An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(58)

“Up you go!” Derek shouted, pointing at her and then upward.

Dalla stared at the rope ladder, the surging sea, the rocking boat, a sense of surreal disbelief causing her mouth to drop open. How could she do this? What if she slipped and fell, which was certainly not out of the question due to the rough seas.

“Go, Dalla! I'll be right behind you. We must hurry!”

She swallowed her fear and allowed Hugh to gently push her toward the ladder. She grabbed the roughhewn rope of one of the makeshift rungs and held tightly. Except, her fingers didn't seem to want to work.

“Move, lass, move!”

That shout came from Derek.

Eyes wide, heart thundering so hard now she felt it pounding in her chest, and the blood ringing in her ears, even above the sounds of the storm, Dalla let go with one hand, reached up to the length of rope above her, and then another. Soon, she was able to place her feet on one of the rope rungs below.

Hugh grasped her around the waist and urged her upward.

“I'm right behind you! Climb as fast as you can and don't look down!”

The words prompted her to do just that.

Below, the sea roiled, black and terrifying all at once. She might be Norwegian, but she was no seafarer. A dip in the pond on her property was all the experience she had with water. She could fish and wade, but she didn't know how to swim. She took that moment to say so.

“I don't know how to swim!” she screamed above the howl of the wind and its salt-laden water spraying into her face. “Hugh, I can't swim!”

It was as if no one heard, or cared.”

“Climb!” Derek shouted. “Hurry!”

“I'm right behind you!” followed Hugh's voice.

Trembling with fear, her hands soon growing numb from the growing cold and icy spray of the salty ocean water against her exposed skin and drenching her clothes, Dalla did as she was told.

Hugh was close behind her, his arms reaching for the sides of the rope ladder at her waist level. She knew she wouldn't fall, not with Hugh so close behind.

Reach, grab, step up.

Reach, grab, step up.

She ordered herself to reach, step up as quickly as she could make herself move, and soon, felt hands reaching down to grab her forearms, lifting her physically up the remaining distance.

An overwhelming surge of relief flooded through her as she sank down onto the deck, her knees trembling so that they refuse to hold her up.

In moments, Hugh was at her side, sweeping her up into his arms and quickly making for the opening in the deck. A ladder descended into the hold.

“We have to go down! Quickly now!”

The next thing she knew, she was being lowered into the dimly lit hold in the stern. A single lamp, swinging with the movement of the ship offered barely any light.

She stared at the lamp that swung back and forth from a rope stretched across the hold. A small, quickly constructed platform of planks served as a makeshift stable for Agnarr, who whinnied and snorted when he spotted her, stomping one massive hoof onto the boards beneath him.

She managed to grab hold of the wooden ladder and made her way down the last few steps as Hugh quickly followed.

Extending her arms, trying to maintain her balance, she quickly made her way toward the horse and wrapped her arms around his neck. She attempted to soothe the wide-eyed horse, though her own voice was choked with fear.

“You're going to scare him even more,” Hugh said, scratching Agnarr just behind his ear and giving him a pat on his neck. “Why don't you sing to him instead?”

She stared at him in dismay. Sing? He wanted her to sing? She didn't think she could, but then she looked up into Agnarr's wide, rolling eyes, recognized his own fear, and nodded.

Even though her voice was shaky at first, she began to sing in her native tongue, softly, soothingly, and before long, Agnarr settled somewhat, as did she.

Soon, she heard more thumps, and recognized the sound as the anchor. She heard the shouts and a slap of fabric catching the wind as sails unfurled. Ropes creaked and groaned, sailors shouted orders to one another, and soon, the ship's movement changed from rocking side to side to rocking from bow to stern. She knew enough about sailing to know that the approaching storm would make it difficult to raise the sails without adjusting the positioning of the ship, but Derek was an accomplished seafarer, of that she was sure, and soon she felt forward momentum.

Unfortunately, it was that very momentum that caused the renewed hitch in her voice, which softened to a mere whisper as she continued to stroke Agnarr's neck and withers, his muscles quivering beneath her touch. She tried to shut the memories of her previous ocean voyage from her mind: the terror, the filth, the abuse that had occurred to a couple of the women along the way, the coarse language, the laughter, the lack of food, water, and even the stench of the waste bucket that they were forced to use—and empty over the side—during the journey.

Hugh stood next to her and Agnarr for several minutes, and then Derek halfway descended the ladder, a troubled expression marring his handsome features.

They had to go back? A shiver of fear weakened Dalla's legs once again, and she leaned against Agnarr for support. Had he changed his mind?

“We have to get far enough out to avoid the shoals,” Derek informed him. “It's going to be rough until we do, so you'd both best sit and brace yourselves.”