An Auctioned Bride

by Aileen Adams

  Hugh rolled over and lay on his back, his chest rising and falling, staring upward into the darkness of the cave.

  She spoke while she worked. “I've got to bind the wound in your leg. Stop the bleeding.”

  He nodded slightly, and she maneuvered herself closer. Carefully, trying not to cause him more pain, but knowing it was inevitable, she shoved the piece of now doubled-over cloth under his thigh, then brought it around in preparation to tie the edges together over the wound.

  But she needed more padding, something to soak up the blood. She tore off another strip from the tunic, now reaching just past her waist. She folded up the piece of cloth into a thick pad and pressed it onto the wound, ignoring the groan that resulted. Dalla wrapped the edges of the other piece tightly over the padding and tying it as firmly as she could. This also elicited a low groan, but Hugh didn't move.

  And then she realized why.

  He had passed out.

  The faint light that ventured into the cave opening from outside barely provided light, but as she stared at his leg, she didn't see any fresh blood oozing from the wound.

  She leaned back, staring through the opening and the bramble of bushes that hid the cleft in the rock wall.

  Were they safe here? Would they be found?

  Dire thoughts raced through her head.

  He was seriously wounded, and she didn't know how to help him. And if he died, what would happen to her?

  21

  Dalla wasn't sure how much time had passed since they'd made it to the shelter in the rocks, but it seemed like forever.

  The bleeding in Hugh's leg had stopped, but he had not yet regained consciousness. She knew next to nothing about healing. Without Hugh able to provide any guidance, she wasn't sure what to do next. Had it nicked a blood vessel? Even though he wasn't bleeding on the outside anymore, she didn't know if he might be bleeding on the inside.

  She listened carefully, straining for any sound of the voices of their pursuers beyond the cleft in the wall, but other than the sound of the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder as the storm moved south, she heard nothing.

  The air smelled rich with the scent of pine, wet dirt, and a rather musty smell that she assumed came from the cave itself. Perhaps it had served as a den for wild boar, or a bear, or some other wild animal.

  She explored the cave floor with her eyes with what minimal light there was, unable to find anything with which she could make a fire, even if she knew how.

  Her helplessness appalled her. She could not identify edible from non-editable plants in these wild lands, and was not educated in the least rudimentary basics of healing, and…

  Well, she had plenty of faults, but there was a couple of things she could do. She could try to make Hugh as comfortable as she could. She could maybe start a fire, if she found any dry kindling after the rain, which was doubtful.

  Then again, she was hesitant to do even that, however, worried that the glow of firelight might be visible from downslope, or that the breeze would carry the scent of the fire to whoever had attacked them.

  As she sat in the growing darkness, listening to Hugh breathe, catching her own breath every time his breath hitched, she began to take stock. Her knee throbbed relentlessly. Numerous scratches, some of them surprisingly deep from her own misadventure in the thorny brush, constantly served as reminders of her own foolishness.

  Other than that, and the fact that she was extremely frightened, she was in good health. But Hugh, he was another matter entirely. Every once in a while, a severe shiver took hold of his body, to the point where his teeth chattered. It frightened her.

  At one point, she reached forward to touch his forehead and found it warm. Fever warm. She berated her sense of helplessness.

  In the waning light of day, she studied his profile, and despite the danger of their present situation, admired his handsome features. He looked so much less intimidating at the moment, the angles of this face were less defined, almost… vulnerable. He was vulnerable. Vulnerable to fever, to bleeding to death, to dying of exposure…

  “Stop it,” she muttered to herself.

  “What?”

  The sound of his deep voice startled her, and she gasped, then collected her senses.

  “I think I stopped the bleeding in your leg, but I fear you're developing a fever.” She paused. “I don't know what to do to help you.”

  He said nothing.

  “We have no water, no food. Any kindling I find outside is going to be wet and will only smoke, even if I knew how to start a fire.”

  Again, he said nothing.

  “And even if I did manage to start a fire, I'm afraid that whoever is—or was—following us will see it or smell the smoke in the air.”

  The sound of the quick moving storm had moved south, only dull rumbles and occasional flashes of lightning now. It was quiet for several moments, and then he spoke.

  “Carefully, take a look outside. The rain should have washed… our tracks away, so don't make any fresh ones.” He paused, grimacing in pain. “Use your eyes only. Look for my horse. He should be nearby.”

  He didn't say anything after that, and when Dalla leaned closer to look at him, she saw that he had fallen asleep again. Even if she did see his horse, then what?

  She would never get Hugh onto it, not in his condition. Even moving him would threaten to start the bleeding again and she didn't think he would survive that. Then again, if she could catch his horse, she could find her way back down to the hut, gather their supplies, what little food there was there, and bring it back.

  Slowly, she crawled to the cleft in the wall, staying low, peeking through the branches of the shrub that hid the opening. She didn't see or hear anything. Using the wall as support, the rock solid and slippery with rain beside her, she slowly stood, favoring her injured leg, still keeping her body hidden in the cleft. While she could see a little further, she didn't see anything but trees, shrubs, rocks, and the mountain spires rising above. Ugly looking clouds gathered above. Such an unforgiving and wild landscape.

  She took a step beyond the opening, balancing herself on the rock wall while remaining behind the brush, moving off to the right. She sought any kind of movement, but nothing was out there. Nothing moved, save the tops of the trees, still waving slightly in the breeze. Leaves shivered in the cooling air, the heavy plop of raindrops falling from their uppermost limbs.

  She caught a shadow of something from the corner of her eye and turned toward it, her heart pounding. What if those men were still out there? What if they had found their hiding place?

  On closer inspection, she realized that the shadow down below in the trees didn't move like a man. At first, she thought it was a deer, but it was too large. Then she recognized Hugh's horse.

  Hugh was right! His horse had come back!

  She quickly hurried back into the cave to tell Hugh, but he was still sleeping or unconscious. She couldn't rouse him.

  They had supplies back at the hut. If someone was truly after her, or him, they certainly wouldn't expect them to go back there, would they? She wouldn't have to get too close to it to determine whether it was occupied. If it looked deserted, she would return to it, grab as many of their supplies as she could, and then return to the cave.

  Gently, she nudged Hugh's shoulder.

  Nothing.

  She tried again. “Hugh!”

  He groaned in response.

  “Open your eyes, I need to tell you something.”

  He seemed to struggle for several moments, and then she saw the glint of his gaze in the near darkness.

  “What… what is it?”

  “Your horse is down there. I'm going to go back to the hut, get our supplies—”

  “No… too dangerous.”

  “Look, we have no food, no water, and you're badly injured. We can't make a fire. We need blankets. I'm going.”

  She moved away from him, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist, his grip surprisingly strong in spite of hi
s current condition.

  “No, you must not. I just need to rest.” He paused to catch his breath. “My horse will come to me. He will not come to you. You don't know how—”

  Dalla didn’t want to argue with him, and he was in no position to argue with her anyway.

  She would be careful. She had to be careful. If she managed to get herself kidnapped—again—Hugh would die alone in this cave. No one would ever know what became of him or where he was. He would never find his brother, never return to his friends or the place he came from, the Duncan lands, of which he spoke with such a sense of pride and belonging.

  At that moment, as Dalla rose, prepared to risk her life to help him, she realized that she had begun to grow fond of him despite his rough ways. Despite her situation. Despite the fact that he had bought her, and then forced her to marry him. But, she reflected, he hadn't hurt her. He had injured her pride a time or two, but he'd never hurt her. He'd saved her life. Twice.

  And at the most selfish part of her being, she realized that without Hugh, she too, would be lost.

  Taking a deep breath, using the piece of wood that had served her well as a crutch so far, she made her way to the opening once more, took another careful look around, and then, stepped carefully away from the cleft in the rock wall, trying to step on rocks and damp pine needles as much as possible to avoid leaving footprints in the soft soil.

  She ventured away from the safety and security of the cave opening, her heart pounding. The cloud cover had broken up a bit, leaving her to believe that it was closer to mid-afternoon than evening. Once in a while, the sun shone through the clouds, sending rays of whitish light shimmering through the tree limbs.

  Off in the distance, she marveled at a rainbow. Moving slowly and carefully, she made her way down the slope and off to the north a bit, toward the place where she had last seen Hugh's horse. She hoped that she could get the animal to come to her, and that it would trust her enough to let her get on its back, but she wasn't sure. Hugh had said that without him, his horse would not allow her to approach, but it had to let her!

  Finally, she caught sight of the gelding, watching her, a short distance through the trees, ears tilted forward, tail so long it nearly swept the ground. She spoke softly, approaching slowly.

  “It's okay, boy,” she spoke in her native tongue. “I'm not going to hurt you. But Hugh needs us right now, and in order to help Hugh, you have to help me.”

  She closed the distance between them, and the horse twitched its tail but still didn't move. Whether it was responding to her voice, or mere familiarity, she wasn't sure. When she stood maybe two arm's length away, she paused and slowly extended her hand toward it, palm up.

  “Come on, boy, come closer. I need you.”

  The horse stood still, blew a short, grunt of breath through its nose, and then, lifting its head, ears still pointing forward, approached, one slow, hesitant step at a time. She continued to make crooning, soft noises, not moving, doing her best not to show fear.

  Finally, the horse was close enough for it to sniff her hand. Its muscle was soft and fuzzy, nuzzling at her hand. She kept it flat and her fingers together so that it wouldn't take a nip at her fingers.

  “That's a good boy,” she soothed. “I'll try to find a treat for you,” she said. She reached out to stroke its head and scratch lightly at the starburst of thick, white growth of hair between its eyes, and then along its strongly muscled neck. Foregoing her makeshift crutch, she gently raised her hand and grasped his mane.

  “You're going to let me climb on you,” she said, stepping closer, using the horse for balance now.

  To her surprise, it stood unmoving, accepting the touch of her hands with only a slight shiver of its powerful shoulder muscles as she stroked his withers, his neck under his mane, and his chest. “You're a good boy,” she crooned. “Now, I'm going to get up on your back, all right?”

  The horse stood still. She was surprised that she had even gotten this far and breathed a soft sigh of relief. Now the challenge would be to get on his back. He was huge. She didn't have the strength, nor the ability to grab a handful of mane with one hand, take a semi-running leap to swing herself up onto his back, so she would have to do it the hard way.

  Wrapping her hand around a chunk of his long mane in her left hand and placing her hand as far up on his back as she could, she tried to lift herself upward. No good. She sighed with frustration as the horse skittered a bit to the side, away from her.

  “It's all right, it's all right,” she soothed. “Let's find a place where I can make it easier.”

  Glancing around, she saw a cluster of logs a short distance away. Still holding onto the horse's mane, she tried to prod it in that direction. At first, he didn't follow her crude instructions, but eventually, he did.

  “Come on, boy, good boy. Only a little way to go.”

  At any moment, the gelding could bolt. She began to hum softly, a Norwegian lullaby. The horse flicked its ears and seemed to settle. Maybe he did like the sound of her voice. Maybe he liked Norwegian better than the harsh, guttural Scottish words that Hugh usually spoke. She shook her head.

  They approached the rocks, and she tugged on his mane.

  “Okay, boy, let's try again.”

  She tried to shift him into position, and finally managed to hang onto his mane with one hand as she stepped onto a large rock with her good leg. She would still have to make a bit of a jump to throw herself partly over the horse's back, but when she was there, she felt sure she could scramble astraddle without falling off. Only one way to find out.

  “Okay, I need you to hold still for me, all right? We have to help Hugh.”

  The horse stomped impatiently, flicked its tail, and then blew another short breath from its muzzle. Now or never. The horse grew fidgety.

  Quickly, she tightened her grasp on the clump of his mane in her left hand, placed her hand on its back as she had done once before, and then, still favoring her injured leg, leaped upward. She managed to land halfway across the horse's back, her feet dangling, her torso precariously balanced.

  The horse shied a bit to the side, nearly spilling her to the ground. Ignoring the pain in her injured leg, she managed to scramble higher and swung her leg over. She was unbalanced, and the horse uncertain, still scampering sideways, but she once again resumed singing the lullaby which seemed to calm him.

  “Good boy,” she soothed, leaning forward to pat his neck. She grabbed his mane with her other hand and leaned her body forward. “Go one now,” she cajoled. “Come on, let's walk.”

  The horse merely stood, twitching his ears at the quiet sound of her voice. Riding this half-wild horse without saddle and reins was going to be quite a bit more difficult than what she was used to, which was a gentle mare, sidesaddle, reins, and… w

  Well, nothing to be done about that now.

  Squeezing her thighs tightly around the barrel of the horse, she tugged on its mane, urging it to go in the direction she wanted, tapping with her heels. He moved off. Again, she heaved a sigh of gratitude. This was a smart horse. Then again, maybe it just wanted to return to the hut, maybe even to the mare, who maybe, just maybe, might have returned.

  With one backward glance toward the cleft in the rock wall that she could barely see, she faced forward, her eyes casting to and fro among the trees, doing her best to keep the horse to a sedate walk as they headed downslope. She let the horse lead, knowing that the gelding was more likely to remember exactly where the hut was than she did. The last thing she needed to was to inadvertently run into the group of highlanders, and that strange English man who had tried to kill them.

  She still didn't know who they were or what they wanted, but she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that somehow, in some way, news had gotten back to the one it was who had ordered her kidnapping in the first place.

  And now they were following her, and when they found her, they would make sure this time that she was dead for good.

  22

/>   Hugh watched Dalla disappear from the opening of the cave, though he tried to get up and stop her. His body refused to do his bidding. Even his voice failed him. He glanced down at his leg, cursed, and fell back, weak as a baby. Unable to protect Dalla, unable to even protect himself.

  He lay gasping, forcing back the blackness the clouded around the edges of his eyes, and felt for his knife and ax. They were there. Why hadn't she taken his weapons? She should have taken his weapons!

  A myriad of thoughts raced through his head, none of them good. He lay wounded, weak from loss of blood. Dalla was out there, defenseless, and someone had tried to kill him, or her, or both of them.

  Pain shot through his leg, and he closed his eyes, then forced them open. It was too easy to fall asleep, as weak as he was.

  Dalla said that she had seen highlanders, at least based on her description of their appearance and clothing, and another man dressed in better clothing, but what did that mean? Was she assuming that it was a foreigner? There were plenty of Scottish who did not dress like highlanders, especially in a large city. What would be the purpose of an Englishman traveling all the way from England to southern Scotland and then making his way up-country and into the highlands?

  It didn't make sense. She must've been mistaken. She must've seen highlanders, maybe with perhaps some city dwellers, perhaps from the east along the coastline, or maybe even Moray Firth to the northwest.

  It grew more difficult concentrate, to push back the edges of blackness the threatened to pull him down into painless slumber. He focused his gaze on the opening in the cave wall. Perhaps they had seen a young lass out by herself, unprotected, and thought to take advantage.

  But no… he could not make such a mistake in assuming… she said that she had seen them from a distance, and had hidden, so they couldn't have seen her first and then given chase. They had found her trail and then given chase, or else… or else someone had followed their trail from the seaport… perhaps someone who had not taken kindly to Hugh winning his bid to pay for her for himself.