Hugh had retreated into the woods, but still kept his eye on Dalla. The way she sat there, her serene expression hiding her true thoughts, reminded him so much of Elyse.

He scowled. She wasn't Elyse, and she never would be. He had watched with interest as she seemed to have communicated with the squirrel that crept ever closer.

And then, much to his amazement, a young red deer emerged into the small clearing a short distance away. It was a young male, the barest of antler nubs jutting up from his skull. This one was young indeed, not nearly the size of a full adult, which could grow as large as a young pony. It must've come down to graze because of the recent bad weather.

He watched as the young buck twitched its ears toward Dalla, frozen in place. He moved only his eyes, standing in the shadows of a spruce pine, watching her. She and the deer stared at each other for several moments.

Hugh remained frozen. It would have been the perfect opportunity for him to notch an arrow into his bow. That deer could feed them for several days. But he would not do that. Not after watching her with that squirrel first, and now that deer. Not only would doing so likely trigger animosity, but knowing her stubbornness, she would probably refuse to eat any of the meat.

After a few minutes, the deer calmly walked away, flicking its tail, ears twitching as it disappeared back into the woods.

Dalla stared after it for a moment and then looked up into the sky, a forlorn expression on her face. He had intended to go hunting, but now that she was in a reflective, if not pensive mood, maybe it would be a good time to approach, perhaps encourage her to talk about herself and how she had ended up as a captive bound for Scotland.

Slowly, he emerged from the tree line. After a moment, she noticed and stiffened, turning to stare, as wary of him as the deer had been of her.

He noted the change in her demeanor, hands folded in her lap, the softness disappearing from her face, uncertain now.

Her only movement as he neared her was a definite swallow, an indication of her sense of unease.

He couldn't read her expression as he stopped in front of her, watching, wondering if she would bolt or stay put.

She sighed and stayed put, looking up at him, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

“I have some questions.”

She said nothing, but continued to stare up at him.

“I know your name, Dalla Jorstad, but I know nothing about you or how you ended up here. You will tell me.”

She said nothing for several moments, and then finally replied. “Does it matter?”

He frowned. “You are my wife now. It matters.”

She made a face and turned away, but otherwise didn't move.

He abruptly sat down on the log beside her.

She stiffened more, glanced askance at him, the frown deepening, but didn't move. She was stubborn and willful, but he could be stubborn too.

He looked up at the sky. Not yet noon. “I will remain here, and so will you, until you tell me.”

And so, they sat. The minutes, and then the hours passed. The sun had reached its zenith and dipped toward mid-afternoon before she finally huffed a disgruntled sigh, and turned to stare at him.

“Don't you have anything to do?”

He shook his head. “I'm still waiting.”

He caught the uncertainty on her face. Likely asking herself why she should tell him anything, why it even mattered. He wasn't quite sure himself, but they were married now, for good or naught, and he wanted to know. He and Elyse, after they had gotten to know one another a little better, had shared much together. He witnessed the camaraderie between Phillip and Sarah, and Jake and Heather. Even though Maccay's marriage was still new, there was kinship between them as well. He admitted to himself that he wanted that. He wanted that sense of companionship, of knowledge, of trust with his new if unwilling bride. Due to their circumstances, he couldn't expect her to trust him completely, but maybe in time, she would.

Finally, she relented. She started hesitantly, pausing for brief periods of time between short bursts of information.

“You know my name. My… my mother died a long time ago, when I was a young child. My father seemed to resent me for that.”

He bit back the urge to ask questions. He would let her tell her story first.

“He has mostly ignored me for most of my life, until this past year. Several months ago, he told me that he had arranged a marriage for me. I refused. He was not pleased. Eventually, he informed me he would send me away, to a convent in France.”

Her tone was cool, detached, but as Hugh glanced at her hands, he saw she clasped them so hard in her lap that her knuckles had grown white with tension. It was obvious to him that she was holding back her true emotions. A convent? Her father had threatened to send her to a convent?

“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 their 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.