Captured by a Laird (6 page)

What manner of woman was that?

Lifting a hand to his lips, he touched where hers had been. He recalled the way she had stalked towards him like a predator. Her hands on the back of his neck pulling him closer had touched something deeper in him than he ever chose to go. It was the reason he alternated his women and never kept the same one for too long. When they wanted more from him than he was prepared to give, he pulled back and moved onto the next one. The woman who remained locked behind that door had only to look at him with those dark eyes and he was thinking of things he had never let himself dwell on.

He pulled himself upright as a thought entered his head.
What if that had been the plan? What if she had been sent here to seduce and distract him? Maybe there was an enemy attack headed his way.

As soon as the thought entered his head, he ran. Racing down the stairs, Stref burst out of the keep and into the courtyard.

“Call the men!” he barked out the order in a harsh tone. “Saddle the horses! We ride!”

Soon a flurry of activity filled the yard as men and horses gathered to depart.

“What is this all about?” a tall warrior asked his Lord.

“A trap, Clyde! That whore upstairs, she was sent to distract me.”

“And has she?” The younger man, Clyde, looked at his Lord with a questioning tilt to his eyebrows.

A loud guffaw was the only reply he got.

Clyde was the only one who would have dared question the Lord of Harris. The two had been friends since childhood. On Stref’s regular visits to his uncle’s keep they had hunted and sparred together as brothers. Clyde was the son of the guardian of the keep, and had been the one dispatched to bring Stref home to claim his title. Reunited, the two men had hit it off at once, and Stref relied on Clyde to assist him in all things related to his duty.

As the horses left the keep, the golden eagle maintained its circumnavigation.

“Damn loyal bird,” Stref noted gruffly.

“Thought that bird was the mark of Green Bow,” Clyde commented innocently, “same as that cape and the bow and arrows we collected. Seems a coincidence they were all found on the wench.”

Stref rode on musing on what Clyde had said. There was a niggling at the back of his mind that he couldn’t ignore.

“Where are we headed?” Clyde’s question broke into Stref’s thoughts.

“Rwenor,” he replied. “There is something I need to discover.”

“Rwenor?” Clyde sounded incredulous. “We’ll be shot down as soon as we come within a league of the place.”

“Not today, I think,” Stref said.

Riding on in silence, Rwenor got closer and closer, and the men became more anxious. Pulling his horse about, Stref turned to his men.

“Wait here!”

“What?” Clyde reached for his friend’s rein.

“I do not wish to cause a battle. I must speak with these people.”

“But Green Bow? You have his woman. He will not welcome you.”

“I think I will not see Green Bow here today,” Stref said with a smile. “I will send the signal if I need you. Listen for it.”

Stref rode towards the croft of Rwenor. He passed by small dwellings where men worked the land and cattle grazed. Many heads turned to watch the stranger approaching, but a lone rider posed no real threat to the people. Riding closer, Stref noted a cluster of blackened husks. Buildings that had once stood now crumbled like gnarled roots. Burnings had affected this area just as they had his lands. Stref knew that his men would not stoop so low, which only left the forces of Haigh and Fogert. If only Rwenor had not retaliated on his land, he may have been able to provide protection for them. The reputation of one warrior would only shield them for so long, until the two overlords devised a new way to claim this arable land. Spurring his mount onward, Stref came to the walled croft that he sought. Bowmen lined the walls and soon had him in their sights with bows raised, poised and ready to strike.

“Name yourself, stranger,’ a voice called from the top of the parapeted surround.

“Stref Harris. I come to talk.”

An audible gasp resounded around the barricade.

“Lay down you weapons!” came the order from behind the gated croft.

Stref took his sword from its sheath on the side of his saddle, and threw it down on the ground beside his mount. He added his bow and arrow pack; then pulled a long knife from inside his boot and added it to the growing arsenal. Raising his hands in a gesture of submission, Stref looked up to the perimeter wall.

“Get down from your horse and walk slowly towards the gate,” the voice instructed.

Stref complied by swinging himself arrogantly down from his mount. A young lad emerged from the gate and took the reins of his large black horse. Stref walked at a steady pace towards the gate, his long stride soon leaving his horse and the groom in his wake. As he approached, the heavy wooden gate swung open to reveal the slightly stooped form of an older warrior.

“Archers are aimed at you. Keep your pace steady and walk towards me,” he directed.

As the two men met, Stref raised his right hand and presented his palm to the older man.

“I come in peace,” he opened. “Are you the representative of Rwenor?”

“I am Val,” he answered solemnly. “I speak for my clan.”

“Then I seek to meet with you, Val.”

Val gestured to a small dwelling just inside the gates of the croft. Stref followed him inside and sat on the bench that was presented to him. The older man settled himself in an armed seat and placed his hands on his knees.

Stref regarded the man who greeted him. His hair was pure white and his beard matched the snowy tone. Age had slightly withered his stance and size, but the warrior was still evident within him.

“You are welcome here, Lord Harris.”

“Stref, call me Stref.”

“I assume you come with news of your hostage?” As Val spoke his hands clenched and unclenched on his knees.

“I do, although I am beginning to discover that she may not be the common whore that I mistook her for.”

Val jumped to his feet and grabbed Stref by the clothes that encircled his neck. “She is no man’s whore, and if you have laid one filthy hand on her, I will…”

“Caution, old man.” Stref covered Val’s hands with his own. “I may have left my weapons at the door, but I am apt at bare-handed combat.” He pushed Val roughly back into his seat. “Your reaction is the last piece of the puzzle, and I assume you would do just about anything to get your champion back.”

Val nodded. “Name it.”

Stref sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. This was the way he liked negotiations to proceed. “I propose an alliance with our two clans. It will make us both stronger against Haigh and Fogert, and will give me access to more fertile lands for grazing and crops.”

“The people will never agree to it. There has been too much suffering,” Val argued.

“On both sides,” Stref said curtly. “I will marry the girl.”

As soon as he had spoken the words, Stref wondered where the idea had sprung from. She was quite outstanding to look at, but to marry the enemy, what was he thinking?

“Marry her?” Val exclaimed. “Have you asked her?”

“Things have not gone so well in my attempts to converse with my prisoner,” Stref admitted.

Val let out a bellow of laughter. “Lena does not make life easy for herself. She is her father’s daughter.”

“Lena?” Stref asked.

Val baulked as he realised his mistake.

“So, not only do I have the Green Bow herself in my possession, but one in the same is the clan chief herself. I certainly imagined her older and less…well, less attractive.”

Val smiled knowingly. “I may be like a father to her and as old as her grandfather, but I am not immune to her charms. The man who tames her will be lucky in so many ways, but will need to be all man to control her.”

“Oh, I think I may be up to that challenge.” Stref found himself grinning at the prospect. “I will marry Lena, unite our lands, and together we can face Haigh and Fogert and their unholy raids.”

Val nodded wisely. “Your biggest issue is not with Haigh and Fogert, son. You will need to convince Lena of your plan.”

Riding back to his keep, Stref was still smiling to himself. It may take him a while to persuade Lena of his alliance, but he would enjoy trying.

Chapter Six

Lena had eventually given in to the demands of her body and slept. The soft feel of the skins had lulled her to slumber. Her dreams were peppered with images of burning and death, and she awoke in a pool of her own sweat. In the dark, she sensed that she was not alone. She tensed; then concentrated on the sounds in the room around her.

Breathing? I can hear a person breathing.

The tone was raspy and contained a faint rattle. Lena ruled out Stref Harris, and concluded that it came from someone older.

“I know you are awake,” a voice hissed. “I can hear the change in your rhythm. We cannot have Lord Harris using a hostage to form an alliance, so I suggest you come with me.”

“You are mistaken if you think I will go anywhere with you,” Lena spoke defiantly.

“Oh but you will,” came the silky reply. “None will know you are gone, as the incessantly squawking bird roosts for the night, and the bastard Harris has not yet returned.

Lena silently pulled her blanket towards her. Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim light, and she could make out the silhouette of a figure sitting in one of the high-backed chairs just feet from where she had slept. She could hear his breath coming in faster pants, and surmised that he readied himself for her capture. Twisting the cloth around in her hand, fashioning a noose with which to choke the intruder, Lena started as the door suddenly swung open.

“Just in time, my dear,” the wizened voiced rasped.

Lena looked towards the shaft of light that surrounded the approaching figure. It was Anna, the servant girl who had left her master’s bed to show her to her room. She carried a bright burning candle before her. Lena didn’t need much light to see the spiteful gleam in the girl’s eyes as they alighted on Lena’s wakening form.

“I believe you have met my…well, my whore. She has been keeping an eye on things here for me.”

Anna giggled as swept across the room to throw her arms around the man still hidden in shadows.

“Gavin,” she spoke with a low and throaty tone. “I have missed being in your bed.”

Anna moved slowly around the seated man, her ample hips swinging in a provocative style.

“Missed me when you had Stref Harris to keep you warm between your legs?” snorted the older man in disbelief.

“That brute has none of your expertise,” Anna purred as she moved the candle to the side of the stranger.

Gavin?
Lena’s mind made the connection instantly.
Gavin Haigh, the most feared man in the lands around.

Knowing your enemy was a thing her father had always implanted in her, so she knew the name Gavin Haigh and all of the horrors that those two words conjured up. Terrorising the land, his very name stilled the hearts of highlanders and lowlanders alike. He took without morality, raided without reason, and killed without cause. Lena’s own clan had lost a few souls to his ruthlessness, but tales more horrifying had reached her borders. Maidens were taken, raped and then left for dead; hung on stakes outside his unholy dwelling. Daughters of clans were his speciality. He targeted them to ensure the loyalty of neighbouring crofts. Just the threat of his arrival, was enough for doting fathers to declare their allegiance to save their offspring from the torment that defiance may bring.

Lena’s father had not been immune. He had lost countless men, as well as seen women subjected to the horrors of rape. Lena dared not think about what may be in store for her if she fell into his malicious hands.

By the soft candlelight, Lena looked for the first time on the features of the man whose very name conjured fear and loathing. He sat hunched over in a chair. The lump that caused the shape of his posture, protruded from beneath his woollen tunic. His face was drawn up in a permanent sneer, caused by a long scar that ran from his left eye down to the corner of his mouth. Exposed teeth were brown, and gaps remained where teeth may once have been. His skin was pale, yet his hair appeared dark as cinder. He regarded her with interest, ignoring the vain attempts of Anna to gain his attention.

Lena held the fur fast in her hands, ready to spring. She knew she could knock the silly girl out of her way and be on Haigh in seconds. With the cloth around his neck, she would just need to hold on until the air left him and he was rendered unconscious. The open door would then be her escape route.

“Your father is responsible for the scar you seem intent of viewing,” Haigh interrupted her scheming.

Her shocked intake of breath caused Haigh to chuckle.

‘Oh yes, I know who you are. Anna recognised you at once and got word to me. A few years ago I saw you. You were too young for me to bother with then, but your rare beauty is hard to forget. I owe your kin a debt of revenge for my disfigurement. Hell bent on protecting his own people, he was, and now I see why. Such a prize as you was worthy of his efforts. ‘Tis a shame you have no such champion to fight for you today,” he sneered.

“I need no champion,” Lena fired up at the mention of her father. She flew from the bed with a battle cry and leapt to the chair, encircling the scrawny neck of Haigh in her noose. Her hip sent Anna tumbling to the ground, extinguishing the candle with her billowing skirts. Holding it tightly around him, Lena felt his initial struggle fading fast. She could not risk releasing her hands as she pulled with all her might, waiting for the telltale signs of suffocation. The
thump
on the back of her head was unexpected and right on the tender part that still bore the pain of Stref Harris’ blow.

Anna stood over her fallen figure, the candlestick still grasped between her two hands.

Through the fog of her consciousness, Lena felt the spittle and smelt the rancid breath of her abductor.

“You will pay for that, lassie. Make no mistake about it,” Haigh hissed.