Dalla had been wrong. With Hugh's arms wrapped tenderly around her shoulders, she realized that she had been wrong. Not all Scotsman were animals. Not all highlanders were barbarians.

Of course, she'd only known Hugh, so she had very little to go by, but at the same time she realized that she had allowed her prejudices to grow against any reference to Scots in Scotland, much and as it was likely that the Scots did the same toward the Norwegians.

She sighed, listening to Hugh's heartbeat, enjoying the warmth of his torso, sensing every minuscule movement of his musculature as they stood, wrapped in one another's embrace. Was this the beginnings of love? She didn't know. She'd never been in love before. Affection? Maybe. Likely. Maybe even stronger than affection. She'd never felt this way before toward any man. All she knew was she didn't want to be left behind again, and then as Hugh's wife, willing or not, she felt that her place now was by his side, not hiding.

Abruptly, he released his grasp and gently nudged her away from him, hands on her shoulders, gazing down at her face.

“We have changed,” he said simply.

She nodded.

“This is good, but it does not remove the dangers. Your uncle wants you dead. For what reason, I do not know, but it will be dangerous for you to be seen with me. You have an unforgettable face.”

As though to emphasize, he stroked his fingers along the side of her face, tracing her jawline, then nudging her chin upward to maintain eye contact.

Her heart skipped a beat, and once again, feelings for him burgeoned, but she couldn't define them. Not specifically. It was all so confusing, but at the same time thrilling. And yet… and yet behind it all lay the aura of danger. This was no game.

“I am not sure which is riskier… leaving you out here somewhere, or taking you into a town with me.”

“Let's go find your brother,” she said simply.

After all, either they managed to escape their pursuers, or they did not. Either way, she decided that it would be best for them to meet the dangers together.

He offered a nod, then once again mounted his horse, pulling her up after him.

* * *

Finding Hugh's brother was not as easy as it originally sounded. By mid-afternoon, Hugh and Dalla rode into the third seaside village, garnering curiosity with her appearance, a woman dressed in man's clothes, riding double as they were, strangers to the area.

She returned gazes coolly, without hesitance, not arrogantly, but showing no sense of intimidation either. Acting like a Scot.

In every village, Hugh guided Agnarr down to the seaside, their buildings, and short docks, asking for Derek McGinnis. Sometimes, when he needed to go inside a tavern, she waited outside with the horse. He would always return moments later, his frown growing ever deeper with each one. In the last town they'd passed through, a little larger than the one they now entered, he had been directed to a structure close down by the beach where waves rhythmically slapped the shoreline, gently rolling in. The structure served as a shipping company of sorts. There, he inquired once again for any information about Captain Derek McInnis or his ships.

This time, Hugh had been fortunate. He was directed up the coast, and now they approached yet another small village whose name she couldn't pronounce let alone understand. It nestled along the shoreline of a small inlet or harbor, its shores dotted with rocks. An unlikely location for any shipping business, as the water here certainly didn't look deep enough to accept the draft of a goods-laden ship.

Nevertheless, Hugh paused his horse on a hill looking down into the village, dotted with thatch-roofed huts, and down closer to shore, bustling activity. As they headed downslope toward the activity on the beach, they rounded a small hill, and it was then that she saw two ships anchored out to sea, beyond the breakwater. That made sense, but if the ship was loading or unloading goods, its location and the need for smaller boats to transport those goods to shore seemed foolish. Why not just have the goods transported to a better port city?

At any rate, she shrugged off her curiosity and her questions, not really concerned about how these coastal Scots did their business. What she did feel was a nearly overwhelming sensation of loss and homesickness as she inhaled the sea air, felt the salt against her skin, the breeze coming off of the sea wafting through her hair. The sudden pain that caught in her chest was so overwhelming she nearly gasped.

As they had ridden from village to village, Hugh had clearly grown more discouraged with each failure to find his brother.

She attempted to break the ever longer growing silences by asking him about his brother. At first, he seemed extremely reluctant to talk about him, but as they rode, and he spoke more of their early years, she saw an occasional smile. He carried regrets, she was sure of that, but who didn't?

And then she asked the question that had cornered the bulk of her curiosity. “Why has it been so long since you've seen him? He still lives in Scotland, isn't that right?”

“I believe so,” he sighed. “Although I'm not sure anymore. I'm just going by what Jake told me. He saw my brother a few years ago. Derek told him that his contract with the King of the Scots had expired and he was starting a shipping business along the coast. I would've assumed that meant Scotland.”

“So you two went your separate ways. You stayed with the Duncan clan and he ventured to the sea.”

He shook his head. “When he left Duncan lands, he fought with the Scots against your countrymen,” he shrugged. “That's when Jake saw him. Jake was a soldier, wounded at the Battle of Largs, then taken to a small town after he was wounded. It was there that he saw Derek. At the time, and Derek was running supplies to the coastline, breaking through barricades set by Norse ships in the sea.”

Dalla knew little about battles and conscriptions, soldier's obligations, and so forth. She did know that the Norwegians and the Scots had been at war since she was little, and so she declined to comment on the continued warfare between them. What she did know was that running a blockade was a very dangerous and risky endeavor. Then again, if Hugh's brother was anything like him, she supposed it wasn't surprising.

“You haven't seen him at all in the intervening years?”

Hugh shook his head. “There was a letter or two in the beginning. But then those too stopped.” He offered a shrug. “Until Jake saw him, I didn't even know he was still alive.”

Dalla instinctively knew that Hugh was probably struggling with doubts. Could they find his brother? And even if he did, would the man help them? He could be out to sea. He could be dead now for all Hugh knew.

Their fourth visit to a coastal village proved as fruitless as the first three. By this time, dusk had begun to settle over the land.

“It's growing late. We should find shelter.” He turned the horse away from the coast and into low rolling, brush-covered hillsides until he found a likely spot sheltered from the ever-present sea breezes.

She felt exhausted and was happy for the rest. To her surprise and discomfort, he handed her down from Agnarr but remained mounted. She looked up at him in question.

“Stay here. I'm going to ride back to the village and buy some food. I saw a tavern back there. I'll go ask about Derek and return shortly.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but then decided she would rather stay where she was. Her legs and back ached from riding the horse for hours on end. The place Hugh had chosen was sheltered and secluded, hidden by brush, the combination of sand and soft dirt beneath her feet providing a warm cushion upon which she could lay and rest her aching bones.

With a sigh, she sank down to the ground, grateful for the brief respite. “You'll be back before dark?”

He nodded. “I'll be back before dark.”

And with that, he turned his horse and rode away.

Dalla watched him go, trying to ignore her worries, thinking only to take advantage of this time to rest. How far they had yet to go, how far they would have to follow the coastline before they found his brother, was uncertain. She also worried about her uncle. Had he found traces of them back at the cave in the wall of rocks? Had they found their trail and followed them to the coast?

She was not naïve. What she still didn't know—and perhaps didn't want to know—was whether her father or anyone else in the extended royal family was involved in her kidnapping. She knew one thing. Her uncle couldn't take the chance of anyone finding out. Therefore, she knew without a doubt that he would not cease looking for her until her body lay cold and dead at his feet.