by Aileen Adams
She tried to brush away the marks closer to the boulder behind which she momentarily hid, and hunched low to the ground, then quickly made her way back to the cleft in the rocks. She did the best she could to cover her trail, but she couldn't count on that. She doubted that the men would stray far from their camp with dusk approaching, but she wasn't going to assume anything anymore.
By the time she made her way back to the opening in the wall, her thoughts were racing, her hands trembling with anxiety and fear.
She saw that Hugh was awake, trying to lift himself up on his elbows. Every day he had grown a little bit stronger, but it still took a great deal of effort for him to even sit up, leaning his weight against the rocks behind him.
She stood just inside the opening, staring at him, not sure what to think, what to say, or what to do.
He glanced up at her and then frowned. His muscles tensed as his gaze riveted to hers.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
“It is my uncle,” she finally mumbled, her voice harsh with pain and a heavy sense of betrayal. “It is my uncle who did this.”
He frowned. “How do you know—”
“We have to leave, Hugh. They're out there… they're out there!”
25
Hugh stared in startled dismay at Dalla, who stood shadowed in the opening in the cleft in the wall, but even from the shadows, he could tell that her face was extremely pale.
Dark circles of worry under her eyes became more evident. Her wide eyes, easily visible, the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat alarmed him.
“Take a breath, Dalla.”
She heaved in a deep, shuddering breath and let it out, ending with a half-sob. She clapped a hand over her mouth, blinking back tears. Her reaction forced him to sit straighter, ignoring the pain throbbing in his thigh. He had begun to recover, but it would be a while before he was back to his old self. The fear on her face, the terror, only reinforced his frustration that he wasn't fully capable of protecting her as much as he would like.
“Take another breath, let it out slowly.”
She did.
“Now tell me. What has happened?”
She took another deep, shuddering breath, then pointed behind him, into the rocks of the mountain.
“I went down to the stream to fish. Of course, I stayed in the underbrush where nobody could see me. I don't know how much time passed, but then I smelled wood smoke. Very carefully, I found a good vantage point and saw four men, although there could be more. I didn't stay long enough to find out—”
“Four men. What were they doing?”
“It looked like they were making camp. Several in rougher clothing, like you, Scottish clothing and leathers,” she said, gesturing toward his clothes. “Then I saw our mare—”
Anger surged through Hugh. “Our mare? Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I'm positive. She was tethered with their horses near the trees. They were making camp in a small space between the trees and the riverbank.”
He bit back an urge to confront the thieves. He had paid his good, hard-earned coins on that horse, but without knowing more about the situation, he didn't see a chance of getting her back.
He looked up at Dalla. “Go on.”
“As before, the men who were chasing us, the ones who hurt you… I saw the man in town clothes, or city clothes, or whatever you call them here.” She paused and swallowed. “And I recognized him.”
Again, her features transformed. She wrapped her arms around her waist, as if holding her insides in. She hunched forward slightly and made an odd, gasping sound.
He waited.
“Hugh, I recognized my uncle… Uncle Amund—”
She couldn't speak anymore, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. She lowered her face and covered it with her hands. She stood there, trembling, silently crying. The sight surprised him. She had been through so much already and he barely saw her shed one tear. Then again, being betrayed by one's own family, knowing for a certainty that they were trying to kill you… he took a deep breath, trying to plan.
“Gather our belongings.”
“But Hugh, you're still very weak. How can we—”
“You said they're camping on the river. To the northwest?”
She nodded.
“My gelding is on the east side of this rock face, isn't that right?”
Again, she nodded.
“We have to go, now.” He glanced down at the items on the dirt floor around him. “Take it all; the saddle, the blankets, and don't forget the water bladder. We can fill that later. He nodded at the dangling from the fishing string. And that.” The leather pouches that had been packed with wild vegetables and wild berries were empty now. He pointed to them. “And those. Leave nothing behind.”
A shadow fell over the cave opening, and Dalla glanced uncertainly outside. “The clouds are coming in again, and it's growing near dusk. Traveling in the dark—”
“We don't have a choice. Now gather the things.”
She immediately bent down to snatch up the empty pouches and the water bladder, slinging it over her shoulder by its leather strap. She gently pulled the horse blanket from his legs, and the one she'd been using from the ground nearby. She draped both over her shoulders. She reached down for the saddle while he struggled to stand, bracing his hands against the wall behind him as he dug his good foot into the ground and pushed himself upward.
She hurried toward him to help, but he brushed her off. “No. I can do this. Go take those things to the horse—Agnarr—and move quickly and silently. I'm right behind you.”
And he was, just after reaching for his ax and knife on the floor beside him. He gained his feet, but precariously, his leg throbbing with pain and threatening to give way beneath him when he put weight on the ball of his foot. Hugh took a step forward and gritted his teeth, fought the pain, fought the buzzing in his head, and the darkness that threatened to creep around his eyesight.
No! He would not succumb to the pain.
They had to get out of here before they were discovered. Dalla's life depended on it. So did his.
It took him quite a few minutes to meet Dalla where she had tied his gelding. Agnarr. He had to admit that it was a fine name for a fine horse. The gelding blew softly at the sight of him, and Hugh gave him an affectionate pat on his neck.
Dalla was in the process of smoothing the saddle blanket over the horse, the saddle leaning against her lower calf. To his surprise, he noted that Agnarr stood placidly while Dalla did these things, murmuring something to him in her native language. It sounded like a song. Whatever it was, his horse, who normally stomped, blew, and showed his teeth when anyone tried to approach him, even his good friend Maccay, stood calmly while Hugh’s new wife saddled him. She had apparently found some way to tame the beast in him.
Hugh’s respect for her burgeoned. She had taken care of him during his illness. She had made a thin broth with the leftover vegetables and berries he had found, soaking the remnants of the dried strips of meat in it before she fed him. She'd cleaned his wound. He wasn't even annoyed that she had obviously gone through his belongings and found his fishing line. She had caught a fish. She wasn't as helpless as he assumed.
He hung onto Agnarr's mane while Dalla moved to grab the saddle, but he spoke softly, halting her. “I'll do that. You keep watch.”
Dalla turned her back to him, half-hidden as she stood behind a tree, her gaze searching the landscape nearby and then further out. Her face shone even paler in the waning sunlight of day, and he couldn't help but imagine what was going through her mind.
While he struggled a bit, he one-handedly flung the saddle over the gelding's back, and then balancing the bulk of his weight against the barrel of his horse, managed to secure the saddle, then grabbed a fistful of Agnarr's mane and leaped up onto his back.
“Hand me the things.” He would rearrange things later, but for now, they had to concentrate on getting out of the area.
He t
ook the extra blanket and draped it over his lap in front of him. The empty pouches followed suit, their leather straps draped over the rise of his saddle in the front. Without further ado, he extended his hand for Dalla. She clasped her fingers around his wrist, looked up at him, and nodded.
In moments, she sat behind him on the horse, tucked closely behind.
“Wrap your arms around my waist. Try not to move around too much; you're sitting on his kidneys, plus he's carrying both of us. We'll have to stop more frequently to give him rest and allow him to graze.”
She nodded her head against his back. She leaned close, and he felt her breasts pressed up against his torso, her arms tightly grasping his waist, her thighs touching his.
A host of feelings and emotions flooded through him as he tugged Agnarr's reins from the tree around which Dalla had wrapped them. Fear for Dalla, rage for him. The highlanders had stolen his mare, were obviously after his bride, and now forcing his hand. They were canvassing the area, looking for signs to determine which direction they were traveling. The Scotsmen would probably tell Dalla's uncle that they would most likely turn south, heading for central Scotland, away from the coastline.
While Hugh’s original intention had been to seek out his brother for a reunion of sorts, having to do it under his present circumstances, wounded and with a woman—his bride no less—and being hunted, had thrown his plans into disarray.
Softly, he clucked to Agnarr and tugged on his reins, turning his head northeast. It was slow going as he carefully guided his horse through the darkening forest, careful to keep him away from stones which a hoof could graze against, the sound echoing loudly in the growing darkness.
They topped a rise as the moon rose, giving him just enough light to look for the safest way down a rather steep slope dotted with curiously twisted rock spires. To the east lay the mire and bogs, but directly to the north rose rocky cliffs, spires, and canyons, looking dark and menacing in the growing darkness.
He studied the landscape for several more moments, then decided that the best route would be to hug the base of the cliffs, while at the same time trying to avoid the softer, mushy ground of the bogs. While he preferred to move toward the middle of that area, toward softer ground, he didn't want to take the chance of his horse stumbling, or of the light of the rising moon casting its light down on them. It would be slow and treacherous going, but they had no choice.
He swore under his breath, wished once again that he had never left Duncan lands, that he had not gone into the tavern for a mug of ale, that he hadn't… he sighed.
No use bemoaning what had already happened. He had to focus on one thing, and one thing only. Protect Dalla.
Then find his brother and hopefully convince him to provide them with some form of transportation to the western coastline of Scotland, where they could eventually make their way back to Duncan lands, losing their pursuers along the way.
26
Hugh and Dalla traveled through the night. Dawn was just beginning to brighten the sky to the east, the air chilly and damp with moisture. He felt the weight of Dalla's sleeping form against his back and straightened to offer her more support.
During the night, he passed her the other blanket, which she had wrapped around herself and him, grasping the edges in her hands, again clasped around his waist. His leg throbbed with pain, an ever-present sensation that, though unpleasant, he had by now grown used to. Throughout the night, he had not felt the wound open up nor the hot trickle of blood, but he still moved carefully.
They had dismounted twice during those long, dark, cold hours to take care of nature's needs, and allow Agnarr to empty his bladder and graze for several minutes while they stretched and carefully moved around. Dalla moved stiffly, her movements jerky. He wasn't sure if that was because of her physical exhaustion or her emotional trauma, perhaps both. For his part, and holding on to a tree branch, he took a few steps in each direction, gritting his teeth against the bolt of pain that jarred every muscle in his body when he put his weight down on his injured leg.
He had to do it. Sarah, the healer back home, had done much the same—had insisted on it actually—with Jake after he began to recuperate from the wound in his own thigh that he had received during the Battle of the Largs. That wound had refused to heal, no thanks to Ceana poisoning Jake, but eventually, Sarah had been able to mend the wound and cleanse Jake of the poisons swimming through his body. And then, much to Jake's annoyance and muttered grumblings, Sarah had forced him out of bed and made him take several steps to his bedroom window and then back again before she would allow him to once again lay down. She had told him the movement would prevent his muscles from dying, leaving his leg useless.
Sarah was a force to be reckoned with, but, as it was turning out, so was Dalla. For such a tiny thing, she did have courage. She had not abandoned him. Of course, it would have been foolish of her to try. He gave her more sense than that. She had cared for him, something that he would never forget no matter how things turned out.
“How far to the coast?” she asked softly.
He shrugged. “We should get there in another day or two.” He hobbled his way back to the horse. “When we get there, you will say nothing, understood? You do not open your mouth, you do not say a word.”
She looked at him as if she were going to protest, but he lifted a hand, stopping her.
“If anyone asks, you are my wife, but you are mute. Wearing those clothes and riding with me, I doubt anyone will question that. But if you speak, they will know you are not a Scot, much less from the highlands. Understood?”
She nodded. “Hugh…?”
He frowned. “What?”
“This brother of yours… how long is it been since you have seen him?”
He glanced at her, preparing to leap onto the back of his horse. It took a huge amount of effort and not a little bit of pain.
“Too long,” he muttered.
He situated himself in his saddle and then once again reached down for her. Soon, she settled behind him as before, draped the blanket around her shoulders, and they continued on.
“Are you close, you and your brother?”
“I haven't seen him in many years. It doesn't matter.”
“But what if he doesn't want to help us?”
“He may not like it, but he will,” Hugh grumbled. “Now enough questions.”
“But if he doesn't want to, what are we going to do? How can you make him?”
“I will not have to make him. And even if he doesn't want to, he will help us.”
“But how—”
“We are brothers. Besides, he owes me.”
“Owes you? Owes you for what?”
“For saving his life. Now, enough talk.”
He guided Agnarr to the northeast, his gaze continually scanning the landscape, now glowing purple, pink, and varying shades of bluish black as the sun peeked its dome over the easternmost horizon. The air felt sharp, clear for the time being anyway. The long grasses of the dale through which they rode were heavy with the morning dew.
Despite his confidence in responding to Dalla's questions, he really was not sure how this brother would react to his sudden appearance. But Derek did owe him. Hugh had saved his life, not long before Derek had left the clan for good. They'd been out hunting on a beautiful, warm spring morning. Snow still dogged shady areas and along the slopes of Ben Nevis looming high overhead.
Derek had just taken aim on a massive stag with his bow and arrow. The moment he released his arrow, burying it deep just behind the shoulder and dropping the stag with one shot, they had heard the noise.
An unmistakable noise in the highlands, and most especially from those always wary of the encroachment of warring clans. The sound of a stone hitting another, often inadvertent, caused by a horse hoof, a misplaced step, or even an outright challenge.
Hugh had spun around and stepped in front of his brother, his own arrow nocked in his bow. He recognized two of the bloody Orkney clansmen, bot
h with arrows aimed toward them, ready to let loose. Hugh had let out a shout, released his arrow, watching the satisfaction as it buried itself into the chest of one of them.
Derek, who had been jogging toward the fallen stag, spun around and stumbled with a curse. Hugh quickly reached for another arrow from his quiver, nocked it, drew back, and let that arrow fly before the second Orkney recovered from his surprise—his mistake.
Derek had told him that someday he would repay his brother for saving his life. They both knew and quietly admitted that while Derek was the better hunter, Hugh was the better warrior. His quick thinking, his excellent skills, and his uncanny ability to sense danger had saved them both.
The sun broke over the horizon, bathing the land in a soft, yellow glow.
He inhaled deeply, relishing the scents floating in the air, enjoying the feeling of Dalla's torso pressed close against him, the warmth emanating from Agnarr's back. If it weren't for the fact that Dalla's uncle obviously sought her death, and the fact that unknown clansmen were helping them, he might almost have enjoyed the morning.
He kept Agnarr close to the hills, remaining in the cool shadows of morning, not wanting to leave obvious signs of their passing if at all possible. Toward midmorning, they topped yet another rise. There, way down below, stretched a rocky coastline. The wind blew the scent of salt water into the air. Agnarr blew restlessly, then shook his head.
Dalla roused from her half slumber and, resting her chin on his shoulder, also looked toward the eastern horizon.
“Now what?”
He barely spared a glance in her direction as he pointed toward the south. “I see smoke from early morning fires. There's a town over there. I will find a place for you to hide and then I will ride into town and see what I can find out.”
He felt her stiffen behind him.
“You want to leave me here? Alone?”
