Bound to a Warrior (3 page)

T
hey walked for another hour before they settled in the safety of a thick grove of oaks. Mercy eagerly accepted the hunk of bread and cheese Duncan offered her before taking any for himself.

While there were questions she wished to ask him, she was just too hungry to waste time on talk. And though she knew her empty stomach would want more than Duncan had given her, she also knew they would need to be careful with the sparse amount they had.

Though she hadn't voiced her thought, Duncan agreed. “While hunger still gnaws at me, it would be wise for us to conserve.”

Mercy nodded. “At least it is good to have a little, and we're lucky that Bailey's wife bakes such delicious bread.”

“It is good.” Duncan smiled. “Or we're too hungry to notice.”

Mercy laughed. “You are a humorous one.”

Duncan dusted his fingers. “A smile shared is far better than a frown given.”

“You're a poetic philosopher as well.”

“What do you know of poetic philosophers?” he asked. “Only in a family of means would you find an educated daughter, or wife?”

“I am neither,” she responded quickly. “I was simply raised by a mother who took great care to educate herself and wished the same for her daughter.” She brushed her hands. “We should go.”

His hesitation warned her that he pondered her explanation, while she preferred he not give it thought. It was better he knew nothing about her, better she took her leave as soon as she was free of him.

Her only problem was…where did she go once she was on her own?

“You frown,” he said. “Something troubles you?”

“Only the soldiers that follow us,” she said, confident it was no lie.

He stood, bringing her along with him. “No doubt the soldiers will pick up our trail somewhere and follow soon enough.”

She shivered at the thought. She had no want to die. Her mother's foolishness had marked them enemy of the king, thereby sentencing them to death, when truly she had known nothing of her mother's devious plans.

“You're chilled?”

Mercy shook the fretful musings from her head as she answered him. “No. Not on this lovely warm day.
It is fear of capture that sends a shiver through me.”

He smiled again, though her glance was drawn to the scar at the right side of his mouth. She did something unexpected then. She couldn't say why, or even that she was aware of what she was doing until her fingers touched the thin, barely visible scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to his chin, leaving the everlasting frown, so foreign to his nature.

“How did you get this?” she asked, her finger trailing along the thin line. She suddenly realized how inappropriate was her behavior and looked up into his eyes, ready to apologize, but his intense dark glare froze her silent.

What did she see in them that frightened her? An anger that could kill? A fierce hatred that demanded revenge? Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it.

“It's not for you to know,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” she said almost shivering again, only this time from the icy coldness in his voice.

“We need to go.”

She simply nodded and followed quietly alongside him. Until this moment she'd had no fear of Duncan. And even now it wasn't that she feared him as much as feared what he was capable of, since for the first time she caught a glimpse of the fierce Highlander warrior within him.

They kept a steady pace, exchanging not a single word. Even when fatigue crept up Mercy's legs she pushed on, and when her feet protested in pain, she ignored them. She knew she had no other choice. Right now her life depended on her stamina.

He stopped abruptly and she swayed unsteadily. His hand slipped quickly around her waist, pulling her near so that she would not tumble them to the ground.

She almost collapsed against him, exhaustion ready to claim every limb and muscle of her body. But instead, she struggled to keep a steadfast hold of herself.

“Night will claim the land soon enough,” he said. “We need to find a safe place and settle in.”

“Food?” she asked hungry and thirsty.

“I think we should avoid a fire tonight, in case the soldiers are near.”

She had thought the same, but hoped differently, though was grateful they had been wise enough to conserve what little food they had.

Mercy nodded while disappointment settled heavily over her, and without thinking, she rested her weary head to his chest. Though it was thick with taut muscle, it served as a comfortable pillow and his woodsy scent was more pleasing than potent.

“My chest will gladly pillow your head anytime, after we're settled for the night.”

Her head shot up, and she smiled, catching the glint of humor in his eyes. She patted his chest. “And a good pillow it is.”

“It's yours as long as you need it.”

She realized he offered more than his chest as a pillow. He was offering her comfort and protection, and it gave her a sense of safety, if only for their time together.

A sudden gust of wind swirled around them, stirring
leaves and her skirt, and startled them into moving.

“There's a stream nearby,” Duncan said. “We'll make camp not far from it.”

Mercy wanted to run to it, drink until she burst and then soak her aching feet. Instead, she kept her pace steady alongside Duncan. And before she knew it they were there, and for a moment she was so overwhelmed with relief that she almost cried. Almost, but didn't.

Tears were something her mother had taught her to control. She had told Mercy that tears could help or hinder a woman, and she needed to know when it was wise to hold her tears and when it was beneficial to let them fall. So Mercy had gained control over them and could cry at will, or halt a tear from ever staining her face.

Mercy was relieved that Duncan didn't stop but went straight to the stream. She followed when he went down on his knees and cupped his one hand to drink from the clear cold water.

She did the same, refilling her cupped hand time and again. She quenched her thirst before him and saw how he struggled to keep a good amount of water in his cupped hand. She realized why she had no difficulty and he had. She had use of her right hand, while his right hand was shackled to her left one.

Of course for her it would not have mattered for she was just as skilled with her left hand as her right. Another aptitude her mother taught her, insisting that one never knew when another skilled hand would be needed. And
a talent, she warned her daughter, that would be best kept a secret.

“Perhaps an extra hand would help,” she said extending their joined ones.

“You sure you've had enough?”

“For now,” she said, appreciative of his thoughtfulness.

The refreshing water dribbled down his mouth and onto his shirt, but that didn't stop him from assuaging his thirst. And she couldn't blame him. She had never been so thirsty in her life, nor had she ever been hungry until these past three days.

Life had changed for her in one split moment and she had yet to fully grasp the enormity of it. There were too many questions she had no answers to, and certainly too many problems with no solutions. For the moment she could only focus on staying alive; the rest would have to wait.

When he finished, he turned to her. “I noticed your gait changed a couple of hours ago. Do your feet pain you?”

This Highlander noticed more than she realized. She would need to be careful.

“Yes, they do, and I would like nothing more than to slip my boots off and sooth my aching feet in the stream.”

“I'll join you,” he said and yanked his boots off.

Mercy, however, winced when she tried to remove her boots.

“You're not used to walking, are you?” he asked.

“Not long distances without a chance to rest,” she admitted.

Duncan took hold of her ankle. “This may hurt, but bear the pain. Sound carries too far in the woods.”

Mercy nodded and squeezed not only her lips tightly closed, but her eyes as well.

Duncan was quick about it, and she opened damp eyes caused by the stinging pain to survey the damage. As she suspected, patches of skin had been rubbed raw here and there, the most painful being the small toe on her right foot.

To have a man, truly a stranger, take hold of her ankle was an act of intimacy and much too improper, or so she had been instructed. She almost laughed at the thought, for just last night she had slept naked in this man's arms and had been glad for it.

Besides, this large Highlander had a tender touch she favored.

Duncan cradled her ankle in the palm of his hand, while he examined her injuries. “These will need to be tended, or you'll not travel well tomorrow.”

He traded one ankle for the other and winced. “This tiny toe is the worst. A good soaking will clean it off.” He glanced at her with a grimace. “It's going to hurt when the cold water rushes over them.”

“What's a bit more pain before they numb?” she asked with a weak laugh.

“Pain is pain, long or short; it's still felt, still suffered,”
Duncan said and one by one he carefully placed her sore feet in the cool stream.

The harsh sting clouded her eyes with tears, though not a one fell. It took only a few moments before the throbbing pain faded, and she sighed with relief.

“You should have told me you were in pain.”

“There was nothing you could have done, and we couldn't stop.” She nodded toward his unblemished feet. “Your feet are accustomed to strenuous hikes?”

“I've walked a good portion of the Highlands.”

“Where are you from in the Highlands?” she asked, curious to know more about him.

“Not far from here,” he said. “And where do you call home?”

Since he wasn't forthcoming with answers, she purposely kept her response vague. “We're far past my home.”

“Where is it you'll be going when you're free of me?”

His question jolted her. How was it that in such a short time she had grown accustomed to having this man by her side? And the thought of not seeing him ever again, while a foolish musing, actually disturbed her.

“As far away from here as possible,” she admitted with a degree of sorrow. “And you? Where will you go?”

“I will remain with my family and friends and tend to my duties.”

She would have liked to know more, but a crunch of leaves had them both anxiously scurrying to their feet.

Two squirrels in play tumbled along the ground and
then raced up a tree to jump from branch to branch until they were out of sight.

“We need to find shelter,” Duncan said as he turned, snatched up his boots, tugged them on and then reached for hers and the sack of food.

She took them from him, but before she could slip them on, he startled her by scooping her up into his arms and settling her firmly against him.

“You'll stay off those feet,” he said as if he just passed an edict.

Authoritative tones did not rankle Mercy, as she knew well how to deal with them. Besides, the prospect of not having to walk another step was just too appealing to deny. But there was one thing he forgot.

“That means you'll be doing the same,” she said, rattling the chain.

“Damn,” he mumbled and abruptly stopped.

While annoyance sparked his dark eyes, worry was quick to wrinkle the arch between his eyes. It embedded itself deep. That he could feel such concern for her had Mercy wishing that she could reach up and caress his worries away.

She did with words what she couldn't do with a touch. “Your thoughtfulness touches my heart and I truly appreciate it, but let us get done with what we must and then we both can rest my weary feet.”

He smiled. “You are a rare beauty in more ways than one.”

She sighed a bit dramatically. “I'll never grow tired of your compliments.”

“I'll never stop giving them.”

Her heart gave a little ache, for his compliments would stop when finally they separated. She silently chastised herself. Hadn't she been taught to rely on no one, particularly a man? She had to keep her wits about her if she were to survive.

“We best get settled,” she said reluctantly, since she found comfort and safety in his arms.

She noticed that he released her hesitantly, but then perhaps it was the warmth of their bodies he unwillingly surrendered.

They decided on a secluded spot in a grove of shrub. They suffered a few scratches to gain entrance, but the protection it offered was worth the small wounds. They made quick work of putting together a bed of leaves; and while both were beginning to feel the chill of the setting sun, neither was willing to build a campfire and tempt being caught.

When night completely claimed dominance over the day, they sat on the bed, the worn, warm wool blanket wrapped snugly around them, and enjoyed the remainder of the food. It wasn't much, but it was a feast to them.

“It took such little time for the soldiers to discover that we survived,” she said with concern. “Do you think it will delay our journey to your home?”

Duncan nodded, swallowing the last piece of his
portion of cheese. “No doubt. We'll need to stay off the well-traveled roads, but my main concern is that the soldiers have stopped at most of the farms in the area, robbing them of the tools that can set us free.”

“I never thought of that,” she admitted.

“And news travels fast in these parts. It will be known soon enough that Bailey and his wife left their farm in fear of their lives for helping us.”

“Which means no one will want to offer us assistance.”

“It's not that they don't want to,” Duncan said. “They're just too afraid of the consequences.”

“So we're on our own,” she said and handed him her last piece of bread. “I'm not hungry anymore.”

He took it, though he didn't eat it. He held it to her lips. “If we both are to survive, we both must remain strong and that takes nourishment. Eat.”