An Auctioned Bride

by Aileen Adams

  She nodded. “He wanted to know if I was truly married to you. I told him that I had signed the document making it so.”

  He simply nodded and gestured for her to sit on a nearby bale of hay, then he turned to watch the activity as his brother, Broc, and a few sailors entered, grabbed a box, some fish, or kegs, thinking that he could at least help with loading supplies.

  Hugh beckoned for Derek and offered to help.

  “I don't want you to be seen outside of the building until the moment we board ship. My crew is just about ready. I'll tell you something though, Hugh. I don't like sailing off into the darkness into an approaching storm, no matter the reason. You keep a careful watch on her and your horse. I will not be distracted.”

  “Understood,” Hugh said, concerned by his brother's tone of voice. In it, he heard worry, and once again a surge of regret built inside him. He’d had such different expectations for his reunion with his brother. “Derek, I want to thank you for—”

  “Don't thank me yet,” Derek interrupted, turning to shout a direction at one of his sailors. “You can thank me when we get to where we're going in one piece. If we do.”

  “Derek—”

  Derek turned to him and once again and offered a grin. He placed both hands on his shoulders and Hugh returned the gesture. Just like old times. They locked eyes, and Hugh realized that no explanations, no regrets, no guilt was necessary.

  Derek clapped him on the shoulder. “What say we have another adventure, eh?”

  Hugh grinned as well, the burdens of his heart lifted, at least momentarily. This was the way it should be, the way it always should have been. He and his brother, together. Maybe, just maybe, if they managed to reach the western coast of Scotland and then once again made their way overland to Duncan Manor, Derek would agree to stay for a while. Maybe a month, maybe more. But even if he decided to go back to the sea, Hugh knew that the time he spent with his brother now was… it was like old times. The two of them against the world.

  Only now, the stakes were great and potentially deadly.

  “Let me get back to it. We'll be ready to launch within the hour.” Derek gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “You go take care of your bride. I have a feeling she's a bit hesitant.”

  Derek moved off while Hugh turned to Dalla, sitting quietly on a bale of hay, her fingers idly playing with the end of her braid. She had a faraway look on her face, and even in the dim light of the building, he saw her pale features.

  He hadn't thought of her hesitation, what setting foot aboard a ship might do to her. Fear, the memories of being kidnapped and thrown into the hold, and now, once again, she would be asked to stay in the hold while the ship rocked on the waves.

  He stepped toward her. “Dalla, Derek will do his best to make sure that we reach our destination in one piece. As you know, however, there are no guarantees.”

  “I know,” she said without looking up. “I'm sorry that I am ultimately to blame for all of this—”

  “No, you are not. Did you ask to be kidnapped?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ask to be sold as a captive?”

  She looked up at him and slowly shook her head.

  “Did you have any indication that your uncle wanted you dead, or even in your wildest dreams, that he would do this to you?”

  Again, she shook her head.

  “Then none of this is your fault.” He shrugged. “This is often the way of life, the unexpected, the risks, the dangers. I have been confronted with many such dangers in mine, in my position of guarding those of the Duncan clan, and serving under the laird. But you have not. I would venture to say that this… situation, is one of the most daunting you have ever faced. Am I correct?”

  She looked up at him and nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. “I am afraid.”

  “And you have every right to be. Only a fool would not. be”

  Her eyes widened. “You're afraid, Hugh?”

  “Aye, I am afraid of something bad happening to you, or to my brother. For myself…?” He thought a moment. “For me, being afraid is a good thing. It prevents one from being headstrong and foolish, from allowing emotions to override common sense.”

  She offered a half-smile. “It didn't seem to have quite the same effect on me, the couple of times I tried to escape you, and most especially when I fled into the bogs.”

  Hugh shrugged. “Often, we act on instinct. Your instinct was to get away at any cost. And yes, it could have led to your death, but it didn't. And you learned from it, did you not?”

  She nodded. “I—”

  A shout from outside cause both of them to stiffen and turn toward the doorway.

  Moments later, Derek appeared with Broc.

  “Riders are coming into town,” he said, gesturing toward Dalla. “Broc has listened to the rumors that your presence is known. Now more strangers arrive, and I fear it may be her uncle. We must board and sail immediately.”

  33

  Heart pounding, Dalla stood at the threshold of the doorway, Hugh's arm wrapped around her waist.

  Derek stood outside, halfway between the building and the small wooden dinghy rocking on the beach. He motioned for them to hurry, but she hesitated. She didn't want to go on that ship. She was afraid, more afraid than she had let on to Hugh.

  Despite what he said, despite the fact that it made sense, she didn't quite believe it. That everything would be all right. She didn't want to see Hugh or his brother hurt. She couldn't imagine Derek or the other crew members not feeling some sort of resentment toward her for putting them into this predicament.

  The moment she passed through the door, the wind, which had been nothing more than a breeze when they entered, now blew her hair and clothing wildly. The sky was dark, few stars to be seen, the moon barely a crescent to be seen before it skittered behind fast-moving clouds. In the distance, over the sea, lightning flashed. Moments later, a low rumble of thunder followed.

  She thought about digging in her heels, yanking her grasp from Hugh's hand and running, but she didn't. She couldn't. These men were risking their lives for her, and she would not cause any more trouble than she already had, even if it meant climbing aboard that ship bobbing on the waves out in the harbor. Even if it meant having to stay down in the hold of the ship while on a stormy sea.

  In the dinghy waiting at the shoreline, sat two roughly dressed sailors manning the oars, already struggling to keep the tiny bow facing toward shore. Derek and Broc hurried them along.

  She glanced up at Hugh. “What about Agnarr?”

  “He's already aboard,” Derek said, raising his voice above the gusting wind. “Hurry!”

  He turned to Broc, who climbed into the dinghy first, grasped Dalla's hand, and with Hugh's help, lifted her aboard, and sat her down on the floor of the boat without her getting wet from the waves. Dalla’s heart in her throat now, she grasped the side of the rocking dinghy tightly, her pulse thundering, a sensation of nausea rising in her throat. The sea was so rough…

  “Get aboard!” Derek shouted to Hugh.

  Hugh quickly scrambled in, found a place to sit next to her, followed by Derek, who sat near the bow. In moments, the two seamen heaved the oars, pulling away from shore; the incoming waves wanted to keep pushing them back toward the beach.

  “Come on, lads, put your backs into it!” Derek shouted. He turned to Dalla and Hugh. “Get down, as far down as you can get!”

  Hugh wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and then pulled her against him as he half crouched, half lay in the bottom of the boat, on top of the boots of the rowing sailors. Above them, Derek’s gaze was riveted on the shoreline.

  In the far distance, south of the building in which Derek plied his business, she saw a few lights glowing from the town.

  She tried to swallow her fear, tried to ignore the roiling waves which to her, threatened to spill them into the ocean, to be tumbled back toward shore. She clamped her jaws tight to prevent herself from screaming out her fear.


  “It's going to be all right.” Hugh's deep voice rumbled in her ear.

  For several brief moments, she believed it, relished the fact that he was holding onto her, enveloping her with his warmth and strength. For the first time since she had been kidnapped, she felt fortunate that it was he who had bought her. She leaned into his warmth, seeking the solace her spirit desperately needed.

  Soon, she heard a distinct sound over the cacophony of the increasing storm. She looked up to the sight of Derek's ship looming over them. Derek grabbed hold of a rope that had been lowered from the side, holding the dinghy next to the rocking ship. A rope ladder was tossed overboard. One of the seamen who had been manning the oars grabbed it and held on.

  “Up you go!” Derek shouted, pointing at her and then upward.

  Dalla stared at the rope ladder, the surging sea, the rocking boat, a sense of surreal disbelief causing her mouth to drop open. How could she do this? What if she slipped and fell, which was certainly not out of the question due to the rough seas.

  “Go, Dalla! I'll be right behind you. We must hurry!”

  She swallowed her fear and allowed Hugh to gently push her toward the ladder. She grabbed the roughhewn rope of one of the makeshift rungs and held tightly. Except, her fingers didn't seem to want to work.

  “Move, lass, move!”

  That shout came from Derek.

  Eyes wide, heart thundering so hard now she felt it pounding in her chest, and the blood ringing in her ears, even above the sounds of the storm, Dalla let go with one hand, reached up to the length of rope above her, and then another. Soon, she was able to place her feet on one of the rope rungs below.

  Hugh grasped her around the waist and urged her upward.

  “I'm right behind you! Climb as fast as you can and don't look down!”

  The words prompted her to do just that.

  Below, the sea roiled, black and terrifying all at once. She might be Norwegian, but she was no seafarer. A dip in the pond on her property was all the experience she had with water. She could fish and wade, but she didn't know how to swim. She took that moment to say so.

  “I don't know how to swim!” she screamed above the howl of the wind and its salt-laden water spraying into her face. “Hugh, I can't swim!”

  It was as if no one heard, or cared.”

  “Climb!” Derek shouted. “Hurry!”

  “I'm right behind you!” followed Hugh's voice.

  Trembling with fear, her hands soon growing numb from the growing cold and icy spray of the salty ocean water against her exposed skin and drenching her clothes, Dalla did as she was told.

  Hugh was close behind her, his arms reaching for the sides of the rope ladder at her waist level. She knew she wouldn't fall, not with Hugh so close behind.

  Reach, grab, step up.

  Reach, grab, step up.

  She ordered herself to reach, step up as quickly as she could make herself move, and soon, felt hands reaching down to grab her forearms, lifting her physically up the remaining distance.

  An overwhelming surge of relief flooded through her as she sank down onto the deck, her knees trembling so that they refuse to hold her up.

  In moments, Hugh was at her side, sweeping her up into his arms and quickly making for the opening in the deck. A ladder descended into the hold.

  “We have to go down! Quickly now!”

  The next thing she knew, she was being lowered into the dimly lit hold in the stern. A single lamp, swinging with the movement of the ship offered barely any light.

  She stared at the lamp that swung back and forth from a rope stretched across the hold. A small, quickly constructed platform of planks served as a makeshift stable for Agnarr, who whinnied and snorted when he spotted her, stomping one massive hoof onto the boards beneath him.

  She managed to grab hold of the wooden ladder and made her way down the last few steps as Hugh quickly followed.

  Extending her arms, trying to maintain her balance, she quickly made her way toward the horse and wrapped her arms around his neck. She attempted to soothe the wide-eyed horse, though her own voice was choked with fear.

  “You're going to scare him even more,” Hugh said, scratching Agnarr just behind his ear and giving him a pat on his neck. “Why don't you sing to him instead?”

  She stared at him in dismay. Sing? He wanted her to sing? She didn't think she could, but then she looked up into Agnarr's wide, rolling eyes, recognized his own fear, and nodded.

  Even though her voice was shaky at first, she began to sing in her native tongue, softly, soothingly, and before long, Agnarr settled somewhat, as did she.

  Soon, she heard more thumps, and recognized the sound as the anchor. She heard the shouts and a slap of fabric catching the wind as sails unfurled. Ropes creaked and groaned, sailors shouted orders to one another, and soon, the ship's movement changed from rocking side to side to rocking from bow to stern. She knew enough about sailing to know that the approaching storm would make it difficult to raise the sails without adjusting the positioning of the ship, but Derek was an accomplished seafarer, of that she was sure, and soon she felt forward momentum.

  Unfortunately, it was that very momentum that caused the renewed hitch in her voice, which softened to a mere whisper as she continued to stroke Agnarr's neck and withers, his muscles quivering beneath her touch. She tried to shut the memories of her previous ocean voyage from her mind: the terror, the filth, the abuse that had occurred to a couple of the women along the way, the coarse language, the laughter, the lack of food, water, and even the stench of the waste bucket that they were forced to use—and empty over the side—during the journey.

  Hugh stood next to her and Agnarr for several minutes, and then Derek halfway descended the ladder, a troubled expression marring his handsome features.

  They had to go back? A shiver of fear weakened Dalla's legs once again, and she leaned against Agnarr for support. Had he changed his mind?

  “We have to get far enough out to avoid the shoals,” Derek informed him. “It's going to be rough until we do, so you'd both best sit and brace yourselves.”

  Rougher than this?

  The storm sounded like it was right over them now, the flashes of lightning and the rumbles of thunder so close, the rumbles seeming to last forever. She barely had enough spit in her mouth to swallow.

  “Riders with torches are making their way from the village toward my warehouse.”

  Dalla felt an overwhelming sense of horror, regret, and grief. It was her uncle. She had no doubt of it. But how did they—

  “How would my uncle know we were here? Why would they even think to go to your brother's warehouse?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “If your uncle learned that you were put aboard a ship to be sold as a Norwegian captive, he would have been able to find out which ship and where it docked. Then it would just be a matter of sending in spies to ask questions. Where did the women from that ship go? What happened to them?”

  She stared at Hugh in growing dismay.

  “And then, it would be a simple matter to learn that you had been bought. By me.” He shrugged. “A few more questions and he would have eventually spoken to the preacher who married us. Likely he even saw the document with our signatures. Learned my name.” He glanced at his brother. “And his.”

  Dalla clung tightly to Agnarr's mane to prevent herself from sinking to the floor in despair.

  Derek might never be able to return to the village, nor to his warehouse. And all because—

  “I have no ships in the harbor. My other two are on their way to France, and there's nothing of value in the warehouse now.”

  “Derek, they could burn it down—”

  “Let them, and they will feel my wrath.” Derek’s expression darkened with anger.

  Dalla couldn't help it. She couldn't hold back the tears. This was all her fault. Her fault!

  She crumpled slowly onto her knees, a hand wrapped around Agnarr's fetlock, trying in som
e way to help keep him calm despite her own rising despair and regret.

  Neither Hugh nor Derek said anything to her, and in a matter of moments, she heard Derek climbing back topside. Hugh sat beside her, saying nothing.

  Blinking through her tears, she glanced at him, saw his own thoughtful expression, the frown marring his lips, and new that he too was uncertain.

  The storm grew closer, the ship tossed more violently, and Agnarr was forced to adjust his footing against the roll of the ship. He whinnied and stomped until Hugh soothed him.

  Hugh turned to her. “Relax your body,” he said. “Allow it to move with the movements of the ship.”

  She tried, she really did, but she was so frightened…

  Then, from above, over the crash of thunder and the sound of waves slapping against the wooden hull, she heard a noise.

  At first, she didn't recognize it, but then, as she and Hugh looked at one another, she finally identified what it was.

  She frowned, stared up at Hugh in open-mouthed dismay. “Is that your brother?”

  After a moment, Hugh offered a short laugh. “Aye, it is!”

  Dalla turned toward the opening above, saw nothing but darkness. Still, over the sound of the storm, the creaking of the ship, she heard laughter.

  Curious, Hugh quickly rose and climbed the ladder. Though she didn't want to move, her curiosity also overcame her. She quickly climbed the ladder, holding tight, just to the point where she raised her head over the deck.

  Her eyes wide with dismay, she looked toward the stern in amazement.

  There, at the helm, Derek stood, shaking his fist at the dark, night and stormy sky, swearing and then barking harsh laughter as the waves tossed his ship about, salt water spraying over the deck.

  All she could do was stare.

  34

  “He's gone mad!” Hugh gasped, staring at his brother was a mixture of concern and horror.

  Dalla also stared. No, he's not mad… he's a warrior.” She turned to look up at him and placed a hand on his forearm. “He's a warrior, just like you.”