Captured by a Laird (8 page)

Not such an awful dress,
she concluded mischievously.

“Dropped my knife,” Lena explained.

Busying herself with bending to the ground, pretending to collect the missing knife, Lena felt a clammy hand haul her back into a sitting position.

“Leave it! That’s what I keep servants for.” His lip curled as he spoke.

Lena picked at the food before her, allowing her gaze to roam the room.

“Tell us more about the Green Bow,” a young man across the table urged her. His eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“He is nothing more than a showman,” Haigh answered abruptly. “None have seen him kill a man.”

“I heard he strung up forty of Fogert’s men,” called out a voice from further down the table.

“And he burned the home of Harris’ whore,” another added.

Lena suppressed an inward smile as she deliberately turned her back on Haigh and began a dramatic recount of Green Bow and his exploits. She weaved a picture of a dashing hero who stopped at nothing to keep his clan and lands safe. She added details of his handsome face and chivalrous heart. As her tale wound down, Lena could see the glassy-eyed fascination of her audience.

“Huh! A tall tale indeed,” scoffed Haigh, once more breathing heavily into her ear. “Nothing more than a murdering barbarian, just like the rest of us. Cheers!”

Amid catcalls and drunken whoops of agreement, Haigh whispered low into Lena’s ear. “Though I was rather taken with the rise and fall of your pert young breasts as you spoke with such passion. I look forward to holding them in my hands and I canna wait much longer.”

“Never!” Lena turned fiercely towards the man beside her. “You will never see me in that way. I will kill you before you touch me.”

“Feisty. I like some spirit but not too much. I warn you not to push me, lassie. Those that have tried have been the worse for it.” As he spoke, Haigh ran his hand along Lena’s taught thigh, a hint of menace sparkling in his eye as his hand tightened onto her soft flesh. “I will take my leave now,” Haigh announced in a booming voice. “I have much to occupy me.”

The continuous cries echoed through Lena’s ears as she was pulled to her feet and marched into the quiet, dark corridor beyond the Great Hall. Haigh gripped her arm, digging the tips of his fingers painfully into her flesh. She imagined the knife that was concealed beneath her sleeve digging into his flesh and flashed a brief smile at her latest captor.

“You will rue the day you mistreated a Rwenorian,” she promised.

“Oh but I have not mistreated you, yet,” he added with a short laugh. “The night is young—there is still time.”

Lena took in the details of the face that loomed inches from hers. The cheeks were sallow and gaunt as if the absence of teeth had caused their collapse. His dark, glinting eyes sank into his head and were rimmed with grey shadows. His hair remained vividly black, yet hung in clumps at the sides, leaving an expanse of pale skin between. His scar left one side of his face with a permanent sneer, whilst his nose, reddened by excessive amounts of mead completed the sorry picture. Lena felt sure her skill and speed would far outmatch the pathetic man who tried to intimidate her. His mistake would be to underestimate his prisoner. Haigh had no notion that he faced the legend that was Green Bow—a name that had, this very eve, inspired awe in his own men.

“My chamber lies at the end of this passage,” Haigh explained.

Lena nodded and turned to proceed in the direction he had indicated.

“That’s better!” Haigh positively crowed at her new, compliant attitude.

He followed behind her, clasping and unclasping his hands in barely suppressed delight. Halfway down the dimly-lit corridor, Lena stopped and turned towards Haigh. She faced him, eye to eye, and dragged her gaze to meet his. A slow smile curved her full lips and she forced her tongue out to moisten her lower lip in an attempt to disarm her opponent.

Haigh gulped loudly then licked his own lips in a macabre attempt to mirror Lena’s action.

Swallowing the taste of bile, Lena raised her hand to cup Haigh’s cheeks. “If I am nice to you, will you spare my clan?” she pouted prettily as she had seen the girls in her croft do to persuade the men to dance to their tune.

“I may be able to be convinced,” he reached out to cup Lena’s breast through the fabric of her tunic. “It may depend if the goods match the packaging.”

“Oh, they do,” Lena tried to wriggle in a feminine way.

It worked instantly. Haigh’s eyes darkened with lust and he pulled Lena towards him, pressing his hard groin against her soft core and thrust his hips simulating the sexual act. Haigh’s low growl and heavy panting helped Lena to know that his attention was distracted. She seized the moment of weakness and pulled out the meat knife that she had stolen from the table. In one smooth action, she had it poised at his throat. Haigh’s eyes widened in surprise, the raw desire that lingered there quickly being replaced by surprise then fear.

“Whore!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“The door,” she replied with quiet composure, “if you please.”

“You won’t get far. I will call for my guards and they will not be as obliging as I.”

“Not if I slit your throat first, they won’t,” Lena’s words left no doubt as to her willingness to follow through on her threat.

Lena edged back towards the Great Hall, turning left into a narrower passage when Haigh grunted. A door opened into a kitchen and beyond that daylight streamed through. The sun cast sparkles off the shiny pots that hung from the ceiling, suspended by roughly woven rope. Lena watched as open-mouthed servants stopped to stare at the scene. None tried to help their master despite his desperately shouted orders. At the door, Lena shoved the frail man into a pile of unwashed dishes and ran as fast as she could towards the heavy wooden gate.

For once in the last few days, fortune favoured Lena. The gates stood open and unattended as the guard flirted with a young maid who had her hand possessively placed on his thick, muscled arm. As she walked quickly through the opening, Lena began to hear the commotion she had been anticipating. Loud shouts grew louder as Lena lengthened the distance between her and the fortress she had left behind.

Disappearing expertly into the woods, Lena chose the dense cover of the trees. She knew she could move through them with speed and agility. She had already seen the dark shape that flew above her. It was a comfort to know that Pride had not abandoned her but a telltale sign of her location for those that chose to observe. Lena had the niggling feeling that one such observant pursuer would be looking for signs of her around Rwenor.

Lena continued to run. She ran as she had never run before. She did not have much knowledge of men, but she knew the look in Haigh’s eyes did not bode well for her safety. In a fair fight with bows or weapons she may have had a chance of besting him, but in the ways of men she was a novice. Lena’s heart pounded in her chest. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, and she felt as though her lungs would burst, yet still she ran. Her feet begged for mercy, and every muscle in her legs throbbed with the threat of cramping. Branches and twigs cut and scratched her tender flesh, tearing at her clothing and pulling it from her lithe form. But still, she ran.

Eventually, when the blood pounded so loudly in her ears that Lena was afraid of missing the sound of approaching foe, she stopped. A river drew her immediate attention and she strode in to its cool depth, relishing the feel of its icy current on her aching limbs. Submerging her head, Lena soon emerged as her lungs protested at the further abuse. A flash of light caught her eyes and she cursed at her own lapse of attention.

A shrill cry saw Lena laugh out loud and she turned to see Pride alight on a nearby branch.

“You had me worried there,” she called out to the bird with carefree abandon.

The laugh soon stuck in her throat as a large figure stepped out from behind a thick tree trunk.

Chapter Nine

“You…worried? I think not! Lena, clan chief of Rwenor
and
the mysterious Green Bow.”

“Stref Harris; butcher of Rwenor. It has been too long,” Lena retorted with a mock bow.

Lena stood still, wondering how Stref Harris had become privy to her name and position. Surely none of her clan would have revealed her secret?

“I come from Rwenor with a truce.” Stref confirmed her worst fears. “I met with Val. He leads in place of you. He wished me luck with my plan to marry you and unite our lands against our common enemies.”

“M–marry you! Over my dead body.”

“Maybe not yours, but many of your clan are at risk. I assume by your freedom that you have escaped from Haigh. His wrath will be swift and brutal, and directed at those too weak to defend their homes and their kin.”

Lena shivered from the chill of the water and the truth in Stref’s words. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.

“Why do I have to marry you?” she demanded with childlike innocence. “Why can we not fight Haigh together?”

“He holds no threat to my land, and I have a fancy for an archer in my bed,” Stref said. “You should be glad I have a mind to marry you, not just bed you.”

Lena screwed up her eyes and scowled at the giant man who stood between her and the freedom to return home. She had just about had enough of pushy lairds who thought to take what they willed from her with no regard for her feelings.

“I would sooner marry Haigh himself than a man who assumes to take me against my will.”

Lena watched Stref’s face change from light banter to rigid fury. His hands balled into fists at his sides and the muscles on his exposed torso clenched.

“Haigh is a monster. How could you prefer his sadistic advances?”

Lena had the grace to look ashamed. Her flesh still crawled at the unwanted contact of Haigh’s revolting hands. The cold water started to chill Lena to the bone. She longed to climb out onto the bank, but did not want to face Stref Harris.

“Are you planning to stay in there all day?” Stref drawled lazily. Seemingly reading her thoughts, he was leaning his large frame against a solid tree trunk with folded arms in a casual stance, making it clear he would wait as long as it took to continue his discussion with her.

“I–I might.” Lena could hear the desperation in her own tone, along with the chattering of her teeth.

“Your lips are tinged with blue, come out and stop behaving like an infant.”

“I am fine,” Lena insisted with no real conviction.

“Well, I am not prepared to be wedded to an invalid who is unable to perform her wifely duties. If you do not come out here, I will come in there to get you.”

One look at the determined glint in Stref’s eye was enough to send Lena to the edge of the river. Two strong hands pulled her clear of the icy liquid and set her gently on her feet. Inches from her face, Stref’s eyes showed an emotion that Lena would later swear was concern.

“Are you cold?” he asked, looking down at the clothes clinging to her body, leaving little to the imagination.

Lena’s face paled as she imagined the picture she presented. She was sure she did nothing to rid Stref of his already low opinion of her. She shook her head in response to his question, but the shivers that racked her slim body told another tale. With one swift movement, Stref pulled off the soft plaid that wrapped around his waist and draped over his shoulder. He reached around Lena and covered her in the warm woollen length of fabric. Pulling the plaid, he forced Lena closer to his chest. Lena could feel warmth encircling her. Her trembling was quickly changing from cold to a deep feeling of safety that Lena had only experienced in this warrior’s presence. She snuck a look at Stref through her dark eyelashes. He was regarding her with undisguised interest.

“A look like that could get a girl into trouble,” Stref growled in a low rumbling voice.

“Trouble seems to be my constant companion in recent days,” Lena admitted with raw honesty.

Stref lowered his mouth and claimed Lena’s in a slow lingering embrace. His tongue traced the line between her two ripe lips, causing her mouth to part. With a groan, Stref pushed his way into the moist warmth of her mouth and began a thorough exploration of its softness. Lena froze against his intrusion, pushing at his unyielding chest with desperate hands. With his own hands, Stref took hold of Lena’s and manoeuvred them behind her back. He held them fast as he maintained his relentless assault on her senses. Lena tried to clear her mind and remember why this amazing feeling was not a good idea. Her mind was clogged with pleasure, and her thoughts became foggy. Instead, Lena basked in the sweet ripple of sensation that radiated through her body. She allowed herself to become lost in the moment, banishing all thoughts of duty or clan. Instead, she became a woman who was being aroused by a man and, if the pressure she felt in her abdomen was anything to go by, was also arousing him.

Lena allowed a purr of delight to escape her. The effect was instantaneous; Stref broke from her mouth and ran a trail of kisses down her neck. His teeth nipped her soft flesh as she threw her head back opening her skin up for more of the same. Behind her back, Stref transferred her two hands to one of his massive hands, then brought his other hand round to cup her breast. Lena arched into his touch, yearning for the fabric to disappear.

“This is indeed an added advantage to our union,” Stref spoke into her neck.

His words brought the chill back to Lena. She pulled back, stepping two long strides away from the man who had confused her senses and made her forget his motive.

“Get away from me,” she hissed. “You bewitched me with your kisses. How dare you!”

Stref looked shaken for a moment, almost hurt, before a veil covered his eyes masking the brief flash of emotion.

“It matters not how you respond to my kisses. We will unite, or your precious Rwenor will suffer. It would make the deal much sweeter if you come to my bed willingly and I suspect you will. I have felt the flames of your desire and been engulfed by your arousal.”

Lena lifted her hand to strike the words from him. Stref easily caught her hand in his and laughed easily.