Captured by a Laird (7 page)

Bony hands pulled at her clothing, and Lena felt a clammy touch on her thigh. It travelled up her leg and pushed at the edges of her undergarments. A long finger jabbed threateningly at her womanhood, scratching at her tender folds.

“What use is she when you could have a real woman,” Lena heard Anna’s petulant voice.

She froze as Haigh snapped out his orders. “Come whore, we must get back to my men. Harris will soon return, and I want to get a good few leagues ahead of his wrath.”

Lena was aware of two pairs of hands pulling her weight between them. She forced her eyes open to see Anna ushering them out of the keep by a back door next to the kitchens. It was the entrance used by the cooks and dogs, so was quiet in the still of night. The path to a locked side gate was unmanned. Digging into the front of her low-cut top, Anna pulled out a heavy iron key and brandished it with a theatrical gesture.

Lena blinked rapidly and forced her mind to concentrate. She opened her eyes like slits to fool the abducting pair into thinking she was still unconscious. Lena watched as though part of a macabre dream, as Haigh took charge.

“Just get it open,” Haigh spat.

Obeying with a sullen meekness, the gate was soon ajar, and the trio made their way into the dense wood beyond the keep’s sturdy wall.

Lena counted ten men all mounted. Their horses were moving in agitated circles around a small clearing. A fine looking chestnut horse was the only one awaiting its rider. With a motion that defied his frail looking stature, Haigh flung Lena over the front of his saddle. He pulled himself up behind her and grabbed the reins.

“I thought I would ride with you.” Anna pouted prettily, right next to Lena’s slumped body. From here she could read the desperation in Anna’s face. Lena knew that Harris would be most perturbed to find his prisoner missing, and his wrath would soon turn to the few inhabitants of the keep. Anna had evidently thought that she would be away from any retribution, and safely back working as Haigh’s whore. The very thought of that made Lena’s blood run cold.

“You will return to the keep and inform Harris that his prize has escaped.” Haigh dug his heels cruelly into the animal’s flanks and pulled its reins tight. “I do not wish to be interrupted when I break the spirit of this slut of Rwenor.”

The laughter of the men joined with Haigh’s as they turned away from Harris’ keep. Lena watched as Anna’s eyes flashed with jealous anger as she stood still, watching them depart.

Lena cursed the night, knowing that Pride would have reluctantly abandoned his vigil to seek a place to roost in the surrounding trees. She could rely on the animal to track her the next day, and held onto the hope that help may follow.

Chapter Seven

Dawn saw, Stref Harris arrive at the gates of his keep, breathless yet eagerly anticipating the challenge that awaited him. To think that within his walls he held, not only the infamous Green Bow, but also the clan ruler of Rwenor. All the power was in his possession, and it filled him with a sensation akin to lust. He dismissed the feeling as a pure surge of control, ignoring the small part of his mind that continued picturing the raven-haired girl that he held in his tower room. In his mind, she was licking her parched lips in that beguiling way and looking up into his eyes waiting for his mouth to possess hers. He vowed that his hardening member would not rule this day. The girl would be used merely as pawn to get the lands he so desperately needed to challenge the strength of his avaricious neighbours. Stref had barely time to stable his horse before Anna burst in wide-eyed and panting. Her ample breasts strained at the ruffles that ruched around the plunging neckline. Stref gave nothing more than a cursory glance at the goods on display; then raised his eyes to the flushed face of his servant.

“Could you not await me to step inside the keep,” he drawled. “I too seek satisfaction, but have a task to attend.”

“A task that resides in the tower room, I suppose,” Anna snapped with a deepening flush.

Stref laughed, trying not to allow his mind to return to the girl who awaited him. “If you refer to my future wife; the clan chief of Rwenor then you are correct.”

Anna drew in a breath, her eyes widening in shock at the revelation. “Wife?” she repeated.

“Aye, lass, wife indeed.” He moved closer to the trembling maid and leaned in, his breath caressing her cheeks in a deliberate seduction. “If she is found to be unsatisfactory in the marital bed, I will know where to come.”

Reaching his hand to cup Anna’s rear, Stref looked at her with a wolfish grin.

Taking an unsteady step backwards, Anna met Stref’s eyes, and then lowered hers to the hay covered floor.

“She is gone,” she admitted in a voice so low that Stref strained, at first, to comprehend the words.

Suddenly he stilled as realisation dawned on him. His body froze and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“How could she escape from a locked room?” he asked. “I gave strict instructions for the room to remain secure.”

“I–I went in to check on her. There was a noise coming from inside. She pushed past me and ran. By the time I got up, she was nowhere to be seen.” Anna voice faltered as she told her tale, tears springing conveniently from her eyes.

“Did you sound the alarm? Did you send some rider to track her?” Stref frowned at the charade that was being re-enacted in front of him. Something seemed amiss.

He walked closer to Anna, extending his finger and using it to lift her chin. Under his intense scrutiny, Stref saw a flash of guilt cross her face indicating his instincts were correct. He growled an animalistic rumble that filled his chest and immediately wrapped his hand into Anna’s thick hair, pulling her close. He bent his head down to the level of her face.

“Tell me the truth,” he spoke quietly with unconcealed menace.

“He took her,” Anna sobbed. “Haigh has her. He made me open the door. I have heard about what he does to women. I was scared. Oh, Stref, I am sorry.”

Stref pushed Anna aside. She fell into a pile of hay, her body racked with grief. Stref looked down at her dispassionately, his mind working overtime trying to piece together the evidence.

“It makes me wonder how he gained access to my well-guarded keep,” he said, pausing at the stable door to look back at the wench.

“Haigh is welcome to the little whore!” Anna spat after his retreating form. “I did you a favour when I let him take her. Maybe he will teach her how to be a real woman. I’ve heard he has ways to get what he wants from those he takes.” Anna’s smug smile caused Stref’s blood to boil.

Clenching his fists to subdue his anger, he roughly reached for his saddle and pulled himself back onto his stallion.

“When did they leave?” he demanded, not expecting an answer from the spiteful woman

“Hard to remember,” Anna sang as she pulled herself from the hay. The dry yellow sticks stuck to her garments, and her hair hung in a matted mess.

“You had better not be here when I return,” Stref spat, looking in disgust at the woman who had once warmed his bed.

A surprised Clyde appeared in the doorway of the stable.

“There is one angry bird out here,” he interjected. “It seems to have lost something.”

For the first time since entering the stable, Stref smiled.

“Clyde, saddle up,” he grinned. “We ride to Haigh’s, and that bird will lead the way!”

Clyde was instantly beside his laird in the stable. “What causes this raid?” he asked, never for a moment doubting his master’s call.

“He has taken something that was mine,” Stref said. “I will see it returned.”

“Then we ride!” Clyde called, summoning the recently returned men with a shrill whistle.

Moments later the party headed for Haigh’s rocky home. The golden shape of an eagle flew above them, level with the lead horse. Its shrill cry, filled Stref’s heart with a bloodlust that both scared and excited him. Stref drove his heel into the hard flanks of his horse with relentless determination. He, as much as any other, had heard tales of Haigh’s ruthless treatment of his captives. Rape and torture were the tools of the older man’s trade, and Stref baulked at the fragile girl that he himself had placed in danger; a girl that he had decided to claim as his own.

“Are you sure that this lass is worth the challenge?” Clyde asked several hours later, when the horses paused for a much-needed rest. Their flight from Rwenor had been paced by Stref, eager to return to claim his bride. Without a break, they had ridden relentlessly to challenge Lord Haigh.

Side by side, the two men stood apart from the group, and held their mounts. The beasts thirstily drank their fill from the clear stream. Stref bent to fill his water pouch. He relished the feel of the cool water against his calloused skin, roughened by the friction of the leather reins.

“I would not wish that bastard on my worst enemy, let alone a slip of a girl who he seeks to destroy; to claim her lands. Lands which I covert,” he added to distract his friend from the real purpose behind his frenzied ride.

“So nothing to do with her raven hair and fair face then?” Clyde asked with a laugh bubbling up in his throat.

“Grrr! You know me too well, old friend,” Stref said with mock severity. “I plan to take the wench as my wife, thus securing our claim on her land. It hurts me none that she is a rare beauty to boot.”

“And how do you plan to rescue the maiden from Haigh?” Clyde asked, his voice still heavy with amusement.

“That, I have not given much thought to,” Stref admitted. “I may just walk in through the gate and carry her away.”

Clyde shook his head as he walked towards the gathered men to claim his share of the food. Stref remained by the brook quickly becoming lost in his own thoughts. The image of the girl who had been his captive for such a brief time seemed to come to his mind too easily. The delicate way she had licked her lips before he had bruised her with his crushing embrace haunted his vision and quickly hardened his loins. What was it about this girl that affected him so intensely?

Stref had met Haigh just a handful of times, and each encounter, Stref had sensed evil in his soul. The man relished pain and torture. After a battle, he would leave any remaining survivors to die slow and painful deaths, often lingering to watch their torment. His own men were not spared from the sadistic streak of their laird. Punishments were swift and brutal, and had been known to cause loss of limbs or even mobility. When Gavin Haigh lost his temper, he lost control of himself, beating any who angered him without mercy. Women were not spared his vicious streak. Maidens were taken from his own clan, and those of his enemies, and raped until they were left as broken spirits fit for no other. Many had been returned to their homes as empty vessels, driven to taking their own lives or eking out a pitiful existence of cowering from any form of human contact. One such woman resided in Stref’s own lands. She was renowned as a witch since she lived as a recluse deep in a wooded copse. Stref jolted as he imagined a future dwelling with Lena as the broken soul residing within.

Stref’s musings were rudely interrupted by the cry of the golden eagle. It had perched on a nearby branch and regarded him with wide eyes.

“I suppose you wish me to get on with rescuing your mistress?” he addressed the magnificent bird.

In answer, the eagle lifted its wings and soared into the air. It made a graceful circle of the assembled group then headed west. Stref laughed as he watched it disappear into a dot on the horizon.

“Seems we are too slow for our feathered friend,” he said as he reached the men. “I hope he can get there in time to be of some use. As for us, we ride on!” Stref ordered, mounting his horse with renewed vigour.

With unquestionable faith, his men joined with him in his frantic pace.

Chapter Eight

Lena dry-retched as hot, lurid breath touched her neck. Her head bent at an uncomfortable angle as she leaned as far as she could from the lecherous man who seemed intent on devouring her. She sat beside him at a long trestle table. Other warriors looked on, feasting on her misery as hungrily as they devoured the plates of food that were placed on the tables before them. Wide-eyed girls served the men, swinging their hips expertly to avoid the greedy, grasping hands of their masters. When they alighted on Lena, their eyes grew soft with sympathy, yet flashed with relief at their own reprieve from torment at the hands of Gavin Haigh. His attention was fixed upon Lena. The other men were content to tease, for now. None would dare to claim a woman’s comfort for the night until Haigh had had his pick. Lena saw lust in the eyes of the men, and eager hands fumbling under the laden table. Some of the women courted the attention, pulling their necklines lower and bending over to lay out the food and drink. Lena reddened at the flesh she was privy to, choosing to avert her eyes instead.

Haigh purred at her naivety, licking his lips as he muttered, “I will enjoy educating you in the ways of men, lassie.”

Lena was dressed in a low-cut, lace trimmed gown that she had been forced to wear by a surly maid who took great delight in regaling her with tales of Haigh’s brutality. Lena had, so far, escaped his sadistic advances since he seemed more than content to parade her around his Great Hall like a trophy he had won.

“Rwenor’s prize,” he crowed to any that would hear him. “Mine for the taking,” he added with a leer at Lena.

Lena cast her eyes around the room, taking in the exits and the number of men who stood between her and freedom. The mead flowed freely, and Lena witnessed the slowly dulling reflexes of her captors. Her plate remained full as her stomach heaved at the overwhelming onslaught on her senses. The musky scent of unwashed male, coupled with the overpowering odour of the brimming plates of roasted game, disgusted her. Alert to every move of the man to her right, Lena felt a channel of air between them as Haigh bent to reach down to pet the enormous hound that had forced its snout into the lap of its master. As quick as a flash of lightning, Lena bent down under the table, concealing a knife into her billowing sleeve.