Captured by a Laird by Loretta Laird Read Free Book Online Page B

signal if I need you. Listen for it.”
    Stref rode towards the croft of Rwenor. He passed by small dwellings where men worked the land and cattle grazed. Many heads turned to watch the stranger approaching, but a lone rider posed no real threat to the people. Riding closer, Stref noted a cluster of blackened husks. Buildings that had once stood now crumbled like gnarled roots. Burnings had affected this area just as they had his lands. Stref knew that his men would not stoop so low, which only left the forces of Haigh and Fogert. If only Rwenor had not retaliated on his land, he may have been able to provide protection for them. The reputation of one warrior would only shield them for so long, until the two overlords devised a new way to claim this arable land. Spurring his mount onward, Stref came to the walled croft that he sought. Bowmen lined the walls and soon had him in their sights with bows raised, poised and ready to strike.
    “Name yourself, stranger,’ a voice called from the top of the parapeted surround.
    “Stref Harris. I come to talk.”
    An audible gasp resounded around the barricade.
    “Lay down you weapons!” came the order from behind the gated croft.
    Stref took his sword from its sheath on the side of his saddle, and threw it down on the ground beside his mount. He added his bow and arrow pack; then pulled a long knife from inside his boot and added it to the growing arsenal. Raising his hands in a gesture of submission, Stref looked up to the perimeter wall.
    “Get down from your horse and walk slowly towards the gate,” the voice instructed.
    Stref complied by swinging himself arrogantly down from his mount. A young lad emerged from the gate and took the reins of his large black horse. Stref walked at a steady pace towards the gate, his long stride soon leaving his horse and the groom in his wake. As he approached, the heavy wooden gate swung open to reveal the slightly stooped form of an older warrior.
    “Archers are aimed at you. Keep your pace steady and walk towards me,” he directed.
    As the two men met, Stref raised his right hand and presented his palm to the older man.
    “I come in peace,” he opened. “Are you the representative of Rwenor?”
    “I am Val,” he answered solemnly. “I speak for my clan.”
    “Then I seek to meet with you, Val.”
    Val gestured to a small dwelling just inside the gates of the croft. Stref followed him inside and sat on the bench that was presented to him. The older man settled himself in an armed seat and placed his hands on his knees.
    Stref regarded the man who greeted him. His hair was pure white and his beard matched the snowy tone. Age had slightly withered his stance and size, but the warrior was still evident within him.
    “You are welcome here, Lord Harris.”
    “Stref, call me Stref.”
    “I assume you come with news of your hostage?” As Val spoke his hands clenched and unclenched on his knees.
    “I do, although I am beginning to discover that she may not be the common whore that I mistook her for.”
    Val jumped to his feet and grabbed Stref by the clothes that encircled his neck. “She is no man’s whore, and if you have laid one filthy hand on her, I will…”
    “Caution, old man.” Stref covered Val’s hands with his own. “I may have left my weapons at the door, but I am apt at bare-handed combat.” He pushed Val roughly back into his seat. “Your reaction is the last piece of the puzzle, and I assume you would do just about anything to get your champion back.”
    Val nodded. “Name it.”
    Stref sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. This was the way he liked negotiations to proceed. “I propose an alliance with our two clans. It will make us both stronger against Haigh and Fogert, and will give me access to more fertile lands for grazing and crops.”
    “The people will never agree to it. There has been too much suffering,” Val argued.
    “On both sides,” Stref said curtly. “I will marry the