Tamed by the Troll (The Perished Woods Book 1)

by Tracy Lauren

  Tamed by the Troll

  Tracy Lauren

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  An Excerpt from Hunting Faith

  Chapter 1

  © 2019 Tracy Lauren

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by U.S. copyright law.

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  Chapter 1

  Adelaide

  It’s still dark out as I slip quietly through the front door. I secure the latch with care, ensuring the wood does not creak as I do. Standing on the porch, I pull on my mother’s worn gardening gloves. I must have seen her wearing these things ten thousand times. Even so, I feel disconnected from her memory. I shake away the empty feeling inside of me and survey the task at hand. There’re so many chores to do and I’m the only one left to do them.

  I take a deep breath and it clouds on the crisp morning air. Consciously, I decide to start at the gate, wanting to get as far away from the house as possible. When I kneel in the moist dirt, I keep my back to my parents’ thatched roof cottage home. I’ve heard some of the townspeople talking. They say only ghosts live here. But that isn’t true at all. There are no ghosts in this house. It’s empty, save for me and Aunt Celia. Though I wish I could say I still feel the presence of my parents’ spirits. Instead I feel nothing. Nothing but anger and resentment of course.

  I grip a dead weed by the root and rip it from the ground, clearing the place where my mother’s flowers used to grow. All the flowers are long gone. Working hard, I lose myself in the task of weeding, inching my way around the garden on my knees, measuring the passage of time by the growing heat of the sun on my back. I don’t stop my work until a shadow falls over me.

  “Gods, Adelaide, is this where you’ve been all morning? I’ve been calling you for hours, girl.”

  “What do you want, Celia?”

  “What do I want?” my aunt echoes, incredulous. “I want my breakfast! As if you didn’t know, you little brat.”

  I sigh heavily, wondering how we got to such a place. Celia moved in after my parents died. She was supposed to help me. You see, I had had suitors before. Though most of them vanished while I was in the depths of my grief. But the ones who did stick around didn’t love me. No. They were poachers, only after my parents’ home and land, thinking they could get them for the low price of my hand in marriage. Celia promised she would help keep those scavengers away. I hadn’t realized at the time that she was one of them.

  “As much as you’d like to believe to the contrary, I am not your servant, Celia. If you want breakfast, make yourself something to eat. In case you haven’t noticed, I have work to do.”

  “Not today you don’t. I promised Margery Carter you’d clean her stables, said you’d be there bright and early too. So stop playing in the dirt and make me a quick meal before you head out. Margery will be waiting and I don’t want you to embarrass me.”

  “Frankly, Celia, you’re mad if you think I’m going to do that. If you recall, I hate the Carters. I’d sooner make you breakfast than I would help that simple-minded family. And just to be clear, I’m not making you any damned breakfast.”

  “Your language, child!”

  “I’m not a child, Celia. I’m a grown woman and this is my house.”

  “For how long?” she hisses.

  “What in hells is that supposed to mean?” I push myself to my feet and dust off my hands.

  “I came here to help you, Adelaide, and all you do is fight me.”

  “You came here promising to help and all you’ve done is try to take over my parents’ household.”

  “You’re letting this place fall to ruin!”

  “If you’d let me get back to my gardening, I could work on that little problem!” I shout, my hands on my hips.

  “Little problem?” Celia scoffs, waving her hand at the quickly decaying cottage. I wince, not wanting to look at the state of disrepair it has fallen into. “If you would have accepted Margery’s son’s offer for marriage, neither of us would be in this mess!”

  “This is my mess to have, Celia! If you don’t like it, go back to your own home!”

  “I’m warning you, girl, watch your tongue or you’ll soon regret it.”

  I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, mustering my courage. “I think you should leave, Celia. This arrangement is no longer working for either of us.”

  Celia’s face twists into a wicked grin. “Perhaps you should think about leaving. The way you act, it won’t be long until they commit you or send you to a convent. Hell, the whole village would be better off if you wandered into the Perished Woods and never came back. Go live with the monsters if you choose to act like one.”

  I gape at her words. When did this old woman turn on me and how did I not see it coming? My father would roll over in his grave to hear his sister talk to me in such a way.

  I grit my teeth and consider it a major victory that I don’t slap her across her sour-pinched mouth. “Why don’t you just leave me alone, you old hag? I’m tired of your grating voice!”

  “Why, Adelaide!” a woman gasps from beyond the gate of my yard. “That’s no way to speak to your elders. I’m shocked at you!” I spin on my heels only to see Margery Carter standing not far away. Once upon a time I thought I might marry her shallow son, Luther. Instead he married Alba, the butcher’s daughter. They’re still newlyweds, but that doesn’t stop Luther from cheating on poor Alba every chance he gets. Funny how things work out.

  Despite Margery’s expectant gaze, I don’t respond to her. What’s the point? Everyone in the village has already passed their judgment on me. There’s nothing I could say now that would change their opinions in the slightest.

  “You see?” Celia wails, suddenly in tears. “You see what I have to deal with? I’m an old woman, Margery, and still she treats me like this! Day in and day out!”

  Part of me wants to tell Margery what a monster Celia is, but why bother? She’s seen enough of my angry outbursts. They all have. Instead, I watch Celia leave the yard and tuck herself beside Margery, wailing and crying over what an awful girl I am.

  Margery comforts my aunt, wrapping a thick and swaying arm around her bony shoulders and guiding her away. “She used to be such a sweet thing,” I hear Margery say. “What happened?”

  “She’s
a beast, Margery, through and through. I can’t imagine there was ever any light inside that awful, awful brat.”

  “You’ll have to do something about it, of course.”

  “Oh, I plan to,” my aunt responds, not bothering to lower her voice.

  I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths before I look down at the mountain of weeds I’ve pulled. There’s still so much yard work to do, not to mention all the small repairs on the house. It seems like everything requires constant maintenance and I’m drowning under the weight of it all. Angrily, I toss my mother’s gloves aside and hang my head in defeat.

  While my chores might be plentiful, my will to do them is not. Already I know how I’ll spend the rest of this day, for it’s how most of my days end anymore.

  Chapter 2

  Adelaide

  I stare up at the sky, lost in thought. I shirked my duties to my household again, something I’ve been doing more and more lately. And when you look at the home I grew up in, you can see the neglect. You can see that those who cared about it are long gone and I am all that is left.

  I am not enough.

  I feel guilt when I look at that cottage, my childhood home. Guilt that I can’t keep it up the way Ma and Da had. The dusty windows are like sad eyes, watching me flounder. Still, I ignored the day’s work out of anger and spite.

  Cross after my encounter with Aunt Celia, I stole away from the garden and came down to the glen where the elderberries grow wild. No one comes here seeing as it’s so close to the border of the Perished Woods. Here I know I can be alone, unencumbered by the judgmental looks of the other villagers. This is the last place I’m free to be myself.

  I toy with an elderberry branch, heavy with fruit, and lie in the shade under a tree, popping berries between my lips and looking for patterns in the sunlight peeking through the leaves. The fighting between Aunt Celia and me is nothing new. She swept in upon my parents’ death, pretending to care about what I was going through, but that didn’t last long after she got her foot in my door.

  Celia stormed my abode, taking up residence in my parents’ bedroom. Very quickly she began treating me as if I were her scullery maid rather than her own flesh and blood. I’m no stranger to a hard day’s work, but when Ma and Da were alive, we were a team. Family or not, no one’s going to lord over me as if I’m their slave, especially not that wretched old witch.

  I’m still seething over Celia, my body tense with anger, as the first screams ring out, breaking the quiet peace of the day.

  Abruptly, I sit up and the smell of smoke in the air hits me. Scrambling to my feet, I cling to my shade tree, praying it will conceal me from the dangers storming my village. I peer beyond the grassy knolls of my elderberry glen and see waves of gray-skinned beasts attacking the only home I’ve ever known.

  Orcs…a near army of them. Battle cries pierce the air in display of their ferocity. My village is nothing but farmers and aging craftsmen. There are none capable of defending against an orc horde. Hell, one orc could probably wipe us out. There’s no question in my mind as the smoke rises, marring the crisp blue sky. Everything and everyone I know will be dead before dusk—myself included, if I don’t make a run for it.

  To the south is the road to the next village, a half day’s journey on foot and likely the path the orcs will take once they finish decimating my home. To the north, the orcs block any passage. The west offers nothing but wide-open crops—they’d see me in a heartbeat. I look to the east, into the Perished Woods.

  I hesitate; all the stories of monsters and curses my parents told me as a child run through my mind. The tree line looms as shadowy and foreboding as ever. This place, it is not a typical forest. A forest is supposed to symbolize life and growth, but the Perished Woods are something different altogether. As children, we would play along the edge of the woods, tempting fate and testing our courage. Elders would warn us to stay clear and never to eat anything growing within the boundaries of the wood. For it is the home to monsters, a doorway into their cursed lands, and perhaps my only means of escape.

  I look back at my burning village only once, the sound of my pounding heart drowning out the screams of my neighbors. Then I launch myself from my hiding place. Aimed for the woods, my mind recalls the young boy who was poisoned years ago after eating berries gathered too close to the blighted trees. I remember his family could hold no wake for him, his body too disfigured from the curse that claimed his life. They could not even bury him in the cemetery. Instead, priests from neighboring villages came and chanted prayers as they burned his corpse.

  The breeze carries smoke from the raid and I can smell charred flesh in the air. A sob threatens to escape me as I run in full sprint. As much as I hate Celia, my thoughts go out to her. I pray the old woman is already dead and not being raped by the horde.

  I race past the blemished tree line and in a few short strides I’m deeper into the Perished Woods than I ever dared play as a child. The darkness here is stark compared to the spot in the glen I abandoned, and the chill snakes its way over my body, oppressive and suffocating. My breath puffs out into misty white clouds each time I exhale.

  The drive to escape hits me from all sides and I look up at the sun, my mind working to formulate a plan. I need to get out of this place as quickly as possible. The Perished Woods are deadly, perhaps even more so than the orcs—who I’ve heard like to keep women as slaves. Or perhaps more accurately, toys for their deviant desires. Given the choice between a quick death and rape, my answer is swift. Slim as they may be, I’ll take my chances in the woods.

  Logic tells me all the surrounding villages are likely to be decimated as well. There’s no safety for miles around and very few places I can think to go. An obvious answer rings in my mind. I have only one remaining relative. Ellyn, my father’s youngest sister. Only a few years my senior, Ellyn lives in the city of Pontheugh. While I have not met her many times, when Ma and Da passed, she came to check in on me. She even offered to take me back to Pontheugh with her. As intrigued as I was, I was too scared then to leave my home. Now, Ellyn is all I have left.

  If I continue to cut through the Perished Woods and keep heading east, I might be able to find my way to the stream that leads to Willowbend. I know it cuts through these woods. From there I will be two towns ahead of the horde and perhaps I can trade something for a ferry ride to Pontheugh…though…I have nothing on me of value. It’s a detail I will have to consider later, for now I’m still trying to outrun death.

  I have never come face to face with an orc, but I’ve heard they have a heightened sense of smell and I worry they will come after me. So, even when my foot hits a muddy patch and I fall face first onto the cold, hard ground, I clamber to my feet as if death is in hot pursuit. And when an orc’s battle cry pierces the air, my darkest fears are confirmed.

  “Gods save me.” I mutter a quiet prayer while trying to keep my tears at bay.

  Another orc answers the screams of the first and I quicken my pace, my dress catching and tearing on branches as I run. The screams swim through the air, muddling my thoughts with a fear so base I feel primitive—like an animal trying to escape a predator. But the sound of rushing water cuts through the fog and I follow it instinctually. It’s not simply fear driving me forward, but hope as well. If it is the Willowbend stream, I might have a chance.

  Somewhere, far behind me, I hear more than just the calls of the orcs carried on the wind, I can hear them tearing through the forest as well. I cast a glance over my shoulder. While I cannot see them, I know they aren’t far behind.

  Then, glory of glories, I see the frothing white water ahead of me. It is wilder than the Willowbend stream from what I remember, but it still represents a safe haven in my mind and it spurs me forward. Forcing my way through a patch of dense brush, I scan the banks. Not far away there is a stone bridge crossing the raging water. Its roaring fills my ears and the sound drowns out all else.

  Once more I glance over my shoulder. In the distance I see movemen
t, something gray and lumbering coming at me with inhuman speed. I turn and race for the bridge. It’s old and delipidated. Regardless of its disrepair and remote location, the passage over the waterway is still laden with ornamentation.

  For some reason I’m consumed by the idea that if only I can cross this bridge I will be safe--delivered from harm. I have no plan beyond the almost visceral draw of the bridge. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the intelligent part of me is screaming. Something is off…wrong in some way. I am pulled forward as if beckoned by the calls of a siren. Still, blind hope grips me as my feet hit the stones and I do not slow my pace. At least, not until I see a hand reach over, grasping the side of the bridge.

  My brain hardly has time to process what’s happening before a massive body launches itself over the stone rail and onto the path before me. The entire structure shakes with the force of the landing. I try to stop myself, but my forward momentum is too great. I tumble backwards onto my ass and skid the rest of the way to the being, coming to a halt at his monstrous, boot-clad feet. My eyes take in the sight of him, towering above me.

  I’m practically sitting on his heavy, leather boots. I skitter back, taking in more and more of his gargantuan frame. At first, I think he’s a giant, but my eyes skate over green flesh, covered only by an elaborate loincloth made from furs and hides. To my horror, a skull adorns the only piece of clothing he wears.