An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(6)

At the women’s appearance, the room full of boisterous, rough voices rose, along with the clanking of tankards, both wood and pewter, by her ears, against wooden tabletops, more crude suggestions, and rumbles of laughter.

“Get over there, against the wall!”

Dalla understood English well though it was obvious her fellow captives did not. She tried to obey, but the women stood clustered in confusion, bound and sightless.

A rough shove against her shoulder propelled her forward. She gasped and stumbled with the others until she walked into a wall. Reaching behind her with her fingers, she felt its surface. Rough-hewn wood planking. Beside her, she heard one of the other captives weeping.

“Hush,” she soothed, speaking in a low, soft tones. “Don't let them see you afraid. It will only amuse them.”

She stood as tall as possible, ignoring the empty, churning feeling roiling her stomach, making her want to vomit. She disregarded the buzzing in her head, the myriad of questions racing through it. She could not think about the future and what would happen to her. She had to concentrate on here and now.

Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she was amazed it didn't burst. Blood pulsed in the vein in her neck as she stubbornly lifted her chin and turned her face toward the crowd. If she hadn't been blindfolded, she swore she would have stared at them, pretending a calm bravery that she didn't feel deep inside.

Vile Scotsmen!

There was no love lost between the Norwegians and the Scots. They had been at war for years, longer than she could remember. At that moment, fear engulfed her. She wanted to cry, to scream, and to rail against her circumstances. More than anything, she wanted to feel Megan's comforting arms wrapped around her.

She had no one else to yearn for. Not her father, who barely tolerated her existence. She—

“All right, here's the first one!”

Another roar ensued.

She heard a woman's stifled scream from nearby. Her heart sank, even though she had suspected they were to be sold to the highest bidder. The abject reality of the situation caused a new ripple of fear to race up her spine. They were Norwegian captives. For sale to the uncouth, vulgar, and wild Scots. Behind her blindfold, she briefly closed her eyes, uttered a prayer for strength.

Amidst the woman's terrified attempt to cry out, she heard a slap; a hand against a cheek, which stifled the woman's scream but failed to smother her weeping.

“She's got all her teeth! Fine figure of a woman, ain't she?”

Another yelp from the woman and she could just imagine the animal pinching her. If he laid a hand on Dalla like that, she would thrust upward with her knee and hope that she caught him in the groin with it. She might be beaten for her insolence, but no one was going to—

She heard the clinking of coins and money was exchanged.

Ale-addled voices, one bidder trying to top another, elicited a cacophony of sound that soon grew into a steady thrum. She tried to remember. Was she the third or fourth woman in the line?

It took every ounce of strength she had to keep her expression calm, to not start screaming in panic as each woman ahead of her was eventually bought, cut loose from the ropes, and, from what she could hear, literally pushed into the crowd amidst the raucous laughter of men, accompanied by the shrieks and cries of the women.

A rough hand grabbed Dalla’s upper arm and shook her.

Her heart dropped, and her stomach balled into a tight knot of dread.

Her turn.

She fought back the urge to shriek and bit her lips to prevent it. Her heart thundered now, her pulse racing so fast she was surprised she didn't faint.

“And here's a lovely lass. She's got all her teeth too, and look at that hair! Cuts a fine figure of a woman, she's got to be—

The room again erupted with the sound of bidding.

Tankards slammed loudly onto wooden table tops.

She heard the shuffling of feet.

The place stank of body odor, vomit, ale, and leather. In the midst of the voices barraging her ears, she, as well as others in the room, took note of the deep, booming, voice.

“She's mine.”

The words had been spoken loud enough to be heard among the rabble, but with a tone that immediately silenced the room.

She swallowed.

The room suddenly grew quiet.

She heard the sound of movement, feet moving forward, not boots, but leather against wood. And then she felt a man's presence only a short distance from her. His scent wafted toward her. He smelled of horse, pine, and, oddly enough, the earth. She wanted to back away but stood her ground.

Nevertheless, her ears rang so loud now, her head swimming with wordless terror, her heart pumping so hard, she barely managed to hear the quiet words the man spoke to the one holding so tightly onto her arm.

She felt another hand reach out for her other arm, not terribly harsh, but oh, that hand was so large, easily wrapping around her forearm.

She shuddered.

Again, money was quickly exchanged, evident from the clinking of coins.

“Cut her loose.”

She felt a brief tug on the rope at her waist, and then the jarring sensation of a knife slicing through the rope binding her wrists.

And then, without further ado, the big hand slid down her forearm and grasped her hand, firmly, and tugged.

Dalla hesitantly followed, knowing that he led the way through the crowd. She tripped over something and nearly fell before she regained her footing.