Chapter 25
TWO WEEKS LATER
“… and then I traveled to the eastern village and took a team of scouts up into the hills to make sure that the bandits were gone,” Jasper finished. “I believe it’s safe there now.”
Hunter nodded, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Ye’ve done good work. Thank ye, Magnus.”
There was a brief moment of silence.
Hunter clenched his jaw. Jasper dropped his gaze, shifting uncomfortably.
“Jasper,” Hunter corrected himself heavily. “Thank ye, Jasper. I am sorry.”
“No need to apologize, me Laird. That man was at yer side for years. It must be strange to see me in his place.”
Hunter grunted in acknowledgement.
Jasper was a stocky, blond-haired man of around twenty-five, a little young for a man-at-arms. He might have lacked the experience of older men, but he was a serious, stern fellow with a determination to get the work done.
A laird could not go without a man-at-arms any more than an English lord could go without a steward.
It didn’t matter who he chose, in the end. The work got done. The clan continued to thrive. All was well.
And yet the gnawing emptiness in Hunter’s gut refused to ease up.
He’d received a terse letter from Skye implying that she was still angry at him for dismissing her, but that he should get his act together and travel to England soon. He’d sent a brief reply, agreeing to nothing.
Nothing mattered, after all.
Somebody tapped on the door, which creaked open before he could answer. Helena stepped inside, clutching a crisp square of white paper.
“I thought I might find ye here,” she sighed. “Ye do nothing but work these days.”
Jasper glanced over at Hunter. “Should I leave, me Laird?”
“Stay. I’m sure me mother willnae be long.”
Helena pressed her lips together, hurt flickering across her face.
“Daphne has written us a letter,” she said, holding out the envelope.
Hunter cleared his throat. “What does it say?”
“I thought ye would want to read it.”
“Just tell me. I havenae time.”
Helena blinked, faltering. “I see. Well, uh, it says that they returned home safely. Edith is still in better health than when she left England, although her doctor is trying to convince her to have leech treatment again. She says that Willow is well but misses being able to run around. The weather’s been bad.
Lots of rain. Oh, and she asks about River. She is very keen to ken if he’s well.”
Hunter curled his fingers into fists. “Will ye write a reply?”
“I thought ye might.”
“I daenae have time, Mother.”
Helena stared at him for a long moment, saying nothing. Then she spoke. “Very well, then, son. I shall leave. I daenae want to take up any more of yer valuable time.”
She left without giving him a chance to respond.
Sighing, Hunter tipped back his head, closing his eyes.
Jasper cleared his throat, startling him. He’d forgotten that his man-at-arms was there. Magnus used to slip away into the background at times like this, but apparently Jasper didn’t have the inclination or the ability to do that.
“Forgive me, me Laird,” Jasper ventured, “but I have to speak me mind.”
Hunter made a vague gesture. “Go ahead.”
“With all due respect, me Laird, ye shouldnae be so loyal to a clan or a council that turned against ye as soon as the opportunity arose.”
He flinched. “Ye forget yerself, lad.”
“Maybe I do.” Jasper shrugged. “But I ken how hard ye work, me Laird, and what ye have sacrificed. When it comes to serving people, a person can give up every bit of themselves, blood and bone, until nothing is left. I suppose the question we must ask ourselves is, when have we given enough?”
Hunter only stared at him, at a loss for words.
Eventually, Jasper bowed and slipped out of the room.
For a moment, Hunter sat quietly, staring at the door. A rustling from the corner of the room drew his attention. He glanced over to the nest of blankets and straw, from which a three-legged fox stepped out, tilting its head at him.
Daphne wasn’t sure whether it was a problem with the aristocracy in general or just the English aristocracy that they assumed all servants were deaf.
“She does look brighter,” Lady Tollerhampton conceded, stirring her sixth lump of sugar into her teacup. “But then, not all of us are willing to run off to the wilds of Scotland for every slight indisposition.”
The second guest, Lady Penn, sniffed, lifting her pointed nose a little higher. “I heard that she gave her companion a guest room. What nonsense. It’ll give the girl ideas above her station. What is wrong with a servant’s room anyway?”
The youngest and possibly kindest of the little group, Mrs. Spencer, cast a nervous glance at where Daphne sat in the shade.
“Well, a companion is not really a servant.”
Lady Tollerhampton, who was Mrs. Spencer’s sister and was thoroughly annoyed that her sister had recently thrown away her status as a baron’s widow only to wed a common Captain Spencer, shot her an annoyed look.
“Of course they are, my dear. Don’t be foolish.
Anyway, what do you all think? Lady Pilbury has been strange since her return.
Only yesterday, she mentioned returning to Scotland.
My dear, I said, I must tell you quite plainly that you’ll be considered thoroughly odd if you do so.
Go to Edinburgh, if you must, or some nice country estate in the southern parts of Scotland, but why on earth should a person go further north?
The weather is bad, and heaven only knows how uncivilized the people are. ”
Daphne had brought some mending out to the garden to keep herself entertained while Lady Pilbury and her friends took tea. Under the safety of her mending, she curled her fingers into fists, breathing hard.
Briefly, she allowed herself to imagine lurching forward and tipping over the tea table.
She imagined tearing that hideous hat off Lady Penn’s head and ideally stomping on all the fake fruits and vegetables piled on top of it.
She would push Lady Tollerhampton over and perhaps deliver a few good kicks.
Mrs. Spencer would receive only a stern look as a reproach for the company she kept. She often brought peppermint pieces for Willow and had once gifted her a small cloth doll.
Daphne’s insides tightened as she thought of her daughter sitting listlessly in the library.
Lady Pilbury had announced, quite unexpectedly, that it was high time that Willow began some lessons. She had arranged and paid for them herself, just simple lessons with a friendly, round-faced governess.
Me little girl is growing up. On to bigger and better things, I suppose. And me? I’m stuck here.
Not that living with Lady Pilbury was difficult. But her friends… ugh.
And none of them is Hunter.
Even thinking his name sent a shiver down her spine. Daphne squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head.
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
There’d been no response to her letter. She’d calculated how long it would take for her letter to reach the Highlands and how long it might take to receive one back.
There should have been a reply by now. And even if Hunter chose not to write to her, surely Helena would have?
Maybe they both want to forget us. Maybe Willow will never see her father again.
No, that was too miserable to consider.
She cleared her throat, shifting in her seat, and three pairs of eyes landed squarely on her, two of them unfriendly.
“Did you require something, Miss Tulloch?” Lady Tollerhampton snapped.
Before Daphne could reply, Lady Pilbury appeared, limping carefully along the paved path that led from the house.
“I do beg your forgiveness, ladies,” she breezed. “I am back.”
“Did I hear carriage wheels?” Mrs. Spencer asked, frowning. “Has somebody else arrived?”
“Don’t disturb yourself, my dear Mrs. Spencer. We will not be disturbed, I can promise you. I hope you were all comfortable out here while I was gone. I must confess, after my sojourn in Scotland, the air here seems so much warmer.”
“Yes, well, in a kingdom of ice, even an English winter would seem hot,” Lady Penn remarked, hiding a sly smile behind her teacup. “We were just wondering why Miss Tulloch did not remain in Scotland. Isn’t her family Scottish?”
“Indeed, it is,” Lady Pilbury responded comfortably, settling into her chair once more. “We were made most welcome.”
“Welcome? Surely not,” Lady Tollerhampton tittered. “I heard that they all live in great stone castles that are always cold and moldy.”
“You should know all about that,” Mrs. Spencer mumbled, loud enough to earn a glare from her sister.
Lady Penn cast a glance at Daphne, then leaned forward, whispering to Lady Pilbury, “My dear, I have some upsetting news to share with you. Only a rumor, of course—and you know I loathe gossip—but I simply had to bring it to you.”
“How intriguing,” Lady Pilbury responded brightly. “Although perhaps if you are uncertain of the rumor’s origins, then—”
“It concerns your companion. Perhaps she ought to leave for a while.”
“Not necessary, my dear friend. Go on, please.”
Lady Penn glanced at Lady Tollerhampton, as if for support. “Well, you see, we have it on good authority that the child—”
“Do you mean little Willow?” Lady Pilbury interrupted sweetly. There was a hint of anger in her gaze, which she leveled at Lady Penn.
Lady Penn seemed to notice, for she shifted in her seat and cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I mean that the child is not legitimate. We always suspected, but you know how these Scottish women can be. Loose morals are the least of—”
“And where did you get that information?” Lady Pilbury asked placidly, taking a long sip of her tea.
In the background, Daphne dug her nails into her palms to keep quiet. She imagined throwing a cup of hot tea at Lady Penn’s head.
“I shan’t reveal my sources,” Lady Penn mumbled.
Perhaps there was something in Lady Pilbury’s unflinching stare that was making her think twice.