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This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.
Solstice Publishing - www.solsticepublishing.com
Copyright 2015 Mysty McPartland
The Laird’s Kidnapped Bride
By
Mysty McPartland
Chapter One
Trussed up like a chicken, tossed stomach down over a horse and bound up in a dirty, smelly plaid, Lark silently seethed. In her mind, she was thinking up all the ways she was going to make these villains pay for kidnapping her. Merciful heavens, if she had a chance, she would gut every one of the fiends! They had no right to snatch her off the crowded streets of Stirling! The thieving rogues would pay. When her family discovered what happened to her, they would be out for blood. Her vindictive thoughts were cut short by a deep voice close by.
“Hamish, what say you to a little wager?”
“Aye Dougal, what do ye have in mind?”
“I wager it willna be long before the laird’s bride is swooning at his feet. A sennight at most.”
“’Tis a fact that the lassies canna resist the laird. But I’m athinkin’ it will take longer. The lass is a scrapper, aye, and I have the bruises to prove it.”
“Aye, ye’re right about that, the little she-devil put up a good fight. ‘Tis a fact that the laird willna care if she is willing, especially since the buxom lassie Gwen will be keeping him busy.”
“Och, he must be fair taken with her to keep the lass around for so long.”
One man grunted in reply then the two men beside her horse fell silent. Lark scowled. Bride? Nay! She was betrothed to Sir Walter, not some thieving, fornicating laird. Why was this happening to her? Why was she caught up in the hellish nightmare? Unable to see, relying only on her other senses, she could hear the horses moving over wood, then earth again. When they were suddenly stopped, she trembled, knowing they had finally reached their destination.
Unceremoniously she was untied, dragged from her mount, and still wrapped up like a goose, she was tossed hard over a broad shoulder. Her breath knocked out of her, she was unable to verbally abuse her kidnapper or fight. Every time she drew in a mouth full of foul air, it was knocked right out of her. Her head near to exploding with her wrath, she waited to be put down on her feet. Instead, the mongrel lifted her down and laid her flat on the cold stone floor. The first thing she noticed was the putrid odor, and gagging, she shuddered. She stiffened when she heard the booming voice coming from somewhere above her.
“Good work, laddies. I see ye had nae trouble delivering the package.”
“Nay, Laird. Just a wee scuffle or two. The lassie wasna willin’ to come peacefully.”
Though she was intent on the conversation, with furious purpose she worked her way out of the tangle of the filthy plaid. She would bide her time until the moment was right to attack these fiendish monsters. As soon as she was free, she would snatch up the first weapon she could lay her hands on and make one of them pay for this. With any luck, it would be the carrion laird her blade would find first. Her mouth turned up in a snarl when she heard the dulcet tones of a female, no doubt the buxom Gwen.
“Och, my love, are ye interested in seeing yer bride?”
“Nay, not really, but I suppose I must. Unwrap my gift, lads.”
The moment the plaid fell away, she surged to her feet. A feral gleam in her eyes, she spun to the side and snatched the dirk from the waist of the nearest man. She wielded it in front of her with bloodthirsty intent. Ignoring the loud gasps filling the room, through narrowed eyes she swept the area and finally lit on the couple standing some feet away. The tall, bearded, broad-shouldered man with long brown hair wore a menacing scowl. The tall redheaded woman smirked.
“If any of ye corbie dogs lay another finger on me,” Lark growled, “I’ll slit yer thievin’ throats.”
“That right, lass? I dinna think ye have the height or strength to do it. Ye’re such a puny little thing, ye couldna hurt a gnat.” The mocking voice countered and everyone laughed.
The scathing tone only enhanced her rage, so she thrust her chin in the air and snarled. “Well, ye filthy heathen, why dinna just come a little closer and find out.” Hostility poured from her tone, and as she watched the muscle work beside his mouth, she knew her words had enraged him. Heart pounding in fear and limbs trembling, she wondered how he was going to react.
“So, ‘tis a fight ye be wantin’, lassie? Well, ye willna have it. ‘Tis nae my way to hurt a scrawny weakling or a lass. Just hand over the knife peacefully and ye willna be punished.”
“Go to hell, ye snivelin’, thieving beast.” She ignored everyone else sucking in their breath. “I demand ye return me to Stirling and home to my family. Ye canna kidnap me and think ye will nae pay for it.”
“Ye canna demand anything, lass, and this will be yer home and family from now on.”
Keep yer head, she told herself and drew herself up until every part of her body was rigid. She could not let him see any weakness on her part; filled with pride, she refused to let him cower her. Contempt etched on her features, her eyes blazed with disgust. “This filthy pigsty willna ever be my home nor any of ye my family, ye sniveling moron.” Her voice rose and swelled around the great hall, trying to hide the fact that she was absolutely terrified.
“Aye, it will, and I warn ye now, lass, dinna demand or insult me or my home again. Once we are wed, ye will accept yer fate.” Cameron took a step forward, his temper close to exploding. Gwen’s constant whining and attempts to seducing him back into her bed had worn it thin.
“Wed!” The one word exploded out of her in disbelief and resounded around the room. Was the dirty monster demented? He most positively was, if he thought she would even consider marrying him for one second.
“Aye, wed.”
She gave a swift shake of her head. Unable to take it all in, she couldn’t believe this horrifying nightmare was actually happening to her. She’d been unwillingly stolen into hell, but as she rapidly looked around at all the blank faces staring back, her brows knotted. Lifting her chin in rebelliousness, she turned back to the giant heathen. “Have the chickens pecked away yer brain, ye looby fiend? I am betrothed to Sir Walter Henley, and I would rather sup with the devil than marry ye. Besides, why would I wed a pig that fornicates with his overweight doxy under the same roof?” She had some satisfaction when she watched the color stain his cheeks. The woman squealed like a fat pig in indignation, hurting her ears.
“Cameron, ye canna let her get away with saying such insulting things.” Gwen shrieked in outrage.
A smile of malice lifted the corners of Lark’s mouth as she insolently raked the other woman with derision. “He canna stop me, whore, and I recommend ye keep ye sluttish mouth shut and dinna address me again.” She had the satisfaction of seeing the other woman’s face turn molten red, but it was short-lived.
“Enough.” The roar echoed around the room and she tried not to flinch. Cameron moved with the speed of light, he was on the woman in a second, had an arm wrapped around her tiny waist and swept her off her feet. “Dinna say one more word, wench.”
“Go and lick Sat
an’s boots, ye heathenish swine.” In her quivering indignation, she desperately fought her captor and tried not to gag from the stench of his unwashed body. The steel band around her middle tightened even more, cutting off her breath, but with what little air she had left, she hissed in outrage. Her only thought was getting free, and her fingers tightened around the knife handle. With bloodthirsty intent, twisting in the tight hold, she managed to slash the blade down the monster’s free arm; a heartbeat later, she was tossed roughly down on the stone floor. Trying to catch her breath, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and shoved her hair out of her face. Her gaze swept up and fear trickled down her spine. The black, thunderous expression on the monster’s face put terror in her heart.
His gaze going from the deep cut several inches in length on his forearm to the wee lass sprawled at his feet, Cameron couldn’t believe she had actually used the knife on him. If he didn’t abhor men who used violence on women, he would strike her for what she’d done. He drew in half a dozen calming breaths before he could speak. “I ken ye’re frightened, lass, but heed me well. Dinna ye do something so foolish again. We will be married in a sennight.”
Scrambling to her feet, she thrust her chin in the air. “I am nae frightened, ye lackwit. I’m seethin’ furious. And aye, every opportunity I have, I’ll attack ye. I will escape this horrendous nightmare, make nae mistake about that, ye heathen. And yer putrid brain must be riddled with maggots if ye think I would ever marry the likes of ye.”
Amusement twitched his lips; he ignored the stunned gasps and smirked. “Aye, perhaps ye’re right and I lack the sense to want to honor the contract between our families.” He shrugged his broad shoulders indifferently. “But unlike yer own father, I value my father’s oath.” He could see she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “When ye were but a babe of five, yer father betrothed ye to me, and now I am claiming what is mine.”
“Nay, ye lie, swine. My father would have told me, and besides, I am to wed Sir Walter at the end of the year.” However, the conviction in his voice made her pause as trepidation tickled over her flesh. Could he be telling her the truth? Lord help her, she hoped not; she would rather die than wed this rutting, stinking swine.
“I will give ye time, lass, to mull things over, then we will speak again.” He thought he was being quite magnanimous, so he raised a brow in expectation when she opened her mouth, no doubt to spew another insult, but he headed her off. “Lads, take my bride upstairs. Gwen, go with them and help her settle in.”
Before she could react, her arms were grabbed tightly and she was being dragged away. Her head whipped around as she struggled to free herself. She started cursing loudly at the thieving, lying fiend. Halfway up the staircase, she managed to free one arm while twisting and snarling, she kicked out, landing a blow on her target. The loud screech made her cringe, but with great satisfaction she watched the woman as she went tumbling down the steps. “I dinna need yer fat slattern to help me with anything, ye fornicating goat.”
Open-mouthed, he observed the scene. With wide incredulous eyes he heard Gwen shriek and watched in amazement as she fell down the stairs to land in a heap at the bottom, he was relieved when he saw that she wasn’t hurt. His gaze swept up once more to the lass, and he shook his head when she was recaptured and fought viciously to try to free herself again. She was no doubt going to be a handful, and he winced when she kicked big John in the back of the knee, nearly making him lose his footing. The foul curses ringing the hall sent his eyebrows skyrocketing. A lady shouldn’t know such profanity, he thought as he shook his head in disbelief. Only when she disappeared did he turn his attention away. Biting back a grin, he grunted. “Dinna just stand around gawking.” Satisfied when everyone scrambled away, he sauntered over to the table and poured a mug of ale. When a hand was placed on his arm, he shrugged it away. His gaze met Gwen’s sultry one and he bit back a grimace.
“Och, Cameron, my love, ye canna mean to go through with this. The lass is a vulgar, uncouth wee witch. Please reconsider, she will nae doubt make yer life a living hell.”
“Aye, I do, and I willna change me mind.” His decision was set and nothing would make him alter it. It was even more so, now that he’d met his bonny bride. She may be an angry wee shrew and a clawing kitten, but not for long. He was eager to change the rage and loathing into sweetness and desire. He could understand her reaction and did not hold it against her. If ever a lass had the face of an angel, she did, soft and beguiling. Arched ebony brows, long sooty lashes surrounding enormous sultry green eyes that fairly danced with untouched flames. A pert little nose, lush, voluminous, berry-red lips and a soft, rounded chin. Her skin was porcelain-smooth and a mass of dark ebony hair that reached her hips illuminated her exquisite face. Though the package was small and delicate, he predicted that she had the body of a siren, and he couldn’t wait to discover every tantalizing inch. He was already enchanted by her soft, feminine curves.
Desperately, Gwen pressed herself into her lover’s side to regain his attention. “Come, my love, let me tend to yer wound, and if ye have any other aches, I will gladly see to them as well.”
Slowly he let his gaze travel over Gwen’s face and body. Not for the first time in the six months they’d been lovers, he felt no flick of desire for her. This time was … worse. His brow knotted. Her features now seemed coarse, her hair dull and dirty. Her full-blown charms underneath her stained gown made his stomach turn. He heaved out an irritating sigh. “Nay, Gwen. Just see to my wound.” The desire he once felt between her thighs was long dead; surely she must realize it as well.
“As ye wish.” Gwen went to fetch the things she would need, but her mind was working furiously. For Cameron to reject her offer of making love to him yet again worried her. Her fear escalated, knowing that it had been two months since they’d been intimate, and she feared he would send her away. Somehow she was going to prevent it. She wasn’t going to let some despicable little wildcat interfere in her relationship with the laird.
Left alone, he sat down. He had no idea how his bride knew who Gwen was, and it didn’t help matters that she did. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. He had had no interest, these last few months, in rutting with Gwen. His desire for her had been waning, and it had been an effort to get his cock to rise to the occasion when she tried to tempt him. Mayhap it might be a good idea to send her on her way. He certainly had no misgivings that she would be argumentative and cause him no end of trouble if she stayed. Surely, though, she must realize that now that he was about to take a wife, she could no longer continue to reside under the same roof. She also must know that he was disinterested in her charms, every time he refused to rut with her. When he heard the soft footsteps coming closer, he knew it was time to settle the matter between them.
Placing his wounded arm on the table, looking at it, he grinned. Aye, his bride was a wee scrappy lass. He didn’t even wince when Gwen started to wash it clean. It didn’t take her long to put some ointment on the injury and have it bandaged. When she went to sit on his lap, he held up his uninjured arm. “Nay, lass. Ye ken things between us have been waning. It’s been awhile since I last swived ye. T’was bonny between us, lass, but now I’m afeared ‘tis over.”
Gwen’s hand went to her throat and she stared at Cameron with tear-filled, pleading eyes. “Nay, nay, please, my love, dinna say ‘tis ended. Let us go up to my bed and I’ll prove to ye that ye still want me.”
“Nay, lass, ‘tis finished between us. ’Tis best, I think, that ye should leave.” He wasn’t in least bit tempted, and he squirmed in his seat as tears dripped from her sad eyes. He turned away. All he could picture was his small bonny bride, the feel of her so soft and delicious in his arms. Her beauty was undeniable, and though she had a sharp tongue, just as cutting as the blade she wielded against him, he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman before her. His gaze returned reluctantly back to Gwen when she spoke again.
“Ye canna send me away. Please let m
e stay, I have nae where else to go. I promise I will abide by yer decision nae to be intimate with me, just let me stay.” Frantically, Gwen fought the rage gathering inside her. She needed to convince Cameron to let her stay and find a way to win him back into her bed.
His brow furrowed as he tried to decide what was best. Then he huffed out a breath as he made his decision and hoped he wouldn’t regret it. “Och, ye can remain for a wee while, Gwen, but I suggest ye start making plans to leave.” Irritated, he brushed away her hands as she tried to wrap them around him. He just hoped he wouldn’t live to regret his judgment. He rubbed the back of his neck and wondered why he hadn’t gotten rid of her sooner. He was a fool not to have sent her away when he stopped wanting to bed her. Ah, well, he supposed a few days wouldna make any difference.
“Thank ye, Cameron, thank ye.”
Not completely happy with his choice, he grunted, “Now be off with ye.” He watched with hooded eyes; something about her behavior struck him as odd. Females were a wily, untrustful bunch, and he decided he would keep a wary eye on the lass. He looked up when he saw the men who had taken his bride upstairs coming towards him. He could not help but grin in amusement when he noticed them both rubbing their faces and arms. It was a certainty the wee lass had put up quite a fight. “I hope me bride didna injure ye too badly.”
Big John snorted. “She’s a scrapper and it will nae doubt take ye some time to tame the wee vixen.” He brushed a hand through his long, greasy hair. “I swear, the lass nearly plucked me bald.”
Unable to help himself, Cameron roared with laughter.
When his laird finished being amused, Big John scratched his head. “She does smell awfully sweet, though. Can ye believe she ordered a bath, and in the middle of winter, too?”
His brow rose with interest, and aye, he remembered holding her and how he had been instantly aroused by the sweet, beguiling scent wafting up from her and filling his nostrils. Never had he smelt anything so tantalizing or arousing before. He shook his head clear of his thoughts before his cock woke up completely beneath his kilt. “Well, if the wee lass wants a bath, I’ll see about one for her.” Rising to his feet, he headed for the kitchen, but in his mind he was picturing the lass all wet and slippery. All that tantalizing flesh on display. He could almost taste the droplets of water as he licked them off her body with his tongue. A very arousing and provocative image, and one he intended to witness and experience very shortly.
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