Bound to a Warrior (2 page)

“Tomorrow is soon enough.”

“You have the most agreeable nature,” he said.

She laughed. “Truly I don't.”

“You'll have to prove that to me.”

A shiver accompanied her laugh.

“This fire isn't drying our garments fast enough,” he
said concerned. “In the meantime we're getting more chilled.”

“There's not much else we can do.”

There was something they could do, though he warned himself it wouldn't be easy since he found her so damn attractive. But it could very well save their lives. And if not it would be a lovely way to die. He rolled his eyes to the heaven and couldn't believe what he was about to say. He never got to say it, because she did.

“We need to get out of these wet garments.”

M
ercy shivered, her skin prickling with gooseflesh, not only from the wet chill, but from her own suggestion. But what choice had she? They both needed to get warm and they couldn't do that by remaining in sopping wet garments.

She had to remind herself that if she had trusted him enough to save her from drowning, then she could trust him enough to be naked in front of him.

Along with that thought came another shiver that sent her body trembling. Before she could reach for the ties of her soft green blouse, his hands were there, trying to force the stubborn, wet strings apart.

His hands were large and far from delicate. They bore the scars of a warrior used to battle, some faded with time, some more pronounced, and one or two bright with the color of more recently healing wounds. His scars and their predicament made her wonder about this stranger who had been so suddenly thrust into her life and bound to her with no present means of separation.

With curiosity, her glance shifted to his chest. His wet tan shirt was plastered to it. He had a nice chest, thick and solid with muscle, and she wondered if, like his hands, it bore battle scars. His shoulders were wide as was his neck and she realized then the size of him.

He was a big Highlander, a good inch, maybe two, over six feet. Next to her meager four inches over five feet she was a bit of a thing. With his sizable width and height, she could easily take cover behind him and not be seen.

While he continued to diligently work on her ties, her inquisitiveness turned too potent to ignore, so she took the opportunity to peruse the rest of him. His long hair was dark and because it was wet she wasn't certain of the color, deep brown or black?

He caught her gaze then and she startled, though certainly not because he caught her examining him. No, it was his strikingly dark eyes and the intensity of his look that made her realize that he truly was concerned for her well-being. And his words confirmed what she felt.

“I'll have you free of these stubborn ties soon, I promise,” he said and his eyes quickly shifted to where his hands continued to work.

He spoke with such conviction, his voice a deep rumble like that of the faint thunder that rolls across the land preceding a storm, that she had no doubt he would do just that.

Her glance remained fixed on his face.

Handsome?

Not in the usual sense. His nose had a slight crook, his lips a visible scar tucked in the right corner of his mouth giving him a perpetual half frown. His brow was clear of wrinkles, though not the arch between his eyes. Did he frown more than smile?

Just as she decided that his weathered complexion enhanced his wildly rugged features, he yanked her blouse over her head.

She stood stunned, the cold air slapping her breasts like a dash of cold water and she felt her nipples harden even more than they already had. She was fully exposed and she cursed herself for not having slipped on her shift yesterday morning when she had unexpectedly found herself on the run. And while she wanted to wrap her arms protectively across her breasts, she didn't want to appear vulnerable or a coward.

He shook his head and held up their joined arms. “The garment goes no further.”

She kept her eyes on his and was relieved his remained focused on hers. “Your shirt will fair no better. When we settle for the night, we'll need to somehow spread them out to dry.”

He nodded, while his hands busily worked to free his black and red plaid. Without hesitation he dropped it to the ground and then stripped off his shirt to let it join hers trapped by the shackle.

“Let's get your skirt off,” he said and she thought she saw him wince. “Then we can spread our garments near the campfire.”

There was that rumble of his voice again and for some reason it soothed her. But then she had always favored the sound of faint thunder. It preceded a storm that brought with it the much necessary and life-sustaining rain that nourished the crops and replenished rain barrels.

Was that why his voice soothed her? He had arrived as unexpectedly as a storm sometimes does. Would he help nourish and sustain her life? So far he had. And would their separation end as abruptly as some storms do?

She slipped out of her skirt, her thoughts occupied, leaving her a little less apprehensive. Until she realized that they were standing quite naked in front of each other.

They spoke not a word and kept their eyes locked. It was almost as if they were afraid to let their gazes stray, until finally Mercy found the courage to speak.

“We should set the garments to dry.”

He nodded. “We should.”

And yet they stood there not moving, until once again Mercy made the first move, though she didn't plan it. She visibly shivered.

Duncan immediately wrapped his arm around her, bringing their naked bodies flat up against each other. He quickly and steadily ran his hands up and down her back, massaging every inch of her cold flesh.

She stiffened when their chilled skin first met. Never mind that she had never been naked in front of a man, she had never been touched so familiarly by a man. And though she was not comfortable being in such an intimate
position with a stranger, her body began to respond to his touch.

Warmth began to spread not only over her limbs, but began to creep inside. She found herself snuggling closer against him, aching for more of the heat he provided. Her body and insides kept growing warmer and she felt ever more relieved, when suddenly she realized how selfish of her not to do the same for him.

Her arm slipped around his back, the movement so much less painful now that a fair amount of warmth had been restored. His skin was cold and she shivered for him before she began to massage his back with one hand as rapidly and methodically as he did hers. She didn't know when she had rested her head on his chest. It was there, so close and she was so tired.

But she didn't stop rubbing warmth into him, nor did he to her.

“Mercy.”

His gentle whisper had her eyes fluttering open.

When had she closed them? Her hand was no longer at his back. It was tucked between their chests.

Her eyes sprang wide and she stared up at him.

“You fell asleep,” he said, “and I think that would be best for us both.”

She nodded, agreeing, though she was disinclined to leave the warmth of his body. However, their wet garments did need their attention.

“We'll hurry and get done with it,” he said and reluctantly she stepped away.

His absence caused a blast of cold night air to hit her warmed body and sent an uncontrollable tremble through her.

He reached out, grabbed hold of her and brought her into the warmth and safety of his arms once again. “We need to do this fast and settle next to the fire for the night.”

She nodded, knowing he was right and anxious to be done with it, for then she would remain in the heat of his arms for the whole night.

They set to work, her thoughts no longer on the cold, or their nakedness, but on the task at hand. First, they arranged a sizable bed of leaves for a sleeping pallet. Then she helped him spread their clothes around the fire.

“Branches,” he said.

She scrunched her brow, not understanding.

“We'll use them as a blanket.”

She nodded and followed him.

They didn't go far from the fire and he ordered her to stand back as far as the chain would allow. She watched as he reached up and easily broke a large branch from a towering evergreen. He turned to break another and her glance fell on the muscles hunching in his back as he broke the branch with one forceful snap.

She noticed then that though wide, his waist narrowed just enough to define the sheer beauty of his form and his backside rounded thick and firm, while long muscled legs followed, completing the mighty size of him.

He turned and she had a clear view of him. Thick,
tight muscles were everywhere. There was no doubt he was a strong warrior and a generously endowed man.

With no more time, nor wise to dally in such thoughts, she bent along with him to help with the branches and together they dragged them to the campfire.

“We'll need to stay wrapped around each other,” he said as they both lowered themselves to the leaf pallet.

She nodded and didn't hesitate to accept the invitation of his outspread arms. She snuggled against him. And then working together they spread the two wet garments beyond the shackles. They had made certain the garments would be close to the campfire in hopes that by morning they would be dry.

Duncan then reached for the branches on the ground beside him and covered them, the leaves a bit prickly against their skin. He draped his legs over hers, forcing her closer against him. She didn't object. She needed his heat as surely as he needed hers.

She wasn't surprised when after a few minutes she felt him grow large against her and she raised her head from the crook of his shoulder to look up at him.

“He has a mind of his own when I have a beautiful woman in my arms,” he said with that rumbling tone that was growing familiar and comfortable to her. “Don't worry. I won't let him bother you.”

She couldn't help but smile. “Thank you for the compliment and for your chivalry.”

Laughter tickled her ear. “Chivalry only goes so far, so we need to get this chain off fast.”

While he teased, she also knew he warned and he was right. They couldn't remain shackled long. After all, he was a man and a man had needs, as her mother had often explained in more detail than she had cared to hear.

But then her mother's needs had been just as ravenous as a man's and had been the cause of her own tragic downfall. Unfortunately, with her mother's downfall came Mercy's.

“Perhaps tomorrow we'll come across a croft where we can seek help,” she suggested.

“We'll need to be careful. The farmers will fear retaliation from the king's men if they help those in chains.”

“I didn't think of that,” she said. “What then do we do?”

“We'll scout the area and see what we can find. If it doesn't look safe we'll need to make it to my people.”

“How far is that?”

“A week's travel without any incidents,” he said.

“A week?” she asked apprehensively.

He smiled a half-smile. “I'll behave if you will.”

While the one corner of his mouth turned up in a smile, the scar in the other corner appeared a constant frown as if he continued to warn, and she would do well to remember that there were two sides to their dilemma.

“I'll do my best,” she said with her own gentle smile.

“Then don't fancy me with that lovely smile, or I'll be begging for mercy.”

The twinkle in his devilishly dark eyes had her chuckling.

“That's even worse,” he said, sounding wounded. “A laugh that tempts the soul itself.”

“What of chivalry?” she bantered playfully.

He brought his lips close to hers and whispered. “Ah, what of it? It would be more chivalrous of me to kiss you and couple with you throughout the night, generating all the heat we need to survive.”

If she hadn't caught the glint of humor in his dark eyes, she might have been frightened that he would take advantage of their situation. But he teased, and she wondered if it was simply to see how she would respond, or perhaps he thought he could convince her to agree to an outlandish appeal.

“I'm astounded at what you would sacrifice for chivalry,” she said with feigned sincerity. “But it would behoove me to see you forfeit so much, thus I decline your generous offer.”

He laughed. “Do I get a kiss for at least trying?”

She pecked his cheek lightly.

“Mercy, Mercy,” he said continuing to laugh. “One of these days I'm going to have to teach you how to kiss as a reward for saving your life.”

“When we are safe, our chain gone, I promise I will reward you with a kiss.”

“I will hold you to that promise,” he said adamantly.

“I have no doubt you will,” she said and settled her head back in the crook of his shoulder.

He in turn wrapped her more tightly in his arms.

With their long ordeal finally behind them, sleep was fast claiming them. But it wasn't worries or fears of what they had yet to face that occupied their thoughts and dwelled in their dreams, but rather the promise of a kiss.

He had every intention of collecting it. It was clear she had every intention of keeping her promise, but what nagged and surprised him was that while he wished to be free of the chain that bound them, they now had another good reason to free themselves.

They both wanted to taste that kiss.

D
ampness remained at the ends of Duncan's plaid and at the hem of his shirt, but mostly his garments were dry. And glad of it he was, since he slipped into them as soon as his eyes cleared of sleep.

Mercy was too tempting a morsel to remain beside her naked and not want to do more than just keep her warm. He had fought his carnal urges like a stoic warrior throughout the night. It wasn't an easy battle, especially when she had tucked her free hand in places that provided the most warmth.

It hadn't been bad when she had tucked it between their stomachs, but when her hand had begun to drift toward a more heated, sensitive area, he knew he was in trouble. He had reluctantly grabbed her roving hand just before it could…

He didn't want to think of what could have happened. It had taken all of his skill as an honorable warrior to do it, for he would have liked nothing better than to let her slim fingers settle around him.

He had kept hold of her hand for a time, the campfire's light casting a golden glow on her creamy skin. He noticed that while her hands had a few scratches, they bore no signs of toil. That would make her a member of the gentry or nobility, but why would one of such class be a prisoner of the king's men?

It was a question that had haunted his thoughts during his near sleepless night and he knew would continue to plague him until he had an answer.

He finished fastening his worn wool plaid of no distinguishable colors. To all it represented him as a wandering warrior with no allegiance to any particular clan and that was how he wanted it.

When he finally settled his glance on Mercy, he had hoped she would be fully clothed, but she wore only her blouse, which she had slipped on just before he had his shirt. He had been so intent on getting his plaid on, he hadn't realized that she required two hands to help get her skirt on.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “Next time you dress first.”

Her eyes widened, his assumption that there would be another time they would be naked together obviously upsetting her.

He shook his head. “Though the situation probably will not arise again.”

He felt disappointed at the thought, and she looked relieved?

He helped her into her skirt with some regret, taking
a quick, last glance at her creamy smooth skin and her slim limbs, not to mention the tiny patch of curly black hair between her legs that tempted the hell out of him. Her lovely naked vision would not leave his head for a long time, no matter how hard he chased it away.

“We must find food,” he said needing to get his thoughts on something less tempting.

“I must admit. I am starving,” Mercy said.

He helped her sit so that they both could slip on their boots they had left by the campfire to dry.

“My stomach has been grumbling since before dawn,” he said.

“You didn't sleep well?” she asked as he assisted her to stand.

“Well enough.” He certainly wasn't about to tell her that her constant shifting and snuggling had been the cause for his fitful sleep.

“I had a wonderful sleep,” she admitted. “I am refreshed and ready to meet the day. Where do we find food?”

She was right about being refreshed. Her smooth skin glowed with a renewed rigor and her deep blue eyes sparkled with determination. She looked even more beautiful today than she had yesterday.

Why that made him grumpy he couldn't say, and he sounded curt when he didn't intend to. “We need to get moving.”

Surprisingly, she wasn't offended by his terse response or perhaps she simply ignored it. “I agree. The king's soldiers could be searching for us.”

His tone turned civil. “We'll find something to appease our stomachs until tonight. Then we'll camp early and hunt for a hare or two.”

Mercy licked her lips. “I look forward to it.”

Wet, shiny and plump
.

“I'm ready.”

“So am I.” He had to smile, though he didn't admit it wasn't food he was thinking about. Those lips of hers were luscious and he wouldn't mind tasting them.

 

They walked for a couple of hours, the sun bright and, fortunately for them, the last breath of summer in the air. But that could change tomorrow this far north in the Highlands. They would do best to get to their destination as soon as possible.

Duncan wondered how his three friends had fared in their mission. They had all worked hard to get to this point in time and their success or failure would be Scotland's success or failure.

He nearly stumbled when he was suddenly yanked to a halt.

“I'm sorry,” Mercy said with a sincerity that had him shake his head.

“Don't worry about it. It isn't easy being chained to someone.”

“Shackles aren't the only things that chain people,” she said and turned to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “I'd like to pick some sprigs of heather.”

“We can't dally,” he reminded, though followed her.

She didn't. She hastily claimed two sprigs, one dropping to the ground as she tucked the other in her hair behind her ear.

Duncan quickly snatched it off the ground, the sweet scent drifting across his nostrils. She reached for it as he moved to tuck it alongside the other sprig and their hands met. They stilled for a moment, and while Duncan knew it would be wise to surrender the small blossom to her, he didn't.

He placed the sprig beside the other one, running his fingers lightly along the tip of her ear as he finished.

“It suits you,” he said.

Did he imagine that her breath caught before she spoke? Had his breath caught as well? How strange that such a simple act could cause breathlessness.

“How silly of me,” she said. “Our lives are in danger and I stop to pick heather.”

He took a solid hold of her hand, though the chain already held them firm. “Nonsense. It is good that you think to do the things you normally would. It makes our dire situation seem less dismal, and besides the heather looks lovely in your hair.”

She smiled and released her grip on his fingers, though kept them laced gently around his. “I will miss your compliments when we part.”

Not two full days spent with her and the idea that they would part somehow troubled him.

Enough foolish thoughts, he had a mission to accomplish.

“We best pick up our pace,” he advised strongly.

“Yes, I agree,” she said with a nod.

They did just that and traveled a good distance before they came upon a croft. They remained hidden behind a boulder on the edge of a field where the crop had already been harvested, nor ravaged by the king's soldiers, a common occurrence. It seemed the king felt fit to issue an edict that his soldiers were to be fed regardless of farmers and their families' needs.

After watching for near an hour, it appeared that an older man and woman were the only occupants.

“If we ask them for help, will we not be placing them in harm's way?” Mercy asked with concern.

“They are in harm's way regardless. The soldiers will torture them for answers either way, and they will die because of it either way. The king cares not for his people, only for filling his own belly and coffers.”

“What do we do?”

“Our burden would be lighter without this chain,” he said.

“Then it is tools we look for?”

He nodded.

It didn't take them long to make their way to the open stable area as soon as they determined no one was in sight. If they were to find anything helpful it would be there. They remained as quiet as they could, though Duncan grew annoyed when their search results produced not a single thing.

“How can he tend his horses when he has no tools?” Duncan said with an irritated whisper.

“My exact question to the king's soldiers this morning.”

Duncan and Mercy spun around and came face to face with a man, not near as old as they had surmised, but rather aged by hardship. Gray mingled with thick black hair and worry lines dug deep across his brow and down around his eyes and more heavily around his mouth. And yet the rolled up sleeves of his tan linen shirt showed arms thick with muscles and a broad chest that stretched the worn fabric.

“I'm Bailey,” The man offered his hand and as Duncan took it, the man said, “I prefer not to know who you are.”

“It is better that you don't,” Duncan said as their hands locked in a strong grip.

“I wish I could offer you the hospitality of my home, but ever since I spotted you, my wife has grown concerned for our safety.”

“You knew we were hiding?” Mercy asked, surprised.

Duncan answered for him. “You're a tracker.”

Bailey shook his head vigorously. “I am no more than a simple farmer.”

Duncan didn't argue. The man was obviously more than simply a farmer, but he could understand why he wouldn't want anyone, especially the king, to know of any special skills he possessed. He could very well be forced into the king's service.

“I can provide you with food,” Bailey said.

“Can you spare it?” Duncan asked.

“For those in need, food can always be spared. Wait here. I'll return in a moment.”

Once Bailey was out of sight, Mercy turned to Duncan. “The soldiers are looking for us, aren't they?”

He saw worry on her face and he couldn't say he didn't feel the same. “It would be the most logical reason why all the tools are gone.”

“They believe keeping us shackled will slow us down,” she confirmed. “But that would have to mean they believe us still alive.” She shook her head. “How could they know that?”

“They may not know,” Duncan said. “They just may not be taking any chances.”

“One of you must be—”

Mercy gave a little yelp and instinctively slipped into the crook of Duncan's arm, which he immediately slipped around her as they both turned to face Bailey.

“Sorry,” Bailey apologized. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”

“You're light on your feet,” Duncan said.

“Old habit,” Bailey confessed.

“Not a bad one to have,” Duncan said.

Bailey held out a sack. “There's bread and cheese and a blanket. The Highlands get cold at night.”

“What about you and your wife?” Duncan asked, his arm remaining protectively around Mercy.

“We'll be leaving here soon enough,” he admitted. “It
won't take the soldiers long to pick up your tracks and trace them back here. My wife, Kate, will give birth in about five months and I want her and our child safe.”

“I'm so sorry that it is because of us you are forced to leave your home,” Mercy said.

Bailey sneered. “It's not our home. The king claims everything. I but work for his pleasure.”

“What will you do?” Mercy asked anxiously.

“I intend to go find the true king of Scotland and join his battle to restore him to his rightful power, so that my land will be mine.”

“Some believe the seer's prophecy that the true king will soon return nothing but myth. You believe otherwise?” Mercy asked.

“I have to believe, or else there is no future for my wife and unborn child,” Bailey said.

Duncan reached out his hand. “We wish you well and we are grateful for your help. May your journey be swift and safe, my friend.”

“I have no doubt it will be,” Bailey said.

Duncan took Mercy's hand and they both hurried off, neither commenting on Bailey's unfinished remark.

One of you must—

They kept silent, though each thought over what Bailey intended to say.

One of you must be mighty important for the King to be searching so hard for you.