An Auctioned Bride

by Aileen Adams

  This time, he did twist slightly in the saddle to look at her. He nodded. “I will go down alone, into this town. I will find out if I can learn anything of someone hunting a Norwegian captive. And then I will ask about my brother. I will come back for you.”

  He had changed his mind about bringing her into the town with him, at least for this first foray into a coastal hamlet. He was hoping that he could mingle with the villagers starting their morning chores, or the seafarers readying their lines and nets along the coast. He wasn't even sure if this town had a dock, but sooner or later, he knew he would learn where his brother had his shipping company. If he was lucky, he was close. If not, well, he would worry about that later.

  To his surprise, he felt Dalla squeeze her arms tightly around his waist.

  “Hugh, please don't leave me here alone. Not again.”

  Her words surprised him. Again, he turned to look at her. “You think I'll just leave you out here in the wilderness by yourself? Let the wild animals or those people after us have you with no fight?”

  She shook her head. “No, it's not like that. It's… well, it's…”

  He moved his hand and unlaced her fingers from around his waist. Then he grasped her forearm, nudging her over the side of the horse.

  “What? What are you doing?”

  He didn't like the tremor of fear he heard in her voice. What was happening to her? She'd been so brave up until this point.

  “We're just dismounting, Dalla.”

  She allowed him to lower her to the ground and he followed. He held onto Agnarr's reins with one hand and reached for her hand with the other.

  “What is wrong?”

  He couldn't help but notice the way she looked at him, not with hatred or anger, but… concern? He did acknowledge that the two of them had been through quite a time since that moment he bought her, but what was she—

  Tentatively, she reached a hand toward him and placed it on the arm holding hers. “I don't want to be left alone again,” she said softly. Firmly. “In that cave, with you so injured, I felt so… so alone.” She straightened her shoulders and looked at him, her expression almost fierce. “I am your wife now.” She gestured with her chin down toward the coast and the distant sight of buildings. “Where you go, I go. I will not open my mouth. But please, don't leave me alone again.”

  He frowned. What was this? “I will leave you with a weapon—”

  “Hugh, you don't understand.”

  No, he didn't, and he wasn't sure, if she didn't start speaking more clearly, if he ever would. What was she—

  Suddenly, she took a step closer to him, placed her other hand on his shoulder, then leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Her lips felt soft and warm against his stubble, and for the first time since he'd acquired her, he acknowledged the stirrings of desire, or least feelings that he was willing to recognize.

  He tried not to think about it, the growing attraction and respect that he felt for her and her courage. She could've left him to die, but she hadn't. Then again, he could've left her in the bog to die, and he didn't do that either. When he looked at her now, he no longer saw images of Elyse, but he did see Dalla Jorstad McInnis, a woman whom he respected and, if he was to admit it to himself, one he admired for her often stubborn, brash, and even haughty attitude.

  He sighed and turned his face toward hers, then lowered his head and kissed her, his lips meeting hers, gently, ever so tenderly at first, unsure how she would react.

  To his surprise, she met the pressure of his lips equally. Almost shyly, she broke off the kiss and then rested her head against his chest. He let go of her arm and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and she did the same with her arms around his waist. The moment lasted only briefly, but it was enough.

  It was enough.

  They stood that way for several moments while his thoughts raced. This changed everything. She was not his slave, not his captive, not his wife in name only.

  He liked the feeling of her head resting against his chest, the way her shoulders pressed into him, seeking whatever it was she sought. It had been a long, very long time since he had ever felt this way. So long since he had held a woman in his arms like this. He of all people knew how very short and uncertain life could be.

  He understood now.

  She didn't want to be left alone because she worried about him, felt a connection to him and truth be told, since the injury, he had begun to feel much the same.

  Two stubborn people, both refusing to express themselves until absolutely necessary. He lifted his head, looking off into the distance, imagining how Maccay would chuckle over his stubbornness to recognize what he had; what he'd had since the moment he had pulled out his pouch of coins in that tavern only days ago.

  “All right, you may come with me. But you must not utter a word. Understood?”

  The smile she gave him warmed his heart.

  “I understand.”

  27

  Dalla had been wrong. With Hugh's arms wrapped tenderly around her shoulders, she realized that she had been wrong. Not all Scotsman were animals. Not all highlanders were barbarians.

  Of course, she'd only known Hugh, so she had very little to go by, but at the same time she realized that she had allowed her prejudices to grow against any reference to Scots in Scotland, much and as it was likely that the Scots did the same toward the Norwegians.

  She sighed, listening to Hugh's heartbeat, enjoying the warmth of his torso, sensing every minuscule movement of his musculature as they stood, wrapped in one another's embrace. Was this the beginnings of love? She didn't know. She'd never been in love before. Affection? Maybe. Likely. Maybe even stronger than affection. She'd never felt this way before toward any man. All she knew was she didn't want to be left behind again, and then as Hugh's wife, willing or not, she felt that her place now was by his side, not hiding.

  Abruptly, he released his grasp and gently nudged her away from him, hands on her shoulders, gazing down at her face.

  “We have changed,” he said simply.

  She nodded.

  “This is good, but it does not remove the dangers. Your uncle wants you dead. For what reason, I do not know, but it will be dangerous for you to be seen with me. You have an unforgettable face.”

  As though to emphasize, he stroked his fingers along the side of her face, tracing her jawline, then nudging her chin upward to maintain eye contact.

  Her heart skipped a beat, and once again, feelings for him burgeoned, but she couldn't define them. Not specifically. It was all so confusing, but at the same time thrilling. And yet… and yet behind it all lay the aura of danger. This was no game.

  “I am not sure which is riskier… leaving you out here somewhere, or taking you into a town with me.”

  “Let's go find your brother,” she said simply.

  After all, either they managed to escape their pursuers, or they did not. Either way, she decided that it would be best for them to meet the dangers together.

  He offered a nod, then once again mounted his horse, pulling her up after him.

  Finding Hugh's brother was not as easy as it originally sounded. By mid-afternoon, Hugh and Dalla rode into the third seaside village, garnering curiosity with her appearance, a woman dressed in man's clothes, riding double as they were, strangers to the area.

  She returned gazes coolly, without hesitance, not arrogantly, but showing no sense of intimidation either. Acting like a Scot.

  In every village, Hugh guided Agnarr down to the seaside, their buildings, and short docks, asking for Derek McGinnis. Sometimes, when he needed to go inside a tavern, she waited outside with the horse. He would always return moments later, his frown growing ever deeper with each one. In the last town they'd passed through, a little larger than the one they now entered, he had been directed to a structure close down by the beach where waves rhythmically slapped the shoreline, gently rolling in. The structure served as a shipping company of sorts. There, he inquired once again for any in
formation about Captain Derek McInnis or his ships.

  This time, Hugh had been fortunate. He was directed up the coast, and now they approached yet another small village whose name she couldn't pronounce let alone understand. It nestled along the shoreline of a small inlet or harbor, its shores dotted with rocks. An unlikely location for any shipping business, as the water here certainly didn't look deep enough to accept the draft of a goods-laden ship.

  Nevertheless, Hugh paused his horse on a hill looking down into the village, dotted with thatch-roofed huts, and down closer to shore, bustling activity. As they headed downslope toward the activity on the beach, they rounded a small hill, and it was then that she saw two ships anchored out to sea, beyond the breakwater. That made sense, but if the ship was loading or unloading goods, its location and the need for smaller boats to transport those goods to shore seemed foolish. Why not just have the goods transported to a better port city?

  At any rate, she shrugged off her curiosity and her questions, not really concerned about how these coastal Scots did their business. What she did feel was a nearly overwhelming sensation of loss and homesickness as she inhaled the sea air, felt the salt against her skin, the breeze coming off of the sea wafting through her hair. The sudden pain that caught in her chest was so overwhelming she nearly gasped.

  As they had ridden from village to village, Hugh had clearly grown more discouraged with each failure to find his brother.

  She attempted to break the ever longer growing silences by asking him about his brother. At first, he seemed extremely reluctant to talk about him, but as they rode, and he spoke more of their early years, she saw an occasional smile. He carried regrets, she was sure of that, but who didn't?

  And then she asked the question that had cornered the bulk of her curiosity. “Why has it been so long since you've seen him? He still lives in Scotland, isn't that right?”

  “I believe so,” he sighed. “Although I'm not sure anymore. I'm just going by what Jake told me. He saw my brother a few years ago. Derek told him that his contract with the King of the Scots had expired and he was starting a shipping business along the coast. I would've assumed that meant Scotland.”

  “So you two went your separate ways. You stayed with the Duncan clan and he ventured to the sea.”

  He shook his head. “When he left Duncan lands, he fought with the Scots against your countrymen,” he shrugged. “That's when Jake saw him. Jake was a soldier, wounded at the Battle of Largs, then taken to a small town after he was wounded. It was there that he saw Derek. At the time, and Derek was running supplies to the coastline, breaking through barricades set by Norse ships in the sea.”

  Dalla knew little about battles and conscriptions, soldier's obligations, and so forth. She did know that the Norwegians and the Scots had been at war since she was little, and so she declined to comment on the continued warfare between them. What she did know was that running a blockade was a very dangerous and risky endeavor. Then again, if Hugh's brother was anything like him, she supposed it wasn't surprising.

  “You haven't seen him at all in the intervening years?”

  Hugh shook his head. “There was a letter or two in the beginning. But then those too stopped.” He offered a shrug. “Until Jake saw him, I didn't even know he was still alive.”

  Dalla instinctively knew that Hugh was probably struggling with doubts. Could they find his brother? And even if he did, would the man help them? He could be out to sea. He could be dead now for all Hugh knew.

  Their fourth visit to a coastal village proved as fruitless as the first three. By this time, dusk had begun to settle over the land.

  “It's growing late. We should find shelter.” He turned the horse away from the coast and into low rolling, brush-covered hillsides until he found a likely spot sheltered from the ever-present sea breezes.

  She felt exhausted and was happy for the rest. To her surprise and discomfort, he handed her down from Agnarr but remained mounted. She looked up at him in question.

  “Stay here. I'm going to ride back to the village and buy some food. I saw a tavern back there. I'll go ask about Derek and return shortly.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but then decided she would rather stay where she was. Her legs and back ached from riding the horse for hours on end. The place Hugh had chosen was sheltered and secluded, hidden by brush, the combination of sand and soft dirt beneath her feet providing a warm cushion upon which she could lay and rest her aching bones.

  With a sigh, she sank down to the ground, grateful for the brief respite. “You'll be back before dark?”

  He nodded. “I'll be back before dark.”

  And with that, he turned his horse and rode away.

  Dalla watched him go, trying to ignore her worries, thinking only to take advantage of this time to rest. How far they had yet to go, how far they would have to follow the coastline before they found his brother, was uncertain. She also worried about her uncle. Had he found traces of them back at the cave in the wall of rocks? Had they found their trail and followed them to the coast?

  She was not naïve. What she still didn't know—and perhaps didn't want to know—was whether her father or anyone else in the extended royal family was involved in her kidnapping. She knew one thing. Her uncle couldn't take the chance of anyone finding out. Therefore, she knew without a doubt that he would not cease looking for her until her body lay cold and dead at his feet.

  28

  Darkness had nearly fallen over the land when, finally, Dalla heard the sound of a horse approaching. A short-lived grunt followed by a tired whinny prefaced Agnarr's appearance as he wound his way among the bushes toward her resting place, where she had remained for the past couple of hours, growing increasingly worried about what was keeping Hugh.

  The relief that surged through her when she saw Hugh surprised her with its strength.

  She rose and smiled, reaching for the two dried fish dangling from a string that he handed her, but then she saw the look on his face.

  Immediately, she felt a chill. “What is it?”

  Before answering, he gestured for her to sit down. He quickly unsaddled Agnarr, tied his reins to a nearby shrub, and then took the fish from Dalla's hand. With his knife, he cut off the heads and the tails, and fins, tossed them into the shrubbery, and then twisted each fish in half, handing two pieces to Dalla while he also kept two pieces for himself.

  “My brother is at the next seaport, maybe a day's ride from here.”

  Dalla brightened as she gazed down at the fish. “That’s wonderful news—”

  He nodded and then continued. “In the tavern, I was asked from whence I came. Nothing unusual about that, a newcomer in many parts. I told them I came from inland. Then a man spoke to me… a man sitting in a dark corner of the tavern.”

  The tone of his voice did not bode well.

  Dalla swallowed, her appetite suddenly gone. “What did he say?”

  “He wanted to know if I had seen a young, blonde-haired woman, a Norwegian lass, traveling with a highlander.”

  Dalla glanced down at the fish, not wanting to eat anymore, feeling sick to her stomach. But she knew she had to. She took a bite out of the fish, careful to avoid the fine bones, made herself chew, then swallowed. “He was a Scot?”

  Hugh nodded. “It appears there's quite the reward for your capture. To be honest, I'm surprised that sight of you at the other two villages we passed through didn't provoke any trouble. The man gave a good description of you.” He glanced at Dalla, bit into his own fish, chewed for a moment, then spat out some bones. “Word is that you're a spy—”

  She gasped. “A spy?”

  A sensation of horror swept through her. She had no doubt what would happen to her if she was captured now, no questions asked. No one would believe anything she had to say. She felt the fish she had swallowed roiling uncertainly in her stomach. She gazed down at the rest of it, and then up at Hugh.

  “You must eat.”

  She said nothin
g.

  “Apparently, from what I was able to discern, of course following some innocent yet interested questions to the man, the reward is sizable, offered by a foreigner, most likely your uncle, although how he has managed to gain the trust of the highland clans in search for you, I have no idea.”

  Dalla thought a moment, plucking strips of meat from the now tasteless fish and chewing thoughtfully, despite a nearly overwhelming urge to spit it out. “My uncle has money. Plenty of money. He also knows people in powerful positions. I am not at all surprised that he has managed to bribe his way this far inland, nor his ability to promote the… interest of the highlanders to capture me.”

  Neither one of them said anything for several minutes. Hugh finished eating his fish and tossed the rest of the bones into the shrubs. While Dalla did manage to choke down one of hers, she wordlessly handed the other to Hugh. He shrugged, ate the fish and then tossed those bones into the shrubs as well.

  “We will camp here for the night. A cold camp I am afraid, but nothing we can do about that now. Tomorrow, we will move quickly, staying in the foothills whenever possible, before we get to the village where my brother has made his home base. From what I learned, he now owns three ships, supplying cargo from France, England, and Spain to Scottish cities and outlying islands, and then back again.”

  Dalla couldn't help but worry. What if Hugh's brother was of the same attitude as most Scots? What if he refused to help them? What if he hated her on sight? What then?

  It was as if Hugh read her thoughts.

  “Try not to worry. If my brother will not help us, or cannot, I will find a way to get you home, away from the clutches of your uncle and those who want you dead. My laird will help us, of that I assure you.”

  Home. The word evoked both fear and hope within her. Sadness that she would never return home to her native Norway, nor her beloved fjords. She knew that now. Perhaps she would eventually adapt to life here in Scotland, building a life among the Scots.