An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(51)

Inside the blanket, it was like he'd been enveloped in a warm cocoon. He felt the pressure of her forehead against his back. She obviously didn't even want to look around. Probably for the best.

The village wasn't as big as he had expected, but was larger than the past two through which they had traveled. A cluster of thatched-roof houses hugged the steep hillsides rising from the shoreline. Larger structures, some with thatched roofs, some with roughhewn planks, nestled along the shoreline.

In the distance, in a small harbor, several ships were anchored, rocking gently with the waves. Several small piers jutted out into the water, fishing boats and other small craft were tied to it, bobbing up and down on the waves.

Then Hugh spied a wooden building, outfitted with its own small pier behind it. On the wood was painted a sign.

McInnis Shipping.

Hugh’s heart gave a leap of excitement. He straightened in the saddle and urged Agnarr in the direction of the pier. The building lay horizontal to the shoreline, and he spied a large door at the closer end, probably intended for loading shipments in and out of the structure.

Two men stood near the small pier, talking; one gesturing, the other pointing to one of the ships in the harbor. Then the taller of the two disappeared into the building.

Hugh guided his horse toward the man, who turned when he heard the horse approaching.

The man took one look at Hugh, and his mouth dropped open.

“I'm looking for Derek… Derek McInnis,” Hugh said. “Is he here?”

The man continued to stare open-mouthed and Dalla shifted her position, peeking over his shoulder.

The man looked from Hugh to Dalla, then back at Hugh, and then finally nodded. He had just turned to call into the building when the man Hugh had seen earlier stepped out into view.

Despite his fear, despite his hesitance and his uncertainty as to what would follow, Hugh stared as his brother emerged from the small warehouse.

“Derek.”

Dalla gasped when Derek turned toward them, staring at him with the same sense of bewilderment as he stared at his own brother.

She waited with bated breath for his brother to say something, to display some sign of acknowledgment. She wasn’t the only one.

“You're twins!” Dalla stammered, her breath warm against his ear.

“Well, look who's here,” Derek said, stepping closer, his eyes riveted on Hugh, then turned to what he could see of Dalla's face.

Dalla's grasp on Hugh’s torso tightened still more.

Derek strode closer, eyes narrowed, a frown marring his brow.

“From what I understand, brother, you are a wanted man. And so is your lovely Norwegian bride.” He turned abruptly and headed back into the warehouse, calling over his shoulder. “You two come inside where no one can see you. I don't need to borrow any more trouble than I already have.”

With that, Hugh quickly lowered Dalla to the ground, following close behind, his heart pounding, barely able to hide the grimace of pain as the damp air irritated the wound in his leg, prompting him to favor it.

Holding tightly onto Dalla's hand, just in case she decided to bolt, he limped toward the warehouse.

The moment they passed through the threshold, the door slammed shut, and he turned to face his brother.





31





Hugh stared at his twin, while Derek stared back. Dalla glanced at Hugh, his eyes were wide and dazed, and he wore an almost tentative smile.

What did he expect? To see his brother as he had been when they had last looked upon each other's faces? Did his twin brother look so much older than he remembered?

Other than Hugh's longer hair and Derek's sun-darkened skin, the two were indeed identical. The same faint lines at the corner of the eyes, the stubbled cheeks, the experience and of life lived shining behind those eyes. Their build was the same although Derek was perhaps a bit less muscular, his loose-fitting canvas pants tucked into high leather boots and his long-sleeved, flowing shirt disguised his actual build. Nevertheless, the width of the shoulders, the muscular hands, the narrow waistlines and long legs; they were indeed the same.

Dalla froze, waiting for one of them to say something, to express some emotion. Something.

Finally, it was Derek who lifted an eyebrow, slightly tilted his head, as if not quite believing what he saw. Then, very briefly, his gaze flicked toward her and then back to Hugh.

“I heard rumors about a highlander who came to the coast and bought himself a Norwegian slave,” he said, his voice thick and gravelly.

Dalla felt her stomach clench as his gaze turned to her, assessing, almost… accusing? She stiffened.

“A Norwegian lass who not only has a bounty on her head, but on the man who bought her.”

Hugh offered a small shrug. “You happen to be talking about my wife.”

A bark of laughter erupted from Derek, but an instant later the humor had faded, and he narrowed his eyes at his brother.

“I didn't even know if you were still alive, Hugh.”

Hugh nodded. “And I often wondered the same.” He looked around the interior of the warehouse, stacked with wooden crates and bulging canvas sacks. Hundreds of dried fish hung in bunches from leather thongs from the rafters. “You've done well for yourself.”

“Aye, I have,” Derek nodded.

Dalla felt confused. These two hadn't seen each other in years, and yet this was like no reunion she had ever witnessed. The two brothers seemed awkward with one another. Hesitant. Wary.