Bound to a Warrior (24 page)

M
ercy never thought much of being her father's daughter. He had been remote most of the time, paying her little heed, consumed mostly by his own needs and wants. He had a harsh, berating nature at times and was often impatient with those who served him. And being she was her father's daughter, wouldn't the soldiers expect her to be similar? Besides, she wanted the soldiers to grow annoyed listening to her demands and whines so that they would ignore her soon enough, giving her time to make her escape.

“You're all idiots to think that I would remain with the enemy,” she said for the hundredth time and had to keep herself from smiling when she caught several soldiers rolling their eyes. “My father shall hear about how you treated me, chaining me to a foe and threatening to kill me,” she yelled. “He will see you all punished.”

One of the soldiers mumbled something, and while she had heard him, she pretended she hadn't. “What did you say? Speak up, if you dare.”

The soldier grumbled an apology and trotted his horse several feet in front of her.

His remark should have disturbed her, but it hadn't. He simply confirmed what she had believed.

Your father will not suffer you for long.

And she not need suffer her father's soldiers for long.

“I am hungry. I demand you get me food now, or I shall tell my father that you all purposely starved me.”

In minutes she was handed several food items, which she gladly concealed in the small satchel attached to her waistband. It would provide her with larder until she reached Bliss.

Mercy continued her complaints until nearly all of the soldiers kept a wide berth around her. And the few stragglers were already drifting ahead of her.

“I need to stop and seek the privacy of the woods,” she called out.

The soldier in charge waved at her. “Do as you must.” He continued on, not paying her a bit of attention.

She thought to take her horse with her, but she feared it might be trained to return to the soldiers, so she dismounted and tethered her to a branch, then made her way into the woods.

She noticed that not one of the soldiers paid her heed and she knew she had time to make her escape. If she could at least reach Pict territory before the soldiers discovered her gone, then she knew she'd be safe. And there she could wait for Duncan.

The thought of him conjured memories and hopes of the future. She loved him so very much. She had hoped to love but never imagined she would love anyone as strongly she did Duncan. It wasn't easy leaving him. Her heart ached as if it had been broken and yet she knew it had been the wisest thing to do.

The true king needed him and while she had once thought him merely a myth, her journey with Duncan had made her realize that he was no such thing. He was real and Duncan was one of many who fought so that he could claim the throne.

How could she stand in the way of destiny?

Besides, Duncan and her fate were entwined and she would need to be patient, for when the time was right he would come for her and all would be well. She would believe no other way.

She was meant for Duncan, as he was meant for her and that thought gave her courage and helped her keep a pace that might be grueling, but to her was a run for freedom.

Her only regret was that she had been unable to see him, touch him, kiss him one last time before she left. She did not know how long it would be before they reunited; she hoped not long. She already missed him, but knew her decision had been for the best.

She shook her head and cautioned herself against ruminating about what was or might be. She had to reach her destination before the soldiers discovered her gone, or her plan would be for naught.

Mercy hurried through the woods, dawn having broken on the horizon hours ago, and since there had been no sign of Duncan following her, she knew that Bailey had been successful in delivering her message.

The thought hastened her pace. Nothing would stop her from reaching Pict land. She would do whatever it took to seek a safe place and wait for Duncan. He would come for her; she had no doubt. And no matter how long it took, she would wait for him.

 

“No need to tell you how important it is that this message gets delivered,” Carmag reminded Duncan. “Your brothers deliver the other messages. Time draws near, we cannot fail. This is what has been planned and what you and your brothers trained for all those years. And it is what you all pledged—to see that the true king sits the throne.”

“I know that, Da,” Duncan said. “I will do what I must just as Mercy did.”

“She is a brave woman. Not many women would have sacrificed as she did.”

Duncan swung his fur-lined cloak around his shoulders, as he made ready to mount his stallion, the weather having taken on a considerable chill. He had tried hard to accept the truth of his father's words, but it was difficult. The woman he loved, who he would die for, was out there facing perils on her own. It may have been difficult when they had been shackled together, but at least she had him beside her. Now there was no one for her to rely on.

His father laid a firm hand on his shoulder. “Mercy will survive, she's counting on you to do the same.”

Duncan hugged his father. He always knew the right thing to say and this time was no different. If Mercy had the courage to do what was right, then he had to do the same. Then he would go collect the woman he loved and never let her go.

He mounted his stallion, the horse snorting, eager to be on the way.

“I will see the message delivered and then go get Mercy.”

His father grabbed the reins to steady the stallion. “Will you then confide the truth to her?

“I owe the woman I will soon wed the truth,” Duncan said.

His father nodded and stepped back and Duncan rode away, intent on remaining true to his mission and intent on retrieving Mercy and making her his wife as soon as they returned.

 

Mercy kept to her grueling pace. She knew once the soldiers realized her gone they would stop at nothing to find her, for fear of suffering the king's wrath. She believed that they would either assume that she got lost, in which case they would not extend their search too far, or that they would believe she was attempting to return to Duncan. In which case they would search in the opposite direction of where she was going.

However, she intended on taking no chances. The
soldiers might not and extend the search for her. So she remained cautious and kept her pace at a steady speed, hoping to stay ahead of anyone who might be tracking her.

She had not stopped for nourishment, but ate as she walked and now with dusk not far off, her limbs were beginning to complain. She ignored them though, since she was not far from Pict land. She intended to reach it so that when she finally rested she could do so without worry.

She soon approached the edge of the woods, a meadow lay beyond, and she knew that once she crossed it, she'd be on Pict land. She'd be safe until Duncan came for her.

She took a cautious step forward, though did not leave the protection of the woods and glanced around. Dusk was not far off and she thought to wait.

“I must say you are braver than I thought.”

Mercy froze, shutting her eyes briefly, then opening them and turning around to face her father.

He stood with two soldiers flanking him. He was a tall man and thick in size, his hands especially so. She remembered how it had hurt when he would squeeze her cheeks whenever he visited.

She noticed that his long brown hair had grayed considerably and while she always remembered a face marred by numerous wrinkles and lines, now they seemed to be abundant.

“You still are a beauty,” he said.

“And you have grown old,” she said with a toss of her chin.

He laughed. “You've gotten courageous. I'm proud. It's a shame you must die.”

She intended to buy herself time and keep distance between her and her enemy, for if they grabbed hold of her she had no chance, but if she could move into the meadow and make a run for it, she might have a chance of surviving. If not, she would not go down without a fight.

“Like my mother?” she asked, taking a step away from him.

“Your mother betrayed me,” he said angrily. “She had betrayed me from the beginning, that piece of hide proves it.”

Mercy had no intention of admitting that she knew anything. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't lie to me,” her father said through gritted teeth. “A servant saw you looking at it. And saw your mother snatch it from your hands and throw it into the fire. She also saw your mother trace something on your hand.”

Mercy didn't want to believe that one of the servants she had come to trust had betrayed her mother and her, but then they did truly serve the king, so what had she expected?

“The piece of hide is lost to me, however the symbol isn't and it is what I need to defeat this imposter who claims himself the rightful king.”

“My mother gave me no such symbol,” she lied and drifted further away from him.

He lurched forward and she skittered quickly away. “Don't lie to me. You'll give me the symbol. You'll be begging to give me the symbol when I am done with you.”

“You have such love for your daughter, Father,” she said caustically.

“How can I even be sure you are my daughter?”

Mercy hadn't expected that and oddly enough it made her smile. “That truly would be joyful news.”

His face grew red with fury. “Tell me now and be done with it.”

“So that you may kill me?” Mercy shook her head. “That wouldn't be very wise of me.” She moved again, attempting to gain more time and space between them. “And actually it wouldn't be very wise of you to travel all this way just to find me. Why are you truly here?”

He shook his head. “Intelligent and courageous. Perhaps you are my daughter.”

“You're here to meet with someone, aren't you?” she asked, hoping whatever she learned could be helpful to Duncan and his mission.

“That is no concern of yours,” he barked, obviously annoyed that she guessed correctly. “Tell me what I need to know.”

She stepped back away from him and felt the ground change beneath her booted feet. She stood at the entrance of the meadow. Could she run fast enough to avoid being
caught? Her limbs were tired and ached from her day's journey when more than likely her father and the soldiers had ridden horses. But what other choice did she have?

“I have nothing to tell you,” she said firmly.

“You will tell me,” he said, clenching his fist and vigorously shaking it at her. “You tell me what I want to know.” With that he lurched at her, his fist opening and his thick hand reaching for her neck.

She turned and took off, forcing herself not to look back. She ran as if the devil chased after her, but then he did. She was surprised when she didn't hear any footfalls close behind her, and she hoped that she had gained enough ground to leave them in her wake.

She was halfway across the meadow feeling that she would make it to safe soil when she was suddenly and forcefully knocked to the ground, her face bouncing off the thick grass. It took her a moment to regain her wits, and when she did, she felt a searing pain in her left shoulder. She knew then that an arrow had taken her down.

“Get up and you'll suffer another one,” her father's shout echoed across the meadow.

She refused to lay there defeated, and so she struggled to stand, and though the pain pierced her like a hot iron, she managed to make it to her feet and turn to face her foe.

They were further away from her than she expected and she suddenly felt some hope. If she could avoid being struck again, perhaps—she grew lightheaded and
stood stock still, calling on all the strength she had to keep from fainting.

“Stay as you are and you will suffer no more.”

Her father's warning shout gave her the strength she needed and she began walking backwards.

“Don't move,” he shouted once again.

The soldiers started running toward her, their bows drawn and she knew they would soon stop and take aim at her, and at closer range, they could very well hit their mark.

She had no choice. She turned and began to run in a zigzag pattern, making it harder for the soldiers to take a true aim. One arrow barely missed her and another flew over her head and she kept running while her father's shouts grew louder.

The end of the meadow drew closer and closer. But the pain grew worse and worse, tearing through her like a sharp hot dagger.

Suddenly she heard a voice call out. “Drop. Drop.”

It wasn't a familiar voice and she believed it came from in front of her, perhaps the woods itself. If so, that meant it came from the Picts. She didn't consider it for one second more. She dropped to the ground and into unconsciousness.

 

“Lie still. You're safe.”

Mercy recognized the voice. “Bliss.”

“Yes, it is I and you are at my cottage. You are safe, though the arrow must be removed.”

“It hurts so very much,” Mercy said, her breath catching as she lay as still as she could on her stomach.

“Removing it will hurt even more.”

“I will survive?” Mercy asked.

“That is up to you,” Bliss said.

“I will,” Mercy insisted through the pain. “Duncan knows I wait for him. I will be here when he comes for me.”

Mercy slipped in and out of consciousness after that. Once when she was a bit lucid, she thought she heard a familiar voice and someone saying that Duncan must be told, and she was quick to speak up.

“No,” she moaned, though that was all she could manage.

It was a long and painful night and Mercy wasn't certain if she would truly survive it, but she fought. She refused to surrender. And finally when dawn broke on the horizon it was done and she lay resting on her stomach in Bliss's bed. And after a brew that Bliss insisted she drink she fell into a much needed slumber, the last thought on her mind and the last word to spill in a whisper from her lips, “Duncan.”