Captured by a Laird Read online

  Table of Contents

  Description

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Author Biography

  End Credits

  CAPTURED BY A LAIRD

  Loretta Laird

  After the death of her father, and disguised as the legendary Green Bow, Lena strives to protect her home from the greedy lairds who covert her fertile land. While riding one day, she is abducted from her mount by Stref—Laird of Harris—who believes he had bagged himself the notorious Green Bow.

  As Stref arrives to hang his prisoner from the tower, a prickle of doubt creeps into his mind.

  What follows is a feisty tale of adventure and betrayal before the couple can declare their love, and embark on their happy, if rather lusty, ever after.

  CAPTURED BY A LAIRD

  Loretta Laird

  LUMINOSITYPUBLISHING.COM

  LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

  CAPTURED BY A LAIRD

  Copyright © September 2014 Loretta Laird

  ISBN: 978-1-910397-18-3

  Cover Art by Poppy Designs

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  LUMINOSITYPUBLISHING.COM

  Dedication

  I would like to dedicate this book to my lovely mister, who is and will always be, the inspiration for the love I write about.

  Prologue

  “Watch her!” boomed a deep voice that resonated with pride.

  Lena, a young pre-pubescent girl dressed in a tunic usually reserved for boys stepped forward. Titters of laughter rippled around the assembled throng as she lifted the large bow—a bow that dwarfed her slender frame. She had been cowering on the fringes of the circle, excluded for her quietness and regarded as rather a loner by the group. She hoped that it wouldn’t happen again. That he would not follow through with his loud and flamboyant boasting. Her limp dark hair hung across her shoulders and down her back, shielding her pale face and hiding her big, dark eyes. Those liquid orbs darted around the crowd of eager onlookers. They appeared to be like a pack of scavengers, waiting for the bones of a slaughtered beast to pick over and howl in triumph.

  She felt sure they could hear the frantic beat of her heart. It throbbed in her ears like one of the giant skin drums that heralded invaders.

  “It’ll knock her over!” called out one onlooker.

  “Theadon must think we need a show of fools!” added another.

  “He craved for a son and all he received was a scrawny daughter that will not even amount to being a beauty like her mother,” the first man chipped in cruelly.

  Ignoring the jibes that she had faced her whole life, Lena reached for her bow, and a new confidence came over her as she held it fast. She knew she had not been blessed with her mother’s golden curls or her deep-dimpled cheeks. She was pale with dark curtains of hair that always looked as if they had been plastered to her face by the torrential rain that fell in the bitter Highlands.

  Lena took a deep, shuddering breath and felt the smoothness of the wood against her palm. All traces of fear left and her shoulders straightened with confidence. The same girl, yet in so many ways not the same, proceeded to pull back the string on her bow, the myth of her fragility soon being replaced by gasps of astonishment among the assembled group. Her leather-clad arms shook slightly as she held the tension and adjusted the weapon to her eyeline. Three fingers lay poised on the arrow as it nestled in the neatly carved nock. Lena stood on a raised mound of earth, in the centre of a ring that was wholly constructed by the people who encircled her. A nervous looking youth stood at one side of the gathering with a hat perched upon his head. Protruding from the top of the hat was a feather. In a certain light, the feather gave off a golden glow as it stood erect and proud.

  Circling the crowd a lone bird repeated its circumnavigation of the human arena—its feathers gleaming with the same golden glow. From time to time, heads would turn and look nervously at the creature whose very presence embodied an omen of doom.

  With a snap, the bow fired and the arrow sailed across the space between the figures. The boy’s fists clenched in nervous balls at his sides, whilst a drop of sweat trickled down his face. In a heartbeat the arrow clattered to the ground behind his petrified figure. His hat remained in place, but the absence of the feather soon caused a mounting wave of excitement to overwhelm the crowd.

  Striding as a man confident of the outcome, Theadon reached the discarded arrow and held it aloft. The feather was stuck through the centre of the shaft and embedded on the tip of the arrowhead. The crowd erupted into raucous applause, gathering around the mighty form of Theadon as he passed the trophy proudly from one to another.

  Unseen, Lena slipped the enormous bow onto her shoulder and melted through the crowd—out towards the dense trees that lay beyond. The circling bird ceased its rhythmic pattern and changed course to follow the solitary figure. Swooping down, it too disappeared into the protective embrace of the forest.

  Chapter One

  The grassy hillock was nothing much to look at. It rose, as hillocks have a tendency to do, and peaked around twenty feet onto the air. The lush green grass and moss that covered it had sprung from the recent months of torrential rain. What made this hillock a remarkable sight was the figure that stood rigidly on top. Cloaked in a dark green robe, and poised with an oversized bow and arrow, the heavy velvety material swirled around the mysterious being. A sudden gust of wind blew the looped hood down, freeing a mass of raven curls that blew wildly, quickly covering the face of the warrior. With an impatient toss of her head, the woman pulled the unruly mane back under the hood and secured it more tightly with its braided cord. Her wide brown eyes scanned the area, as if terrified that the lapse would have cost her safe position. The full lips twisted themselves into a fearsome grimace that furrowed her smooth brow into a frown as perfect white teeth nibbled her bottom lip.

  “All clear!” she called to an unseen companion. “The bastards must have taken flight.”

  Turning, she gave a final check of the boundary lines then re-sheathed her bow before heading back down the hillock, allowing it once more to return to the normality of its essence.

  “Maybe we should head for home afore the darkness sets in,” a weathered face spoke with the authority of one familiar with his leader.

  “Aye, Val. Home would be a welcome friend this night.” The woman spoke with a rich throaty voice that resonated with an air of importance, yet with a hint of humility and deference to the elder man.

  The group of six each mounted a grey horse and settled themselves into the s
addles. The beasts immediately began to circle one another, eager to be underway. The men were dressed the same, in white shirts with the deep-green plaid of their clan encircling their waists and flung over their shoulders, which were then secured with a clasp that held them fast. Lena’s own plaid that she always wore in the style of the menfolk, was covered by the long green cloak that concealed any signs of her feminine form.

  “Lena?” The older man approached his clan chief, reaching for her reins to prevent her mount from being startled by their proximity. “We should be on the lookout for that rogue band of ruffians. They could still be hiding out in the vicinity.”

  “Agreed,” she smiled fondly, transforming her face into a vision of beauty. Her eyes sparkled with warmth and compassion and her round cheeks dimpled beguilingly. The smattering of freckles that bridged her nose added to her charm.

  “You should do that more often!” Val said gruffly.

  “What? Look out for ruffians in the woods?” she teased.

  “No,” he replied quickly, “smile.”

  She flashed him a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes; then dug her heels into her sturdy dappled mare and rode off through the trees, leading the group back in the direction of the welcome warmth of their own beds and a hearty meal. Overhead, the distant cry of a golden eagle should have caused a shudder of impending doom to the small troop. Throughout the land’s rich history, the cry of the golden eagle foretold a boding that no man could undo. For this reason, the bird was both admired and feared. For Lena though, it was just the familiar cry of a creature that she had raised since finding it abandoned and rejected as a chick. She had fed it worms and raw meat until it could hunt for itself. Never had she confined the beast, yet it had not left her side since that day. Her mother had of course, voiced her disgust about the whole affair but, as was usual in these matters, Lena had won the support of her father, and pursued her own path. She named the bird Pride, and it seemed to be a name that suited it. The crofters had come to accept the presence of the unlucky omen and added it to their blessings that the “bird of doom” had befriended their kin. They had surmised that maybe he would spare them the same ill fortune that he was attributed to rain down on others by his very presence.

  Lena was alert to every sound in the dense forest. She sensed that something was amiss, yet could see no signs of unrest among the leaves. Her mount was equally unsettled and moved its head from side to side whilst exhaling loudly through its nostrils. Lena had been trained to hear the snap of a twig, or the breath of an enemy. Since it had become obvious around her tenth year that she was to be the only offspring of the clan chief and his wife, she had been groomed for the responsibility of one day being the protector of her croft. The croft consisted of around twenty small wooden cottages with some surrounding farmland. It was rich in produce and the envy of many rival clans. For this reason, Lena’s father had made sure that she was skilled in all aspects of combat and warfare. She had been a fast learner and the apple of her father’s eye. By the age of eighteen she was among the finest warriors of the land, as quick and as deadly with her bow as any that had come before her. It was fortunate that her education was complete as Lena’s father joined his ancestors on the day Lena turned nineteen. From then on, she had the unquestioned loyalty of her clan and strove each and every day to keep them safe in their idyllic world.

  The northern regions, which were just beyond Lena’s clan, were notoriously harsh and barren and rival kins would often stray to the southern lands in invading parties, claiming the privilege of “raider’s rights.” This was the age-old ritual, whereby if you could not defend your lands, they became easy pickings for any rival clan.

  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.