An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(41)

He frowned again. “Of course. There were no tracks around the hut when I returned from the hunt.” This was not good. They were searching for her. He knew it. “Have you heard…” Had they tracked her back here? Had they found his horse? Would they—

“I have hidden Agnarr in the shelter of rocks surrounded by trees. They should not find him. I have covered my tracks between the stream and this cave. Yesterday morning, I did hear some shouts, but no one has ventured close.” She paused. “I believe the storm washed away most, if not all of our trail. But they are still out there, searching.” She lowered her head, then looked at him. “I am positive they are looking for me.”

He nodded. “And they have enlisted some clansmen to help,” he finished. “Word travels fast. If they are offering a reward for you, there will be more involved.” He paused, thinking, trying to come up with a plan.

After several moments, he nodded. “As soon as I can travel, we will go north. To the coast. We will never make it back to Duncan lands traveling over land. We will go by sea.”

She frowned, confused. “By sea? But how—”

Derek. “We will find my brother. He owns—or did, anyway—some ships. He can take us through the channels, between the coastline and the Orkney Islands, and then down through the North Minch along the western coastline. We can make landfall at any of the points along the northwestern coastline and make our way to Duncan lands from that direction. Those hunting you will not expect that.”

“But how will we find your brother?”

That was the only flaw in his plan. How indeed.

Finally, he spoke. “He will find us.”

But would he help?





24





Dalla wasn't at all sure about Hugh’s plan. While she understood his concerns about somebody looking for them, or her rather, the thought of returning to the coast filled her with misgivings. She wasn't sure why.

Surely, along the coastline, she might have a better chance of escaping and finding a way to get back to her native Norway. Then again, should she, or would she, be willing to take such a chance?

She glanced down at Hugh, sleeping now, still recovering from his wound. She had something else to consider. Her growing fondness for him. Out here in the wilderness, just the two of them, they were forced to rely on one another. And he had saved her life, and she had saved his. That put them on equal footing, didn't it? And while she was still his captive, and his somewhat unwilling wife, she didn't want to see him get hurt again, or worse, at least not for her sake.

Nevertheless, she couldn't help but worry. What if his brother refused to help them? As far as she knew, Hugh didn't have a lot of money, perhaps a few coins left tucked into that leather pouch tucked away among his belongings. She had lifted it and surmised that he had very little, without even peeking inside. While the thought had briefly—very briefly—flitted through her mind that she could use that money to bribe someone to help her, she had to be realistic. No one was going to help her. And even if she did manage to get back home, what then?

If his brother didn't help, would that coin be enough to hire someone else to take them by sea to the western coastline, where they would still have to trek inland to reach Duncan lands?

Questions ran rampant through her mind, over and over again. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that her kidnapping had not been a random act. Someone wanted her to disappear. Had that someone been her father or her uncle? Someone else? She didn't know.

She sighed and pushed her disparaging thoughts from her mind.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun was shining, and they needed food. She decided to go down to the stream she had found a couple of days ago, around the rocky cliff face and perhaps a quarter of a league distant. Maybe, if she were fortunate, she would catch a fish. She had found a fishing string in Hugh's belongings, which she had rifled through at one point when he was unconscious, not feeling the least bit guilty about doing so. It had a finely wrought hook attached to one end. The string and hook might be rudimentary, but they would suit her purpose. As far as bait, well, maybe she could dig up some worms along the bank. She had fished much of her life, and had no doubts that she could catch something. While she wasn't particularly fond of eating raw fish, she knew that they could do so, and it wouldn't make them sick as long as she cleaned the fish properly.

Before leaving the opening in the cave, she carefully peered around at the landscape. The underbrush nearby remained still. The trees growing in solitary places along the base of the cliffs and those dotting the slopes moved only with the gentle afternoon breeze. Nearby, a butterfly floated and fluttered about, looking for pollen. A bit further on, near the base of an elm, a squirrel dug for a tasty morsel near the base, occasionally stopping to glance around, flick its tail, then return to its task. Other than the slight breeze, the air was still. No hint of wood smoke from distant campfires, no voices echoing against the rocks—just stillness.

She carefully made her way down to the stream, ever conscious and alert to the sound of horses or voices. Nothing but the twittering of birds, an occasional scolding from a squirrel and the nearby gurgling of the stream met her ears. The sun shone warmly on her back, soaking into the depth of her muscles, easing the strain she had felt over the past days caring for Hugh, worrying that he wasn't going to survive.