An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(28)
He glanced down at the grass beneath his feet, idly plucking the stalks as she struggled to regain her composure. He could not imagine being in her position. Likely, the man responsible for her kidnapping had hoped that she would disappear forever. More than likely wanted her dead, but didn't want to be personally responsible for such a demise.
“What is your father's name, and that of your uncle?”
“Why?” she snapped, turning to him.
He saw the pulse pounding in her neck, her heightened color, her wide eyes, either with fear or hostility, more likely a combination of both. Although he spoke calmly, he felt anger burgeoning inside him at the thought of someone treating their own family like that. Then again, look at what happened with Alis… abandoned in the middle of the wild forests near the Duncan lands. She still had not regained her memory of her former life.
While the Duncans had learned that she had been abandoned by the MacGregors, an enemy clan, for much the same reason—refusing to obey the dictates of her laird. Alis, much like Dalla, had refused to enter into a betrothal arranged by her father. It was certainly not common for women to refuse such dictates, he couldn't blame them.
He had bought Dalla for a reason he had yet to determine, exactly, but he also felt the saddle of responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders. As a man, he had a right to own property, and as a man, he also had the overall power over her, much like her father had. That he wouldn't force her to fulfill her duties as a wife was beside the point. No, he couldn't blame Dalla her feelings. It had been his decision to buy her. It had not been her decision to be kidnapped, sold as a captive, or bought and then forced to marry him.
“My father's name is Alfred Jorstad,” she finally replied. “And my uncle is Amund… Amund Jorstad.”
He nodded, now at even more of a loss than he had felt minutes ago. Knowing the truth, or some of it at least, gave him pause.
He studied her face. “Surely, someone will be looking for you?”
She snorted. A most unladylike snort, as she turned to peer at him. “Who?” she asked, her voice filled with sarcasm. “My loving father? My caring uncle?”
“But surely, someone in your family will notice that you are missing?”
“My family has made our home on the southwestern coastline of the country, away from cities, Oslo, and the politics and goings-on of the royal household. Other than the servants and other household staff of my home, it is doubtful that anyone will notice my absence.”
“But surely—”
She shook her head roughly. “You don't understand. I preferred it that way. After my mother died and I grew older, I realized that my thoughts, my ideas, nay, even my complaints, were rarely heeded by my father or my uncle. Not to say that no one cared for me, because I honestly believed that the household staff did, as I did them. Nevertheless, I maintained a relatively solitary existence.” She turned toward Hugh with a distant yet emotionless mien. “So no, I don't believe anyone will particularly care about my absence, when it is noticed that is, although I do believe that my father, out of social correctness rather than any emotional attachment to me, will initiate a cursory search.”
Hugh scowled. “So it wasn't common knowledge that your father had ordered you to a convent?”
She shook her head. “Only Megan knew—” She frowned, her eyes wide as her face lost some of its color. She turned to him, eyebrows lowered. “Which makes me wonder… and dread, what has happened to Megan, my companion of these many years?”
She grew silent and refused to answer any more questions, seemingly more disturbed about what happened to her companion than about how she had been treated by her own father. He decided at that moment that he needed the advice and guidance of his laird, not only as the leader of the clan, but as one of his closest friends, and a man he trusted. Phillip would know what to do about this situation.
Even so, he recognized his responsibility. He had married Dalla, and as such, he was from this moment forward responsible for her health, her well-being, and her safety. He would take that responsibility seriously.
She was his wife, no matter what had prompted their marriage.
17
That evening, Dalla lay on the makeshift pallet that Hugh had made for her, watching the dull glow that remained of their fire in the center of the hut. Beyond that dull glow lay Hugh, right in front of the door. He was on his side, facing her, arms crossed over his chest, his head resting on the saddle blanket for his horse. He hadn't moved in quite some time and was snoring softly.
Her mind racing, she couldn't sleep despite her weariness. The conversation she'd had with him earlier in the afternoon had caused her more anxiety than she had let on. While she’d told Hugh only the most basic parts of her history, she had an unsettling fear that it wasn't over. She tried to convince herself that Megan had escaped her kidnapping unscathed, but try as she might to convince herself of it, she couldn't quite make herself believe it.
While she suspected that her uncle was likely behind her kidnapping, she couldn't completely ignore the suspicion that her father might also have had something to do with it. She couldn't believe he would do such a thing, but her father was a man who was not to be trifled with. She had gotten away with much in her youth, but mainly because he ignored her. While there was no love lost between them, Dalla felt a nearly overwhelming sense of betrayal, of disbelief that her father might have been involved. Could he have wanted to rid himself of her forever?