Bound to a Warrior (19 page)

She raised the dagger. “I will start this very moment.”

She thanked him again, and with renewed spirit headed for the woods to practice.

It was more fun than she had imagined practicing with her new weapon. It felt right and fit particularly well in her small hand. She thrust and jabbed as Harry had shown her and paid mind to her feet as Harry also had warned.

It is a synchronized dance, he had told her, and you must learn the rhythm.

She was more than willing to learn, and so she listened to the melody in her head until her steps matched her thrusts and jabs. And she bent and stretched and bowed and swerved in a dance that if anyone saw would think her crazy.

She smiled as she continued practicing, feeling at ease for the first time since she and Duncan had parted. The first hour apart had been the most difficult. She had felt as if a part of her had been missing, as though a limb had been severed. It had been the strangest feeling and one that had not completely dissipated.

She didn't believe her head wound had pained her half as much as separating from Duncan and that worried her, for what if she had no choice but to leave him in order to protect him.

Her concerned thoughts directed her thrusts and they turned more powerful as her rumination grew more intense. She needed this, the knowledge that with practice and purpose she could learn to defend herself and the ones she loved.

If she had learned this along with her other lessons, perhaps she could have saved her mother. Instead, the soldiers had laughed when they had told her how they had watched as her mother's blood soaked into the ground around her and that how with her last breath she said—

“Mercy.”

She spun around ready to jab, the voice not her mother's.

He attacked before she could turn, locking his hand over hers that held the weapon. While his other hand grappled with hers, though not for long since his strength overpowered and forced her arm tight against her waist, pinning her back against him.

In mere minutes she found herself weaponless and defenseless against him.

Now what did she do?

T
he solution was simple.

“I've missed you,” Mercy said, having known from his first touch that it was Duncan. A true foe would have been harsh. His touch had combined strength and passion, and besides, the scent of him was all too familiar.

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck. “And I you. But what is this you do here?”

She waggled the weapon in the air, though his hand remained firm around hers. “I asked Harry for a suitable weapon for me.”

“Why? You have me and my family to protect you.”

“But who protects you?”

He laughed. “I think I'm capable of doing that.”

She titled her head back until it hit his chest and looked up at him. “That might not always be so. I want to be prepared for you and for me.”

Duncan released her hand, keeping her pressed against him. He ran his hand up her exposed neck, until his fingers played along her chin. “I will always be there for you, Mercy.”

She struggled to smile. “As much as I'd like to believe that, I know it may not always be possible.”

“Then I will teach you how to defend yourself,” he stated emphatically.

Her smile came easily. “I would like and appreciate that. Can we start now?”

“A brief lesson for now, for I wish to talk with you.”

She nodded, glad for the time with him and glad he wished to talk with her, for she felt the same.

Duncan took the dagger from her and they stepped apart.

“A dagger is basically a companion to the sword. Its thrust span is limited, meaning unless you know how to move and avoid someone who attacks with a sword, you will not survive a fight. Remember that,” he cautioned.

She nodded and listened intently, wanting to learn everything he could teach her.

“You were doing well, finding a good rhythm. It is important in any blade fight. You must know when and where to step to avoid injury and to do damage.” He held his arms out to her. “Come, we will move together so that I can show you areas you must pay close attention to.”

She went into his arms without hesitation. She knew she always would and the reason made no difference. She simply wanted to be there.

His large hand devoured her small one; she fit so snugly in his hand. And his arm went around her waist easing her back against him.

“Move with me.”

That would be easy, since she had become so very familiar with his moves. Chained or not, they seemed to have a natural rhythm to them. She liked to believe it was born of love since it seemed so normal, so right.

He detailed various attack scenarios and demonstrated how she should approach them. He was also candid about ones that could prove fatal far more easily than others. But it was the thrusting and jabs he emphasized and warned, as Harry had done, that only practice would make perfect.

He worked with her over and over, admonishing and praising her efforts, and her confidence grew, and so did her passion. Their bodies moved in unison with each thrust and jab, and each time, her bottom bumped against his groin. And she was well aware that his passion had been stirred along with hers.

“Very soon you're going to find me inside you if we continue this,” he said, keeping her flat against him just before a thrust.

“Then perhaps it is time for that kiss I promised you,” she said.

He spun her around to face him. “It won't be just a kiss you give.”

She rested her hand to his cheek, and his heated flesh tingled her palm. “I know.”

“Then kiss me,” he said impatiently.

Apprehension suddenly assaulted her, and she felt unsure. Would she do this right? Would her kiss please him? Then she almost laughed. He already desired her. She had nothing to worry about. She only needed to enjoy.

She ran her hands inside his shirt and slipped along his warm, hard chest until her arms circled his neck, and though she tugged at him to lower his head to hers, he did not budge.

“I cannot reach you if you don't lean down.”

“Can't you?” he challenged.

She grinned, knowing exactly what he had in mind and holding tight around his neck she jumped up wrapping her legs around his waist. His hands quickly dipped beneath her skirt and grabbed firm hold of her bottom.

“Better?” she asked.

“Perfect,” he said.

“Now can I kiss you?”

“By all means do.”

She didn't know what took hold of her. Whether it was passion, rare need or pure love, but once her lips touched his, she kissed him like she had never done before. Her mouth took complete control and without thought or reason she found her lips making love to him and her body seemed to follow. She rubbed against him with wanton desire that soared beyond anything she had known.

“Love me,” she whispered between kisses. “Just love me.”

She thought she heard faint, distant thunder, but then realized it was that low rumble of his that started deep inside him and rose slowly, and she smiled, a tinkle of laughter spilling into the kiss.

“What do you find funny?” he asked after easing away from her lips.

“Not funny,” she said, returning to his lips to brush across
them. “Happy. I'm so very happy when I am with you.”

A brilliant smile burst forth from him. “I'm glad, for I am very happy when I am with you, and I am about to make us both even happier.”

“I can't wait,” she said. “I don't want to. I want you now.”

He obliged her, walking them over to a large oak tree and bracing her back against it. He lifted her to rest over him and entered her slow and easy, until she thrust her hips against him and took all of him inside her.

It went quick after that, their need great, their passion powerful and their climax explosive.

When sanity returned Duncan said, “That was a kiss worth waiting for.”

“Truly?” she asked with a smile.

“The best kiss I've ever had, or doubt I'll ever have again,” he teased.

“You challenge me to do better?”

“If you think you can,” he teased.

“You'll just have to wait and see,” she said.

A rustle of leaves had them scurrying to right themselves, and Mercy was retrieving her dagger when a young boy, no more than four years, suddenly appeared.

He burst into tears as soon as he saw Duncan and ran up to him throwing his tiny arms around Duncan's thick leg. Duncan scooped him up into his arms.

“What have I told you, Rand, about wandering into the woods by yourself?”

He sniffled through his tears. “Alida lost me.”

“It is your big sister's fault, is it?” Duncan asked.

Rand nodded, his tears subsiding and pointed at Mercy. “She's pretty.”

“Yes, she certainly is pretty, but we need to find your sister,” Duncan said. “Where did you leave her?”

Rand twisted round in Duncan's arms, smiling and jabbing his tiny finger in all directions. “That way, that way, that way.”

Mercy had to chuckle. He was so adorable, red curly hair, round, chubby face and the roundest green eyes she had ever seen.

“What were you and your sister doing when she lost you?” Mercy asked.

“Picking sticks.”

Duncan explained. “His mother, Cora, crafts most of our baskets.”

“Big,” Rand said, swinging his arms wide, then bringing them back together. “Small.” He grinned. “Ma makes them all.”

She grinned. “He is so cute.”

“He is a terror, forever getting lost and getting into something.”

Rand giggled as Duncan tickled him, and then he threw his small arms around his neck. “You found me.”

“More like you found me, little one.”

“We should find his sister,” Mercy said. “She must be frantic looking for him.”

“It's happened so many times, I'm surprised she didn't tie a rope around him,” Duncan said.

Rand laughed, tossing his head back. “Alida tie me. I broke fee.”

Mercy had to laugh. Rand may be a handful but she wouldn't mind a son like him, full of life and inquisitive enough to explore on his own.

Suddenly frantic shouts ripped through the air. “Rand! Rand!”

“Alida!” Rand shouted back.

“Rand!” the young girl yelled.

“I have him, Alida,” Duncan called out.

“Thank God,” Alida shouted and within moments burst past the trees.

She looked barely ten years, pretty and with the same red hair and green eyes as Rand. The small lad stuck his arms out as soon as he saw her. She took him, though how she managed to hold the squiggling child was beyond Mercy.

“I'll see you two home safe,” Duncan said.

“Thank you, but I must go retrieve my bundle of branches. Mother is expecting me to bring them home and will be disappointed if I don't.”

“I'll go with you to get your bundle,” Duncan said.

Mercy wasn't surprised that he wouldn't leave Alida and Rand on their own. She believed that Duncan didn't realize just how much of an honorable man he was and how very proud she was of him.

Mercy stepped forward and extended her hand to the girl. “Hi, I'm Mercy and I'll help too.”

“That's very kind of you, m'lady,” Alida said with a bow of her head.

Mercy caught her smile before it faltered, not wanting the young lass to think she had said something wrong. She hadn't expected to be addressed as a noble woman. After all, she was the bastard daughter of the king, not his legitimate daughter, though she was his only child.

To Alida's relief, Duncan took the restless Rand and hoisted him up to sit on his shoulders. The child giggled with glee and they were soon off to help Alida.

When all was done and the children deposited safely at their parent's cottage, and a beautifully crafted basket given to Mercy in appreciation for her help, Duncan surprised her with a suggestion.

“We'll go gather some food from Cook, put it in your basket and find a private spot to eat and talk.”

She was thrilled with the idea and let him know. “I would love to do that.”

And so they hurried off.

Cook was Etty, more round than tall and with a curt nature.

“You're disturbing me,” she yelled at Duncan and Mercy took a step behind him.

Duncan cajoled her with a smile and sweet talk. “You make the best bread. I can't resist it. And your meat pies?” He rubbed his stomach. “Mmm, delicious.”

“Go on with you.” She shooed at him.

“Not without some of your tasty treats.”

She capitulated, though Mercy hadn't expected her to.

“I'll give you a few,” she said waving a wooden spoon at him. “No more.”

“Whatever you give me I'll appreciate,” Duncan assured her.

To Mercy's amazement they left with a full basket.

“I didn't think she would give you anything,” Mercy admitted once outside.

“You have to know how to handle Etty if you want to get food from her,” Duncan said. “The real problem is keeping it from others once you've got it. We need to find a place fast before Trey or Reeve gets a whiff of it.”

He placed a hand to the small of her back and hurried her forward while on the alert for his brothers.

“We can share—”

“Absolutely not,” Duncan said.

Mercy was surprised at his adamancy. “Why?”

“To the victor goes the spoils.”

“That doesn't sound at all like you.”

“Listen, I was the only one who could cajole Etty into giving us food, and each time I did, my brothers wound up eating it all. If they get a whiff of this, there'll be nothing left for us.”

“Duncan!”

“Damn,” Duncan muttered and looked to Mercy. “Don't turn around and look at Reeve, just keep walking.”

Mercy laughed and did as she was told delighted by and envious of the brothers' antics. How she wished she had siblings growing up.

“Wait up,” Reeve yelled. “I know what you've got in that basket and you have to share.”

Mercy laughed as she hurried her pace alongside Duncan.

“He doesn't understand the meaning of the word share,” Duncan said.

Mercy continued to find the whole matter amusing. She could just imagine them as young lads running off with a basket of Etty's food and fighting over the contents. They must have wonderful memories of earlier times together.

“I know you can hear me, Duncan, and you're not sneaking off with that basket without me.”

“What basket?” Trey called out.

“Damn,” Duncan mumbled again.

“Get him, Trey, he got a basket of food from Etty,” Reeve shouted.

Mercy was now running to keep up with Duncan, though she didn't know how long she would be able to keep pace with him since she was laughing harder.

It didn't matter though, because within the next second a horn sounded so suddenly and so sharply, that she stopped dead and so did Duncan.

He grabbed her arm and shoved the basket into her hand. “The king's soldiers approach. Go to the keep and stay there until I come for you.”

She nodded and hurried off as his brothers joined him and they disappeared in the opposite direction.

“Rand! Rand!”

Mercy heard Cora and Alida calling for the young
lad as she was passing their cottage. The look of terror on their faces made her stop.

“What's wrong?”

“We can't find Rand,” Cora said, clearly upset. “He was here a moment ago and now he's gone.”

“I should have watched him more carefully,” Alida said through tears.

Her mother took her in her arms. “Nonsense. Rand has a mind of his own. There is no stopping him. He knows to go to the keep when the horn sounds. He's probably there already.”

“Let's go see,” Mercy suggested, knowing the women should be seeking shelter there.

Once inside they searched frantically for Rand but couldn't find him.

Mara approached them. “What's wrong?'