An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(8)

“Move.”

The sailor didn't, and in the next moment, found himself lying flat on his back, gasping for breath as Hugh stood over him, one foot now placed on the center of his chest.

He glared at the other sailor, who quickly shrugged and headed in the opposite direction. Hugh then focused his attention on the man who held the woman, both eyeing him warily.

“You really want to do this?”

The man opened his mouth to speak, but just then, the wildcat of the girl lifted her arm, elbow bent, and smacked the back of her fist into his face.

His lip split open. With an angry growl, the sailor flung her to the ground and swung back his foot to kick her.

Like his companion, he soon found himself on the ground as well, although this time Hugh crouched, pressing a knee into the center of his back, his other hand grabbing a handful of dirty, grimy hair. He was prepared to smash his face into the rough planks of the dock, but paused when he saw the flash of color darting past his vision.

With a sigh, he quickly released the sailor and once again found himself in pursuit of the lass, who didn't seem to know when to give up.

Admirable, but he was growing impatient.

She darted around the side of a building. He rounded the corner seconds later and halted.

She stood a mere twenty feet away as she turned to face him. She was in a dead-end alley.

He calmly watched her, his legs slightly wider than hip-width apart, arms crossed over his chest. He said nothing, but merely lifted an eyebrow.

She’d spoken English, but with an accent, so he knew that she would understand him. He didn't necessarily want to frighten her more than she already was, but the day was advancing, and he had things to do. He had already purchased supplies, loaded them onto his horse, and then had decided to enter the tavern for a mug of ale before he left the village.

“Come,” he said simply. “Or I will leave you to the sailors.” Of course, he wouldn't, especially since he had spent nearly all of his money, but she didn't know that. But he wasn't about to keep chasing her. “You have nowhere to go. No one will help you here.”

She stared at him, chest heaving with exertion, a myriad of emotions crossing her features; anger, wariness, and for certain, fear. Her features pale, her hands still clenched into fists, she appeared indecisive.

He could only imagine what she felt. He had questions of his own. Who was she? Where did she come from? How had she ended up on a ship as a captive to be sold to the Scots? Despite the animosity between the Scots and the Norwegians, he nevertheless felt a small surge of pity for her. What must it be like to be kidnapped from your homeland and carted off to—

It struck him that was exactly what Phillip, the Laird of the Duncan clan, had done with his Sarah, now his wife. If they hadn't fallen in love and ultimately married, what would have become of her?

“I'm not going to hurt you, lass, but I'm not going to stand here all day, either. Make up your mind.”

Finally, after several more minutes of staring at one another, the woman heaved a sigh and took a few steps forward.

Hugh extended his hand, palm up, indicating that he wasn't going to hurt her.

She approached the ignored the hand, glaring up at him, her hands held at her sides, though still fisted. She looked like she would bolt at any sudden move.

“You run away again, and you'll regret it.” He spoke softly, and hoped that she wouldn't force his hand. He had never laid a hand on a woman, and he wasn't about to start now, but then again, she didn't know that.

Abruptly, she offered one stiff nod and crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to break eye contact.

He was amused.

She was not.

“What is your name?”

She remained silent.

Having had enough, he reached for her arm.

She tried to turn away, but he warned her once again. “Come with me.”

He tugged on her wrist, and she unfolded her arms, reluctantly following as he led them out of the alley. The sailors were gone. While he didn't exactly have to drag her, she was resisting. He gave her that. She was a tiny thing, her head barely reaching his chest, but he knew she was going to be a handful. Why had he bought her? No use worrying about that now.

“What's your name?” he repeated.

Again, she refused to answer. No matter. He wanted to get out of the village and back to the mountains, although what he was going to do with her then, he had no idea. Still, he couldn't just sit by and watch her be sold off into slavery, prostitution, and who knew what else. There was something about her that had sparked his interest, his sympathy, and his compassion.

He led the way past numerous buildings, past gawking eyes, more than a few snickers, and one man, who took one look at her and spat.

It wasn't until they neared the edge of the village that she seemed to notice the small structure with a cross on top of it.

She dug in her heels and tugged.

“Where are we going?”

Her voice was soft now, tinged with hesitance.

He gestured with his free hand. “Up to the church.”

“Why?” she asked, frowning up at him.

“To get married,” he said simply.

He'd made the decision as they emerged from the alley. All he'd wanted was to come north, to spend some time by himself, to maybe find his brother. To get away, if just for a little while, from newlyweds and the flurry of activity regarding the impending birth of the laird's firstborn child. How had he ended up saddled with this small yet fire-spirited Norwegian lass, let alone decide to marry her?