleared her throat, and Helena glanced at her.
“It’s true,” she admitted. “Hunter is Willow’s father. I daenae expect anything from him. I can take care of me own daughter.”
“And ye did nothing to support Daphne and yer daughter?” Helena hissed, shooting her son a reproachful look.
“It’s nae his fault,” Daphne interjected quickly. “It’s mine. I never told him, and he couldnae have found me. He had nay way of kenning about her. I could have told him at any time, but I didnae.”
Helena shifted to face her. “Well, why nae?”
“It’s complicated.”
“We have time.”
“Mother,” Hunter murmured, a warning note in his voice. “Leave it.”
Helena ignored him.
“I have questions,” she said firmly. “And I want answers.”
“Nae now.”
Once again, Helena shifted away. Her eyes narrowed, missing nothing.
“Do yer parents ken about this?” she pressed. “Yer name is familiar. Who are ye? Have we met? Do I ken yer kin?”
“L-Lady Helena, I—”
“Oh, call me Helena. Ye have birthed me granddaughter, after all! We’re practically friends already. Tell me, who are yer kin? What clan are ye from? Nae from ours, I think. I’d have remembered. How did ye come to meet Hunter?”
“Mother,” Hunter gritted out.
She waved her hand at him, almost irritated. “Well, lass? Speak!”
“That is enough, Mother.” Hunter rose abruptly to his feet. “If ye have eaten enough, leave. If ye havenae eaten yer fill, I’ll have food sent to yer rooms. But ye will leave this room now.”
Helena scowled. “Ye cannae send me away. I want to—”
“I am Laird MacCrimmon,” Hunter interrupted, his voice tight. “I am Laird here, nae ye. Remember yer place. Out.”
A long silence fell over the table.
Helena paled, just a little, her lips pressing tight together with disapproval. Wordlessly, she rose to her feet and flounced out of the room, never once looking back.
The atmosphere grew tenser after she’d gone. Daphne let out a ragged breath. She hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath.
And then, with a slightly delayed realization, she glanced up at Hunter and noticed that they were completely alone.