An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(31)

It had taken him longer than he had anticipated to track, and kill a small red deer, but it would do to sustain them for now, and he could start drying more meat for their journey. He carried the animal over his shoulders, hunched under its weight as he paused at the edge of the clearing, hovering in the shadows at its edge as he gazed toward the hut and the small meadow beyond.

He didn't see Dalla. He frowned, sensing a bad feeling. The bad feeling increased as his gaze swept the trees on the other side of the meadow and then ventured closer to the hut.

He noticed that the woods were quiet, more than they would normally be from his simple and brief passage. No birds chirped in the trees, no squirrels scampering and frolicking, looking for morsels or nuts strewn on the forest floor, as was usual this time of day.

He remained just inside the tree line, searching the shadows, looking for anything out of place. Nothing. A very gentle breeze barely drifted through the long grass in the meadow, and the tree stump upon which he and Dalla had sat before was now empty.

After several minutes, he decided nothing was lurking in the trees beyond and ventured toward the hut.

He peered inside, then cursed softly when he saw that the horses were gone.

Gone!

He quickly glanced down, saw the imprint of horse hooves in the dirt surrounding the doorway. The deer slid off his shoulders and landed with a dull thud in the dirt by the doorway. Had she really done it? Had Dalla really left, taking his horses with her?

In disbelief, he quickly walked around the hut and down to the banks of the small stream, searching up and down, but saw no sign of her, nor any recent indication of her passing. Nor those of his horses.

He returned to the hut, following the prints of his horses as they headed around the other side of the hut and into the woods.

His confusion grew.

Two possibilities existed. The first that, for some reason that he couldn't fathom, she had taken the horses out of the hut, perhaps to allow them to graze in the small meadow and they had gotten loose, and she had chased after them.

The other possibility, and the more likely, was that she had actually left and taken his horses with her.

If that was the case, chances were that one of the animals would have been let go. Was she an experienced enough rider to take one and hang onto the tether of the other? Had she pretended to be an inexperienced rider on their journey, to confound him at a later time, when she made good on an escape attempt?

His anger growing, he ducked inside the hut and saw that his saddle and the saddle blankets were still inside. His confusion only grew. At that point, he was leaning toward the first possibility, but again, it made no sense. She didn't go near the horses. Especially his. His gelding was skittish around anyone but hi and would never allow her to ride him.

His heart began to pound as his temper roiled. He shouldn't have trusted her enough to leave her alone, unbound. He should've tied her up.

He stood outside of the hut for several moments, his gaze once again sweeping through the trees. Then, in an ever-increasing arc, he followed the tracks of his horses deeper into the tree line. He saw no human prints. As he studied the tracks and ventured deeper into the woods, he noticed something else. The horses were separated by a short distance, and while they were both heading in generally the same direction, they weren't traveling together. That either meant that she was riding one and had let the other go, or the horses had been released, perhaps spooked to run off.

More questions.

A short distance further, the horses separated, one of them heading higher into the hills, the other toward the east. Gauging by the size of the hoof prints, his gelding had headed east, downslope rather than higher into the foothills. While chances were that if Dalla chose to ride one of the horses, it would be the older mare, he also knew that time was of the essence. His horse wouldn't go far.

Hugh began to trot, weaving his way among the trees, slapping branches out of his way, his gaze continually scanning the ground, following the trail of his horse.

Perhaps an hour later, he reached the top of a hillock, crowded on all sides by pine, alder and yew trees, hampered in his efforts to follow a trail by thick growths of sweetbriar, creeping willow, and gorse. He looked down into a small and narrow valley, the gray slopes of the mountain rising to the north, a field of scattered boulders below, the valley floor gradually dropping away to the south that would eventually meet the bogs. His heart thumped in dread at the thought of his horse becoming mired in a bog, to eventually succumb and drown.

The thought infuriated him, and his anger with Dalla grew.

Grumbling, he noticed a slight indication of movement to the north, near the base of the mountain. He peered more closely into the shadows cast by the mountainside and felt a huge surge of relief when he saw his horse grazing near the base of a tall, finger-like boulder canted at an angle into the ground.

He quickly made his way down the hillside, whistling softly. His horse heard his whistle, lifted its head from grazing, ears flicking forward, tails swishing, and then with a soft neigh, trotted toward him.

His concern for his horse was alleviated, and he sighed and chuckled as his gelding lowered its head and brushed its muzzle against his chest.

Hugh took a few moments to scratch behind the gelding’s ears and pat its neck. Then, grasping a handful of the gelding’s mane, he leaped onto his back.

He would backtrack and follow the mare’s trail until he caught up with Dalla. He had no doubt whatsoever that he would. She was no match for the highlands, but he and his horse were. And when he caught up with her…