An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(16)

But first, she had to get away.

She glanced outside, watching the rain. She didn't look forward to venturing out into that rainstorm, but the rain would cover her tracks, making it more difficult for him to follow. She glanced again at the huge, slouching man, relaxed now, his head dipping toward his chest.

Dalla tested his attention by shifting her position. His eyes half-opened, heavy-lidded as he glanced at her, then closed them again. If she waited long enough, an hour perhaps, he would be fast asleep. Then again… she glanced at the pieces of kindling and wood he had brought in for the fire. She spied a length of a pine branch roughly the thickness of her wrist, measuring the length of her forearm. It looked like a good, stout piece of wood.

Did she dare?

How could she not? The further they ventured from the coast, the further her hopes of escape or freedom waned. The deeper they ventured into this wild countryside, the greater her chance of never escaping, never finding her way back.

She yearned to escape and return home and scowled at the thought. Were they even looking for her? She couldn't remember how many days she'd been gone. Maybe her father had already given her up for dead, not overly upset with her loss. No, it wasn't homesickness for her father that drove her thoughts now, it was anger and vengeance.

She would find those responsible for her kidnapping, for ordering her to be sold as a slave. If she could escape from her captor and somehow manage to get herself aboard a ship bound for the continent, she knew she would gradually make her way home. Dressed as a boy, it would be easier. She would crop off her hair if she had to. Muddy her face like a street urchin. But somehow, someway, she would return home and discover who had been behind this horrible, unthinkable deed.

And they would pay.

Her decision made, she waited, frozen, maintaining an easy breathing pattern as she pretended to sleep. Her captor shifted his position once or twice, but grew increasingly relaxed. She heard a soft snore. Now was her chance. She didn't know if she would get another.

Heart pounding, she shifted position, ever so slowly, taking care to carefully lift the saddle blanket from her body, her eyes riveted to her captor every second.

It seemed to take forever to remove the blanket and lift her body up onto the balls of her feet, holding up the too-large britches with one hand and reach for that stump of wood with the other. Finally, she wrapped her hand around it, clasping it tightly. Heart pounding, her mouth dry, her muscles protesting her slow movements, she paused to glance once more at the sleeping man. Lips pressed tightly together, forcing her nerves to settle, she lifted her hand and raised her arm above her head, prepared to strike.

The moment her arm descended downward, he opened his eyes.

She uttered a soft cry of surprise as he stared at her, his eyes wide just before the chunk of wood struck his forehead. With a low groan, he slumped back, blood streaming down into his closed eyes.

She stared in horror for several moments, then saw the pulse throbbing in his neck. She hadn't killed him.

While relief flooded through her, she abruptly turned and dashed under the opening of the cave and into the rain-swept night.

She began to run.





9





Hugh slowly opened his eyes, confusion setting his heart to racing. His head throbbed steadily. He slouched down against the wall of the cave, his neck at an uncomfortable angle and slowly lifted his head, wincing at the pain pounding anew in his skull. The fire had died down to nothing more than glowing embers.

What…

He glanced toward Dalla and froze.

The saddle blanket lay bunched halfway between the low fire embers and the cave wall. She wasn't there. For several seconds, it didn't make sense. Had she stepped outside to relieve herself again? Certainly, he would've heard her movements. He groaned and shifted position, his head protesting. He lifted his fingers to his forehead, eyes widening when he felt the tender lump, the stickiness, and then lowered his hand, only to find his fingers stained with blood.

Realization dawned.

Ignoring the pain shooting through his skull, he lunged to his feet, careful not to smack the back of his head against the low ceiling of the cave as he peered down at the ground around the fire. He spied small footprints leading out into the rain. One of the pieces of firewood he had brought inside the cave lay on the ground nearby, the tip of one end reddened with his blood.

Cursing, he stared into darkness, his heart pounding with fury. At her. At himself.

The rain had eased to a light mist, though he still heard the drip of moisture falling to the ground from the trees surrounding the cave opening.

The horses!

He dashed out of the cave, cursing himself for not tying her up, for thinking that such a tiny woman wouldn't have the courage to attack him, nor even attempt to escape. He had seen flashes of her temper, but where did she think she could go? She was in Scotland, surrounded on three sides by the sea.

Surely, she wouldn't be foolish enough to attempt to make her way south… surely, she couldn't possibly think that she could traverse the hundreds of miles from the northern coastal region to the border of Scotland and England to the south.

Then again, maybe he shouldn't have underestimated her in the first place. He cursed his foolishness for taking pity on her. For feeling sorry for her. Dashing through the trees, he rounded the hillock to the side of the cave where they had taken shelter, and slapped at dripping pine branches, muttering low under his breath.