Bound to a Warrior (5 page)

“Y
ou're not even going to turn away?” Duncan asked as he unwrapped his plaid.

“There's no need,” Mercy said. “I have nothing to fear from you. You gave your word.”

Duncan let his plaid drop and wondered if he should have considered more carefully what he had been agreeing to. She was a delectable morsel that tempted his appetite and challenged his civility. She was quite unique and he enjoyed her company, even though it had been forced on him.

And he was trying to keep his mind off the fact that she looked deliciously appetizing in nothing more than her blouse. Her creamy skin glistened like the early morning dew on flower petals and he knew it felt just as smooth, and damn if that didn't make him itch to touch her.

To keep his hands busy he slipped his shirt on, not caring it was still damp and not caring that it didn't fully cover him. They had been naked before in front of each
other and no doubt would be naked again before their journey was done.

He felt no unease as he turned and took her hand and eased them down to sit.

He wasn't surprised when she snuggled against his side. Even with the fire, there was still a chill in the small cave.

He kept hold of her hand giving it a slight squeeze as if reassuring her.

She rested her head on his shoulder in return.

And again they sat in silence.

The storm abated just before they snuggled beneath the dried blanket, and wrapped in each other's arms, fell asleep.

 

The early morning brought with it a crisp chill and Duncan insisted that Mercy use the blanket to keep warm. She fashioned it into a shawl and they were soon on their way.

The day's priority was food. They had to find something if they hoped to keep up the strength to continue their rushed pace. Already his stomach was grumbling loudly and he thought he heard Mercy's give a protest or two. And while he wished to remain on a steady course, he felt it was wise for them to veer off so that the soldiers would find it harder to track them.

Mercy made no objections when he started them up a hill. She removed her shawl, shoved it into the sack and twisting the top, tucked it partially in her waistband. Then
she kept pace with him as they climbed the hill, though he had to grab hold of her a few times and prevent her from sending them tumbling.

They stopped at the top to catch their breaths and take in the view and they both smiled. Tucked in a grove of trees not far from a stream was smoke billowing from a chimney, which meant a cottage.

“Food,” they echoed.

They descended faster than they had climbed, though they approached the small farm with caution. The last crop had been harvested from the small field and the ground prepared for winter's rest, but a few flowering plants still grew in a garden patch beside the cottage. A neatly stacked pile of wood sat to the side of the front door and a rough hewn bench sat on the other side.

Not seeing anyone about, they waited from their perch at the edge of the woods. Duncan kept hold of her hand; not only did it alleviate the burden of the heavy chain, but it helped them work more in unison, not to mention that he had grown accustomed to holding her hand. Her small, delicate one fit so perfectly in his large calloused hand, like she belonged there and always had. And for the moment that's where he intended to keep it.

He peered past the foliage, focusing on the cottage and its quiet surroundings. He didn't want to take a chance and approach before determining how many occupied the place, and if there was a chance that anyone posed a threat.

“You're welcome in my home.”

Duncan immediately swung Mercy protectively behind him as they swerved around, forcing her against his back. He almost shook his head in dismay that he had allowed this woman to sneak up on them. A mass of white curly hair was piled on top of her head with several curls falling around her aged face. Her broad smile deepened her many wrinkles, though showed a fine set of teeth. Her wide, bright green eyes held the inquisitiveness of a child rather than a crone, and she was as petite as Mercy, though slimmer. And she wore a dark blue skirt, white blouse and pale green vest, belted at her thin waist.

“I'm Dolca, welcome to my home,” she said and with a slow gait walked past them.

They followed, Duncan impressed by her soft, barely detectable footfalls.

“I'm sorry, but I have no sufficient tools to remove those shackles. I depend on my neighbors to help me with certain tasks, though I can provide you with food and drink.”

Duncan looked to see Mercy smiling happily and he realized he was grinning himself. Finally they would have a substantial meal.

“My place is secluded enough that not many cross its path. You should be safe enough for now.”

Duncan listened, realizing that the woman was sharp in mind and observation for one her age. She had probably observed them in the woods and saw that they were chained together and surmised they were no threat unless…

“Have soldiers past this way?” he asked.

“They take an opposite route from you, or so neighboring farmers tell me.” Dolca pushed the front door open. “Come in, sit and let me feed you.”

Duncan sensed that the woman posed no threat, so he didn't hesitate to let Mercy precede him into the cottage.

A welcoming warmth and scrumptious scent greeted them. A multitude of crocks sat bunched together on various sized chests and bunches of dried plants hung from roof rafters. A single bed rested against the side wall and a solid wooden table and two chairs sat before the fireplace that consumed the whole back wall, a black cauldron hung on the hook, its contents bubbling and the smell divine.

“Sit. Sit,” Dolca urged. “You must be starving.”

Duncan didn't need to be told again, nor did Mercy. They quickly moved the two chairs close enough for them to sit.

Dolca brought two loaves of freshly baked bread to the table and made quick work of scooping out the middles, placing the discarded bread in a bowl in front of them. Then she took each bread trench to the cauldron and filled it with the delicious stew.

Duncan and Mercy were quick to grab for the broken pieces of bread and use them to scoop up the tasty fish stew.

Dolca poured them cider from a jug and placed a bowl of apples on the table. Duncan didn't have to ask
for more stew, Dolca was quick to replenish his bread trench as soon as it was near empty and she did the same for Mercy.

“You are more than generous to us,” Duncan said between mouthfuls.

“You are in need. It would distress me not to offer you help,” Dolca said.

“Still, you place yourself in danger by helping us.”

Dolca smiled and for a moment she looked much younger than her advanced years. “Not so. True danger for me would be
not
to help the innocent, but enough of me,” she said with the wave of her hand. “You are both welcome to spend the night if you wish.”

Mercy immediately turned pleading eyes to Duncan. “What say you?”

While a solid roof over their heads and good food to fill their bellies tempted, it wasn't a wise choice. It could give the soldiers time to realize they followed a false trail and retrace their steps, leading them right to Dolca's door.

Duncan voiced his concerns regrettably, not wanting to disappointment Mercy, but having no choice. “A brief reprieve would be welcome, but any longer would be unwise.”

Mercy didn't object or argue. He didn't think she would. And while they laced fingers often enough for good reason, he hadn't expected her to lock her fingers with his.

It was an innocent response and yet so intimate, for
it represented the trust she had in him and he suddenly swelled with immense pleasure, though passion had nothing to do with it. Not that he didn't think much too often about bedding her, but surprisingly this time his pleasure centered on the comfort of a simple touch, and that he had never experienced with any woman…and he very much liked it.

“At least rest for a bit and let me tend to your sore feet,” Dolca said, turning to Mercy.

“Is my discomfort that noticeable?” Mercy asked.

But it was Duncan who spoke. “You should have told me you were in pain.”

“There was nothing you could have done, and I refuse to allow my sore feet to slow us down.”

“You are a stubborn one,” he snapped, angry with himself for not noticing.

“Stubbornness is sometimes necessary,” she said, though not defensively, but rather matter-of-factly.

“And it
is
necessary, if you two are to survive,” Dolca said. “There is talk that the king searches frantically for someone.”

“Who?” Mercy asked anxiously.

“Some surmise it is the true king,” Dolca said.

Duncan realized that Mercy had squeezed his hand hard when she had asked who, as if in fear, then her grip relaxed when Dolca answered. Had she expected a different answer?

“The king is a fool if he believes the Highlanders will not protect their own,” Dolca said. “Old, young, fit
or not, Highlanders will protect the true king and see him on the throne.”

“If the seer's prediction is true, why has the true king not yet made himself known?” Mercy asked.

“He is wise to keep his identity secret,” Dolca explained. “He would be in grave danger otherwise. When it is time, he will step forward and lead his people. Until then the present king will do anything to protect his reign, and that includes killing innocent Highlanders.”

“A good reason for us to take our leave sooner rather than later,” Duncan said, knowing no one was safe from the king's men, not even an old woman.

“Don't worry about me,” Dolca said with a smile. “I plan on being around to see the rightful king take the throne.”

It didn't take long for Dolca to tend Mercy's blistered feet and Duncan was pleased to see the relief on her face.

“They feel better already,” Mercy said after slipping on her boots and turning to Duncan. “You best be careful, or you'll not be able to match my pace.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Not likely.”

“Why don't you two sit by the fire and rest a bit, while I gather a sack of food for you to take with you,” Dolca said.

“Can't we help?” Mercy offered.

Dolca grinned. “Chained as you are, you'd be more hindrance than help.”

“Is there anything we can do for you?” Duncan asked, wishing to repay her kindness.”

Dolca nodded. “Survive.”

 

Duncan worried about the trail he planned to take. It was a route he had traveled many times and one he favored. It allowed him time alone, time to think and time to appreciate the beauty of his homeland. He loved the mist that capped the mountains and drifted down into the valleys. He loved the way the land dressed for the different seasons and watching the wildlife at play. Most of all he loved the peacefulness that pervaded his soul when he walked amongst nature. This was his home. This would be his children's home. And he would gladly give his life to protect it.

While he was accustomed to the treacheries of hill walking, he feared Mercy wasn't. And there were many hills to traverse and slopes that could prove not only difficult, but tiring. Did she have the stamina to conquer them?

There were alternative routes, but more than likely the soldiers were covering them. Not familiar with the treacherous hill terrain in this area, the soldiers were more likely to avoid it, giving him and Mercy a better chance of reaching their destination safely.

So far Mercy had proven herself a determined one, but the land could sometimes be unforgiving and only brute strength and endless willpower could combat it.

He glanced at Mercy from the corner of his eye. Since leaving Dolca's a couple of hours ago she hadn't spoken a word and he wondered what occupied her thoughts. He knew little about her, almost nothing, though in another sense he felt he knew her well.

If he voiced his concern to her, she would no doubt tell him that she was up to the task. Signs, however, had warned him otherwise, her feet quickly blistering, her hands not a callous or scar on them, her gracious manner when speaking with others. It was obvious to him that she had to be part of the gentry. What he wished he knew was what had happened that she had lost her status?

“Let's stop a moment,” he said, slowing his steps.

“We haven't been walking that long,” she said in protest, halting her steps.

“I know.” He took her hand and her slim fingers quickly closed around his as he led her to sit with him on a large flat boulder. “We need to talk.”

“About?” she asked, relaxing against him.

Strange how he expected that of her; he would have thought it odd if she hadn't rested against him. He hastily cleared his thoughts and answered, “The terrain we're about to face can at times be uncompromising.”

“This whole ordeal has been uncompromising from the start, but what choice do we have? We do what must be done.” She smiled at him. “I will do my best not to slow us down.”

“This way will take more time.”

“But it is safer, isn't it?”

He nodded. “It is not a guaranteed safety and we may reach a point where we cross paths with the soldiers, but by then we should be on my land and there will be others to help us.”

“Then it's the path we must take.” She took the sack from him, reached in and brought out two apples. “To fortify us.”

He took one from her and for a few moments they sat and enjoyed a small repast and then once again were on their way.

By late afternoon gray skies had moved in overhead and Duncan feared another storm was brewing. The weather seemed to be at odds with him reaching home. They could stop now, though he preferred to climb the next hill before they stopped for the night.

He looked to Mercy keeping a good gait beside him. As was her way, she had not uttered one complaint, but he could see the tiredness creeping over her lovely face and hear it in her mounting sighs.