An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(40)

No, if he didn't return to Duncan lands by the first snowfall, there was little chance of his ever returning at all.

He couldn't stop the darkness from encroaching, and finally surrendered to its gentle, soothing waves, pulling him beneath the surface, easing the pain, erasing his worries, and providing him with the rest and the deadness of mind he so needed.





23





A throbbing pain woke him. After struggling several moments, he managed to open his eyes. His arms and legs felt like dead weights. He couldn't move if he wanted to. He saw nothing but darkness. Alarmed, at first he thought it was because something had gone wrong with his eyes, but then, off in the distance, he heard the hoot of an owl and realized it was night. What time, he knew not. He felt chilled, shivering, wincing with the pain that the shivers caused. Time passed, and he drifted off again.

When he next awoke, he felt as if his body burned. He had a fever. He had the presence of mind to wish that Sarah was here. She would heal him, make him a brew, a healing poultice for his leg, and in his mind, he heard her voice, softly cajoling one minute, then the next, threatening him to open his eyes and fight the pain to take some broth.



The next time he woke and opened his eyes, he was surprised to find that daylight streamed through the crevice in the rock wall. He turned his head and regretted it as everything spun crazily around him. He froze, his eyes riveted to the crevice, waiting for the world to settle around him. The throbbing in his leg had eased slightly. He still felt warm, flushed with heat and knew that he still had a fever. There was nothing he could do.

Birds chirped in the distance.

Then he heard another sound.

The sharp snap of a stick, not far away. Out of place.

He tried to sit up, alarmed that he was only able to lift himself up a few inches before collapsing back onto the ground. It was then that he realized that a blanket covered him, and his head rested on his saddle. What—

His eyes darted toward movement approaching the gash in the rock wall. He tried to reach for his knife but was damnably weak. His heart pounded, his ears ringing. He had to defend himself…

A shadow skewered the opening, and all he could do was stare, waiting for the delivery of the death blow.

Instead, his blurring vision recognized the form that crouched as it slid inside the opening and sat down cross-legged before him.

“Dalla?” he croaked. His voice sounded scratchy and dry.

A hand settled on his shoulder.

“Don't try to move, Hugh,” she said. “If your wound starts bleeding again, I may not be able to stop it this time.”

Confused, he closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Where… what have—”

“I found my way down to the hut,” she explained, speaking slowly, her eyes focused on his. “I found your horse. Agnarr and I brought back your belongings and some food—”

“Agnarr? Who is Agnarr?”

Her face flushed with color. “I named your horse.”

He stared at her a moment. “Why?”

“Because I couldn't keep calling him horse, could I? He should have a name. A good name—”

Hugh frowned, about the only movement he could muster without causing pain. “What does it mean, this Agnarr?”

“In the old language,” she began hesitantly, “In the old tongue of my country, it means… it means terror—”

“You named my horse terror?”

“No, no… No, today, the name means two things, the edge of the sword, and warrior, put together.” She straightened her back and nodded, as if proud of herself. “It is an honorable name. A proper name.”

He glanced at her clothes, her torn tunic, and then remembered her injury. “Your leg?”

“It's feeling much better, thank you,” she said formally. “The last couple of days, giving it rest—”

He frowned again. “Days?”

“Yes. This is our fourth day here.”

Stunned, he could only stare at her. “How…”

“There is a small stream nearby. I've been feeding you cold broth from those strips of dried meat that were in your hut.” She made a face. “The deer was bloated and full of flies, so it was useless. I brought back your saddle, the blankets, and the pouches that you had filled with berries and wild vegetables. We have made do.” She glanced down at his leg. “Your wound is healing, but you must careful not to move around too much. It has… I am not sure of the word. It has begun to cover itself, but I don't know what is happening inside. If you move around too much it might start leaking again.”

He had underestimated her. She was not nearly as helpless as he had thought. “You have done much. You have saved my life, and—”

“You have saved my life as well, Hugh,” she said softly. “I will be honest. I could not let you die.”

He did not ask her to explain. He knew just as well as she did that if he died, she likely would have died as well. While she had been intuitive enough to find his horse and her way back to the hut, and bring back with supplies, what would she have done if such was not the case? Besides, whoever those people were—

“Did you see any sign of—”

She nodded. “They had found the hut. I saw their tracks around it before they followed yours… or perhaps mine, after I fled. I am not sure. But it must have been after you were wounded, or you would've seen some sign of them when you came back from hunting. Is that right?”