An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(24)

Her back was to him, but she felt the gentle tug on the rope tied around her wrist as she moved her left arm, dipping into the water, splashing it on herself, then rubbing a handful of sand that she'd scooped from the creek bed to scrub harder at her skin. Quickly she washed until soon her flesh was pink and riddled with goosebumps, her teeth chattering. Her fingers grew numb with the cold, but she still had to wash her hair. Lifting her knees, she held her breath and dunked her head forward, her scalp tingling and shrinking as she began to scrub at her scalp, her hair growing hopelessly tangled as it flowed downstream. She came up for air once, then repeated the process one more time before she couldn't take it anymore. Her entire lower body felt numb. Above the waterline, she shivered violently. Her fingers ice cold, her face nearly frozen, she finally lifted her torso upward with a gasp, hair hanging down over her face.

Suddenly, she felt arms around her, lifting her from the water. She immediately began to struggle, but then realized that she was encased in the blanket, held against Hugh's strong, warm body.

She couldn't see his face, her dripping hair covering her face and draping over her breasts. She could only pray that he hadn't gotten much of a glimpse of her either. But she did have to admit, even to herself, that his warmth, his stature, and the inescapable feeling of support that she gained from him was pleasant. He tightened the blanket around her and then, much to her dismay, she found herself lifted into his arms as he quickly strode back to the hut.

He said nothing as he entered and lowered her to the ground in front of her sleeping pallet. The loss of his warmth made her feel suddenly cold, and alone. She shivered violently as she knelt on the ground, huddled into a small ball.

Grasping the edges of the blanket close to her, she repositioned herself, her legs folded to the side. She lifted her head and snaked one hand upward from under the blankets to separate her hair from her face. She watched as he quickly built a fire, not looking at her, not saying a word. Soon, a fire blazed in the fire pit that he had dug the night before.

Only then did he look at her.

“Move closer to the fire. Open the blanket to warm your skin.”

She was about to object when he made a slashing motion with his hand in the air.

Her words stilled in her mouth as he stood on the other side of the fire, hands on hips, his expression severe.

“You will not argue with me. You will dry yourself off quickly.” With that, he rummaged in his belongings, pulled out the sorry looking gown she had worn on the ship and tossed it over his shoulder.

She stared up at him, taking in the dark expression that came over his face.

“I will go bathe and quickly wash the clothes. You will not run.”

She stared after him in dismay as he disappeared out the opening of the hut, scrambling as close to the fire as she dared. Keeping one eye on the doorway, she opened the blanket, holding it open around the side of the fire, inviting the warmth of the flames to warm her body. Gradually, her shivering eased.

His last comment annoyed her. Where did he think she was going to run without any clothes? Foolish man. Stupid highlander…

Unbidden, she recalled the feeling of hard, sinewy muscles of his chest and abdomen pressed up against hers, the strength she had felt in his arms, the unmistakable bulge of muscles as he held her close, carrying her back to the hut.

He was neither foolish nor stupid. He had saved her life, twice now, once when he had purchased her, and then when he'd saved her from the bog. Despite her circumstances, despite the knowledge that she was a captive with no will of her own, she did realize that her life could be much worse than it was at the moment.

As to what would happen in the future, only time would tell.





15





Two days had passed since they arrived at his hut in the middle of nowhere. The craggy, intimidating and dangerous looking landscape around them dampened Dalla's urge to attempt another escape—at least not yet. Where would she go? It wasn't just her fear of the bogs that caused her to hesitate. She didn't feel like she was surrendering as much as she was cautioning herself to wait. To watch. She knew now that to escape without a weapon and supplies would be foolish. She needed to learn more about these wild lands and the people inhabiting them. Hugh’s knife, rope, and horrible-tasting yet sustaining, dried meat would also be necessary. The problem was that he carried his weapons with him or kept them nearby at all times. The rope was typically wrapped loosely around his waist throughout the day, tying the horses at night.

She could probably make do without the rope, but not without at least one weapon and some food. She had no idea what types of plants in these northern climes of Scotland were edible and which were poisonous. Most of the berries from the shrubs had been plucked by native animals in preparation for the oncoming winter. Hugh had dug up some wild onions from the ground in the near woods last evening, but she couldn't sustain herself on wild onions.

With a sigh, she sat on a portion of a fallen tree trunk near the edge of the meadow before the hut, the sunshine warming her face. She found that she much preferred wearing the tunic and breeches over her gown, not only for movement's sake, but for comfort's sake. Her gown was horribly stained and torn. Not yet in tatters, but filled with holes and a few ragged seams. Eventually, something would give, and the dress would fall apart. Besides, the breeches and tunic Hugh had given her were warmer.

Hugh was nearby, she was sure of it.