An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(29)

She doubted it. No, her father wanted her to marry, close to the royal family, or at the very least, someone rich so that he would share in her husband's new wealth. She had no inkling of the Jorstad current family finances, but her father was always looking for ways to increase their coffers.

Was it possible that Hugh was right? Would someone find out that she was alive? If her father or uncle found out—and they were involved in the kidnapping—that she had made it to the Scottish coast alive, then been sold into captivity, would they attempt to find her? Perhaps make an overt attempt on her life? No, they wouldn't dare venture to Scotland. Not personally. Would they?

She didn't think so. After all, if her uncle or even her father wanted her dead, wouldn't they have just kidnapped and killed her outright?

She sighed softly.

Did it matter anymore? She was far from home, in a strange country, now married to a Scottish highlander. She shook her head, thinking that never in her life would she have thought this is where she would find herself. Kidnapped. Sold. Married to an enemy Scotsman. Why? What was it that her uncle or her father feared from her? And if it wasn't her uncle or her father, then who? There was no one else that would have built-up such animosity—

It couldn't be Manfried Gundersen, the older German her father had betrothed her to the first time. He was dead, killed in drowning accident. There had been a couple of other attempts to marry her off, but nothing had ever come of them. She had made sure of that. But perhaps one of her intended fiancés had held a grudge, resentful that the match had not taken place, thereby losing a potential connection to the royal throne in return for opening their own coffers?

Could it be? She tried to remember the names of those supposed suitors. There had been two serious negotiations underway after Gundersen had died, spoiling her father's original plans. What were their names?

Think!

Brynjar… again, a middle-aged man over twice Dalla's age. Brynjar… she couldn't recall the rest of his name. And then there was Dag… she didn't recall his surname either. She should have paid more attention, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

She debated whether or not she should tell Hugh about the failed arrangements. Although she hadn't thought much about it at the time, it was possible that her actions, and the difficulties she caused with her refusal to enter such marriages, had caused her father such embarrassment that he had taken steps to make sure that it never happened again.

Was it all possible that someone from her mother's side of the family, closer to the throne, had been aware of what her father was doing? Could that knowledge have threatened his years of hard work and attempts to ingratiate himself within the closer circles of the royal family, to gain more power?

She should have paid more attention, been more aware of how her actions might reflect on the family reputation, at least in regard to the male side of it. A woman refusing to marry? Typically unheard of, but because of her connection to the throne, perhaps her father hadn't wanted to push too hard, at least in a sense where his actions were made obvious. Her father was not related by blood to anyone in the royal family. No, his sole connection to them came through her mother. But she, as a direct descendant, a blood relative, now that was different.

She closed her eyes, her head spinning. Political machinations, plotting, subterfuge… she despised it all, which was only one of the reasons why she had never minded living so far from Oslo, uninvolved in politics. She had neglected her royal duties, had declined to become part of the royal household—and live in Oslo when she'd come of age. Had her stubborn refusal led to this?

She gazed around her at the interior of the hut, surrounded by the wild and treacherous landscape of the Scottish highlands. Sleeping on the floor of a hut with a man who was now her husband guarding the entrance to make sure that she didn't escape.

She finally realized that she had nowhere to turn, nowhere to escape. No one to help her. Even if she did manage to find her way back to her homeland, who could she trust?

Despair settled like a shroud over her shoulders, prompting her to close her eyes and dip her head, fighting back the pain and the rejection that surged through her heart.

While she wasn't yet ready to surrender her future to this Scotsman, she realized, for the time being at least, that she was relatively safe.

For now.





18





The following morning, she woke to find Hugh standing in the doorway of the hut, back to her, looking out over the landscape.

The sun had not yet risen, but the shade of the predawn sky indicated that it was imminent. She sat up, brushing her hand through her tangled hair. Her movement drew his attention, and he turned to glance at her over his shoulder.

“I came north looking for my brother,” he stated simply.

She froze, looking up at him as she considered his tone, lacking any emotion whatsoever. He didn't seem angry, just… resigned?

She said nothing.

“Given the circumstances, I don't think it would be wise to be traveling with you in plain sight, especially in light of the fact that you are quite an unwilling companion.”

She saw the frown of displeasure burgeoning on his brow, the frustration. Her heart skipped a beat.

He looked displeased. What was he going to do?

She swallowed her fear and watched him as he casually leaned against the side of the doorway. Waiting for him to continue.