Bound to a Warrior (7 page)

T
hey found shelter in an abandoned cottage weathered and beaten by time. Though four walls remained intact, the sky was clearly visible through a gaping hole. Still, it provided sufficient protection from a light rain that had started falling.

A pallet whose stuffing leaked through torn patches was bunched up in a corner and Mercy went to its rescue, forgetting Duncan was attached to her. She stopped and turned her head when she heard him stumble to keep up with her.

“I'm sorry, but that worn bedding looks fit enough to save us from another night's rest on the hard ground.”

“A tempting thought,” he agreed, and led the way.

It startled Mercy to realize that she enjoyed watching him move. There was courage and confidence in his steps that she didn't often see in others. And his thick arms rippled with muscles even in the slightest of movements and hardened like the blade of a mighty sword when a stronger strength was needed. She could
easily attest to that, since he had captured and held her in his arms often enough since they first met. His neck also fascinated her, thick and wide, the perfect haven for her to tuck her head.

She counted herself lucky, in an odd way, for being chained to this man. Otherwise she would have never been able to know him so intimately, and she was glad for it. From what she had learned so far, she believed him to be a special man. Or was it that she found herself deeply attracted to him that made him so special in her eyes?

They spread the lumpy bedding on the floor near the corner and away from the hole in the roof. Then they both plopped down on it and smiled at each other.

“It's a fine bed we have for tonight,” Duncan said.

She reached for the sack he had dropped to the ground before helping her. “And we have food and a blanket. We are living well.”

She placed the folded blanket on the ground in front of them and then began placing the food on top.

“You are accustomed to living well?”

His inquiry startled her, but she had to expect him to be curious about her, since she was about him.

Still, she was cautious. “Why do you ask?”

He reached out and took her hand turning it over to trace a finger around her palm. “Your lovely skin bears no signs of hard labor.”

For a moment Mercy's thoughts could center on nothing but the tantalizing play of his finger on the flesh of
her palm. It teased her senses to the point of igniting her passion, just a spark here and there, though it would surely flare if he continued. She was relieved yet disappointed when he stopped, though it allowed her to slowly regain clarity and respond. Not that the sparks completely dissipated. They lingered and threatened to ignite if she didn't ignore them. Not an easy task.

“I have been fortunate to have had a privileged life,” she admitted, seeing no reason to deny the truth, with evidence proving otherwise.

“You seem too adventurous for being privileged.”

Mercy laughed, recalling old memories. “My parents weren't always privy to my actions. I loved climbing trees, using branches to sword fight and riding my beautiful mare presented to me for my birthday one year.”

She almost choked on her last few words, the hurt of leaving her beloved mare, Sky, behind rising to torment her. She loved that horse dearly and rode her every day, but there had been no time to get to her. There had only been time to do as her mother said.

“So adventurous, and yet you never learned to swim?”

Mercy returned to spreading out the food. “My mother's doing. She had a deathly fear of water and refused to allow me near it.” She didn't bother to explain where her mother's fear came from—that her mother's own father nearly drowned her when she was young. She didn't want to have to explain that her mother's mother was a kept woman and that when the wealthy man's wife finally
gave birth, he wanted to make certain no bastard of his stood in the way of his true daughter's inheritance.

Mercy's grandmother had saved her only child and ran, and taught her daughter never to trust a man, just as she, Mercy's mother, had taught her daughter—Mercy, though, had no choice but to trust Duncan; and the more she trusted him, the more she felt she could trust him.

“I'll teach you how to swim.”

“If there's time,” she said agreeably.

“There'll be time.”

He sounded so confident she had to ask, “How do you know that?”

“You admitted that you have no one and no place to go. You will remain with my people where you will be safe and where I will be able to teach you to swim.”

Mercy didn't argue. If there was one thing her mother had taught her it was not to challenge when it would do no good. Simply allow the person to think you agree and proceed as you wish when the time comes. As much as she wouldn't mind accepting Duncan's offer, she knew that eventually she would have to take her leave.

“You will like my home. There are good people there and you will find it a good place to settle.”

“I did not think you would want me around after being shackled to me for so long,” she said teasingly as she tore off a hunk of bread and handed it to him.

He took the bread and grinned. “We will be shackled no more. We will be free of each other, never having to be tied to one another again.”

Had his grin faltered and his words lost enthusiasm, or had she merely imagined it? And had she felt her own smile fade and a shiver run through her when she realized that there would be no reason for them to spend every moment together? Was that truly sorrow she felt? Did the thought of not being with him disturb her so much? Whatever was the matter with her?

“It's been a long day,” he said. “We should eat and sleep so that we can get an early start in the morning.”

She nodded, and though not as hungry as she first thought, she nibbled at the food. Conversation was sparse, but then they both seemed more focused on their meal than anything else. And when finally they finished, the remaining food stored in the sack, they settled on the pallet beneath the lone blanket.

While exhaustion washed over her, Mercy found it difficult to sleep. She blamed her chaotic thoughts for keeping her up, though she wondered more if it was a single thought that crept in, nudged hard and demanded attention.

The kiss.

Why couldn't she stop thinking about Duncan kissing her? Sure, she had never been kissed and was curious, but that didn't mean she had to obsess about it. Her mother had warned her to remain pure, insisting that then they could find a man who would pay dearly to have her as his own. Then Mercy would never have to worry.

Mercy hadn't quite seen it as her mother had. Being a mistress to a wealthy and powerful man didn't guarantee
a woman anything. It certainly hadn't proved beneficial for her grandmother, and as for her mother? Her mother's scheming helped do her in, but it also made Mercy realize that her father cared naught for her. How could he when he had ordered her death?

The heartbreaking thought had her cuddling closer to Duncan and when his arms tightened around her, she snuggled her face to his chest. She had no doubt she was safe with this man, or that she felt a certain comfort with him. And she couldn't deny her attraction to him, or her desire to taste his kiss.

She wondered what it would feel like. Would it intoxicate her into wanting more? Or would it disappoint her? No, she didn't believe that would be the way of it. Certainly, his kiss would steal her breath away, not to mention her senses.

What foolishness!

Mercy almost jumped, so startled was she by her mother's clear voice in her head. While her mother insisted she remain pure, she also insisted that she didn't remain ignorant of pleasing a man. A kiss her mother had taught her was meant to lure a man, make him want more and do anything for that kiss.

Mercy recalled asking that if she was to remain virginal to kisses, how would she ever know how to lure a man with one?

“You respond,” her mother had snapped sharply. “Tentatively at first as if unsure and then you taste and you don't stop. You let him feel your eagerness. You press
against him, touch him, make him feel how your body aches for his, but”—she had stopped and shook a finger at Mercy—“you always, always remain in control. Never lose yourself to the kiss, for then you will surely be lost.”

While Mercy had listened to her mother's warning, she couldn't help but wonder how it would truly feel to lose herself in a kiss. And she wondered if she would get lost in Duncan's kiss.

Kiss him and be done with it so it plagues you no more.

Yes, that would be her mother's advice. It was after all the edict she lived by.

Be done with it.

Her mother never tarried over thoughts or decisions, once done that was it and no more time was to be wasted on it. But this time Mercy didn't want to hurry. She found enjoyment in thinking about the kiss and along with it, came an anticipation that tickled her tummy.

She was looking forward to Duncan kissing her and the anticipation only served to heighten her desire. When? Where? How?

She almost laughed, but caught herself. How would be up to him. Would he one day lean close and simply steal the kiss? Or would he take her in his arms and demand she return his kiss? Or perhaps he would do as her mother had advised, slow, tentative kisses leading to a deeper more demanding one.

Her tummy tingled and she couldn't help but sigh, though it turned into a yawn.

“Settle your thoughts, or we'll both not sleep tonight.”

Mercy froze and slowly raised her head to look at Duncan, his dark eyes wide open.

“Whether you realize it or not, your body has yet to settle for the night. A twitch, a tuck, a turn. Your restlessness tells me you have much on your mind. What disturbs you?”

She couldn't admit that she'd been thinking about him kissing her. That just wouldn't do, though she could say,
Concerns
.

“What concerns?”

She should have known he'd probe.

Control.

Her mother's reminder echoed in her head and she did as she had been taught. She turned the question on him. “Don't you have concerns?”

His mouth moved closer to hers and her breath caught. Was he about to kiss her?

“What concerns could I possibly have when I have a beautiful woman in my bed, wrapped in my arms?”

Her sigh freed her breath and while disappointment gnawed at her, she had to admit she was glad she still had the kiss to look forward to.

She smiled. “Then I should think only of the handsome Highlander whose strong arms keep me safe and who rests contentedly beside me.”

“No better thought to fall asleep on.”

She yawned, turning her face away. “I shall sleep
soundly now.” And she rested her head to his chest.

He whispered as his hand caressed her arm, “I will keep you safe and I am content sleeping beside you.”

She sighed enjoying his strong caress that helped alleviate the muscle ache in her arm. And she couldn't help but say, “That feels so very good.”

“You feel good, so soft and touchable.”

She yawned again and rubbed her cheek to his chest. “And your chest is hard, but makes a good pillow.”

“You are welcome to rest on my chest any time.”

“There you go being chivalrous again,” she said, her eyes growing weary with sleep.

“For now,” he murmured.

“Yes, for now,” she agreed as her eyes closed and she drifted to sleep, though she thought she heard him add…

No, he didn't say that and she certainly hadn't agreed.

Had she?

Sleep intruded and reasoning dimmed, but still she wondered.

Had he said it?

Had she agreed?

Make no mistake, Mercy, I will make love to you.

D
uncan and Mercy woke early and agreed it was best not to delay, but to get an immediate start. Sustenance could wait a couple of hours, besides both admitted they weren't hungry. An overcast sky followed them and the heavy mist that hugged the hilltops found its way to the low-lying areas, slowing their pace.

Silence was a necessity since they had to concentrate on their every step, which left Duncan quietly grumbling to himself. Though it wasn't the weather that irritated him, it was that he couldn't stop thinking about making love to Mercy. Forget the kiss, not that he didn't want to kiss her, he simply wanted more. He wanted her naked in his arms, but not chained to him, and he wanted to make love to her.

He shook his head. He'd coupled with enough women, but made love? Now there was the question. Was he feeling more toward this woman than he realized? He didn't know and he didn't know if he wanted to know. All he knew at the moment was that in a strange sense
he felt as if she belonged to him and an even crazier thought, he belonged to her.

He needed to be free of her, if he was to make sense of any of this. So he needed to concentrate on getting them home. Then he could put some distance between them and see what happened. Why then did he get a punch to his gut every time he thought of being separated from her?

This whole ordeal was making him crazy. It was time to get back home and attend to his mission. He had no time to fall in love.

Fall in love?

He couldn't possibly be falling in love. Could he?

He shook his head. He had to get home and be ready to do whatever was necessary for their mission. He and his friends had to see about getting the rightful king on the throne. They had been pledged to the task since they were young. It was their task in life. They had trained for it and he was proud to be part of it. Once it was done, then he could think about love, marriage and family. But now was not the time?

But could he make love to her and let her go?

Damn, he didn't need this now. He needed to concentrate on the matters at hand and to make certain he did that, he couldn't kiss her. He knew as surely as the sun rose each day, if he kissed Mercy he'd want more. And it wasn't only coupling he was thinking about.

“Duncan.”

Mercy whispered his name as she moved closer to him and he saw the look of concern in her wide eyes.

“I hear something.”

Duncan stopped, took her hand, and after assessing their surroundings as best as he could through the mist, walked to a small cropping of trees and took shelter among them.

“What did you hear?” He kept his voice to a murmur.

“Voices.” Her voice quivered with fear.

“Are you sure?”

She shook her head.

He grumbled beneath his breath annoyed that he hadn't been paying attention. That was why he couldn't give a woman thought right now. It was imperative he remained alert, not only to this situation, but to his mission. Otherwise they could very well die, or the mission he had trained so very hard for could fail.

He kept his voice low. “We'll listen for a few minutes and see if we hear anything.”

She nodded and he felt her fingers latch more tightly to his.

They waited, the mist making it more difficult to see anything. They had to rely on their hearing and stillness spoke loudly. Not a bird cried out, nor did an animal scurry. For some reason the forest was on alert.

Duncan placed a finger to his lips and Mercy nodded.

They heard it then, footfalls and none too light, which meant possibly more than one person.

“I heard something, I tell you.”

“Shut up.” Someone scolded harshly.

Silence immediately followed.

Duncan wondered how many soldiers were out there. A pair or more? Whatever waited for them, defending themselves would prove difficult being shackled together.

The footfalls grew closer and then stopped. Duncan again pressed his finger to his lips and Mercy nodded. He was glad she understood it was not only silence he sought from her but no movement as well. The smallest rustle and the soldiers would be on them.

They waited, for how long neither knew, though it seemed an endless amount of time, and finally, hearing nothing, Duncan signaled Mercy to follow him. Her brow furrowed and her eyes widened as if questioning his decision.

He squeezed her hand to reassure her and signaled for them to move again. This time she didn't hesitate, she followed. They both treaded cautiously, making as little sound as possible, still wary of what waited for them in the mist.

They had taken only a few steps when they collided with the two soldiers.

Duncan was quick to react, his large fist met the one man's face and he stumbled and fell. He turned to lay low the other soldier and saw that Mercy had already
landed a good blow to the soldier's face. Blood poured down his nose and he looked dazed. She took advantage of his stunned posture and landed a kick to his leg that sent him sprawling.

Duncan turned in time to land several blows to the returning man and as he stumbled to regain his footing, Mercy stepped forward and with her free hand claimed the fellow's sword, retrieving it from the scabbard. She was quick to slip it into Duncan's hand and kept her chained arm close to his, giving his sword hand free rein.

The other soldier recovered, though blood continued to pour from his nose, and with several foul oaths spewing from his lips, he charged Duncan. He was no match for Duncan's skilled hand, and with one swing he ended the man's life.

He had no time to worry over Mercy, who was trying frantically to keep pace with the rhythm of his movements, though it wasn't easy for her. It actually appeared as though she flew through the air when he had given a good thrust.

The last soldier didn't hesitate to attack. He gave a wild cry and charged forward. Duncan remained where he was, feet braced firmly on the ground, his hand ready to swing and he saw that Mercy kept her eyes on his hand, prepared to follow.

Duncan waited until the man was close enough, the fool thinking he had an advantage with them shackled together. It was the last mistake he would ever make. Duncan killed him in one swift blow.

He didn't waste a moment. “We take their swords and whatever else is on them that we can use.”

Mercy nodded and when they were done, Duncan took only one sword and two dirks, slipping one into his boot and the other at his waist. He also sheathed the sword in the scabbard he had fastened around his waist.

“We go,” he said and clasped her hand before marching forward into the mist.

They traveled for hours before Mercy voiced her fatigue and hunger.

“We'll stop, but not for long,” Duncan said, scouting the area in a glance and choosing a secluded spot behind two large boulders.

Mercy sighed with relief as she lowered herself to the ground and leaned back against the rock.

Duncan took the food from the sack and handed her a hunk of cheese and an apple. If he allowed himself to linger on her lovely face he would feel even guiltier that he was pushing her so hard. Weariness was evident in her slow movements and a smile that barely made it to her mouth, but he had no choice. He had to keep them going. He had to get them to his land where help would be at hand.

“You fear more soldiers are about?” she asked.

“I'm hoping that only two soldiers were sent to cover this area, since the terrain is more difficult. They would assume we would avoid it.”

“They believe I slow you down.”

“Being chained would slow down a pair, but for a
pair who works together, it would not be a hindrance,” he said and smiled. “We work well together.”

“We do, don't we?” she said and though she attempted a smile, a shudder grabbed her first and ran through her. “You have killed men before, haven't you?”

Duncan cursed his own stupidity. He had been so obsessed with getting them out of there and as far away as possible that he had never considered the effect of Mercy seeing two men killed before her eyes.

He wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, but somehow he sensed that wasn't what she needed. “Yes, I have, but you haven't, have you?”

She shook her head. “No, I have never seen a man killed.”

“Yet you entered the battle like a brave, seasoned warrior, without fear or delay.”

“I was fearful,” she admitted, “though it was of dying.”

“The best weapon when in battle…survival.”

She turned her lovely sapphire eyes on him and he was glad to see that their brilliant color hadn't dimmed.

“I want to survive, Duncan,” she said adamantly. “I know not what the future holds for me, but I do know I want to live.”

He eased her into his embrace, though she went willing. He cuddled her close in the crook of his arm and she rested her head to his chest as she so often did.

“You'll survive, Mercy. I promise that you will survive.”

Her head shot up and her eyes turned wide with fear. “You must survive too. Promise me that you will survive.”

His heart swelled with how much she cared for what happened to him and a wide smile surfaced of its own accord. “We'll survive together.”

“Promise me.”

It was such a ferocious demand that he answered quickly. “I promise.”

“And you best keep it, Duncan MacAlpin.”

“Is that an order?” he asked teasingly.

“Aye, it is.”

“And who are you to be giving me orders?”

Her eyes softened and her voice turned gentle. “Someone who cares about you.”

Her tender words first stabbed at his heart and then punched his gut and he wasn't even in battle, or was he? If he was, it sure wasn't familiar tactics that were being used. And how the bloody hell did he battle unfamiliar foe?

Uncomfortable in foreign territory, he figured the best thing was to move to more familiar terrain.

“If we pick up the pace we could reach the outskirts of my land in possibly two days.”

She moved away from him. “I will do my best.”

“Finish eating, so we can get moving,” he said.

She handed the uneaten apple back to him.

“Eat it, you'll need your strength,” he urged, feeling guilty that his own misgivings caused him to hurry her.

“I'm not hungry.”

He grew annoyed, though it was at himself. “You're barely a wisp of a thing. You need to eat.”

Her chin went up. “I may not be stout like some woman, but I'm strong enough.”

He immediately regretted his words. He had hurt her and that hadn't been his intention. “I worry that I push you too hard.”

He was surprised that she smiled.

“You push your warriors, don't you?”

He nodded.

“Well, since you have claimed me a warrior woman, then I expect nothing less from you.” She rested a hand to his chest. “And you should expect nothing less from me.”

She was a courageous one and his respect for her grew.

“Then let's get moving and get home,” he said.

She bounced up and tugged on the chain. “Come on then and see if you can keep up with me.”

“There you go challenging me again.”

“Are you up to it?” she teased with a smile and a cock of her hip.

He laughed and tugged her to him, his hands resting at her waist. “One day I'm going to show you just how much I'm up to it.”

“Promises, promises,” she said in a singsong voice.

Her breath was sweet, her lips moist like plump fruit, her cheeks flushed pink and he told himself not to do it. The warning rang in his head over and over.

Don't kiss her. Don't kiss her. Don't kiss her.

He told himself to step away from her, but he could only go as far as the chain would allow. That wasn't far enough. She was close, much too close to ignore.
Turn your head away. Don't look.

But he didn't listen, his glance strayed back to her lips. They waited for him, slightly open. His heart raced as her tongue peeked out to wet them, the tiny tip slowly moving around, covering every inch until they sparkled like the morning dew on a freshly bloomed rose.

Don't kiss her. Don't kiss her. Don't kiss her.

The warning rang like thunder in his head and finally realizing that a storm brewed if he didn't take heed, he turned and reached down for the sack of food. Turning back to look at her once again was a mistake, for he saw something in her eyes, something he couldn't deny. He saw that she wanted him to kiss her.

He dropped the sack, reached out, yanked her up against him and brought his lips down on hers.