Saving His Runaway Bride (Dark Embrace Book 2)

by Sue Lyndon

  SAVING HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE

  by

  Sue Lyndon

  Copyright © 2017 Saving His Runaway Bride by Sue Lyndon

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Published in the United States of America

  Sweet Savage Press, LLC

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book contains descriptions of BDSM and sexual practices but this is a work of fiction and as such should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, enjoy the book but don’t try this at home, folks!

  About this book:

  LUKE

  I don’t care that I’m almost twice her age.

  One glance at Nora’s image, captured so perfectly on the small canvas, causes a surreal pang of warmth in my chest. Her expressive light blue eyes enchant the darkest parts of me.

  As the months pass, that pang of warmth smolders to an all-consuming need to possess the girl in the painting. To claim her. To make her beg. To own her.

  Soon those expressive blue eyes will look to me for guidance. Soon Nora will belong to me. I have so much to teach her…

  NORA

  I’ve made a terrible mistake, and now I’m headed to an auction block in a brutal mountain town. I should’ve been a good girl and married the man of Papa’s choosing, and now I’m going to pay for my sins.

  Before I’m sold to the highest bidder, however, a handsome stranger rides out of nowhere and buys me from the slavers. I’m shocked to discover my new master is Luke Holsten—the very man to whom I was betrothed.

  There’s no escaping the arranged marriage now, and my new husband is quick to make me understand that he expects not only obedience, but my absolute surrender...

  Publisher’s Note: This book originally appeared in the box set Bound, Spanked & Loved under the title His Runaway Valentine, but several brand new (and shamelessly naughty scenes) have been added for your reading pleasure.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  About Sue Lyndon

  Prologue

  2689, the region formerly known as the United States of America.

  600 years after the lights went out.

  LUKE

  Two more weeks. My pulse quickens at the thought. Only two more weeks until Nora becomes my wife. Though I’ve never met the young woman in person, I suspect we’ll make a good match. Her stepfather promises she’s a biddable and sweet young woman. But that’s not why I want her.

  On the darkest day of my life, I glimpsed a painting of Nora and felt a surreal pang of warmth in my chest. It was a lovely painting of an even lovelier girl, captured so perfectly on the small canvas. Her expressive light blue eyes called to my soul. As the months passed, that pang of warmth smoldered to an all-consuming need to possess the girl in the painting.

  To claim her.

  To make her beg.

  To own her.

  It wasn’t difficult to get Nora’s stepfather to accept my offer of marriage. I have more money than any man in Marystown. The world is cruel and unpredictable at times. All good fathers want to see their daughters provided for, and I’ll make no apologies for using my wealth to secure the bride of my choosing.

  I don’t care that I’m almost twice her age. Her painting has haunted me for too many sleepless nights, and while I’m set in my ways and probably not the easiest man to live with, I’ll treat the girl with kindness. She’ll not want for anything, and neither will any of our children.

  Of course, she must abide by my rules and learn to accept a structured life. If she rebels or disobeys, I am fully prepared to mete out any necessary discipline.

  If I’m being honest with myself, I hope to discover she isn’t quite as biddable as her stepfather has promised.

  I hope to discover little Nora needs a firm hand on occasion. My pulse quickens further at the prospect of taming her.

  Soon. In two weeks, she’ll be under my authority as much as she’s under my protection.

  She will probably blush and stammer on our wedding night. Those expressive blue eyes will look to me for guidance, and I can’t fucking wait.

  She will be mine. My little Nora.

  Chapter One

  NORA

  The early February wind sweeps through the street, tousling my hair and making my hands shake inside my cloak. Clouds obscure the sun and leave the sky a dull gray. Snow crunches under my boots as I climb the library steps. I hate this time of year, when winter feels like it will last until kingdom come, but my spirits rise at the prospect of immersing myself in the company of old books.

  Craving the silence of the library today more than ever, I hurry inside the warmth of the old building and make my way to the encyclopedia aisle. I inhale a deep breath, filling my lungs with the familiar and comforting scent of centuries past.

  In addition to much needed solitude, today I wish to learn more about Valentine’s Day, an ancient holiday no longer celebrated. I’ve heard it was once a day for sweethearts, for people to shower their lovers with cards, gifts, and over-the-top gooey affection.

  In a village as bleak and cut off from the world as Gerrardsville, I appreciate the pains the librarian has gone to collecting her vast array of books. She even has a few magazines preserved in clear coverings, and between those magazines and the encyclopedias, I learn enough about the holiday in question.

  Curled up in a chair near the woodstove, I spend the afternoon reading about the story of St. Valentine and how the holiday changed over the centuries until it reached a point of nauseating commercialization, like many holidays in the land formerly known as the United States of America. A faded magazine I discover on a top shelf calls February the “month of romance” and lists fifteen ways to make Valentine’s Day special for your sweetheart.

  No one else enters the library while I complete my research, and the librarian remains at her desk in the corner of the room, intermittently sleeping and reading. She rarely speaks or makes eye contact with anyone, but she spends her days at the desk as if watching over relics of the past is her sacred duty.

  I envy her, the old librarian, Stella. A widow with two sons to look after her, she doesn’t need to worry about her future. Not like me.

  In five days, I am to marry a stranger. A man from Marystown, some twenty miles away, will arrive to claim me on Tuesday. Dread fills my heart, but I don’t know what to do. My stepfather has arranged the match, and my mother never questions his decisions. The stranger apparently has money, a lot of it.

  It angers me that my stepfather won’t allow me to marry a man who works at the distillery, where he’s been gainfully employed for over twenty years. He�
��s saved a dowry for me, modest but adequate to bring to a marriage.

  There are several unmarried men at the distillery I think would make a good match, but my stepfather will hear none of it. During his trips to deliver whiskey to Marystown, he became acquainted with a wealthy man in need of a wife, thus sealing my fate.

  Five days. I feel like the walls of the library will close in on me at any moment. My breaths become labored, and I move away from the woodstove for fear of overheating and passing out. I return my encyclopedias and magazines to their proper places then walk out into the frigid late afternoon air.

  With a heavy heart, I trudge home and go through the motions of the night. I help my mother and stepsisters prepare dinner, sing while my mother plays piano, and sweep the floors. When all but Ella, the older of my stepsisters, has gone to bed, she and I sit up and work on our various crochet projects.

  While she fashions a mitten and hat set, I busily add the finishing touches to a delicate white shawl I plan to wear on my wedding day. Though I harbor no excitement for my impending nuptials, I still have no wish to wear my ugly brown cloak over my wedding gown on the walk to church. Maybe that means I care a little. Or at least enough to want my new husband to think I look pretty.

  “Do you suppose he’s handsome?” Ella asks. “Luke Holsten?”

  “Handsome doesn’t matter much,” I reply, not wishing to talk about my marriage. But Ella is nothing if not persistent.

  “But you’re beautiful, Nora! Gosh, I wish I had your long, wavy auburn hair. You’re going to look like a princess on your wedding day. You deserve to marry the nicest, handsomest man around. I hope Papa knows that.”

  “Papa seems to care more about how much money this man has.” Money. It all comes down to wealth for my stepfather. He grew up dirt poor on the roughest street in Gerrardsville, and I know he wants to make sure his daughters never want for anything. Even though I despair over his decision, I appreciate that he thinks of me as his own daughter. He’s always treated me the same as Ella and Heather. My eyes burn.

  “What’s wrong? Oh, please don’t cry!” Ella sets her half-completed hat in her lap and frowns at me.

  I sniffle and blink hard to dispel my tears. “I don’t want to marry a man I’ve never met, and I certainly don’t want to leave Gerrardsville.”

  “Marystown is much nicer. I heard over half the houses there have running water. Running water, Nora! Can you believe it?”

  I smile despite myself. Ella is a sweet soul who always sees the best in any situation. Not for the first time, I wish I could be more like my stepsister.

  “You’ll see Papa every time he travels to Marystown. Every other month.” She grins and leans forward with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “I plan to sneak aboard his wagon the next time he travels there so I can visit you. But shhhh! Don’t utter a word about it to anyone. I know he’ll thrash me something good for it, but I want to visit you as soon as possible to make sure you’re all right.”

  I laugh. “I look forward to your illicit visit.”

  “As do I.” Ella appears pensive for a short while before adding, “You know, your cousin has that compound outside the village. I’ll bet if you visited him for a few days and happened to miss your own wedding, Papa would be forced to take your desires into consideration. Harry from the distillery has had his eye on you. The lad might not be the wealthy owner of an ammunition factory, but he owns land and seems to do well enough.”

  My mouth drops open, and Ella winks at me as she sits back in her chair.

  After I finish my shawl, I bid goodnight to her and retire to my room, where my thoughts spin in endless circles. Dread twists knot after knot in my stomach.

  The possibility of running away keeps flitting through my mind.

  At first, I curse Ella and dismiss the idea with a shake of my head. But, after a few minutes of increasing trepidation, it becomes a prominent thought that makes better sense the more I entertain the idea.

  I imagine a happy life in Gerrardsville with Harry as my husband. I could see my family and friends often, every day if I wish. The knots in my stomach tighten further and further, until I feel positively ill.

  How can I possibly leave all I’ve ever known and live in an unfamiliar town with a stranger as my husband?

  The full moon rises higher outside my window, casting a pale strip of light across the floorboards. The high stone walls of my cousin’s compound flash in my vision every time I blink. I would be safe there. I could remain hidden until my wedding day passes.

  I try to quiet my thoughts of running away, but I toss and turn as the moon rises higher and higher, until I finally throw off my covers and start packing a bag.

  I can’t go through with marriage to a complete stranger. I simply can’t. If this is the only way to make my stepfather see reason, then so be it.

  Chapter Two

  LUKE

  Nora isn’t here. Her family’s household is in chaos. The streets have been combed a thousand times, but no one can find her. There’s no choice but to cancel the wedding.

  The events of the next few days unfold in a flurry of panic.

  Her stepsister, Ella, tearfully confesses, “I believe she snuck off in the middle of the night, left by her own volition. I, um, might have suggested she hide out in her cousin’s compound outside Gerrardsville for a few days. Until the wedding passes, that is. But I didn’t know she’d actually follow through with it!” She falls into a chair and weeps as her father glares down at her.

  In a haze of anger and worry, I vow to find Nora and gather my men. We depart Gerrardsville and ride hard for the compound, only to discover she’s not there either.

  But I refuse to give up. I question every individual we pass on the road, and several travelers declare they’ve seen slavers in the area.

  Slavers.

  My heart lurches. I picture the sweet faced young woman with the expressive blue eyes from the painting, the eyes that have haunted me for so long that it feels like I’ve wanted her forever. Are those eyes now clouded with pain and fear?

  “To the mountain roads!” I call to my men. We take off in the direction I suspect the slavers are headed. The most brutal men occupy the mountain towns, the kind of men who’ll think nothing of purchasing a young woman to keep as a slave.

  I pray we find Nora before she’s been auctioned off in one of those notorious black marketplaces. If she’s been sold already, I trust I can secure her freedom by buying her from her new owner. I’ll pay any price. But before I reach her, any number of horrors could befall her.

  She could be beaten, or starved. She could be branded with the mark of her new owner, or taken against her will.

  I dare not envision the very worst possibility.

  Please be unharmed when I find you, little Nora.

  * * *

  NORA

  I drift in and out of consciousness, the only sound that of hooves clomping on the precarious dirt path twisting up the mountain and the occasional sniffle from one of the other captured girls. I know nothing but terror, hunger, and bitter cold. Even in sleep, I find no relief, because dark shadows and piercing screams fill my dreams.

  I’ve been so stupid. Not long after I left the safety of the village, a band of slavers came upon me.

  Eight days have passed since that fateful night. I didn’t believe I could hide forever at my cousin’s compound, but I thought running away would get my stepfather’s attention enough to make him reconsider my marriage to the stranger.

  But now I will never marry, and neither will the other women crammed in the back of the wagon. Our fates are sealed in certain misery.

  The slavers will sell us off at an auction. I’ve heard them discussing it. I don’t know where the wagon is heading, but we keep traveling higher and higher up the mountain, and the air grows more chilled by the hour.

  Today, I hover on the edge of unconsciousness more than usual, too cold and hungry and fatigued to remain fully awake. It’s during one of
my brief sleeping spells that the wagon comes to a sudden stop, jostling me into the girl curled up beside me.

  My eyes flutter open, and I tense at the sound of raised voices. Have we reached the site of the auction already? My guts turn to water at the prospect. Marriage to a stranger seems like the better option now.

  Worst of all, I doubt whoever buys me will be merciful enough to allow me contact with my family. After a desperate and fruitless search, they will presume I’ve died of exposure or met with trouble on the road.

  The voices grow louder before abrupt silence blankets the mountain. I strain to hear what’s happening. Hunger-induced weakness prevents me from sitting up to peer through the bars of the wagon.

  The door swings open with an earsplitting screech, and a collective gasp goes up among my companions. My heart pounds in my ears as one of our captors enters the back of the wagon.

  When his gaze locks on mine, I try to back away into the bars, try to will myself invisible.

  “No!” I thrash in his strong grip, but he easily hauls me out of the wagon. My eyes catch Margo’s, the girl who has been sleeping beside me. She gives me a pitiful look, her face pale and tears glittering on her eyelashes.

  “Settle down, girl.” The man’s sour breath wafts in my face, making me gag.

  Once he has me away from the wagon, a tall and well-dressed man approaches, his assessing gaze sweeping me up and down. I get the distinct impression he wants to ensure I haven’t been harmed in any way. A vein on his temple bulges, his jaw sets in a firm line, and his eyes gleam with murderous intent. I shudder.

  “Here she is, sir. The girl we picked up outside of Gerrardsville.”