An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(38)

She moved away from him, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist, his grip surprisingly strong in spite of his current condition.

“No, you must not. I just need to rest.” He paused to catch his breath. “My horse will come to me. He will not come to you. You don't know how—”

Dalla didn’t want to argue with him, and he was in no position to argue with her anyway.

She would be careful. She had to be careful. If she managed to get herself kidnapped—again—Hugh would die alone in this cave. No one would ever know what became of him or where he was. He would never find his brother, never return to his friends or the place he came from, the Duncan lands, of which he spoke with such a sense of pride and belonging.

At that moment, as Dalla rose, prepared to risk her life to help him, she realized that she had begun to grow fond of him despite his rough ways. Despite her situation. Despite the fact that he had bought her, and then forced her to marry him. But, she reflected, he hadn't hurt her. He had injured her pride a time or two, but he'd never hurt her. He'd saved her life. Twice.

And at the most selfish part of her being, she realized that without Hugh, she too, would be lost.

Taking a deep breath, using the piece of wood that had served her well as a crutch so far, she made her way to the opening once more, took another careful look around, and then, stepped carefully away from the cleft in the rock wall, trying to step on rocks and damp pine needles as much as possible to avoid leaving footprints in the soft soil.

She ventured away from the safety and security of the cave opening, her heart pounding. The cloud cover had broken up a bit, leaving her to believe that it was closer to mid-afternoon than evening. Once in a while, the sun shone through the clouds, sending rays of whitish light shimmering through the tree limbs.

Off in the distance, she marveled at a rainbow. Moving slowly and carefully, she made her way down the slope and off to the north a bit, toward the place where she had last seen Hugh's horse. She hoped that she could get the animal to come to her, and that it would trust her enough to let her get on its back, but she wasn't sure. Hugh had said that without him, his horse would not allow her to approach, but it had to let her!

Finally, she caught sight of the gelding, watching her, a short distance through the trees, ears tilted forward, tail so long it nearly swept the ground. She spoke softly, approaching slowly.

“It's okay, boy,” she spoke in her native tongue. “I'm not going to hurt you. But Hugh needs us right now, and in order to help Hugh, you have to help me.”

She closed the distance between them, and the horse twitched its tail but still didn't move. Whether it was responding to her voice, or mere familiarity, she wasn't sure. When she stood maybe two arm's length away, she paused and slowly extended her hand toward it, palm up.

“Come on, boy, come closer. I need you.”

The horse stood still, blew a short, grunt of breath through its nose, and then, lifting its head, ears still pointing forward, approached, one slow, hesitant step at a time. She continued to make crooning, soft noises, not moving, doing her best not to show fear.

Finally, the horse was close enough for it to sniff her hand. Its muscle was soft and fuzzy, nuzzling at her hand. She kept it flat and her fingers together so that it wouldn't take a nip at her fingers.

“That's a good boy,” she soothed. “I'll try to find a treat for you,” she said. She reached out to stroke its head and scratch lightly at the starburst of thick, white growth of hair between its eyes, and then along its strongly muscled neck. Foregoing her makeshift crutch, she gently raised her hand and grasped his mane.

“You're going to let me climb on you,” she said, stepping closer, using the horse for balance now.

To her surprise, it stood unmoving, accepting the touch of her hands with only a slight shiver of its powerful shoulder muscles as she stroked his withers, his neck under his mane, and his chest. “You're a good boy,” she crooned. “Now, I'm going to get up on your back, all right?”

The horse stood still. She was surprised that she had even gotten this far and breathed a soft sigh of relief. Now the challenge would be to get on his back. He was huge. She didn't have the strength, nor the ability to grab a handful of mane with one hand, take a semi-running leap to swing herself up onto his back, so she would have to do it the hard way.

Wrapping her hand around a chunk of his long mane in her left hand and placing her hand as far up on his back as she could, she tried to lift herself upward. No good. She sighed with frustration as the horse skittered a bit to the side, away from her.

“It's all right, it's all right,” she soothed. “Let's find a place where I can make it easier.”

Glancing around, she saw a cluster of logs a short distance away. Still holding onto the horse's mane, she tried to prod it in that direction. At first, he didn't follow her crude instructions, but eventually, he did.

“Come on, boy, good boy. Only a little way to go.”

At any moment, the gelding could bolt. She began to hum softly, a Norwegian lullaby. The horse flicked its ears and seemed to settle. Maybe he did like the sound of her voice. Maybe he liked Norwegian better than the harsh, guttural Scottish words that Hugh usually spoke. She shook her head.

They approached the rocks, and she tugged on his mane.

“Okay, boy, let's try again.”