The Taken Bride: A Medieval Romance

   Copyright 2016 by (Midnight Moon Publishing) - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

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  The Taken Bride

  A Medieval Romance

  By: Kaley McCormick

  Table of Contents

  Main Story

  The Taken Bride

  Bonus Stories

  Seized by the Highlander

  Taken Captive by the Highlander

  The Highlander’s Mail Order Bride

  Bought by the Highlander

  My Sinful Surrender to a Highlander Werewolf

  The Cowboy Soldier’s Knocked Up Email Order Bride

  The Outlaw’s Mail Order Bride

  The Cowboy’s Ebony Mail Order

  Knocked Up by the Outlaw

  The Renegade’s Mail Order Bride

  Pregnant and Rescued by the Cowboy

  The Renegade Angel’s Mail Order Husband

  The Cowboy’s Rescued Widow

  Ordered by a Cowboy

  The Cowboy Billionaire’s Mail Order Bride

  The Cowboy’s Dark Love

  My Cowboy Savior

  Taken by the Cowboy Billionaire

  Ordered by a Cowboy Billionaire

  Possessed by the Cowboy Werewolf

  Taken by the Cowboy Werewolf

  The Highlander’s Captive Bride

  Sent Away to the Highlander

  Taken by the Forbidden Highlander

  The Captive Bride

  Kidnapped by the Highlander Lord

  The Highlander’s Taken Bride

  The Taken Bride

  The layers of Mary’s thick taffeta skirts rustled as she climbed into the carriage. The journey to the nearby town always exhausted her but there was no other way to obtain the household goods that George demanded. He had to have his certain type of tea and would get quite upset if there were no lemons for it.

  The afternoon was hot and humid, and as the driver started towards home, she tried to ignore the feeling of dirt and grit on her normally silky pale skin. She wished desperately that it was her bath day but she had to wait a little while longer. She hoped that she would at least find a moment to use a cool cloth on her legs once she returned to her bedroom. The humidity in the air had even sent her auburn waves into wild curls that refused to stay in their upswept bun.

  Last night George had also demanded her other wifely duties, and she succumbed as she had for the last twelve years. It was hardly enjoyable or even pleasant, but she was in no position to deny him. Every few months, he berated her for his lack of an heir and he used it as a convenient excuse whenever he felt the urge to violate her body. There were so many nights that Mary wished he would just avail himself of the house in town that no respectable man would enter. But so far she had had no such luck in a reprieve. His sweaty bald head, clammy hairy belly, and thin limbs turned her stomach but there was no way to avoid the attentions of her husband.

  At nearly thirty, with George approaching fifty, Mary was running out of time to produce her husband the blessed son he so badly wanted from her. She had done everything in her power and was resigned to the fact it was not going to happen. Mostly she was okay with that, if George could be more accepting of the situation.

  Her life was reasonably routine and bland, including the evenings George had been out to the pub for drinking. That seemed to be more and more frequent as of late but what could Mary do. She usually tried to either be asleep or pretend to be asleep when he came home. Sometimes it deterred his interest and sometimes it did nothing to stop him.

  Mary tried to fan herself in the carriage as she rode along the bumpy dirt road. The poor horses and driver went over one rock so hard, she feared her ample bosoms would pop free of the corseted top of her dress. She clasped her hands at her chest to make sure she did not suddenly become indecent on the journey through the middle of nowhere. The heat in the air made it hard to breathe, especially given the cinched waist of the dress she had chosen for the trip.

  Mary arrived home just before dinner and frantically tried to tidy herself as well as the house. The cook had the meal almost ready, for which Mary was exceedingly grateful, but she still had to have everything else prepared and ready just so. She was not in the mood for an angry George.

  The plates of food hit the table just as George arrived home from his meeting with Robert who lived about half a day away.

  “That bloody man is going to be the death of me!” George bellowed as he slammed the door open.

  “He still will not grant me purchase of that pond. What good is owning the land if I do not own the pond that sits on it? I need the water for the trees and the horses. It is absurd that he owns the water and I own the land. He thinks I should give him the land and I think he should give me the pond.”

  “Good evening George,” Mary said quietly.

  “You as well,” he grumbled in her direction. He was more focused on the food and wine on the table than her.

  “Did you get my tea and lemons?”

  “Yes, sir. I returned from town a short while ago.” Mary smoothed a stray auburn curl back into her upswept topknot.

  “I hope you did not spend too much of my hard-earned money.”

  “But of course not, sir.” Mary looked up at him through her dark lashes. His face was not turning quite so many different shares of red so he must not have been too upset with her.

  After dinner, George continued to drink the wine while Mary read by candlelight in the sitting room. She excused herself early for the evening, still wanting to wash down before crawling into her bed. She was grateful that they slept in different rooms most nights. It enabled her to get more sleep than if she had to listen to him snoring all night.

  Mary carefully removed and laid out her garments, wishing she had the ability to lock the door as she stood naked in the middle of the room. She soaked the soft cloth in the cool water of the basin and caressed her heated skin. It helped to get rid of a little of the grime as well as took away some of the heat of the day.

  As she rinsed and wrung out the cloth, the door burst open loudly and George lurched into the room. No doubt he had finished his bottle of wine and was ready to have his way with her. There was rarely any point in protesting, let alone when she was caught naked.

  George pushed her roughly to the bed and climbed on top of her, forcing her thighs apart. After several minutes of grunting in her ear and thrusting himself into her body, she felt his seed surge into her and she fought back revulsion. He rolled off and stumbled back through the still open door to his own bed to sleep it off.

  Mary sighed deeply at the state of her life, and now the mess of her bed. She rose slowly and tried to clean herself off again. It had been drilled into her that sex was only for married people but she really did not see the attraction anyway. What on earth would she have gained from George’s attentions prior to marriage? When she had been younger and still in the market for a husband, her childhood friends told her that she would have her choice of any man. Her dark red ringlets, deep green eyes, and creamy skin were not bad to look at, but the years of George’s drunken advances had rendered her incapable of seeing beauty in the mirror.

  The time seemed to drag on, daily meals and weekly trips to town. And every few nights, George would stumble in and out of her body in a drunken stupor. He spent the evening meal cursing to her about Rober
t, but she did not truly understand the need to own that pond in particular in comparison to all of the other ponds and streams they owned. But, as George frequently pointed out, what does a woman know about a man’s business such as this. She was only good for keeping house and producing children, which she was obviously unable to accomplish.

  One particular evening George was especially enraged at Robert. One of the trees on that parcel of land had recently begun bearing fresh ripe apples and George took the fruit as a personal affront to everything that made him a man.

  Mary had no idea what apples had to do with anything, but George instructed her to go gather as many as she and the cook could carry. The next morning, Mary put on one of her more casual dresses, the light cotton type that one wears around the house. She and the cook trudged down the hillside and around the pond to gather said offensive fruit.

  Mary grinned at the short rotund cook trying to jump for the apples.

  “Do not laugh mum, it’s harder than it looks.”

  Mary, at several inches taller and a number of pounds lighter, was able to reach them more easily.

  The cook just shook her head, “I’m doing the best I can but I do not care anyway. What are we doing out here mum?”

  Mary looked at the shiny red skin of the apple and took a deep bite, chewing thoughtfully. She offered the cook a bite and the poor sweating girl accepted eagerly.

  Out of everyone in the household, the cook was probably the one person Mary spent the most time with, and coincidentally liked the most. They lay back on the ground next to each other and Mary ran her fingers over the tiny blades of grass. It felt like the velvet that covered their dining room chairs.

  Off in the distance, hoof beats pounded against the ground but the two women paid no attention. In the countryside, hoof beats were as common as crickets or birds. The grass almost felt cool beneath them compared to the sweltering blanket of humidity that spread out on top of them.

  Slowly Mary became more aware of the hoof beats, as though the ground was trembling from them. Suddenly they stopped. She opened her eyes and found herself staring up at the underside of a black horse’s jaw.

  She scrambled away, terrified of the giant black beast. The cook crawled in the opposite direction with the same fear on her young face. From that angle, Mary could not make out the rider, but she was certain no soldier of her husband’s would dare ride up on her in that manner.

  “How dare you! Who do you think you are?” Her indignation blossomed pink on her pale cheeks.

  “I am Thomas, and work for Robert. You are trespassing, ma’am.” The voice rumbled like the summer thunderstorms but she was not familiar with the speaker.

  “I… My husband… we were just tasting the apples. I believe they belong to George. But we shall be on our way, sir.” She stuttered through her confusion and fear.

  “The young lady here,” he gestured to the cook, “may leave. You are coming with me. We do not take lightly to trespassing. Let alone thievery.”

  “What? Trespassing? Thievery? What are you talking about, sir? This is our land and these are our trees.”

  “That apple in your hand does not belong to you or your husband. It belongs to Robert.”

  Mary blinked. She was being detained for eating an apple?

  The voice turned away from her and ordered the cook, “Get back to the house and tell George to expect a notice from Robert.”

  The cook blinked and stood frozen. She looked to Mary and Mary flicked her wrist, shooing her back to their house. The cook took off like a rabbit with a fox inches behind her.

  The booming voice grew closer as the speaker dismounted the horse.

  “I cannot imagine what Robert will have to say about this.”

  Mary looked up through her lashes and found herself face to face with a very broad chest. She kept looking up until she saw a face hovering above hers, dark eyes glinting fire and sun-kissed brown waves of hair combed straight back. Several days of beard growth prickled his chin and cheeks but instead of looking unkempt, it seemed to give him a dashing air.

  “I… I did not mean anything. My husband, George, told me to come collect them. And cook and I were hungry so we tried one. We did not mean anything by it.” Mary had dropped her face back down, praying unsuccessfully that her cheeks might return to their normal pale color.

  “That is not my concern. That is between Robert and George so you must come with me until they have resolved it.”

  “What? I cannot come with you. I must be home when George returns.”

  “Your cook will explain what has happened.”

  His large hands and noticeable biceps easily took Mary by her slender waist and lifted her to the horse. She tried not to struggle for fear of startling the animal and ending up suddenly back on the ground. She slid backwards towards the hind end of the horse as the man mounted in front of her.

  “You will stay with me while they sort things out. It would not be seemly for you to stay at the main house.”

  The horse trotted along at an easier pace, Mary bouncing around on the back end, trying not to grab on to the man’s tunic for support. It did not escape Thomas’s notice that every time she was thrown in to him, her full bosom bounced against his back. He tried to focus on controlling his horse through the distraction.

  “Ma’am, I do not need you falling off this horse. Please hold on.”

  She slid forward until her breasts pressed against his back and her firm thighs sat on the outside of his,

  As she jostled against him, she ran this issue over and over in her head. George was going to be furious. And how was she in trouble for eating an apple that clearly grew on her husband’s land?

  In about an hour or so, they arrived at a small but well-kept stone house. He helped her down off the horse, and he led the animal to a nearby cask of water for refreshing. He had to duck to enter through the doorway, and Mary found it to be only two rooms inside. The main room contained a stove, a table and eating chairs, and two larger chairs in front of a fireplace. She assumed the closed door was to the bedroom.

  Wait. What? I am to be held here in the small space with this man by myself? What on earth would people say? What will George say? He will surely take his belt to me for letting this happen. There is only one bedroom. Oh heavens, what have I done? What have I gotten myself into? All I did was bite the apple that George told me to gather.

  Mary took a deep breath and waited for instructions.

  “Ma’am, I suggest you get comfortable here. Robert has no intention of giving your husband that pond and I know damn well that George has no intention of giving him that parcel of land. You may be here with me a while. I hope you are a good cook and a good housekeeper.”

  Mary blinked in the dim room. The dust danced brightly in the strips of sunlight through the slats on the windows, however the light did nothing but cast shadows around this unfamiliar place.

  “Now,” Thomas seemed used to giving directions. “Draw me a bath. It has been a hot day and I need to cool off. The well is out back with a bucket, and the tub is in the bedroom.”

  “Excuse me? Draw you a bath?”

  “Yes ma’am. If I am expected to feed and shelter you, then you must earn your keep. Draw me a bath before you make dinner.”

  Mary dug her short nails into her palms but did not protest further. She was not sure how far this Thomas would take things but he was already being terribly inappropriate with another man’s wife, and seemed to have no qualms about his demand.

  Mary carried in several buckets of water from the well, sloshing a decent amount down the front of her thin cotton dress despite her efforts to be careful. By the time she had filled the tub, her wet dress clung to her curvy form and left very little to the imagination. She tried to hold it away from herself but it did not help.

  She stood to one side, clutching at the wet dress while Thomas undressed for his bath. She demurely averted her eyes since he left the bedroom door wide open as he prepared to bathe.
The man apparently had no sense of decorum.

  “I’m having a hard time with my back. You are going to need to come in here and bathe me,” he ordered.

  Her mouth gaped open in a small “O” shape. Bathe him? What on earth made him think that was okay? I would not even dream of bathing my husband.

  “But, But I, But I need to start dinner, sir.”

  “That can wait until we are finished in here. Get in here and help bathe me.”

  Mary looked down at her translucent wet dress, up at the open doorway, and back down at herself. She took several hesitant steps towards the door.

  “Get in here woman!” he thundered, louder than those hoof beats.

  She peered around the door at the naked man in the tub. “But, sir…”

  “No buts. Come here.”

  She walked to the tub, trying to focus her eyes on the floor, the walls, anywhere but at the man in the tub. She had never even looked at George naked. Let alone this strange man before her.

  He smirked at her as she snuck up to the tub. His lips drawn up on one side, leering at her disheveled attire and nervous face.

  “Never seen a naked man? I thought you were married.”

  “I am. But I never…”

  “Well get used to it. No point in me going down to the house in town to get bathed when I have you right here.”

  The house in town? Oh, surely not… Surely he did not mean… Oh heavens, am I in a state of madness and trouble…

  He lifted the washcloth from the tub, revealing the rest of himself clearly under the water. Her eyes widened involuntarily. She tried to look away but could not drag her eyes from the sight of him. Even under the cool water, he seemed to be several times larger than what George had ever felt like inside of her.

  He looked her dead in the eyes and handed the washcloth to her trembling hand. She carefully soaked in the water behind him and wrung it out over his back. He bowed his head forward as she repeated the action.

  “That is just rinsing woman. Wash.” Thomas handed her a bar of homemade soap.