An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(14)

She scowled. She had no intention of disrobing one item of clothing from her person. If he thought she would—

“Do it!” he snapped. “I paid good money for you, and for a horse. I will not let you waste it by becoming ill, or worse yet, dying on me.”

For several seconds, she stared up at him, flabbergasted. How dare he speak to her like that! He was nothing but a barbaric Scotsman, and a highlander too, and she was a member of the royal family of Norway. Why, she should—

“Either you take those clothes off yourself, or I'll do it for you.”

She looked into his eyes and took in the hardness of his jaw and realized that he just might possibly do just that. She heaved a sigh and then looked down at the clothes at her side.

Dalla darted one more glance up at him, but he'd already turned his back, legs slightly spread, arms crossed over his chest as he stood slightly hunched, so he didn't knock his thick noggin on the roof of the cave.

He stood near the lip and water seeped over the overhand, making its way along the pitted rocks above him and dripped. He didn't seem to notice, or even care that fat drops of rain pattered down on him, dripping down the back of his head and down that thick, strong neck. With his arms crossed like that, the seams of his tunic looked near to bursting, his muscles bunched and tense with what could only be aggravation.

Muttering with exasperation, she stared at his back until he abruptly walked off into the woods, mindless of the rain. She stared after him in dismay. Where was he going?

A moment of panic surged through her. He wouldn't leave her out here by herself, would he? She calmed her fear, snickering at her own foolishness. Maybe he was just taking care of nature's needs… which she also needed to do, come to think of it. No, he was looking after the horses too. He certainly wouldn't be going far, not with all of their supplies and the horses still nearby.

Still, she stubbornly sat, unmoving, as if frozen with indecision. But she didn't have a decision to make, did she? She had to do what she was told or suffer the consequences. She was in a tenuous situation, no doubt about it. She had to watch her mouth, a challenge in the best of times. She couldn't push him too hard, or he just might hurt her, or worse, kill her. It probably wouldn't bother him a bit. After all, she was the enemy, and he was a bloody Scot.

He had complained about the cost of buying her. She cringed at the word. She had been bought. Her spirits sagged even lower, but with an effort, she pulled herself out of her despairing thoughts. Nothing she could do about it now. She had no idea where they were, and though she was loath to admit it, he was right. Who was going to help her? She had no knowledge regarding the local geography. Arriving in these foothills had been treacherous. More than once she had felt the ground slightly give way to the weight of her horse.

Bogs, he called them. Quagmires. He had told her that if she fell into one, it would swallow her up. Was he telling the truth? She didn't want to put it to the test. More than once she had seen skeletal remains floating on the surface of those muddy holes, the decaying carcass of a deer half in and half out of one, as if it had died trying to scramble to freedom.

No, she couldn't take the chance. Could she?

What if—

“I thought I told you to get out of those wet clothes.”

She startled as she looked up and saw him standing in the cave opening, head and shoulders again slightly stooped.

He carried an arm full of small branches. They looked dry, much to her amazement. He tossed the wood onto the ground nearby and took a threatening step toward her.

“I don't want to tell you again.”

“I—” The heat of a flush warm her cheeks as she gestured outside. “I—I need to—”

He stared at her a moment, then nodded. “There's a tree near the entrance. Go there and no further. I'll be watching.”

She flushed again. “You can't—”

He shook his head with impatience. “I won't see you actually—just go. I will only see your shape—”

“But—”

“Go! Before I change my mind and watch you the entire time!”

She swallowed back a sharp retort, rose, her wet and mud-flecked gown heavy and uncomfortable. She stepped by him, refusing to cringe as she passed, then ventured beyond the overhang. She looked to the right, and there stood the bloody tree.

Fuming, she stepped behind it, back to him, yanked up her skirts and squatted. She'd never been so humiliated in her life, but at the moment, all she could think of was relief.

In a matter of moments, she stalked back into the cave and resumed her former position, glowering as she stared at the walls, the small pile of supplies, the blanket and the clothes he had dropped at her side.

“Take those clothes off,” he said, his voice soft though firm. “Now.”

She turned to stare. She herself wanted out of her sodden gown, but when she was naked, she would be that much more vulnerable. She tugged the blanket closer to her body. If he thought—

He watched her for a moment, eyes narrowed, and then seemed to realize. He lifted his eyes upward, shaking his head.

“Don't be daft, woman,” he grumbled. “I'm not going to touch you. But I am warning you. If you get sick because of your own foolishness, I'm going to leave you where you lay. Is that clear enough?”

Yet another surge of heat warmed her cheeks. He wasn't going to… he wasn't going to take liberties with her. At least, she didn't think so.