Bound to a Warrior Read online

  “She’s a brave one.” Reeve grinned. “And a beauty.”

  “Don’t make me beat you,” Duncan said.

  “I think our brother has fallen in love,” Trey said with a laugh.

  “I think the two of you should get your mind back on the mission,” Duncan scolded.

  “Ours never left it,” Reeve said. “Can you say the same about yours?”

  Duncan knew this discussion was inevitable. When the mission began the four of them swore that nothing would interfere with it, especially women. A dalliance here and there didn’t matter, but love had a way of intruding and it was agreed it should be avoided at all costs.

  “You doubt my commitment?” Duncan asked.

  “No,” Reeve said and laughed. “Your sanity.”

  “While there was always a chance that one of us, the most foolish one, would fall in love,” Trey said with a grin. “Never would any of us have imagined it would be with the present king’s daughter.”

  “I didn’t know and I never intended to fall in love with her or anyone until this mission was completed,” Duncan said.

  “Then what now?” Trey asked.

  “I have no idea. Let’s meet with the messenger and see what he has to say, and as for the rest?” Duncan shrugged. “Only time will tell.”

  They didn’t have to go far into the woods to meet with Neil, a wiry little fellow who appeared quite agitated by the time they arrived. Their father was with him and simply shook his head as they approached.

  “What kept you?” Neil demanded, pulling at his mouth, a habit of his when he was nervous. “I took a chance coming here now with the king’s soldiers swarming the land.”

  “Why?” Duncan asked, though he knew the answer.

  Neil leaned closer to Duncan as if he feared being heard. “The king searches for his bastard-daughter.”

  “Why?” Reeve asked.

  “No one knows,” Neil said, shaking his head vigorously. “Though they’re all wondering what he intends for her.”

  “He had wanted her dead,” Duncan said. “Why the change of heart?”

  Neil shrugged. “Some believe he feels guilty for acting so rashly when he discovered that her mother, his longtime mistress, had betrayed him. He flew into a rage and ordered both their deaths. He succeeded in taking his mistress’s life, but his daughter got away.” Neil nodded, bobbing his head repeatedly. “Some think that the king discovered that her mother left vital information about the true king with her and he wants that information.”

  “This is all speculation?” Trey asked.

  Neil continued bobbing. “All except the death of his mistress. That’s true. Her daughter survived because her mother sent her away with plans to meet up with her later. Her delay cost her her own life, but saved her daughter’s life…though for how long is anyone’s guess.”

  “Is this the important news you brought us?” Reeve asked.

  Neil’s bobbing turned to shaking. “No. I have uncovered some dire news.” His voice turned low. “I have learned that there is a spy amongst you.”

  “Who?” Duncan demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Neil said. “I only know that the person has recently arrived.”

  “Man or woman?” Trey asked.

  “Again I don’t know,” Neil said. “It is being kept hushed and I was lucky to have learned of it. Be careful. Do not let anything happen to the true king. The people are praying for his safety and that he takes the throne soon.”

  “He’s in safe hands. Don’t worry,” Reeve said.

  “I will try to learn all I can about the one who has come to spy on you,” Neil said.

  Duncan reached out and placed a firm hand on the thin man’s shoulder. “You serve the true king well. He is pleased and looks forward to meeting you one day.”

  Neil smiled and tears gathered in his weary eyes. “I pray I live to see him crowned king.”

  “Be careful and be safe,” Duncan said.

  They left Neil with their father who, along with six warriors, escorted him to the border where one warrior would trail him until he was safely away.

  The three brothers returned to the keep and went straight to the solar where all mission matters were discussed. It occupied the second floor of the keep, the doors kept lock. It was known that none could enter without permission and none dared.

  “Neither of you have to say what you’re thinking,” Duncan said, sitting in one of the wooden chairs in front of the hearth.

  Reeve said what Duncan wouldn’t. “That Mercy’s a spy. Problem is that it just doesn’t make sense. I’m more concerned with the thought that Mercy could possess information about the true king.”

  “He’s right,” Trey said, sitting in the chair beside Duncan and stretching out his booted feet to the fire. “I could see why some might think it, she being daughter to the king. But if anyone knew of what you two have gone through, it just won’t be a thought. However, I too, wonder if she knows something that she does not share.”

  “I’m glad you two see how improbable it is that she would be a spy,” Duncan said.

  “We’re the only ones that matter,” Reeve said. “Besides, this news can’t be known, this has to remain between us.”

  Duncan nodded. “We let whoever it is set his own trap.”

  “And we’re there to capture him,” Trey said.

  “As for Mercy having information about the true king,” Duncan said, “if she does, she hides it well. She even eluded that it was simply a myth and nothing more.”

  “What if she doesn’t know she carries information?” Reeve asked.

  “That’s a good possibility,” Trey said. “Her mother never would have risked her status unless she had positive proof about the true king.”

  “Has Mercy spoken of her mother at all?” Reeve asked.

  “No, she hasn’t,” Duncan said.

  “Has she said where she was to meet up with her mother?” Reeve said.

  Duncan shook his head. “I’m going to need to learn more about her mother and whatever plans she had for them.”

  “Probe carefully and quickly,” Reeve warned. “Mercy may not know she carries vital information.”

  Duncan nodded, not happy with the thought. What had Mercy’s mother been up to and just how much did Mercy truly know?

  For the next couple of hours they discussed the matter and what each had learned on their prospective missions, until finally Duncan asked about Bryce.

  “I saw him two days ago,” Reeve said. “He’s almost done forming plans with the western contingent. He should be home in a day or two.”

  “I have a thought,” Duncan said. “I spent some time in Pict territory. I believe it would wise of us to befriend the Picts more than we have.”

  “They would fight with us?” Reeve asked.

  “I believe they would. I don’t think they’re foolish enough to believe they are safe from this king,” Duncan said.

  A rapid double knock sounded at the door, the signal that it was someone known to them. Trey unlocked it and his father entered.

  “How goes the news?” Carmag asked.

  And for the next couple of hours the men talked, though through it all Duncan kept glancing at his chafed wrist. He wondered what Mercy was doing and worried that she felt a stranger in her new surroundings. And then there was the information she may know. He not only needed to speak with her, he needed to be with her. He needed to hold her hand.

  Finally he asked his father, “Is Mother showing Mercy around the keep or the village.”

  Carmag shook his head. “Mara is busy delivering Brena’s baby.”

  “Have you seen Mercy around?” Duncan asked, moving to the edge of his chair.

  “I saw her walking in the village and waved, but didn’t have time to stop since I wanted to come here and see what has been learned.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine on her own,” Trey said.

  Duncan stood. “We’ve been shackled together for weeks and then
I suddenly thrust her out on her own in a place where she knows no one. That’s not very chivalrous of me.”

  Reeve grinned.

  “Don’t dare make a remark,” Duncan warned and walked to the door.

  “Go rescue your fair maiden in distress, but—”

  “Shut up, Reeve,” Duncan warned again and walked out slamming the door behind him.

  Reeve laughed. “Damn, but if he isn’t in love.”

  Trey and Carmag agreed with nods and laughter.

  Mercy didn’t remain at the smithy after Duncan had left. Finally being on her own, she wasn’t certain what to do with herself and oddly enough she wasn’t looking for company. She preferred time to think. Something she had done much of when she was home with her mother, or mostly when her mother wasn’t home or otherwise occupied.

  She had learned at a very young age to entertain herself, and when her father had insisted she be educated, she took to her lessons eagerly. After that, she explored everything she could. There was no holding her back. She wanted to learn everything about everything.

  While she would have preferred to avoid her stitching lessons, her mother hadn’t allowed it. She had told Mercy that there may come a day that she needed to stitch more than a garment. Her mother introduced and stressed the knowledge of numbers. She had insisted that Mercy know how to keep tally of what belonged to her and how to bargain for better prices with traveling merchants. And most importantly, how to hide money so that no one knew your true worth.

  Her mother had established a small fortune while mistress to the king, but unfortunately she had spent much of it trying to locate the true king in an attempt to make Mercy his queen.

  But all that was behind her now. Life had changed suddenly, in the blink of an eye, and Mercy had never had the time to consider the ramifications. She had been on the run since her mother had sent her away with a quick kiss and a promise they would be together soon.

  She was shackled to Duncan soon after and only now was she truly on her own. And she momentarily felt lost, adrift without oars and no shore in sight. She would love to believe that Duncan was her knight to the rescue, but there was her father to consider. And what man would truly wish to defy the king?

  Though Duncan had, recalling how he had informed the soldier in no uncertain terms that she belonged to him now. She had told him once that she had belonged to no one, and yet she didn’t argue when this time he claimed that she belonged to him. Perhaps it was because she felt that he belonged to her.

  Mercy drifted through the village returning a frantic wave from Mara who was hurrying behind a man.

  “A birthing,” Mara called out and waved for her to join her.

  Mercy declined with a vigorous shake of her head and a smile. She preferred to be alone right now.

  She smiled, thinking about the baby about to be born. Babies were something she wanted. Being an only child was much too lonely, so she wanted to have a slew of babies, even though her mother had warned her against it. She had claimed that a man would lose interest in her after awhile, where one child would tie her to him, but not take the woman’s attention away from the man.

  She glanced around the active village. Many stared at her, but few approached or offered welcome. She wondered if they had already heard that she was the bastard daughter of the king. It would certainly explain the distance they were keeping from her.

  The gawking and whispers continued as she explored and finally it became too much for her. No one greeted her pleasantly or hospitably and so she sought the only sanctuary where she would feel safe…she went to Duncan’s room.

  The bed had been freshened and the fire stoked. There was also a dark blue skirt and pale yellow blouse draped over the wooden chair. She assumed Mara had left them for her.

  She yawned and thought a nap might due her well, and then she was suddenly seized by a reminder from her mother.

  You must protect yourself at all costs.

  Of course, her mother hadn’t meant that she should physically protect herself, but suddenly it seemed like a necessity. And so she hurried out of the room and out of the keep and made her way back to the smithy.

  He greeted her a bit apprehensively, but she didn’t let that bother her.

  “Harry,” she said with a smile. “What type of weapon would be relatively easy for me to use in order to protect myself?”

  Inquiring about his area of expertise brought a huge smile to his face and he was quick to reach for a weapon. It was a dagger, the blade slim, the metal handle light and a perfect fit for her hand. He explained the basic fundamentals of using the weapon. He also explained that the only way to attain any skill with it was endless practice.

  He demonstrated a few moves and gave her much advice, then offered the dagger to her as a gift. She insisted that there must be a way for her to repay his kindness.

  “Someday perhaps there will be a way,” he said and folded her fingers around the blade. “For now, I am pleased to know that you have a way of protecting yourself. Just promise me that you will practice.”

  She raised the dagger. “I will start this very moment.”

  She thanked him again, and with renewed spirit headed for the woods to practice.

  It was more fun than she had imagined practicing with her new weapon. It felt right and fit particularly well in her small hand. She thrust and jabbed as Harry had shown her and paid mind to her feet as Harry also had warned.

  It is a synchronized dance, he had told her, and you must learn the rhythm.

  She was more than willing to learn, and so she listened to the melody in her head until her steps matched her thrusts and jabs. And she bent and stretched and bowed and swerved in a dance that if anyone saw would think her crazy.

  She smiled as she continued practicing, feeling at ease for the first time since she and Duncan had parted. The first hour apart had been the most difficult. She had felt as if a part of her had been missing, as though a limb had been severed. It had been the strangest feeling and one that had not completely dissipated.

  She didn’t believe her head wound had pained her half as much as separating from Duncan and that worried her, for what if she had no choice but to leave him in order to protect him.

  Her concerned thoughts directed her thrusts and they turned more powerful as her rumination grew more intense. She needed this, the knowledge that with practice and purpose she could learn to defend herself and the ones she loved.

  If she had learned this along with her other lessons, perhaps she could have saved her mother. Instead, the soldiers had laughed when they had told her how they had watched as her mother’s blood soaked into the ground around her and that how with her last breath she said—

  “Mercy.”

  She spun around ready to jab, the voice not her mother’s.

  He attacked before she could turn, locking his hand over hers that held the weapon. While his other hand grappled with hers, though not for long since his strength overpowered and forced her arm tight against her waist, pinning her back against him.

  In mere minutes she found herself weaponless and defenseless against him.

  Now what did she do?

  Chapter 26

  The solution was simple.

  “I’ve missed you,” Mercy said, having known from his first touch that it was Duncan. A true foe would have been harsh. His touch had combined strength and passion, and besides, the scent of him was all too familiar.

  He leaned down and nuzzled her neck. “And I you. But what is this you do here?”

  She waggled the weapon in the air, though his hand remained firm around hers. “I asked Harry for a suitable weapon for me.”

  “Why? You have me and my family to protect you.”

  “But who protects you?”

  He laughed. “I think I’m capable of doing that.”

  She titled her head back until it hit his chest and looked up at him. “That might not always be so. I want to be prepared for you and for me.”

&
nbsp; Duncan released her hand, keeping her pressed against him. He ran his hand up her exposed neck, until his fingers played along her chin. “I will always be there for you, Mercy.”

  She struggled to smile. “As much as I’d like to believe that, I know it may not always be possible.”

  “Then I will teach you how to defend yourself,” he stated emphatically.

  Her smile came easily. “I would like and appreciate that. Can we start now?”

  “A brief lesson for now, for I wish to talk with you.”

  She nodded, glad for the time with him and glad he wished to talk with her, for she felt the same.

  Duncan took the dagger from her and they stepped apart.

  “A dagger is basically a companion to the sword. Its thrust span is limited, meaning unless you know how to move and avoid someone who attacks with a sword, you will not survive a fight. Remember that,” he cautioned.

  She nodded and listened intently, wanting to learn everything he could teach her.

  “You were doing well, finding a good rhythm. It is important in any blade fight. You must know when and where to step to avoid injury and to do damage.” He held his arms out to her. “Come, we will move together so that I can show you areas you must pay close attention to.”

  She went into his arms without hesitation. She knew she always would and the reason made no difference. She simply wanted to be there.

  His large hand devoured her small one; she fit so snugly in his hand. And his arm went around her waist easing her back against him.

  “Move with me.”

  That would be easy, since she had become so very familiar with his moves. Chained or not, they seemed to have a natural rhythm to them. She liked to believe it was born of love since it seemed so normal, so right.

  He detailed various attack scenarios and demonstrated how she should approach them. He was also candid about ones that could prove fatal far more easily than others. But it was the thrusting and jabs he emphasized and warned, as Harry had done, that only practice would make perfect.

  He worked with her over and over, admonishing and praising her efforts, and her confidence grew, and so did her passion. Their bodies moved in unison with each thrust and jab, and each time, her bottom bumped against his groin. And she was well aware that his passion had been stirred along with hers.