An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats Book 4)

by Aileen Adams

  “I didn't really mind the idea of living in the seclusion of a convent.” She offered a slight shrug. “At least that way, I would be away from my father's ever-growing disapproval, as well as that of my uncle. My uncle has his eyes set on furthering his own importance with the crown… there is no doubt that my father shares his aspirations as well, hence the attempt to marry me off.”

  She abruptly paused and sucked in a breath.

  He looked at her now pale features and frowned. “The crown? Why would he think that any marriage you entered would further his purposes with the crown? Unless he is pushing you to marry a member of the royal family. Is that it?”

  She didn't reply for several moments, but then, shoulders slightly slumped, she shook her head.

  “Then what?” he prompted.

  “I am a member of the royal family.”

  He stared at her for several moments, stunned. “You are a member of the Norwegian family?”

  She nodded.

  He was struck dumb with amazement. The Duncan clan was no stranger to the feuds between the Scots and the Norwegians. Jake had been injured in the Battle of Largs, fighting under Scottish King Alexander III, son of King Alexander II, and grandson of William the Lion. Alexander II and King Hakkon IV of Norway were only a few years apart in age, and both had feuded and warred with one another for years over land disputes.

  “My family did not live at the royal household, but my father and uncle were—and are—still involved with much of the political aspects. Even so, it's my maternal line that has the closest relationships and connections to the throne. Even after my mother died, my father continued to make his presence known at court. I always felt he was forever trying to ingratiate himself with my mother's side of the family, but I distanced myself from it. However, my uncle must have likely assumed that any marriage, and ultimate issue from that marriage, would precede him, at least in opportunities to inherit more power. I am sure that my uncle was behind my father's arranging a marriage with me to a man who was unlikely to produce an heir.”

  The more Dalla told him, the more Hugh grew angry at people he didn't know. Was it possible that Dalla’s own father and her uncle would treat her that way? Of course it was. The machinations of those who sought power usually exhibited few scruples, if any.

  “So what happened? How did you end up being kidnapped? And why?”

  She shrugged. “I can only make suppositions, as I truly don't know. My companion Megan and I were walking one evening when we were accosted. I still don't know…” She paused, swallowed, and took a breath. “I still don't know what happened to her. She might be dead.” After a brief pause, she took a breath and continued her tale, her voice as calm as if she commented about the weather. “A hood was placed over my head, and I was tossed over a man's shoulder. I was taken to a seaport, bound and gagged, and dumped in the hold of a ship. After several day's travel on the open seas, I arrived at that seaport and was put up for sale. You bought me.” She turned to him. “And you know the rest.”

  He found it hard to believe her story, but no one would make up a tale like that. Someone had betrayed her, treated her cruelly, and likely hoped that she would disappear forever.

  “Would you let me go, to return to Norway?”

  He frowned. “And why would I do that? So that whoever arranged for your kidnapping and sailed you into captivity, perhaps even death, could have another chance at it?” He shook his head. “Someone obviously wanted to get rid of you, Dalla, and now you ask me to send you back?” He frowned. “No. I will not.”

  She said nothing for several moments. “I'm not sure why anyone would believe that I posed a danger to them or their political aspirations, if that was truly a reason.” She shook her head, looking off into the distance. “I have no interest in becoming an active member of the royal family. Nor would I want my child to be embroiled in such goings-on.”

  “Due to your station, you have little choice in the matter, or so your father believed. And yet somebody believes that either you or your issue would be a threat to them.” He looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Would your issue be in a direct line to inherit the throne? Or to have political power and influence?”

  She scoffed. “My mother was a sister to the king's younger brother, by a stepmother. As such…” She shook her head. “Still, since when does a woman have any influence over the decisions of a man? I may have a royal blood flowing through my veins, but that doesn't give me extraordinary powers. I am not a queen, nor even a princess. What possible influence…” She paused again. “My mother died when I was a child. I have been to the royal court less than a handful of times in my life. My father purposely kept me away from all that. During my youth, I thought it was to protect me from the… the dangers of being a member of the royal family. As I grew older, I realized it was because he wanted to prevent me, or so I must assume, from growing closer to my mother's side of the family, most of whom have taken up residence either in the royal household or at their estates within the environs of Oslo.”

  Hugh's frown deepened. The ramifications of her tale were sobering indeed. Chances were that, if someone had deliberately tried to have Dalla killed, and found out that she was still alive, her life could still be in danger.

  He had come this far north to try to find his brother, and now he was… he realized that he could not drag an unwilling companion into any of the northern coastal cities as he looked for Derek.

  For several seconds, he felt a great surge of resentment toward her for making such a mess of his life, but he quickly tamped them down. None of this was her doing. While he was not responsible for her kidnapping, he did take responsibility for purchasing her. He could not blame her for that. But what of his brother? Would he have to give up his search for Derek before it even got started?

  He realized she was speaking again, and focused on her, pushing his own concerns into the back of his mind, at least for now.

  She offered a wan smile, glancing at him. “I know my father and my uncle often ventured to Oslo, but exactly what importance they hold in the government or the royal family, I really don't know.”

  Hugh wasn't sure he believed that. Wouldn't any member of the royal family, no matter how distant from the throne, at least be aware of the influence their family members had at the royal court? He knew nothing of politics, his experience with leadership was limited to his laird, Phillip Duncan.

  “It seems, Dalla Jorstad… or more correctly, Dalla McInnis, that you are truly better off with me, than back in your own homeland.”

  That comment didn't appear to please her in the least. Her frown, her grunt of displeasure, and the flush of color in her cheeks as she turned to him was unmistakable.

  “But I don't want to be here. I don't want to be married to you or any other man!”

  The color in her face deepened and her displeasure and frustration was palpable. She unfolded her hands and crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head as she spoke sharply.

  “I don't want to be any man's wife, whether it be a Norwegian or a Scot! I am no man's chattel! I will be no man's slave! To be treated as no more than a piece of property or an animal! And you… and you can't…”

  Abruptly, she stopped speaking and turned away, her chest heaving with emotion, her voice tremulous. She swallowed thickly.

  He glanced down at the grass beneath his feet, idly plucking the stalks as she struggled to regain her composure. He could not imagine being in her position. Likely, the man responsible for her kidnapping had hoped that she would disappear forever. More than likely wanted her dead, but didn't want to be personally responsible for such a demise.

  “What is your father's name, and that of your uncle?”

  “Why?” she snapped, turning to him.

  He saw the pulse pounding in her neck, her heightened color, her wide eyes, either with fear or hostility, more likely a combination of both. Although he spoke calmly, he felt anger burgeoning inside him at the thought of someone treating th
eir own family like that. Then again, look at what happened with Alis… abandoned in the middle of the wild forests near the Duncan lands. She still had not regained her memory of her former life.

  While the Duncans had learned that she had been abandoned by the MacGregors, an enemy clan, for much the same reason—refusing to obey the dictates of her laird. Alis, much like Dalla, had refused to enter into a betrothal arranged by her father. It was certainly not common for women to refuse such dictates, he couldn't blame them.

  He had bought Dalla for a reason he had yet to determine, exactly, but he also felt the saddle of responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders. As a man, he had a right to own property, and as a man, he also had the overall power over her, much like her father had. That he wouldn't force her to fulfill her duties as a wife was beside the point. No, he couldn't blame Dalla her feelings. It had been his decision to buy her. It had not been her decision to be kidnapped, sold as a captive, or bought and then forced to marry him.

  “My father's name is Alfred Jorstad,” she finally replied. “And my uncle is Amund… Amund Jorstad.”

  He nodded, now at even more of a loss than he had felt minutes ago. Knowing the truth, or some of it at least, gave him pause.

  He studied her face. “Surely, someone will be looking for you?”

  She snorted. A most unladylike snort, as she turned to peer at him. “Who?” she asked, her voice filled with sarcasm. “My loving father? My caring uncle?”

  “But surely, someone in your family will notice that you are missing?”

  “My family has made our home on the southwestern coastline of the country, away from cities, Oslo, and the politics and goings-on of the royal household. Other than the servants and other household staff of my home, it is doubtful that anyone will notice my absence.”

  “But surely—”

  She shook her head roughly. “You don't understand. I preferred it that way. After my mother died and I grew older, I realized that my thoughts, my ideas, nay, even my complaints, were rarely heeded by my father or my uncle. Not to say that no one cared for me, because I honestly believed that the household staff did, as I did them. Nevertheless, I maintained a relatively solitary existence.” She turned toward Hugh with a distant yet emotionless mien. “So no, I don't believe anyone will particularly care about my absence, when it is noticed that is, although I do believe that my father, out of social correctness rather than any emotional attachment to me, will initiate a cursory search.”

  Hugh scowled. “So it wasn't common knowledge that your father had ordered you to a convent?”

  She shook her head. “Only Megan knew—” She frowned, her eyes wide as her face lost some of its color. She turned to him, eyebrows lowered. “Which makes me wonder… and dread, what has happened to Megan, my companion of these many years?”

  She grew silent and refused to answer any more questions, seemingly more disturbed about what happened to her companion than about how she had been treated by her own father. He decided at that moment that he needed the advice and guidance of his laird, not only as the leader of the clan, but as one of his closest friends, and a man he trusted. Phillip would know what to do about this situation.

  Even so, he recognized his responsibility. He had married Dalla, and as such, he was from this moment forward responsible for her health, her well-being, and her safety. He would take that responsibility seriously.

  She was his wife, no matter what had prompted their marriage.

  17

  That evening, Dalla lay on the makeshift pallet that Hugh had made for her, watching the dull glow that remained of their fire in the center of the hut. Beyond that dull glow lay Hugh, right in front of the door. He was on his side, facing her, arms crossed over his chest, his head resting on the saddle blanket for his horse. He hadn't moved in quite some time and was snoring softly.

  Her mind racing, she couldn't sleep despite her weariness. The conversation she'd had with him earlier in the afternoon had caused her more anxiety than she had let on. While she’d told Hugh only the most basic parts of her history, she had an unsettling fear that it wasn't over. She tried to convince herself that Megan had escaped her kidnapping unscathed, but try as she might to convince herself of it, she couldn't quite make herself believe it.

  While she suspected that her uncle was likely behind her kidnapping, she couldn't completely ignore the suspicion that her father might also have had something to do with it. She couldn't believe he would do such a thing, but her father was a man who was not to be trifled with. She had gotten away with much in her youth, but mainly because he ignored her. While there was no love lost between them, Dalla felt a nearly overwhelming sense of betrayal, of disbelief that her father might have been involved. Could he have wanted to rid himself of her forever?

  She doubted it. No, her father wanted her to marry, close to the royal family, or at the very least, someone rich so that he would share in her husband's new wealth. She had no inkling of the Jorstad current family finances, but her father was always looking for ways to increase their coffers.

  Was it possible that Hugh was right? Would someone find out that she was alive? If her father or uncle found out—and they were involved in the kidnapping—that she had made it to the Scottish coast alive, then been sold into captivity, would they attempt to find her? Perhaps make an overt attempt on her life? No, they wouldn't dare venture to Scotland. Not personally. Would they?

  She didn't think so. After all, if her uncle or even her father wanted her dead, wouldn't they have just kidnapped and killed her outright?

  She sighed softly.

  Did it matter anymore? She was far from home, in a strange country, now married to a Scottish highlander. She shook her head, thinking that never in her life would she have thought this is where she would find herself. Kidnapped. Sold. Married to an enemy Scotsman. Why? What was it that her uncle or her father feared from her? And if it wasn't her uncle or her father, then who? There was no one else that would have built-up such animosity—

  It couldn't be Manfried Gundersen, the older German her father had betrothed her to the first time. He was dead, killed in drowning accident. There had been a couple of other attempts to marry her off, but nothing had ever come of them. She had made sure of that. But perhaps one of her intended fiancés had held a grudge, resentful that the match had not taken place, thereby losing a potential connection to the royal throne in return for opening their own coffers?

  Could it be? She tried to remember the names of those supposed suitors. There had been two serious negotiations underway after Gundersen had died, spoiling her father's original plans. What were their names?

  Think!

  Brynjar… again, a middle-aged man over twice Dalla's age. Brynjar… she couldn't recall the rest of his name. And then there was Dag… she didn't recall his surname either. She should have paid more attention, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

  She debated whether or not she should tell Hugh about the failed arrangements. Although she hadn't thought much about it at the time, it was possible that her actions, and the difficulties she caused with her refusal to enter such marriages, had caused her father such embarrassment that he had taken steps to make sure that it never happened again.

  Was it all possible that someone from her mother's side of the family, closer to the throne, had been aware of what her father was doing? Could that knowledge have threatened his years of hard work and attempts to ingratiate himself within the closer circles of the royal family, to gain more power?

  She should have paid more attention, been more aware of how her actions might reflect on the family reputation, at least in regard to the male side of it. A woman refusing to marry? Typically unheard of, but because of her connection to the throne, perhaps her father hadn't wanted to push too hard, at least in a sense where his actions were made obvious. Her father was not related by blood to anyone in the royal family. No, his sole connection to them came through her mother. But she, as a dire
ct descendant, a blood relative, now that was different.

  She closed her eyes, her head spinning. Political machinations, plotting, subterfuge… she despised it all, which was only one of the reasons why she had never minded living so far from Oslo, uninvolved in politics. She had neglected her royal duties, had declined to become part of the royal household—and live in Oslo when she'd come of age. Had her stubborn refusal led to this?

  She gazed around her at the interior of the hut, surrounded by the wild and treacherous landscape of the Scottish highlands. Sleeping on the floor of a hut with a man who was now her husband guarding the entrance to make sure that she didn't escape.

  She finally realized that she had nowhere to turn, nowhere to escape. No one to help her. Even if she did manage to find her way back to her homeland, who could she trust?

  Despair settled like a shroud over her shoulders, prompting her to close her eyes and dip her head, fighting back the pain and the rejection that surged through her heart.

  While she wasn't yet ready to surrender her future to this Scotsman, she realized, for the time being at least, that she was relatively safe.

  For now.

  18

  The following morning, she woke to find Hugh standing in the doorway of the hut, back to her, looking out over the landscape.

  The sun had not yet risen, but the shade of the predawn sky indicated that it was imminent. She sat up, brushing her hand through her tangled hair. Her movement drew his attention, and he turned to glance at her over his shoulder.

  “I came north looking for my brother,” he stated simply.

  She froze, looking up at him as she considered his tone, lacking any emotion whatsoever. He didn't seem angry, just… resigned?