Captured by a Laird

by Loretta Laird

  Soon a scuffle outside and the sound of deep male voices alerted Lena to the approach of the guards. She did not recognise the dulcet tones of the man who had held her close the night before. It meant that he had sent his men to collect her

  This, she pondered, could be to her advantage.

  Recalling the size and strength of his grasp, she realised that this may be her only chance to escape. Lena held her breath, allowing it to catch in her throat. She found that when nervous, the sound of her breathing could overpower the sounds that occurred around her. She could not afford to miss a single clue as to the strategy of her captors. The scrape of a heavy stone being moved coupled with gruff voices coming closer, focussed Lena’s mind on the right moment to pounce.

  “Looks like he’s still out of it,” a rough voice noted.

  “Might need a pail of water to wake him up a bit,” added a softer voice. “I’ll get one. It would be my pleasure.”

  Hearing the second pair of boots retreat, Lena took advantage of the moment and sprang up. She swirled around, brandishing the knife. Its sharp blade made instant contact with the torso of the man before her and sliced smoothly through his flesh. Lena wiped the knife quickly against her side and stood ready for a counter-attack. Instead, the man cried out and fell forward, clutching his stomach as a streak of crimson blood stained through his tunic. The second man rushed back into the room, blocking the exit with his burly frame.

  Lena cursed herself for not moving quickly enough or anticipating the second man’s speed. She turned and pulled the bleeding man’s sword from his limp hand, swinging it in a graceful arch with practised ease. She held her own weapon in her other hand and faced the man who stood between her and freedom. The second man, taking one look at the condition of his comrade, backed out of the dugout cell. Lena followed him into the gatehouse and gestured back into the damp space with the sword she now brandished. Understanding the action, the guard moved into the cell.

  “How far do you think you will get?” the guard’s angry voice yelled. “You will be hunted down like an animal and killed by the Laird himself. No one can hide from a Harris in Harris’ own land,” he sneered.

  Lena bit down a smile.

  “Fool!” she scoffed at the man’s indiscretion.

  Realising that she could never shift the massive stone that had taken both guards to move, Lena quickly laid the sword against the wall and selected a large rock from the ground. Brandishing the sword with a menacing stance, she stepped into the cell and raised the rock aloft. Bringing it down upon the guard’s head, she winced as the thud of the body hit the ground.

  “Sorry!” she said in a soft voice.

  As she turned to leave, a small smile played at the edges of her mouth. Harris, was it? She cursed herself for not paying enough attention to the deep-red and gold plaid that the guards wore.

  “Know your enemy,” her father had always told her. Well, now she did—Stref Harris. Geographically, it was the closest to her own lands, so it would be easier to escape. Maybe, if she could locate a horse, she could be away before anyone else knew she was missing?

  Pulling her hood further down over her head, Lena set off out the door. She held tightly to the sword she had acquired, and with her other hand, secured the small dagger back into the leather sheath that lay strapped to her arm.

  Outside, Lena looked quickly from side-to–side, taking in the empty courtyard and ominous keep that loomed large; dominating the space. Four tall towers rose up towards the low-lying clouds; their tips almost disappearing among the mist. Beside her, the gate stood open, allowing the comings and goings of the local people. Despite the unrest among the clans of the high and low lands, the daily lives of the people largely continued as normal. When danger was a constant companion, one either faced each new day, or hid away too scared to live. Lena saw her route, and noticed where the trees grew denser. Abandoning the idea of a mount, she turned to dart towards the wooded area.

  Suddenly her planned escape was thwarted by a pair of heavy arms, which captured her in a grip that tore the breath from her body.

  “We meet again, Green Bow,” the sensual voice whispered. “Planning to leave so soon, when we have not even been properly introduced?”

  Lena wrestled in vain as the sword was taken from her. She was turned around, none too gently, and marched back towards the keep.

  Hanging her head in an effort to avoid detection, Lena could not see the curious glances of the gathering crowd as Lord Harris marched the notorious Green Bow into his keep, but she could not fail to hear the comments though.

  “Bastard!”

  “Murderer!”

  Lena shuddered at the hate in their remarks. She vaguely recalled what Stref Harris had said the night before about slaughter and fear. He somehow thought her responsible for many wrongs against his people, and now he would make her pay. Considering the chaos that he had inflicted on her lands, Lena seethed at the hypocrisy of this man who propelled her onwards. Squaring her shoulders, Lena vowed to defend her people to her dying breath. If she had to plead or bargain with this enemy then so be it, but she would not give up without a fight.

  * * * *

  After walking the hooded figure through the courtyard, Stref felt baffled by the height and build of his captive, and concluded that this Green Bow must have hidden strength to overpower two of his best guards. Still Stref could not quite fathom his diminutive stature.

  A sudden sound overhead caused a flurry of panic among the crowd.

  “The eagle!” shouted an old woman.

  “It brings doom to us!”

  “Fear not! It is no more than the trained pet of this murderer!” Stref shouted. “Our archers will shoot it down.”

  His captor suddenly cried out in anguish, “No!”

  Stref froze. He knew he hadn’t imagined that. The voice he had just heard explained a lot of things, the size of the warrior before him and the loyalty that he had seen evident in the search party last night. A slow smile of victory spread across Stref’s face and he turned to the gathered assembly.

  “I will take this monster to the keep and question him. He will then pay for his crimes against our clan!”

  A resounding cheer followed, and he turned and bowed graciously before he roughly led his captive up the stairs and in through the keep’s heavy wooden doors.

  “Wait outside,” he instructed his men. “I’ll call if I need you.”

  “But, my Lord, he has already overpowered two guards.”

  “Do you doubt my ability to protect myself against this so-called Champion of Rwenor?” Stref was beginning to enjoy himself as he relished the prospect of seeing what manner of warrior he would find shrouded under the large green cloak.

  “N–no, my Lord,” the guard backed away, suitably chastised.

  As the door closed behind them, Stref moved in behind the figure and took hold of the dark-green hood; his curiosity piqued.

  “So, what have we here?” he said with a low rumble. “Rather a small man, or maybe not a man at all?”

  Satisfied by the gasp that came from beneath the hood, Stref pulled it back in one swift motion. This time it was his turn to gasp. Raven hair cascaded from beneath the fabric. It tumbled down framing a small round face with a smattering of freckles across a perfectly shaped nose. Two deep-brown eyes like bottomless pools, gazed back at him. Stref was face-to-face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  “Let me go, and leave my clan alone!” she spat like a cat, her eyes sparking with passionate fury.

  The woman pulled the knife from its strapping on her arm and adopted a fighting stance. As she lunged forward, Stref backed off, but not quite quick enough. The nimble girl who stood before him managed to draw a thin line of blood on the exposed flesh of his muscled arm.

  “That’s just for starters, Harris,” she hissed.

  This time Stref managed to move fast enough to avoid another nick. He grabbed her small wrist and wrenched the knife from her grasp.
He held her tightly, yet she did not even flinch as he bent her arm at an awkward angle. Stref admired her courage as he regained his composure and managed a short laugh.

  “A lucky strike. Your only one I might add. I do not think you are in the best position to make demands of me, hellcat,” he teased. “My people would see you hanging from the tower by the end of the morn. They believe I have captured Green Bow himself!” A short humourless laugh followed his comment.

  Amused to watch her eyes flash with the challenge, Stref could not help but be impressed by her bravery. Most females would be quaking in terror after such a threat; most men too come to that, but this vixen just stared at him with fire in her eyes.

  “I would hang if I had a crime to hang for,” she said. “Name my misdemeanour. Is it now wrong to defend your land against raiders and rogues?”

  Stref’s mouth curved into a playful smile. It was a shame that this hissing, spitting creature would soon be a trophy swinging from his tower; she would have provided a welcome dalliance in his chamber. Stref could not prevent his mind from conjuring up how he would like to channel that wild rage into primal desire. Not for one moment did he doubt that he could achieve such a challenge.

  “You will pay for the crimes of the one they call Green Bow. As you are dressed as he, you will pay for his wrong doing,” he warned, reluctantly regaining his train of thought. “What manner of man would see his woman captured in his place?” Stref shook his head in disbelief. The low-down coward must have swapped his cloak with this chit of a girl in order to fool the raiding party. Stref was angered by the treachery, yet strangely moved that this delightful maid had been the sacrifice. “Your saviour has a low regard for his women, if he were ready to send you to your death in his place.”

  Stref moved forward in one fluid movement and fingered a lock of his prisoner’s hair. “The women of Rwenor must be a comely bunch, if you were the one they chose to dispose of,” he cooed. “No wonder this Green Bow defends the croft so fiercely.”

  Stref allowed the hair to fall back into place and then brought his hand in a gentle caress under her chin. The gasp she emitted at his touch sent a shock wave straight through Stref. The instant hardening of his manhood surprised him, and he felt an intoxicating mixture of animal lust and disgust at the betrayal of his own body engulf him. This wench was the enemy. Worse still, she was the mistress of his enemy, no doubt well versed in how to please and seduce a man. Stref pulled his hand away as if he had been stung. He noticed the crimson blush that had stained the cheeks of his prisoner.

  More like a raw maid than a dirty trollop, he mused, puzzled again by the figure that stood before him.

  Stref turned and paced the length of the room, his mind racing with what he surmised had happened.

  “Why were you wearing that hood?” he demanded. “Why were you riding Green Bow’s horse? Why did you not advise me of the mistaken identity? I could have killed you where you stood last night, or this morning when you tried to escape.”

  “Yet, here I stand,” she said softly.

  Her voice shook Stref. Its low timbre touched him like a caress. The fine hairs that covered his neck stood to attention as if she had run a gentle finger down his body.

  “Here you stand,” he agreed. His voice cut roughly through the quiet room, and even he could hear the catch in his usual decisive manner. “At my mercy and without your brave defender, Green Bow. What have you to say?”

  “Leave my people in peace. I may be in your lair, but there are many left to fight, and they will give their lives to rid our home of your savage threat to our liberty and your merciless raiding.”

  The girl stood proud with her fists balled at her sides. Her shoulders rose and fell, displaying the passion behind her tirade. Stref could not help noticing the swell of her breasts as she allowed her breath to return to a normal rate. His thoughts turned darkly to how those two perfect round peaks would move if they were freed and allowed to fall into his own welcome embrace. The idea traced the familiar path straight to his groin and he gritted his teeth against the sensation. Maybe he should have tarried awhile longer in Anna’s grateful arms; his desire had obviously not been fully sated.

  “No man would willingly sacrifice such a beauty,” Stref concluded. “I think therefore that I should send word to your Green Bow, and inform him that I have something that belongs to him. I imagine he will be keen to reclaim what is lost, if last night’s frantic search party was anything to go by. Maybe you are more of a decoy than a sacrifice. I wonder? When he comes, and I have no doubt that he will, I will have my revenge. Until then, you will remain here as my…as my guest.”

  “But…I…”

  “No buts,” Stref barked the order. After taking hold of the temptresses’ arm, he pulled her roughly towards the door and forced it open. “I am the Lord here, and you will do well to remember that. My lands are not ruled by a frustrated matron and her arrow-wielding protector, the one they call Green Bow. Here, my word is law.”

  Outside, the gathered crowd had grown in size as each waited to see the demise of the Green Bow. Some still looked worriedly up at the circling eagle whose shrill cries pierced the early morning air. A murmur of confusion began to spread through the mass as Stref emerged with a wide-eyed, dark-haired beauty at his side.

  “It seems we have been duped,” he announced in a powerful voice that carried clearly across the chattering groups. Silence fell as each turned to listen to their Lord. “The one they call Green Bow has switched places with this wench. He may think he has tricked Stref Harris, but I will draw him out and then hang him high. For what red-blooded man would not return for this rare beauty?”

  A mumbling of assent filtered through the men.

  “I’ll keep her safe at my place!” called out one cheeky voice.

  “Me next!” yelled another.

  Stref could feel the shudder of the young woman beside him as many more catcalls followed, each more lurid than the last. He felt a surge of rage at the comments and a protective impulse struck him.

  “I will keep the bait here where she will be treated with some dignity. We are not monsters, unlike the foe we lure here. For as sure as I stand here before you, that beast will pay for our losses with his life and the life of his whore!”

  The crowd erupted in a battle cry as Stref pulled his captive back into the keep and slammed the door shut. He propelled her towards the spiral stairway, just as Anna was meandering down. She smiled at him with a languid look and laid her hand possessively on his chest.

  “What is all the hollering about, lover? I was waiting up for you in our bed.” Her smile held the promise of what could be on offer.

  Anna ran her eyes dismissively over the woman beside him and frowned as she noticed the grip that Stref had on her upper arm.

  “Replaced me already?” she purred with a petulant tone. “The bed is not yet cold.”

  Stref looked straight into the dark eyes of his prisoner. Somehow he didn’t want this mysterious girl to know that Anna had just left his bed. Standing next to her, Anna seemed coarse and cheap with her unruly hair and crumpled clothes. She practically stank of post-coital relations and Stref recoiled in disgust.

  “Enough, Anna! Take her to the west tower room and lock the door. She is a prisoner.”

  “Is she now?” Anna’s eyes gleamed. “In that case, it will be my pleasure.”

  Stref watched the two women walk away, but the image of the stranger’s warm, brown eyes haunted his thoughts.

  “Damn that bitch for complicating my plans for revenge,” he cursed.

  * * * *

  Any thoughts of escape left Lena as quickly as they came into her head. Stref Harris’ looming presence at the foot of the stairs made that route impossible, and the courtyard full of bystanders gave her no hope of freedom. Lena knew that time was her only friend, for now. She had the opportunity to devise a plan, so for now, decided to maintain the act of subservience.

  Inside Lena seethed. She was not
sure what made her angrier. The fact that Stref Harris had dismissed her so easily as the plaything of Green Bow, or the slur on her character as a murdering savage? Silence had been her best defence and had brought her the opportunity to assess the situation. She was lucky that it was Stref Harris who had been her captor; Haigh or Fogert would have known her instantly, and then she would have been considered more of a prize hostage. It was as well that Stref thought her no more than a common whore.

  The room that Anna thrust her into was a comfortable size with a large bed dominating the space. Throws of fur covered the bed, and antlers adorned each of the walls. Lena heard a loud click as the lock mechanism snapped into position. Alone and mobilised, she made straight for the window. The tower was high and the walls sheer. Iron bars prevented even a hand from passing through. The rough force of the ocean lay beneath the jagged rocks that housed the base of the tower.

  “Damn, another way blocked!” Lena cursed.

  She sat down upon the soft comfort of the fur-draped bed. Her night on the damp earth floor of the dugout cell had taken its toll on her limbs. Looking down, Lena surveyed her crumpled appearance. She shed the heavy green cloak and shook her head in wonder. If Stref Harris had paid more attention, he would have seen the cloak fitted her like a glove. Being so quick to assume that Green Bow was a man, he had not availed himself of the evidence before him. The presence of the golden eagle had not alerted him either. Lena dismissed him as a “typical male” who thought women as incapable of any kind of life beyond service to her mate and his children.