Bound to a Warrior Read online

  Mercy only intended it as a demonstration.

  Duncan took it differently.

  She was in his arms and his lips on hers before she had a chance to react and by then she realized she liked the taste of him. His kiss wasn’t hungry, sloppy or hurried and he didn’t grope her. His arm remained taut around her waist while his lips simply took command.

  And though she had never been kissed, it didn’t matter. She did what came naturally to her and tasted him with all the enthusiasm of a novice ready and willing to learn. And she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to go on tasting him, until a tingle started between her legs and she felt the urge to press closer, more intimately against him. She knew then she had to stop, or soon passion would take command and the choice would not be hers. And hadn’t her mother told her endlessly that when a woman controlled the passion, she controlled the man? Right now, at this moment, she needed to be in control.

  Reluctantly, she broke away from him, her lips lingering for one last moment on his before she took a step back.

  “That is how you shall know I want you,” she said a bit breathless and trying to ignore his flaring nostrils and heaving chest.

  He looked about to speak and then, as if thinking better, shut his mouth tightly.

  “Perhaps we should leave our remaining garments on to dry,” she suggested.

  He nodded, turned toward the fire and continued to remain silent.

  She chose to do the same.

  She suddenly realized she was still bare-breasted and wished to slip her blouse back on. But it was too wet, as was her skirt. She needed to get her garments dried and with hours yet before nightfall, it was possible that her blouse could dry. Then she could slip it on and her skirt off, leaving her long blouse to provide cover.

  She moved to gain distance, forgetting they were attached, and yanked him along with her. He stumbled, though righted himself without touching her, and then in unison they sat before the fire.

  Where once she felt comfortable with him, she now was apprehensive. She blamed it on the kiss. The kiss had changed things between them. How or why, she wasn’t sure. She only knew that things were now different.

  A twinge in her foot reminded her that she had not attended to her sore feet, and she quickly set to the task, besides her boots needed drying. The wet leather gave her a bit of a struggle and after her effort produced a grunt and a groan, Duncan reached out and took command.

  He pushed her hands away and with a gentle yank had her boots off in no time. He did the same to his own and placed both hers and his near the heat of the fire. He then turned and slipped his hand around her ankle and lifted it to rest on his crossed legs.

  “I can see—”

  A quick raise and snap of his hand had her protest dying on her lips. Now was not a good time to argue with him, so she let him have his way.

  He was gentle as he unwrapped the swath of cloth she had used to protect her blistered toe. He examined it, raising her leg to get a better look. When he was done he did the same to her other foot.

  She thought him done, since he draped the strips of cloth over the boots. And with her feet more chilled than aching, she wanted to warm them by the fire. But when she started to slide her feet off his legs, his hand quickly stopped them. Then without a word he began to rub the warmth back into one.

  She never expected his large hands to be so nimble. He massaged her sole with deep, thrusting strokes, chasing the chill from her feet. Then he tenderly worked heat into her toes, taking his time until each one glowed pink. After finishing the one foot, he worked on the other. And she simply sat with her eyes closed and enjoyed as the heat spread from her feet up along her body.

  Somewhere in her head she was reminding herself that she should be more concerned with making certain her blouse dried, but convinced herself that her feet were just as important.

  Suddenly she recalled her naked breasts and the consequences of not seeing that her blouse dried. It meant sleeping completely naked in Duncan’s arms again. And after their kiss, she didn’t think that was a wise idea.

  He stopped just as she opened her eyes, and she was relieved that no comment was necessary. She stretched her feet out far enough so that the fire’s heat would continue to keep them warm. She then fussed with arranging her blouse as best as possible to dry, hoping he would follow her lead. Gratefully he did, and they once again settled quietly in silence.

  She didn’t care for the uncomfortable silence between them. She missed the ease in which they had talked with one another and the sense of safety she had felt with him. The kiss had simply ruined everything, but yet…

  She couldn’t deny that she favored his kiss, unexpected as it was and with no sense of expectation; it had been a memorable experience. And if she was honest with herself, one she wouldn’t mind experiencing again.

  Stop being foolish, Mercy.

  Her mother’s sharp warning rang clear in her head. She had expected it; even though her mother was dead, her lessons had been drilled too deeply for Mercy to ever forget. Her mother would expect her to use Duncan for what she could get from him and then be done with him. After all, he was not a man of means or power and thereby worthless to the likes of her mother.

  But if he could keep her safe and provide a safe haven until she could find better, then her mother would advise her to do whatever was necessary, and that included coupling with him.

  Her mother had warned Mercy not to waste her time on love—that it was a grievous condition that brought only pain and suffering. She recalled the rare few times she heard her mother crying. She had been young and her mother’s sobs had ripped at her small heart and she wanted to comfort her, but when she had tried, her mother yelled that this was what loving a man did to you and don’t be foolish enough to ever let it happen.

  And so she was left confused about love and men. Her mother told her not to worry, since she would see that a generous marriage arrangement was made for her. However, her mother had made a foolish and costly decision, and now Mercy was on her own.

  “We will need to find food in the morning.”

  Mercy was so relieved that Duncan had broken the silence. Being alone with her thoughts didn’t help, since it made her realize the true precariousness of her situation.

  “It would be nice if we could catch a fish or two, but that would require a fire to cook them,” she said disappointed.

  “There are farms throughout this area. We’re bound to come across one soon.”

  “The tenants may fear helping us.”

  “Or they may be as kind as Bailey and his wife. And if not we’ll survive on the last of the fall berries and apples, if we can find them. Then when we arrive at my home, Mara will have a feast prepared.”

  He spoke the woman’s name with such fondness and glee that Mercy couldn’t help but ask, “You love this woman?”

  With a broad smile and a glint of joy in his eyes, he said, “With all my heart and I have since I was born.”

  Strangely, she felt a pang of relief. “She’s your mother.”

  Duncan shook his head. “My mother died giving birth to me and my father died shortly after in battle. With no other family left to care for me, Mara and her husband Carmag took me in and raised me as their own along with their son Trey, who is but a year younger than my twenty and seven years.”

  “So Trey is like a brother to you.”

  Duncan nodded. “So are Reeve and Bryce, who arrived at Mara and Carmag’s doorstep one cold snowy night. Bryce was barely five years and Reeve just four years and they clung to each other for a good week until they finally realized they had found a good, safe home.”

  “They’re brothers?” she asked happy that she was learning more about Duncan and relieved she was feeling comfortable with him once again.

  “No. They met along the road after their farms had been destroyed and their parents killed.”

  “Clan war?’ Mercy asked.

  “If the clans aren’t battling themselve
s, they’re battling those who wish to claim sovereignty over Scotland.”

  “But it is being whispered that the true king will return soon and his reign will bring peace,” she said.

  “Many hope and pray that it is true,” he said and reached his hand out to feel his shirt. “Almost dry.”

  Mercy eagerly felt her blouse. “Mine is dry. Now I can put it on and take my skirt off and leave it to dry.”

  Duncan stood along with her. She wasn’t surprised that he turned his head away while she removed her skirt and maneuvered herself into her blouse. Then she quickly spread her skirt out to dry.

  She let him know he could turn around with a quick, “All done.”

  His dark eyes took in all of her much too slowly and lingered much too long in certain areas. And while the linen blouse provided sufficient covering, she also realized it tantalized. Her mother taught her that a single revealing garment could entice a man more than if a woman stood naked before him.

  “You should know by now that I’m extremely attracted to you and that kiss we shared makes me want to sample more of you.”

  She felt a nibble of the same, but it would be unwise to let him know that now. He would assume that she was willing, when actually she was curious. And curiosity could be a dangerous thing.

  “And presently, I wish only for the safety and warmth of your arms,” she said.

  “Does that mean you will still keep your promise of that kiss when we are free?”

  She smiled. “A promise is a promise.”

  “Then I promise you the safety and warmth of my arms for as long as you need them.” He grinned. “No matter how difficult it is for me.”

  She laughed softly. “You are an honorable man, Highlander.”

  “There you go forever reminding me.”

  “I don’t think you need reminding. I believe it is your nature. It is simply who you are.”

  “Keep that thought strong,” he said, his hand going to his waist. “Since I’m about to take this annoying wet wool plaid off and stand naked in front of you.”

  Chapter 7

  “You’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, plac
ing 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.