Bound to a Warrior (10 page)

“We may suffer a few scratches,” Duncan said after wrestling with the thick bushes. “But there's a small clearing in the center that should offer us sufficient protection.”

Mercy chided herself for getting lost in her musings. She simply had to pay more attention, but then wasn't
she? She was assessing her situation and planning for appropriate action.

“We'll need to remain silent, so as not to be detected,” he said.

“I'm well aware of that,” she assured him.

He leaned his face close to hers. “I know how to keep our lips silent, though occupied.”

She smiled. “We simply need to keep them sealed.”

“Locked,” he corrected with a grin. “Locked together.” He kissed her then, and gallantly used his arm as a shield to draw back the bushes so she could squeeze by without a scratch, then he followed.

Mercy immediately surveyed his scratched arm and, with the end of her skirt, dabbed at the blood that oozed slowly from the narrow abrasions.

He told her it was nothing, but to her it was. “You shielded me and suffered for it.”

He laughed. “Minor scratches.”

“Chivalrous wounds,” she corrected.

He kissed her then, his mouth swooping down to claim hers in a heart-pounding kiss that left her legs weak.

Mercy knew then and there that she truly had no choice, and the more Duncan kissed her, the more she knew she couldn't remain with him. His kisses stirred more than her passion, they touched her heart and soul. She could easily fall in love with him, if she hadn't already.

And loving him would mean his death.

Her father would never stop hunting her and she would not see Duncan, or his people, suffer because of her.
He would protest, of course, and so she could not tell him that she would eventually leave. One day she would simply disappear.

And he must never know that she would have preferred to remain with him. Certainly never know how easily she could have fallen in love with him. Most of all, he could never learn her father's identity.

That her father was Kenneth III, King of the Scots.

D
uncan studied the open field with the eye of a warrior planning an attack and though night's darkness laid claim to it, memory had him seeing it as if the sun was high in the sky. It was a wide expanse of green land peppered with rocks. It could prove a troublesome terrain during the day and a treacherous one at night. He had crossed it numerous times, each time with a smile and a hardy step, for beyond it lay his home.

A soft yawn diverted his attention and he glanced down to see that Mercy had rested her head against his arm.

Fatigue had claimed his limbs hours ago; he could not imagine how she felt. He had not realized until recently that it took her two strides to keep up with his one, and yet she had and without complaint.

The last two days had been exhausting, having to find safe sleeping shelter during the day and travel at night. And even though they had eaten sparingly of their meager food, they hadn't been able to make it last. With dawn's light but two hours away, it would be a full day since they had eaten and the third day of their nightly travels.

If they could make it across this field and into the woods, they would not be far from his land, and if luck was with them they could be at his village in a day, two at the most.

Another soft yawn from Mercy had him asking, “Can you do this?”

Her head shot up. “Let's see if you can keep up with me.”

The night was too dark for him to see her bewitching blue eyes, but he knew they shimmered with determination. And that sultry voice of hers quivered with annoyance that he should even doubt her.

“It is good that the moon is but a sliver tonight, providing us with a cloak of darkness. However, it also burdens our steps, since the terrain surprises with rocks that hide amongst the grass.”

“We will make it before sunrise?” Mercy asked.

“We should have time to spare, allowing us to seek the shelter of the thick woods that lie beyond.”

“We will seek shelter there for the day?” she asked, a yawn rushing out afterwards.

“I know you must be exhausted, but if we can keep going for a few more hours it would bring us that much closer to my home, which we can reach within a day's time, two if we slow our pace.”

“Truly?” she asked with enthusiasm, though she didn't allow him to answer. “We could soon sleep in a bed. I could bathe. Have clean clothes.”

He didn't interrupt her and he didn't remind her that
they could also be free, their shackles gone. Soon they could sleep alone for the first time in nearly two weeks and for some reason he didn't care for the thought. He wondered if she felt the same.

“What are we waiting for?” she asked standing. “Let's be on our way home.”

He liked the sound of that. “On our way
home
.” She was already thinking of his home as hers and he felt a sense of relief. Though his mission had to remain first in his mind, there was no reason he couldn't pursue her and see where it took them. Though he had no doubt she would occupy his bed before long, and once there? He doubted he'd ever let her leave it.

He stood and clasped hold of her hand, more determined than ever to keep hold of it. And with that thought in mind he led them out of the woods and into the field.

They spoke not a word, both understanding that their voices would easily resonate over the empty expanse. And their hands remained firmly locked together, so that they could help balance each other's steps.

It was a dance of sorts, he even lifting her in graceful form before she took a tumble, her foot catching now and again on rocks strewn in her path. The walk was going more smoothly than Duncan expected, though he was not foolish enough to be overly confident.

He kept their pace steady, not rushed or unhurried and he kept his ears alert. He was familiar with the sounds and creatures of the night. He and his brothers had often bedded beneath the stars and he would lay
awake thinking, dreaming and hoping for a victorious outcome to the mission they had not only trained so hard for, but had dedicated themselves to.

So as soon as the unfamiliar sound reached his ears, he slowed his steps, Mercy following his, until he came to a complete halt.

He pressed a finger to her lips, cautioning silence and then tapped her ear so that she would know to listen.

The sound came again, though this time it was familiar. It was the snorting of horses.

He felt Mercy tense beside him and her fingers wrap tighter around his. He tugged her hand, signaling for her to follow and she did spreading out in the grass alongside him.

He thought a moment and didn't like his own conclusions. No doubt soldiers either waited for them in the woods or were camped there for the night. And there was no telling how many. The snorting could have come from a couple to several horses.

With his lips pressed against Mercy's ear, he murmured, “We're going back.”

She nodded and they slowly stood, though remained crouched as they turned and began to make their way back to where they had started.

He wanted to run, gain speed and not stop until they returned to the safety of the forest, but that would have been a foolish move. Surely, the soldiers would hear their rushing footfalls and though dark, one or two brave ones might attempt to hunt them down.

A shout froze them a few feet from the woods.

“Nate?”

Duncan grabbed the chain so it wouldn't make a sound and rolled over on Mercy, shielding her just as a soldier and his horse walked out of the woods.

“Quit shouting, you fool,” a strong voice answered.

Nate paid no heed. “Someone was to relieve me hours ago.”

“Stay put until he arrives. I don't intend to miss catching the pair if they try to cross.”

“When's he coming?” Nate shouted.

“He's on his way. Now shut up.”

Duncan realized he had little time to get them out of there and on a different trail that would take them far from the soldiers, though further from his home. He needed to distract the soldier so that he and Mercy could sneak past them and be on their way.

With his free hand he carefully felt the ground around him until he connected with a large stone. He gave Mercy a nudge, letting her know to be ready and she squeezed his hand in response.

He heaved the stone as far as he could opposite of where they lay.

“Hold, by order of the king!” Nate shouted and hurried in the direction of the sound.

Duncan and Mercy scrambled to their feet and ran for the woods and didn't stop once in its safety. They both knew distance was needed, so they hurried their pace as best they could.

The thick darkness of night proved a hindrance, causing them to alter their pace considerably, but it didn't stop them.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Duncan drew to a halt. “We need a brief rest.”

“Do you know where we are?” she asked breathless.

“I have a general idea.”

“The soldiers seem to know our every move,” she said.

“They assume we head to safe land,” Duncan explained. “Land they are not welcome on and will not tread upon without approval from the king. And with the way things are at the moment, I don't believe the king wants to war with a ruling chieftain from the north.”

“What do we do?”

“What I should have done from the beginning,” he said. “Take the long way home.”

“How long?”

“A week or more,” he answered.

He thought perhaps she would protest, though he wasn't surprised when she didn't. Survival was their main concern. She understood that and had done what was necessary, so there was no reason she would brook objection now.

“We best get moving,” she said. “We can find a place to rest some time after dawn, hopefully after we find something to eat.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.”

They continued, though kept a slower pace, their limbs
protesting from the long day's hike. Neither spoke, they simply kept trudging along.

“Do you think the soldiers will find our trail?” she asked.

“They seemed convinced that we would cross that field, a logical expectation, so I assume they will remain there for a day or so.”

“Will other soldiers follow the trail we're on?”

“It's doubtful,” Duncan said.

“Why?”

“It leads to pagan territory. The king's rules hold no importance there. It is where the Picts live.”

“I thought the Picts were no more.”

“While most Scots and Picts blended when Cinaed brought them together, there were a few who preferred to keep to their ways. Not many tread on their land, most out of fear, though more from ignorance.”

“You don't fear them.”

“There's nothing to fear,” he assured her.

“When will we reach their land?” she asked.

“A day at the most.”

They continued walking, at times their pace hurried and other times slowed. By the time dawn broke on the horizon they had put a good distance between themselves and the soldiers.

They stood on a small hill and greeted the sun, their hands clasped and their limbs aching.

She swayed against him and he wrapped his arm around her. Her head went to rest on his chest.

“We'll find shelter and rest. We both need it.”

“That would be best,” she said.

“You're tired,” he said, feeling guilty that he had pushed her so hard yet again. He slipped his finger beneath her chin, wanting to gaze into her lovely eyes as he offered what encouragement he could.

His eyes sprung wide when he saw the blood caked above and around her eye.

“Why didn't you tell me you were injured?” he said and scooped her up into his arms.

“You would have stopped.” She yawned. “And that would have been foolish.”

“You should have told me,” he scolded and looked around, not sure what he should do first.

“Water to cleanse the wound, food to give me strength and rest so I can heal,” she said as if providing him with an answer.

“There's a stream not too far,” he said and began walking.

“How far?”

“Thirty or so minutes.”

“Put me down. I will walk,” she said.

“No!”

“Don't be foolish,” she warned gently and rested her hand to his cheek. “If you tire from carrying me, how then will you be able to tend me?”

“Damn,” he mumbled. “Why must you make sense?”

“One of us must,” she said with a smile.

He eased her gently out of his arms, keeping his hands
at her waist until he was certain that she had the strength to stand.

“I'm fine,” she assured him.

While he wanted to believe her, it was difficult. The blood was caked thickly above and around her eye and he feared if he disturbed the wound it would begin bleeding again.

“You should have told me,” he said again.

She rested her hand on his arm. “Wouldn't you have done the same?”

He had to smile. “You know me too well.”

“That isn't hard to do,” she said and tugged his hand for him to walk along with her.

He wanted badly to scoop her up and carry her, but she was right. They were both already exhausted and he would need what strength remained to not only see to her wound but to find a way to feed them and arrange a good shelter.

Silence followed them and by the time they reached the stream, fatigue was near to claiming them both.

They sunk down together in front of the stream and both leaned over, eagerly scooping up handfuls of water.

Duncan was busy quenching his thirst when suddenly his hand was yanked away. He turned, thinking to tease Mercy about her eager thirst and saw that she was falling facefirst into the stream.

His hands shot out and grabbed her though not before her face and shoulders disappeared beneath the chilled water.