Bound to a Warrior (11 page)

M
ercy licked her lips. She could almost taste the fresh cooked fish. She certainly could smell it. The delicious aroma tempted her nostrils and made her stomach roll with the want of it.

As her eyes slowly drifted open and she recalled where she was, she knew it was nothing more than a dream, and yet the luscious scent persisted. She almost didn't want to fully wake and lose the lovely mirage.

“Wake up, sleeping princess. It's time to eat.”

Mercy's eyes popped open. “I'm not dreaming?”

Duncan smiled. “No. You're not dreaming.”

She struggled to sit up. Duncan's hand was quick to assist her, going around her and helping her up. She realized she lay on a bed of pines and that the lone blanket they possessed was tucked around her. She was sheltered under the branches of a towering pine and a fresh cleaned trout was cooking on a spit over a campfire.

Her hand went to her head, recalling her wound and Duncan grabbed hold of her wrist.

“Your wound wasn't that bad. I cleaned it. I have no doubt it will heal nicely.”

She shook her head. “How did you manage with—”

“You passed out?” he finished.

Mercy's hand flew to her chest. “I passed out?”

“You don't remember?”

“I recall looking at my reflection in the stream, not at all pleased with what I was seeing, when suddenly the water appeared to move closer to my face and then…”

“Nothing?”

“Until now,” she said. “I surely must have been a burden to you.”

“You're never a burden,” he assured her, his tone so reassuring that a sense of safety settled around her.

“But how—” She shook her head again as she looked around. “How did you manage?”

“As you advised earlier, I addressed one issue at a time,” he said. “I saw to your wound first, which thankfully wasn't that bad. Then I carried you over my shoulder while I hunted down firewood and what I would need to make a sturdy fishing pole and then found a spot under this tree to bed down.”

“Oh my,” she said, suddenly realizing it was hours past dawn. “Have I slept a whole day away?”

“That you have,” he said breaking off a bit of fish in his hand and blowing on it to cool as he handed it to her.

Mercy cupped her hand and gratefully accepted it, popping small pieces into her mouth. It was the most
delicious fish she had ever tasted and she wanted more, much more.

“I slept myself, just getting up at the break of dawn, and then I caught two fine fish.”

Mercy gasped. “You mean this fish is all mine?”

“It is,” Duncan said. “I already ate mine.”

“You are my hero,” she said with a wide smile.

“And it only took a fish,” he teased and dropped a good portion of meat into her hand.

“What of the soldiers? Won't they see the smoke, smell the fish?”

“I believe we're far enough away. And that they are still busy waiting for us to cross that field.”

“We fared well against them,” she said with a nod and popped more meat into her mouth. “You cook a delicious fish.”

“It helps that you're starving or you might think differently.”

Mercy laughed and held out her hand. “Starving or not, it's the tastiest fish I've ever eaten.”

Duncan slapped his hand to his chest. “You've won my heart, lass, you have.”

A tingle raced through her at the thought that she could even have a chance at winning his heart.

Foolish.

She wished her mother would stop creeping into her mind. She had heard it enough through the years and didn't want to hear another word or warning. She wanted simply to spend what time she had left with Duncan
and learn for herself, judge for herself and experience for herself.

“More?” she asked, her cupped hand held out to him, and her request not only for the fish.

“All yours,” he said plucking another fat helping of meat off the fish and into her hand.

“All mine,” she whispered, her gaze on Duncan and not the fish.

“Do you feel rested enough to travel?” he asked.

“More than enough,” she answered with a nod. “And I suppose we should be on our way.”

“The further we travel into Pict territory, the less likely the soldiers will follow.”

“How long before we enter their land?”

“Half day's journey,” he said.

She finished eating, thinking that no doubt the Picts would have sufficient tools to free them of the chain. Once again she wondered, what then? But there was no time and certainly no sense to dwell, only time to act.

When the last of the fish was eaten, Mercy went to the stream, Duncan following without protest, and refreshed herself. This time her reflection didn't shock her. Duncan had cleaned not only her wound but the grime from her face. She turned to where he knelt beside her.

“Thanks to you I didn't frighten myself when I looked upon my reflection.”

He grabbed hold of her chin. “Your reflection could never frighten. You're too beautiful.”

And with that he kissed her. She hadn't expected it,
though she certainly welcomed it. He took his time and was ever so gentle that she simply melted against him and allowed him to steal her senses.

She cared for nothing at that moment except the kiss and the way his arm slipped around her, ran up her back and down again while all the time he continued to kiss her. She was lost and didn't care. She wanted only to enjoy this moment with him, this kiss, and so she did. Every weave and tangle of their tongues sent tingles down to her toes and his lips were so very firm and confident, tempting her, urging her to respond that she did so without thought or reason.

They could barely breathe when he finally and reluctantly ended it, resting his forehead against hers.

“One day,” he said breathless. “One day.”

He didn't have to say more, she knew what he meant, felt what he meant and agreed. One day they would satisfy the passion that continued to grow between them. It was inevitable.

“We better go,” he said and turned to douse the campfire with dirt. “We may come upon a croft or perhaps a field yet harvested as we travel and get to enjoy another hardy meal.”

“Nothing will ever taste as delicious as the fish you cooked for me,” she said as they bent down, gathered and folded the blanket into the sack.

“I will always be there for you. I will keep you well fed and see you safe, of that you have my word.”

He sounded as if he recited a vow and the thought
warmed her heart. It was so very nice to know someone cared enough to watch over her. Her mother and father may have professed to do the same, but it was for selfish reasons. Duncan did it for…

She would have halted her steps, the thought jolted her so, but Duncan would surely question her abrupt halt and she would not know what to say.

Her thoughts far surpassed the gait she kept alongside him. Why did he do it? Why speak as if he took a vow? Why pledge anything to her? He owed her nothing. They worked together to survive. That was the way of it, pure and simple. And yet…

She recalled with clarity the moment that she and Duncan had been chained together. How could she forget it? Here had been this large Highlander warrior that towered over her and whose width even thwarted her shadow as the shackles were locked. And he had been scowling. She thought he had looked ready to devour her.

They had no time to speak, nor had Duncan looked as if he had wished to say a word to her. They had been forced to walk at a grueling pace and it had been through his actions that she had gotten to know his nature.

The first time she had tripped, his large hands had been quick to grab her and more gently than she had expected. He then had told her to be careful here and watch her step there. She had soon found herself taking hold of his hand if she felt herself unsteady. And when she had, he had wrapped his fingers around hers.

In a short time she had learned he was an honorable
man whom she could trust and she supposed that had been why she had so easily stepped off the side of the cliff with him.

“Your thoughts are deep this morning.”

Mercy glanced over at him. Her heart fluttered and for a moment she felt that she couldn't catch her breath. She didn't know what it was she saw in Duncan this time that she had never seen before, but there was something there and it touched her heart in a way she had never known.

She shook her head. “
Too
heavy.”

“Share what burdens you.”

“Haven't I burdened you enough?” she asked with a tinkle of laughter.

“You are no burden and what burden there is”—he raised their clasped hands, the chain rattling—“we share.”

A sudden thought had her asking. “What did you think when the soldiers chained us together.”

“How lucky I was to be shackled to a beautiful woman.”

“You did no such thing,” she accused, her eyes and smile wide.

“I give you my word.”

“But you must have had doubts—”

“Doubts about what?” he asked.

“How our differences would hinder us?”

“What differences?” he asked.

She poked his chest playfully. “You big. Me small.”

He laughed. “What you lack in height, you make up for with your tenacious nature.”

He was praising her courage again and she appreciated it, especially with it coming from a Highlander warrior.

They talked on and off throughout the morning and grew silent as they traversed a steep hill and just after entering the woods beyond, Mercy sensed a change. She couldn't say what it was but somehow she sensed this land was different. There was a reverence to it, as if it demanded respect, and she didn't mind at all paying homage to it.

“We're on Pict land now?” she asked softly.

“Once we came over that rise we were, but they saw us approach long before that,” Duncan said.

“Then we are welcome?” she asked.

“Anyone who means no harm is welcome.”

“They will greet us?”

Duncan shook his head. “No. They will watch us.”

They walked for a couple more hours before coming upon a croft. Duncan didn't pull back as he had done on other occasions. He simply approached with a smile and a wave to the man on the roof repairing the thatching.

He was a slim man, though solid with light hair and smooth skin and a pleasant smile.

“Good afternoon to you,” Duncan said.

“It is a good afternoon. The sun high, the day warm,” the man said. “If it is food and rest you look for, you are welcome.”

“Thank you for your generosity. I am Duncan and this is Mercy. And we could use nourishment.”

“I am Able,” the man said, climbing down the ladder resting against the front of the cottage.

A robust woman emerged from behind the house, a basket brimming with freshly picked greens on her arm. Her full cheeks were flushed, and her light hair a mass of curls escaping a single ribbon and bouncing around her unmarred face. A lovely embroidered green blouse was tucked in the waist of her dark blue skirt and a pale yellow apron covered a good portion of that.

“This is my wife, Eleanor,” Able said.

“Welcome to our home,” she said.

Any doubt that these people were other than who they presented themselves to be faded quickly from Mercy's mind when Eleanor smiled. It was sincere, warm and welcoming. They were safe. These people meant them no harm, though she couldn't help but notice the strange markings that wrapped around Able's upper arm and there was one around Eleanor's wrist.

Mercy knew little about the Picts and the little she did was from those who believed them their enemy. The talk she had heard certainly didn't match what she was seeing for herself.

“So is that a new way the Scots have of holding on to their wives?” Eleanor asked, her dark eyes twinkling as she pointed to the shackles.

Duncan gave a nod to Mercy. “She fears I will stray.”

Mercy grinned and raised her arm. “Aye, and so I solved the problem.”

The couple laughed.

“Come and eat,” Eleanor invited.

It was a hardy stew she gave them with fresh baked bread along with cider and ale, and friendly conversation. When it was done Able approached the matter of their shackles.

“Was it the king's men who did that to you?”

“Aye, it was,” Duncan said.

“I hope the true king does return and set things right,” Eleanor said. “He would know how to bring peace to this land since the blood of the Picts and Scots run through his veins.”

Able nodded. “He would understand and respect our ways.”

“This king who is to return is not merely a myth?” Mercy asked.

“Some believe it is,” Eleanor said, “but those who know understand otherwise. The time will come for him to rise and claim the power that is his. Now about this chain.” She looked to her husband.

Able turned to Duncan and shook his head. “I have no tool capable of removing them. You're going to need a smithy to get them off.”

“Is there one nearby?” Duncan asked.

“Are you headed to MacAlpin land?”

“We are,” Duncan confirmed.

“There would be the closest smithy, otherwise you
would travel further away from your destination to reach one.”

“Bliss could help you with those wrist sores,” Eleanor said.

“She's a healer?” Mercy asked.

Able smiled. “She's many things, and she has a good healing touch.”

“Her cottage is a bit off course for you,” Eleanor explained. “But it may be worth it.”

Mercy and Duncan thanked the couple and left with their sack full and directions to Bliss's cottage.

When they were a distance away from the croft Mercy turned to Duncan. “There is no reason to add further delay to reaching your home. We need not visit this healer.”