Captured by a Laird (2 page)

At the tragic news of her father’s death, some of these rival clans mobilised and began to form “raiding parties” to prey on the supposed weakness of Rwenor. Knowing that the chief had only a slip of a daughter and plenty of rich arable land besides, they began their assault on the croft. Month after month of burnings and attacks followed. Crops and homes were ignited, whilst raiding parties rode blatantly through the tiny hamlets, helping themselves to provisions.

Lena seethed and plotted until she finally amassed a small army and led counter-attacks in the surrounding communities. Dressed in a heavy cloak with the hood pulled over her head, Lena was able to conceal her identity and strike fear into the hearts of the neighbouring clans. It was soon rumoured that the people of Rwenor had a new protector, known to all its enemies as the Green Bow. His brutality and the ever-present circling of a golden eagle wherever he struck had the rival clans beating a retreat.

Soon after the attacks ceased, life returned to some semblance of normality—that is until one Stref Harris arrived to take control of his uncle’s clan in the northern regions. He was rumoured to be a merciless man with a reputation for ruthless violence, and eventually his eye had turned to the fertile land of Rwenor. Lena had donned her disguise and chased his men from her lands, bombarding them with arrows to ensure they returned to their lord with a souvenir for their troubles. It had not stopped the onslaughts though, and this time the chase had led them beyond her father’s lands and deep into the forest.

Lena seethed at the audacity and arrogance of the man who presumed to just waltz in and demand what was hers by right
and
by birth. In the high and low lands of her beloved home, it was the way of things. Clan chiefs were born to the position, and that was passed from father to son or nephew. In Lena’s case, she was her father’s only choice. Fortunately, it had worked out to be a good one for the people of Rwenor. Lena was fearless in battle and led her band of fierce warriors with pride and strategy.

Returning her thoughts to the task at hand, Lena noticed a sharp hairpin bend up ahead. She knew it signalled the group were almost on the home straight. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Once more her female thinking had outwitted the boorish male pride of Stref Harris. As the thought flashed in and out of her mind, Lena felt the slight misstep of her mount. Its leg buckled slightly, and she shifted her weight automatically to compensate. Lena had been riding for almost as long as she had been upright, so she was in perfect tune with each step of her large grey mare. As her mount stumbled, she glanced at the beautiful beast in reassurance and was about to pat the strong, muscular neck, when she was suddenly scooped from her saddle by a shadowy figure that appeared from out of nowhere.

Lena found herself roughly seized by a strong arm, which gripped her with a vice-like hold. She felt the absence of her warm beast beneath her and the rushing of the wind as she was moved quickly through the forest. Lena knew enough about surprise attacks to realise that some sort of vine had been constructed to swing her from her mount without a trace. She therefore surmised, in the split second of her abduction, that this was a trap.

As quickly as it had begun, the sensation stopped and Lena came to a halt on a large branch in the bushy heights of a tree. She could feel the contours of a large body behind her, poised and taut as if anticipating her resistance. Her instinct to call out to her men must have been foreseen, because a large hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Lena struggled to free herself, but was unable to relinquish the strong grip. Her legs were unbound, but Lena could sense the fragility of her position on the rounded branch. She did, however, attempt to grind her tiny heel into the foot of her abductor.

“I imagined you bigger,” a deep voice rumbled in her ear. “Green Bow the legendary saviour of Rwenor.”

Lena felt a jolt of energy surge through her body. The voice echoed through her like a lover’s caress and brought goose bumps to her flesh. Beneath her hood, her face flushed with disgrace at the very betrayal of her female form.

It must be the shock of the attack,
she chastised herself.

“Nothing to say, sir?” the raider sneered with scarcely veiled menace. “It seems I have bested the Champion of Rwenor with a simple vine. How will the land fare without their defender?”

His sharp humourless laugh elicited another shudder from Lena, this time one of fear—fear for her people and the position her stupidity had left them in.

“You will pay,” hissed Lena, aiming to lower her voice. If this oaf thought her male, she was in a stronger position to plan her escape. As a female, she may incur a little too much unwanted attention from a group of raiders.

Lena stilled her body and concentrated on her surroundings. She focussed on the man who held her captive. Lena could feel his broad form, pressing into her back. His body was as hard as granite and his grip as powerful as the strongest of her clan. Lena looked at the forearm that encircled her entire waist and held her fast. It was nut brown and streaked with fine white scars that criss-crossed the flesh. Veins stood erect as his grip remained constant and tight. The girth of his arm would rival a strong tree trunk and Lena did not fancy her chances of escaping from that grip unless she could provide a distraction.

The calls that echoed through the dense woodland were evidence that her disappearance had been discovered. She could imagine the confusion when no tracks were detected and her horse was found wandering without its rider. The distant cry of Pride still echoed through the surrounding countryside.

“A clever touch with the eagle,” the voice filled with menace, hissed once more. “Any beast may be tamed though,” he added, squeezing her slight frame tighter with his words of warning.

Lena tried to wriggle free from the suffocating embrace. She strained to hear any clue as to her men’s plan of action. No doubt they would circle outward to form a widening search. Light was fading though and searching time was restricted. If she had been in control, she would dispatch a rider to the croft, and then make camp close to the sight of the abduction. She would not fear another attack, because it was obvious that the intended target had been successfully captured. Lena knew that Val would prefer to be taken, at least then he could try to protect his beloved mistress from harm.

As if sensing her thoughts, Val’s voice resonated through the darkening forest. “You’ll pay for this! We’ll have our champion returned or die trying.”

“Impressive loyalty,” the man sneered. “For a cold-blooded killer, you inspire some passion in your men, or maybe it is terror. It is astounding what some men will do with hearts full of fear.”

“My men do not fear me,” Lena replied in the same low tone, outraged at the audacity of the man who held her so intensely.
Who was he to accuse her of inspiring fear? Fear was what he lived to impart on all the neighbouring lands.

“I aim to bring you to justice and expose you for the low-down coward you are,” the deep voice continued, his tone laced with contempt. “I will take you back to my keep and hang you from the tower. There, all the families of the men, women, and children you have sacrificed and slaughtered will see your pain.”

Lena gasped. There had been a few casualties on both sides of the trysts, but she had never knowingly slaughtered anyone. A few arrows in the backside, so the warriors could take a message back to their masters had been her only crime. As for women and children, she would never stoop so low.

Darkness had now consumed the wood, and the icy fingers of night crept inside Lena’s heavy jacket. She tried not to think about the warm hearth that would have greeted her, or the filling fare that would have satisfied her growling stomach on her arrival back in Rwenor. Instead, she tried to focus on the plan that would get her down from the tree and away, in case her men were unable to detect any trace of her whereabouts. She also feared that they too would be caught in the trap that this frustrating man had set for her.

“Persistent, these men of yours.” Her captor sounded puzzled. “I wonder what manner of man can cause such devastation yet be rewarded with such devotion?” His voice trailed off to a murmur as he seemed to ponder his captive. “No matter, we have a rendezvous to attend and a long ride ahead this night.”

Lena felt the arm that imprisoned her loosen. Before she could take advantage of her position, a
thud
resonated through the air as a heavy object made contact with her head. A blinding light coupled with a searing pain were the last things that Lena remembered before she lost consciousness and fell into a black abyss.

Chapter Two

Stref Harris brought the handle of his sword down on the head of his enemy with a satisfying
crack
. He felt the surprisingly light form in his arms go limp, and smelt the familiar odour of fresh blood catch the gag reflex at the back of his throat. The man he held imprisoned, purely by the strength of his arm, had a lot to answer for. Half of the male population of his croft had returned to him with tales of a demonic warrior whose companion was a golden eagle, and who struck terror into the hearts of all who beheld him. Judging by the limp form in his arms, Stref assumed that cruelty was the man’s weapon, as brute force did not seem to be a quality the small man had been blessed with.

At first Stref had been bemused by the healthy condition of his men. Most had been returned to him unharmed, apart from the odd scar left in their rear ends where an arrow had struck. Stref had begun to respect the leader of Rwenor for his fairness. That was until the burnings began. The first report was from a young boy who arrived at the gates of his keep, black with smoke and coughing in racking spasms. The youth had told of a raiding party who had screamed out the name of Rwenor as they threw a burning torch to the roof of his family’s cottage. All but he had perished in the blaze. His mother, father, and two younger siblings had been lost to the inferno. The boy too had later passed away from the inhalation of smoke from when he had fought to save his kin.

This had been the first of many such blazes and, try as he might, Stref could see no purpose for them. When he went to war, he took no prisoners and spared no warrior. He had the reputation for being aggressive and cruel, but he would never attack for the intent of malice. He sought to strengthen his position in the Highlands against those that would see him dead. His claim to his uncle’s lands had been a late one, and two other lairds had their sights set on the acreage. Stref’s mission was to claim more land and strengthen his position among the Highland warriors. He had a lot to prove, and was hell-bent on doing so as quickly as he could. Rwenor, an undefended and rich arable land was his target, and he was determined that no hired thug would stand in his way. His keep would serve to shelter the people of Rwenor and bring them under his protection, thus defending them against any other claims to their lands—claims that may not spare the lives of the clan as he would. For all his fearsome reputation, Stref was a good protector of his people, and those who swore their loyalty to him immediately fell under his guardianship. It had troubled him that Rwenor had sold out to a mercenary whose sole purpose seemed to be causing unrest among the high and lowland clans.

With the infamous “Green Bow” now his prisoner, Stref was convinced that the people of Rwenor would yield to him and accept his dominance over them.

Stref listened for the sounds of the camp that lay below his vantage point. He had expected the crofters to welcome the abduction of their leader, and return to Rwenor. He remained perplexed by the display of loyalty he witnessed playing out below him. The search had been well executed and thorough, and the men had seemed reluctant to cease as darkness fell. The appointed leader of the group had barked orders to the other men with genuine concern in his tone.

Stref regarded the flaccid figure in his arms. “What makes you so special?” he wondered aloud.

The darkness of the moonless night, and the shadow cast by the overhanging branches prevented Stref from glimpsing the features of his hooded prisoner.

Light may bring more than improved sight,
Stref mused.
It may bring answers to what manner of man you are my friend.

With that, Stref swung his captive over his left shoulder and descended silently down the coarse bark of the tree trunk. His feet seemed to find the gnarled crevices easily and his path was steady. At the bottom, he landed with feline grace and melted into the shadows of the wood. A waiting mount was soon located and he hefted the bulk of his captive unceremoniously onto the saddle before swinging himself up. The horse whinnied in recognition of its beloved master before tracking a path through the trees.

* * * *

A few leagues further up the track a group of anxious men waited for the arrival of their laird. They had spent the darkening hours, hiding from the search party that combed the area. It was the only indication the men had that their master had been successful in his mission.

“The old dog has done it all right,” a toothless man whistled out from the black stumps that were once his teeth. “Said he would and he has.”

“Old Haigh won’t like it at all,” added his young companion. “He was hoping we’d fail. Could be a dangerous thing if Stref could conquer Rwenor.”

“I dinna suppose Fogert will like it much either,” a third man chimed in.

Gavin Haigh, with lands to the east of Stref’s, was a ruthless man. His grim, towering keep was set on a rocky pinnacle with little or no vegetation surrounding it. The land was sparse and its people hardened and tough. Relatively few families dwelt within the walls of the keep. It was really only the forces of Gavin Haigh along with the servants that lived in the keep with their master, confined to quarters not even fit to house animals. Men trained in brutal combat then raided homes in the lowlands to claim their base needs. Women were left raped and scarred from the onslaught of the sadistic army. Gavin Haigh himself was a vicious tyrant. Tales of how he imprisoned the daughters of his rival lords to gain their allegiance then subjected them to unspeakable horrors before returning them to their families as broken souls were rife in the lands surrounding his. Daughters born to local families of note were often hidden away or sent to reside in safer dwellings in the south. Fear allowed Haigh to take as he pleased, and take he did. The lands of his arch-enemy Fogert, as well as Rwenor and Harris, were the only ones that had so far eluded him.