His Stolen Bride (Stolen Brides Series Book 0)

by Shelly Thacker

  Like a symbol of all that Darach had once hoped to be.

  A reminder of the family who needed him still.

  And so he had returned home to them.

  But now, in the cruelest twist of fate, Galen had lost his life in the Scottish cause. And Darach had been left as the lone noble champion of the Glenshiel family.

  Laurien sighed in her sleep. Shivering, she reached out to the now-cool space where Darach had lain beside her. He gently covered her with another of the furs.

  Protect them all, Galen had said with his dying breath.

  He had meant Aidan and their kinsfolk, and the Scottish people.

  But now there was someone else just as important to him… someone Darach wanted and needed to protect.

  The sounds of a sudden commotion overhead shook him out of his troubling thoughts. He heard men running. Shouted commands.

  All at once, the ship heeled sharply to one side.

  Tossed against the pile of furs at her back, Laurien came awake with a startled exclamation.

  A resounding scrape of wood against wood reverberated through the hold. Darach was already grabbing his sword. “Stay here.”

  “What was that?” Laurien gathered one of the furs around her, her expression frightened. “What is happening?”

  “We are being boarded.” He drew one of the knives from his belt and pressed it into her hand. “Take this.” He caught her close for a quick, hard kiss. “Stay hidden—and stay silent.”

  Releasing her, he removed the wooden panel that concealed their secret cabin and slipped cautiously into the hold.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Darach,” Laurien whispered. Before she had a chance to say anything more, he was gone, replacing the panel. She could hear him pushing the crates in front of her hiding place.

  Over her head, she could hear fighting—angry male voices shouting. She could not make out the words.

  Quickly, she hunted for her tunic and pulled it on, warmth suffusing her cheeks when she noticed how rough the cloth felt against her breasts, still sensitive from Darach’s kisses. She laced up the waist of her leggings, her heart beating unsteadily as every small movement brought a memory of his intimate touch, the pleasure he had given her. She did not even have words to describe it… or the overwhelming feelings she had for him.

  Pulling on her boots, she imitated what Darach always did and concealed the knife he had given her in her right boot. The sounds of a battle broke out above.

  She covered her mouth with one hand when she heard the now-familiar clanging of swordplay. Something heavy hit the planks just above her head and she jumped, her mind filled with the disturbing impression of a body landing full force on the deck.

  She strained to hear anything more from above, holding her breath. But the ship had gone eerily silent.

  Unable to bear it a moment more, she crept closer to the panel that separated her from the hold, trying to peer out through the slots that allowed air to pass through.

  Suddenly the hidden portal was yanked open from the other side. A man crouched down to look in at her and she screamed, scrambling back. It was the man she had seen in Calais, the one with graying hair—the leader of de Villiers’s guards!

  Two of his men flanked him, blood on their swords.

  “At last,” he said, smiling as he reached in to grab her. “I have found the beautiful Lady Laurien d’Amboise.”

  Chapter 13

  Laurien went nearly numb with fear as de Villiers’s guards hurried her through the hold and up onto the deck, where the bright light of torches illuminated the night—and she saw a second, larger ship tied alongside the Venetian.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, milady,” their leader said with an oddly formal bow. “You may call me Lord Kenton. I am an Englishman, presently in the employ of your betrothed, the Comte de Villiers. He has sent us to rescue you from your captors.”

  Four of de Villiers’s men were carrying Darach and Malcolm, both unconscious, to the other ship. They were bound with ropes. Dear God, how badly were they hurt?

  The rest of the guardsmen held the Venetian’s crew at bay. Three sailors lay bleeding on the deck, including the ship’s mate.

  “The English king will pay handsomely for a pair of Scottish rebels.” Kenton took her by the shoulders and forced her to face him. “You may rest assured that those two brutes who abducted you will suffer. I see no need to kill them, not when there is profit to be made… but by the time King Edward is finished with them, they may wish that I had.”

  Laurien realized from his words that Darach and Malcolm were still alive, thank God—but he meant to turn them over to the English king to be tortured and killed.

  Taking a handful of her hair, Kenton pressed it to his lips. “We are less than an hour from England, milady… so I would like to offer you my hospitality, rather than hurrying back to Calais where my partner awaits. You and I should become better acquainted.” His leering expression made bile rise in her throat. “Then in a day, or two or three, I will return you to de Villiers.”

  Mercy of Mary, what fate awaited her at this Englishman’s hands? She tried not to show any fear. “The Comte de Villiers will want me back untouched, milord, and… and it is best never to displease him—”

  “I will explain to him that it was the Scots who despoiled you.”

  Desperate, she tried to think of something that would keep him at bay. “I-I have suffered a terrible ordeal,” she choked out. “I w-will please you more if you allow me time to recover before we…”

  She could only pray that the lie would be enough to save her. And give her a chance to find some way to help Darach and Malcolm.

  The Englishman’s wolfish smile widened. “Unlike the Scots, I am a gentleman. As soon as we reach my keep, I will see that you are bathed and garbed properly. Until then, you may rest.” He escorted her toward his ship. “But I will expect you to prove the delay worthwhile, demoiselle.”

  ~ ~ ~

  They arrived in the English port of Hull near dawn and rode north all day, Laurien at the center of a trio of guardsmen. Kenton rode just ahead of her. He had left the rest of his men to follow with the Scotsmen.

  By the time they approached the Englishman’s fief at dusk, in a steady downpour, she was frantically trying to devise some kind of plan.

  Though he had called himself a “lord,” his home was no more than a small stone donjon surrounded by scattered outbuildings and a wooden palisade. No guards greeted them, and Laurien guessed from the condition of the place that he had not been home in some time. Taking her inside, Kenton shut her in his bedchamber on the second floor and sent an elderly serving woman to attend her. Then he went to confer with his men, after warning that he would allow her only a short time to wash and change.

  Faced with the moment she had dreaded, Laurien resorted to a reckless idea. She managed to beg a flask of wine and two cups from the serving woman, along with certain herbs and a common type of root from the kitchens, explaining they would help her relax after her ordeal.

  Now, she eyed the cups sitting innocently on a storage chest beside the bed. If the Englishman discovered what she was trying to do, he would beat her senseless. But the guards had taken the knife Darach had given her. She had no weapons of any kind.

  This was her best chance to get away from Lord Kenton—and find Darach and Malcolm and help set them free before they were handed over to the English king.

  A single candle, flickering next to the goblets, lit the chamber. The serving woman had left some time ago.

  Laurien heard heavy footfalls in the hall beyond the door.

  Taking a shaky gulp of the stale air, she arranged herself on the bed in what she hoped was an appealing pose, smoothing the skirt of the threadbare gown she had been provided. She noted with a shiver that the bodice of the lavender velvet dress had been ripped and resewn.

  She forced a smile to her lips as the door opened.

  Kenton cast an impatient look her way as he closed
the door. “You look comfortable enough now, demoiselle.” He peeled off his rain-soaked tunic and dropped it on the floor. Bared to the waist, he prowled over to the bed. “Are you ready to make good on your promise to please me?”

  Laurien sat up and reached for one of the goblets. Trying to appear meek and passive, she extended it to the Englishman. Though he was slender and pale, he had a more muscular build than she had expected. She would be helpless if he decided to use force. “A drink first, milord?” She managed to keep her hand steady.

  He took the cup from her.

  But he did not drink. “The serving woman told me that you asked for some items from the kitchens.”

  Struggling to hide her rising fear, Laurien met his gaze without flinching.

  “She said that you claimed they were to relax you.” He clenched his other hand into a fist. “This had better not be some sort of trick, milady.”

  “Nay, milord.” She pretended interest in the tattered mattress covering. “For a woman, the drink is soothing. For a man…” She paused and lowered her voice, as if revealing a secret. “I am told it helps prolong pleasure.”

  He still regarded her suspiciously. Then he extended the goblet toward her. “Drink, then. Prove to me that you mean me no harm.”

  Laurien gave him a slight smile. She took a quick gulp, tasting naught but the dry snap of the wine. None but an experienced healer would know that the drink had been tampered with.

  And a sip should do her no harm. It took a larger draught to induce sleep.

  She passed the goblet back.

  Sitting on the bed next to her, he put his drink down, and picked up the other goblet. “Now, from yours.”

  Laurien could not quell a look of surprise. She dared not drink too much. He leaned toward her and she leaned away, awkwardly balancing on one elbow. But he pressed the cup against her lips and made her drain half its contents.

  As he straightened, Laurien managed another smile. She must keep him talking. The drink would take time to render him unconscious—and she herself was now in danger of suffering its effects.

  “You see, it is harmless, milord,” she said lightly. “You will enjoy it most if you savor it slowly.”

  But before she could stop him, he lifted his cup and drank it all down in one long draught.

  “Enough of the refreshments.” He tossed the empty goblet to the floor. “Let us begin the evening’s entertainment.”

  Laurien stifled a scream as he shoved her down onto the bed.

  A knock at the door stopped him. He glared over his shoulder, snarling a curse, but the intruder ignored the warning and stepped into the room.

  It was one of the guardsmen. “That big Scot broke loose, sir! He’s tearing the yard apart.”

  “Then summon the others to subdue him.” Kenton made no move to get off the bed.

  Laurien felt a renewed spark of hope, realizing who they were discussing.

  “I did, milord. But no one can get near him. He already knocked one man cold with a kick to the jaw. Keeps yelling about the girl. Demands to know what we’ve done with her.”

  “I am not interested in my prisoner’s demands.” Kenton dismissed the guard with an impatient gesture.

  “But sir, with the trouble he’s causing, it will take all of us to guard him… sitting out there in the rain all night,” the guard protested. “I thought if we could show him the wench is alive and well, he might settle enough that we could subdue him and tie him up again.”

  Cursing, Kenton grabbed Laurien’s arm and hauled her to her feet. “It seems, my dear, that we must contend with yet another delay.” He pushed her toward the door and down the stairs, through the musty great hall, and into the cold rain outside.

  Kenton took her across the muddy yard, splashing toward a long shed that served as a stable. The guards—she counted five of them, still garbed in de Villiers’s blue and white—were arranged in a rough circle around the opening of the structure. One held a torch.

  As she drew near, Laurien bit back a cry when she saw Darach. He had been bound and beaten, his face bruised. A cut on his forehead was bleeding profusely, and remnants of rope dangled from his wrists. He had apparently broken free, and the five men had not been able to subdue him. A sixth guard sprawled in the mud on one side of the shelter. Malcolm was nowhere to be seen.

  As soon as she and Kenton stepped inside the stable, Darach’s gaze locked on hers, his expression one of intense relief.

  “Here she is, Scotsman. Her ladyship is most grateful that I have rescued her from the knaves who abducted her.” Kenton pulled Laurien into the circle of light, draping an arm around her shoulders. “As you can see, she is perfectly happy enjoying my hospitality. If you make any more trouble, I will kill you now and damn the profit to be made!”

  Laurien forced herself to lower her eyes to the ground, keeping her features carefully neutral. Saints’ breath, she longed to throw herself into Darach’s arms, to have him protect her from the ugliness all around them. But she dared not show a hint of those feelings.

  If she could not persuade Kenton to return to his chamber quickly, the Englishman would collapse right in front of his men when her potion did its work. With no weapons, she and Darach would have no hope of escaping five heavily armed guards.

  She forced herself to smile up at Kenton, and tried not to wince as his arm tightened around her. “Please, milord.” She placed a hand on his chest. “Could we not go back inside now?”

  “Eager to return to bed, are we?” He smiled at her. “What a vixen you are. If you please me well, mayhap I will not return you to de Villiers for a very long while.”

  To Laurien’s disgust, he kissed her. She almost recoiled, her fingers beginning to curl into a fist. But she forced herself to allow the kiss, offered no resistance.

  She heard a strangled shout from Darach.

  When Kenton finally released her, Laurien turned—and felt like crying when she saw that the guards had swarmed over Darach, beating him again, binding him hand and foot. They tied him to a post in the corner of the shed. Despite herself, she started to move toward him.

  Until he stopped her with an icy glare filled with fury.

  “Back to bed, demoiselle.” Kenton lifted her into his arms and headed back toward his keep. “I want one of you guarding him at all times,” he snapped at the guards. “And do not disturb us again!”

  As he carried her inside, Laurien’s sight and hearing seemed to dim. With a rush of despair, she realized that her own potion had started to work against her—although as yet it seemed harmless against Kenton. He might be able to finish what he had started.

  Hurrying up the stairs, he slammed the door to his chamber and dumped her on the bed. “God’s blood.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I have waited long enough.”

  He shoved her down, fumbling with her skirt. With a terrified sob, Laurien tried to push him off of her. He tore the velvet fabric as if it were parchment, ripping it from hem to thigh.

  Then suddenly Kenton went completely still.

  He stared down at her, his brow furrowed. He shook his head again.

  Understanding dawned in his face. “What have you done to me, wench?” He raised his hand to strike her.

  But before he could complete the movement, he went limp, collapsing forward.

  Laurien heaved him off of her and scrambled from the bed. For a moment, she stood frozen, stunned and terrified at what he had nearly done to her. She felt her stomach lurch.

  She fell to her knees and threw up. Hunched on the floor, she wrapped her arms around her middle, her head spinning dizzily. But she did not have time to give in to the tears that threatened.

  Wiping her mouth with one shaking hand, she hurried to the ewer and basin that sat on a table near the bed. She had used the water to wash earlier, but there was a little left. She took a quick mouthful and spat it out to rinse the sour taste from her tongue. Then she drank the rest, to dilute any of the potion that might still be left in he
r stomach. Swaying on her feet, she looked down at the Englishman. He lay unmoving, unconscious.

  She tore the tattered sheets into strips and tied him up as best she could. Then she grabbed her brown homespun cloak from where she had left it near the door and pulled it on, her fingers shaking. Putting on her boots, she hurried to the door and opened it a crack.

  Below, the hall was silent. She counted five men. That meant only one was on guard outside. Three had already settled to sleep on pallets that lined the wall. The other two were engaged in a game of dice at a trestle table before the fire.

  Laurien groaned in frustration. She would have to wait—and she could ill afford to waste time. With her stomach emptied, she hoped that the large amount of the potion she had swallowed would not affect her. But she did not want to take the chance.

  It seemed like an hour before the dice players finally finished their game and stumbled to their beds. Laurien slipped out, holding her breath and clinging to the wall in the darkness. She picked her way down the stairs.

  Finally, she reached the door that led outside and hurried into the rain.

  She lifted her face to the sky. The chilled air and clean water washing over her helped awaken her from the drunken feeling that threatened to make her swoon. She longed for a thorough scrubbing to cleanse her from Kenton’s touch, but that would have to wait.

  The moonless night was impossibly dark. Moving as quietly as possible, she started toward the stable. Most of the horses had been picketed just outside the small structure, whickering softly, flicking their tails in the rain. She stopped a few yards away from the entrance.

  The man on guard held a small torch at his side, lending just enough light for him to keep his eye on Darach, who lay slumped in the corner, apparently asleep. Laurien felt another tug at her heart at how the guards had hurt him.

  At the same time, she was almost afraid to untie him, after the look he had given her earlier. He would just have to be patient and allow her time to explain.

  What she needed at the moment was a quiet way to eliminate the guard.