An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(45)

He studied the landscape for several more moments, then decided that the best route would be to hug the base of the cliffs, while at the same time trying to avoid the softer, mushy ground of the bogs. While he preferred to move toward the middle of that area, toward softer ground, he didn't want to take the chance of his horse stumbling, or of the light of the rising moon casting its light down on them. It would be slow and treacherous going, but they had no choice.

He swore under his breath, wished once again that he had never left Duncan lands, that he had not gone into the tavern for a mug of ale, that he hadn't… he sighed.

No use bemoaning what had already happened. He had to focus on one thing, and one thing only. Protect Dalla.

Then find his brother and hopefully convince him to provide them with some form of transportation to the western coastline of Scotland, where they could eventually make their way back to Duncan lands, losing their pursuers along the way.





26





Hugh and Dalla traveled through the night. Dawn was just beginning to brighten the sky to the east, the air chilly and damp with moisture. He felt the weight of Dalla's sleeping form against his back and straightened to offer her more support.

During the night, he passed her the other blanket, which she had wrapped around herself and him, grasping the edges in her hands, again clasped around his waist. His leg throbbed with pain, an ever-present sensation that, though unpleasant, he had by now grown used to. Throughout the night, he had not felt the wound open up nor the hot trickle of blood, but he still moved carefully.

They had dismounted twice during those long, dark, cold hours to take care of nature's needs, and allow Agnarr to empty his bladder and graze for several minutes while they stretched and carefully moved around. Dalla moved stiffly, her movements jerky. He wasn't sure if that was because of her physical exhaustion or her emotional trauma, perhaps both. For his part, and holding on to a tree branch, he took a few steps in each direction, gritting his teeth against the bolt of pain that jarred every muscle in his body when he put his weight down on his injured leg.

He had to do it. Sarah, the healer back home, had done much the same—had insisted on it actually—with Jake after he began to recuperate from the wound in his own thigh that he had received during the Battle of the Largs. That wound had refused to heal, no thanks to Ceana poisoning Jake, but eventually, Sarah had been able to mend the wound and cleanse Jake of the poisons swimming through his body. And then, much to Jake's annoyance and muttered grumblings, Sarah had forced him out of bed and made him take several steps to his bedroom window and then back again before she would allow him to once again lay down. She had told him the movement would prevent his muscles from dying, leaving his leg useless.

Sarah was a force to be reckoned with, but, as it was turning out, so was Dalla. For such a tiny thing, she did have courage. She had not abandoned him. Of course, it would have been foolish of her to try. He gave her more sense than that. She had cared for him, something that he would never forget no matter how things turned out.

“How far to the coast?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “We should get there in another day or two.” He hobbled his way back to the horse. “When we get there, you will say nothing, understood? You do not open your mouth, you do not say a word.”

She looked at him as if she were going to protest, but he lifted a hand, stopping her.

“If anyone asks, you are my wife, but you are mute. Wearing those clothes and riding with me, I doubt anyone will question that. But if you speak, they will know you are not a Scot, much less from the highlands. Understood?”

She nodded. “Hugh…?”

He frowned. “What?”

“This brother of yours… how long is it been since you have seen him?”

He glanced at her, preparing to leap onto the back of his horse. It took a huge amount of effort and not a little bit of pain.

“Too long,” he muttered.

He situated himself in his saddle and then once again reached down for her. Soon, she settled behind him as before, draped the blanket around her shoulders, and they continued on.

“Are you close, you and your brother?”

“I haven't seen him in many years. It doesn't matter.”

“But what if he doesn't want to help us?”

“He may not like it, but he will,” Hugh grumbled. “Now enough questions.”

“But if he doesn't want to, what are we going to do? How can you make him?”

“I will not have to make him. And even if he doesn't want to, he will help us.”

“But how—”

“We are brothers. Besides, he owes me.”

“Owes you? Owes you for what?”

“For saving his life. Now, enough talk.”

He guided Agnarr to the northeast, his gaze continually scanning the landscape, now glowing purple, pink, and varying shades of bluish black as the sun peeked its dome over the easternmost horizon. The air felt sharp, clear for the time being anyway. The long grasses of the dale through which they rode were heavy with the morning dew.

Despite his confidence in responding to Dalla's questions, he really was not sure how this brother would react to his sudden appearance. But Derek did owe him. Hugh had saved his life, not long before Derek had left the clan for good. They'd been out hunting on a beautiful, warm spring morning. Snow still dogged shady areas and along the slopes of Ben Nevis looming high overhead.