Bound to a Warrior (8 page)

M
ercy found herself in Duncan's arms and his lips on hers before she realized what was happening. Mercy forgot everything. Time stood still. Nothing existed except the kiss. His lips proved as powerful as the rest of him. They took command, melting her senses. And though the intrusion of his tongue at first startled her, it took only a fleeting moment for her own to respond. It was as if his tongue had invited hers to dance and she couldn't resist.

She didn't know when she slipped her arms around his neck, or when her body gravitated up against his, or when she realized she never wanted this heavenly moment to end.

His hand roamed down her back and over her backside to cup her buttocks and press her more intimately against him. And that's when she felt the first tingle of heat between her legs and as their kiss deepened, the sensation turned into a steady, aching throb.

She was lost, utterly lost in the magic of his kiss and…

Fool!

Her mother's angry voice was like a splash of cold water in the face that cooled her ardor immediately. And she could think of nothing more than her mother admonishing her not to get lost in a kiss. And under the circumstances this wasn't the time or place to allow herself the pleasure.

She eased the kiss to an end and reluctantly stepped away, though Duncan planted his hands on her waist and refused to let go.

They stood silent, staring at each other, and Mercy wondered if her unrequited passion showed so vividly in her eyes as Duncan's did in his. And she clearly knew, or perhaps clearly felt, that if something wasn't done they would soon be locked in another kiss that would end far differently than this one.

She mustered up the courage to say, “Your kiss has been claimed.”

He grinned and though he tried to urge her to him, she refused to budge, digging her boots firmly in the ground to keep a safe distance between them.

“You cannot tell me you didn't like it,” he said confidently.

“I certainly will not deny that I liked it,” she said, “even more so than the first kiss.”

His grin faded and his dark eyes narrowed. “Who is it you compare me to?”

She smiled. “When you first kissed me was the first
time I had ever been kissed. While I cannot deny I enjoyed that kiss as well, this kiss was more…” She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, trying to find just the right words. One came to mind and her smile turned generous. “Memorable.”

Duncan appeared confused, shaking his head. “I was the first to ever kiss you?”

She nodded.

“No man's lips but mine have touched yours?”

“No man but you.”

He looked at her strangely for a moment and then reached out to brush her lips with his fingertips. “They belong to me now.”

Belong.

Mercy had not wanted to
belong
to anyone. Her mother had belonged, and while belonging could have benefits, in the end it proved worthless.

Mercy again took a step away from him. “Neither my lips, nor I, belong to anyone.”

He seemed surprised by her response, and she assumed he would argue the point. He didn't, though she wasn't foolish enough to believe that he thought differently from his claim. By not arguing he was simply choosing not to debate the matter with her. And she as well would not waste precious time on it.

She belonged to no one and that was that.

“I am pleased you thought my kiss memorable,” he said. “I will strive to make all kisses that follow even more memorable.”

“There'll be no more kisses,” she said candidly, “except of course for the one I promised you once we are freed.”

“Afraid to kiss me again?” he challenged.

Truth be told she was, but that was not a truth she intended to share with him.

“We have no time for kisses. We must concentrate on staying alive.”

His smile faded and he stepped forward, taking her hand. “You're right about that. We do need to focus more clearly on our situation, but”—he paused and his smile returned—“there's always time for kisses.”

To prove it, he gave a quick kiss to her lips.

She silently cursed her body for instantly responding to his playful kiss. And she grew annoyed with him, for he kissed her for one reason and one reason only, to prove that he could. He had no intention of paying heed to her declaration that there would be no kissing. He was letting her know he would kiss her whenever he pleased.

The worst part was that she had no doubt she would eagerly respond.

Don't let him control.

All well and good for her mother's warning, but how did she stop him when she so enjoyed his kisses?

 

Duncan made sure to keep a keen ear and eye on his surroundings as they continued on their journey. Neither was talkative and he had expected that, the kiss having had a profound effect on them both.

The idea that his lips had been the only ones to have kissed Mercy left him feeling extremely possessive of her. It was as if he had branded her his and branding was for marriages, not kisses. So why did he feel like this? It irritated him, and yet he couldn't shake the thought. Not to mention that rage overwhelmed him, if he even gave brief thought to another man kissing her.

No one had that right, but him. He, and only he, could kiss Mercy. And kiss her he wanted to. Their kiss came as natural as the dawning of the day and continued to rise with as much fervor and heat as the sun did. And like the sun that joined completely with the sky did it finally settle and slowly descend, and that was how he felt with Mercy.

How then could he stop himself from kissing her again, or could she stop from responding? He was no fool. He knew that she wanted to kiss him again as much as he did her, and they would. They'd both be foolish to think it wouldn't happen again, but if Mercy felt better dictating otherwise, he'd let her.

She'd come to her senses sooner or later. Future kisses would see to that and then? He grinned with thoughts of the future.

 

By the time they found a stream they were both so parched that they fell to their knees and hungrily drank.

Mercy stopped drinking before Duncan and was startled by her reflection in the water. Her face was
smudged with dirt, her long black hair wasn't only an unsightly mess, but its brilliant luster was gone, and exhaustion stamped its heavy mark around her eyes. Her mother would be mortified by her disheveled appearance and frankly, so was she.

That she had a reasonable excuse for looking so unkempt was no excuse at all to her. And she felt a sudden need to tidy herself up as best she could. She leaned over the water's edge and with a scoop of her hand splashed a generous amount in her face. She didn't care that it trickled down her neck and over her blouse, she simply wanted to rid herself of the grime.

She scrubbed her face and neck with her hand and gently patted around her eyes. She wished she could have taken her clothes off and dunked herself in the refreshing water. And while she didn't doubt that Duncan would eagerly agree and join her, it wasn't a wise idea.

“You're beautiful.”

Startled by Duncan's firm declaration, Mercy turned to face him. And the truth and caring in his dark eyes had her saying, “You truly mean that, don't you?”

His laugh was gentle, just a slight ripple though it came deep from his chest, and for some reason it sent a tingle through her.

“I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. You are a beautiful woman.” He smiled and ran a finger down her wet cheek. “Grime and all.”

Mercy sat back on her haunches with a slump. “I am rumpled.”

He laughed. And when she sent him a scowl, his laughter instantly ceased.

His hand slowly reached out and cupped her chin. “You look like a woman who has been at play with her wee bairns, or busy in the field working alongside her husband, or tending the cook fire so that her family can eat a hardy meal. Or running to survive so that someday she can have bairns and a loving husband, and that, my wee lassie, is true beauty.”

“Thank you, you are generous,” she said. Her mother may have filled her head with becoming a kept woman, but it was always Mercy's dream to find a man who would love her as much as she loved him and that they could share a life together. Duncan's words had reminded her of that dream, and she wished with all her might that miraculously her dream would come true.

“I am truthful and that makes the difference.”

“Chivalry and honesty, you will sweep me off my feet if I'm not careful,” she said with a smiling laugh.

“Another challenge, I am sure to win,” he declared confidently.

A heavy rustle of leaves sounded, as if someone approached and they both swerved around, Duncan's hand quickly moving to the hilt of his sword.

Relief flooded Mercy when she caught sight of two squirrels tumbling playfully along the ground, then scurrying up a tree one in pursuit of the other.

“I will be grateful for a reprieve from this constant worry,” she said, though she knew it would be short-lived.
Soldiers would continue to search for her until the king's edict was carried out…until she was dead.

“You will have it once we reach my home. A good meal, a bath, fresh clothes—”

“Then why are we lingering?” she asked with a wide smile. “Let's get moving.”

He took hold of her hand but made no move to leave.

She waited, knowing he had something important to say to her.

“Soon we will be in an area that provides little shelter.”

“Then it will be the same for the soldiers.”

“Aye, it will and more of a chance we'll face battle,” he said.

“I'll be ready.” She nodded, though fear crept slowly along her spine.

“Then we forge ahead,” he said and kept hold of her hand as they once again resumed their journey.

 

Night seemed to fall more quickly, but then they had walked longer than usual. And after a quick and light meal, since food dwindled, they settled to sleep. However, as exhausted as Duncan was, sleep eluded him. Thoughts stampeded through his mind like a herd of cattle, not sure where they were headed, knowing only they needed to keep going. Like a herd that would eventually be sorted, so would his musing, though not so easily. Some
thoughts had easy solutions, others more difficult, and one of them was Mercy.

He didn't know how in less than a week a single woman could so change his life. He had always been focused on his mission. All of them had—he, Trey, Bryce, and Reeve had lived and breathed it since they were young. Nothing would prevent them from seeing it through, nothing would stand in their way, particularly a woman…or so they had agreed.

So how had he allowed this wisp of a woman asleep in his arms to sneak so close to his heart? His mind warned him that once free of her he had to let her go, forget her and focus on what was important, but his heart responded differently. It twisted and wrenched in pain whenever he thought about being separated from her.

He actually feared he was falling in love with Mercy and he reminded himself that now was not the time. But no matter how many times he warned himself against such thoughts, they crept right back and insinuated themselves even deeper in his mind and heart.

Worst of all he feared what would happen if he made love to her. He feared he would never want to stop. He couldn't even say for sure what it was that attracted him. She was a beauty, a lovely body, a good mind, strong and brave for sure, and yet those attributes weren't what made her so damn appealing. He believed it might have been when she had jumped off the cliff with him, knowing she couldn't swim. Not for one moment had she doubted
that he could save her, not for one moment had she hesitated in believing in him. And he had never known such undiluted trust from any woman he had ever been with, and more so, that trust had remained strong and fixed in those wild blue eyes of hers. He saw it there every time he looked at her, even in the worst of circumstances, it had been there. She believed him, come pain or gain, she believed in him and the sense of pleasure it gave him was indescribable.

Did love spark to life that way?

Love.

It kept creeping into his thoughts until he had no choice but to consider it, until he fully accepted the possibility that he could be falling in love with Mercy.

He didn't need another complication in his life, not now, but then he knew love didn't wait for the perfect time or place. But he also knew love could complicate as it had for Trey. He remembered his friend's suffering over the pain of losing the woman he loved. He and the others had suffered along with him. The worst part being that Trey hadn't been able to protect her, she had been ripped away from him. Never again would he hold her hand, kiss her, touch her, love her.

The thought of never seeing Mercy again so overwhelmed Duncan that he tightened his arms around her, as if by holding her close she would forever remain by his side. But Trey had done the same with the woman he loved, and still he had lost her.

Duncan wondered then if love was worth it. If loving
someone left you with such pain, such heartache, was there any point in loving at all? He found no answers to his questions.

So what wisdom then had he gained from his musings?

That he had yet given love a chance. Love would come in its own good time, in its own way, and nothing would stop it. If he battled it, he would surely taste defeat and possibly in more ways than one.

Besides, if love was introducing itself, then he should enjoy the introduction and he looked forward to getting to know it better. Time was the only sensible weapon when it came to love, so therefore, he and Mercy would need more time together.

He almost laughed, thinking that he should simply keep her chained to him, but that would solve nothing. They needed to be free to make sense of what was going on between them. If it was love, there would be no denying it, thus the outcome would see to itself.