Bound to a Warrior

by Donna Fletcher

  “I’m sorry,” Mercy said with a sincerity that had him shake his head.

  “Don’t worry about it. It isn’t easy being chained to someone.”

  “Shackles aren’t the only things that chain people,” she said and turned to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “I’d like to pick some sprigs of heather.”

  “We can’t dally,” he reminded, though followed her.

  She didn’t. She hastily claimed two sprigs, one dropping to the ground as she tucked the other in her hair behind her ear.

  Duncan quickly snatched it off the ground, the sweet scent drifting across his nostrils. She reached for it as he moved to tuck it alongside the other sprig and their hands met. They stilled for a moment, and while Duncan knew it would be wise to surrender the small blossom to her, he didn’t.

  He placed the sprig beside the other one, running his fingers lightly along the tip of her ear as he finished.

  “It suits you,” he said.

  Did he imagine that her breath caught before she spoke? Had his breath caught as well? How strange that such a simple act could cause breathlessness.

  “How silly of me,” she said. “Our lives are in danger and I stop to pick heather.”

  He took a solid hold of her hand, though the chain already held them firm. “Nonsense. It is good that you think to do the things you normally would. It makes our dire situation seem less dismal, and besides the heather looks lovely in your hair.”

  She smiled and released her grip on his fingers, though kept them laced gently around his. “I will miss your compliments when we part.”

  Not two full days spent with her and the idea that they would part somehow troubled him.

  Enough foolish thoughts, he had a mission to accomplish.

  “We best pick up our pace,” he advised strongly.

  “Yes, I agree,” she said with a nod.

  They did just that and traveled a good distance before they came upon a croft. They remained hidden behind a boulder on the edge of a field where the crop had already been harvested, nor ravaged by the king’s soldiers, a common occurrence. It seemed the king felt fit to issue an edict that his soldiers were to be fed regardless of farmers and their families’ needs.

  After watching for near an hour, it appeared that an older man and woman were the only occupants.

  “If we ask them for help, will we not be placing them in harm’s way?” Mercy asked with concern.

  “They are in harm’s way regardless. The soldiers will torture them for answers either way, and they will die because of it either way. The king cares not for his people, only for filling his own belly and coffers.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Our burden would be lighter without this chain,” he said.

  “Then it is tools we look for?”

  He nodded.

  It didn’t take them long to make their way to the open stable area as soon as they determined no one was in sight. If they were to find anything helpful it would be there. They remained as quiet as they could, though Duncan grew annoyed when their search results produced not a single thing.

  “How can he tend his horses when he has no tools?” Duncan said with an irritated whisper.

  “My exact question to the king’s soldiers this morning.”

  Duncan and Mercy spun around and came face to face with a man, not near as old as they had surmised, but rather aged by hardship. Gray mingled with thick black hair and worry lines dug deep across his brow and down around his eyes and more heavily around his mouth. And yet the rolled up sleeves of his tan linen shirt showed arms thick with muscles and a broad chest that stretched the worn fabric.

  “I’m Bailey,” The man offered his hand and as Duncan took it, the man said, “I prefer not to know who you are.”

  “It is better that you don’t,” Duncan said as their hands locked in a strong grip.

  “I wish I could offer you the hospitality of my home, but ever since I spotted you, my wife has grown concerned for our safety.”

  “You knew we were hiding?” Mercy asked, surprised.

  Duncan answered for him. “You’re a tracker.”

  Bailey shook his head vigorously. “I am no more than a simple farmer.”

  Duncan didn’t argue. The man was obviously more than simply a farmer, but he could understand why he wouldn’t want anyone, especially the king, to know of any special skills he possessed. He could very well be forced into the king’s service.

  “I can provide you with food,” Bailey said.

  “Can you spare it?” Duncan asked.

  “For those in need, food can always be spared. Wait here. I’ll return in a moment.”

  Once Bailey was out of sight, Mercy turned to Duncan. “The soldiers are looking for us, aren’t they?”

  He saw worry on her face and he couldn’t say he didn’t feel the same. “It would be the most logical reason why all the tools are gone.”

  “They believe keeping us shackled will slow us down,” she confirmed. “But that would have to mean they believe us still alive.” She shook her head. “How could they know that?”

  “They may not know,” Duncan said. “They just may not be taking any chances.”

  “One of you must be—”

  Mercy gave a little yelp and instinctively slipped into the crook of Duncan’s arm, which he immediately slipped around her as they both turned to face Bailey.

  “Sorry,” Bailey apologized. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “You’re light on your feet,” Duncan said.

  “Old habit,” Bailey confessed.

  “Not a bad one to have,” Duncan said.

  Bailey held out a sack. “There’s bread and cheese and a blanket. The Highlands get cold at night.”

  “What about you and your wife?” Duncan asked, his arm remaining protectively around Mercy.

  “We’ll be leaving here soon enough,” he admitted. “It won’t take the soldiers long to pick up your tracks and trace them back here. My wife, Kate, will give birth in about five months and I want her and our child safe.”

  “I’m so sorry that it is because of us you are forced to leave your home,” Mercy said.

  Bailey sneered. “It’s not our home. The king claims everything. I but work for his pleasure.”

  “What will you do?” Mercy asked anxiously.

  “I intend to go find the true king of Scotland and join his battle to restore him to his rightful power, so that my land will be mine.”

  “Some believe the seer’s prophecy that the true king will soon return nothing but myth. You believe otherwise?” Mercy asked.

  “I have to believe, or else there is no future for my wife and unborn child,” Bailey said.

  Duncan reached out his hand. “We wish you well and we are grateful for your help. May your journey be swift and safe, my friend.”

  “I have no doubt it will be,” Bailey said.

  Duncan took Mercy’s hand and they both hurried off, neither commenting on Bailey’s unfinished remark.

  One of you must—

  They kept silent, though each thought over what Bailey intended to say.

  One of you must be mighty important for the King to be searching so hard for you.

  Chapter 4

  They walked for another hour before they settled in the safety of a thick grove of oaks. Mercy eagerly accepted the hunk of bread and cheese Duncan offered her before taking any for himself.

  While there were questions she wished to ask him, she was just too hungry to waste time on talk. And though she knew her empty stomach would want more than Duncan had given her, she also knew they would need to be careful with the sparse amount they had.

  Though she hadn’t voiced her thought, Duncan agreed. “While hunger still gnaws at me, it would be wise for us to conserve.”

  Mercy nodded. “At least it is good to have a little, and we’re lucky that Bailey’s wife bakes such delicious bread.”

  “It is good.” Duncan smiled. �
��Or we’re too hungry to notice.”

  Mercy laughed. “You are a humorous one.”

  Duncan dusted his fingers. “A smile shared is far better than a frown given.”

  “You’re a poetic philosopher as well.”

  “What do you know of poetic philosophers?” he asked. “Only in a family of means would you find an educated daughter, or wife?”

  “I am neither,” she responded quickly. “I was simply raised by a mother who took great care to educate herself and wished the same for her daughter.” She brushed her hands. “We should go.”

  His hesitation warned her that he pondered her explanation, while she preferred he not give it thought. It was better he knew nothing about her, better she took her leave as soon as she was free of him.

  Her only problem was…where did she go once she was on her own?

  “You frown,” he said. “Something troubles you?”

  “Only the soldiers that follow us,” she said, confident it was no lie.

  He stood, bringing her along with him. “No doubt the soldiers will pick up our trail somewhere and follow soon enough.”

  She shivered at the thought. She had no want to die. Her mother’s foolishness had marked them enemy of the king, thereby sentencing them to death, when truly she had known nothing of her mother’s devious plans.

  “You’re chilled?”

  Mercy shook the fretful musings from her head as she answered him. “No. Not on this lovely warm day. It is fear of capture that sends a shiver through me.”

  He smiled again, though her glance was drawn to the scar at the right side of his mouth. She did something unexpected then. She couldn’t say why, or even that she was aware of what she was doing until her fingers touched the thin, barely visible scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to his chin, leaving the everlasting frown, so foreign to his nature.

  “How did you get this?” she asked, her finger trailing along the thin line. She suddenly realized how inappropriate was her behavior and looked up into his eyes, ready to apologize, but his intense dark glare froze her silent.

  What did she see in them that frightened her? An anger that could kill? A fierce hatred that demanded revenge? Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it.

  “It’s not for you to know,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” she said almost shivering again, only this time from the icy coldness in his voice.

  “We need to go.”

  She simply nodded and followed quietly alongside him. Until this moment she’d had no fear of Duncan. And even now it wasn’t that she feared him as much as feared what he was capable of, since for the first time she caught a glimpse of the fierce Highlander warrior within him.

  They kept a steady pace, exchanging not a single word. Even when fatigue crept up Mercy’s legs she pushed on, and when her feet protested in pain, she ignored them. She knew she had no other choice. Right now her life depended on her stamina.

  He stopped abruptly and she swayed unsteadily. His hand slipped quickly around her waist, pulling her near so that she would not tumble them to the ground.

  She almost collapsed against him, exhaustion ready to claim every limb and muscle of her body. But instead, she struggled to keep a steadfast hold of herself.

  “Night will claim the land soon enough,” he said. “We need to find a safe place and settle in.”

  “Food?” she asked hungry and thirsty.

  “I think we should avoid a fire tonight, in case the soldiers are near.”

  She had thought the same, but hoped differently, though was grateful they had been wise enough to conserve what little food they had.

  Mercy nodded while disappointment settled heavily over her, and without thinking, she rested her weary head to his chest. Though it was thick with taut muscle, it served as a comfortable pillow and his woodsy scent was more pleasing than potent.

  “My chest will gladly pillow your head anytime, after we’re settled for the night.”

  Her head shot up, and she smiled, catching the glint of humor in his eyes. She patted his chest. “And a good pillow it is.”

  “It’s yours as long as you need it.”

  She realized he offered more than his chest as a pillow. He was offering her comfort and protection, and it gave her a sense of safety, if only for their time together.

  A sudden gust of wind swirled around them, stirring leaves and her skirt, and startled them into moving.

  “There’s a stream nearby,” Duncan said. “We’ll make camp not far from it.”

  Mercy wanted to run to it, drink until she burst and then soak her aching feet. Instead, she kept her pace steady alongside Duncan. And before she knew it they were there, and for a moment she was so overwhelmed with relief that she almost cried. Almost, but didn’t.

  Tears were something her mother had taught her to control. She had told Mercy that tears could help or hinder a woman, and she needed to know when it was wise to hold her tears and when it was beneficial to let them fall. So Mercy had gained control over them and could cry at will, or halt a tear from ever staining her face.

  Mercy was relieved that Duncan didn’t stop but went straight to the stream. She followed when he went down on his knees and cupped his one hand to drink from the clear cold water.

  She did the same, refilling her cupped hand time and again. She quenched her thirst before him and saw how he struggled to keep a good amount of water in his cupped hand. She realized why she had no difficulty and he had. She had use of her right hand, while his right hand was shackled to her left one.

  Of course for her it would not have mattered for she was just as skilled with her left hand as her right. Another aptitude her mother taught her, insisting that one never knew when another skilled hand would be needed. And a talent, she warned her daughter, that would be best kept a secret.

  “Perhaps an extra hand would help,” she said extending their joined ones.

  “You sure you’ve had enough?”

  “For now,” she said, appreciative of his thoughtfulness.

  The refreshing water dribbled down his mouth and onto his shirt, but that didn’t stop him from assuaging his thirst. And she couldn’t blame him. She had never been so thirsty in her life, nor had she ever been hungry until these past three days.

  Life had changed for her in one split moment and she had yet to fully grasp the enormity of it. There were too many questions she had no answers to, and certainly too many problems with no solutions. For the moment she could only focus on staying alive; the rest would have to wait.

  When he finished, he turned to her. “I noticed your gait changed a couple of hours ago. Do your feet pain you?”

  This Highlander noticed more than she realized. She would need to be careful.

  “Yes, they do, and I would like nothing more than to slip my boots off and sooth my aching feet in the stream.”

  “I’ll join you,” he said and yanked his boots off.

  Mercy, however, winced when she tried to remove her boots.

  “You’re not used to walking, are you?” he asked.

  “Not long distances without a chance to rest,” she admitted.

  Duncan took hold of her ankle. “This may hurt, but bear the pain. Sound carries too far in the woods.”

  Mercy nodded and squeezed not only her lips tightly closed, but her eyes as well.

  Duncan was quick about it, and she opened damp eyes caused by the stinging pain to survey the damage. As she suspected, patches of skin had been rubbed raw here and there, the most painful being the small toe on her right foot.

  To have a man, truly a stranger, take hold of her ankle was an act of intimacy and much too improper, or so she had been instructed. She almost laughed at the thought, for just last night she had slept naked in this man’s arms and had been glad for it.

  Besides, this large Highlander had a tender touch she favored.

  Duncan cradled her ankle in the palm of his hand, while he examined her injuries. “These will need to be
tended, or you’ll not travel well tomorrow.”

  He traded one ankle for the other and winced. “This tiny toe is the worst. A good soaking will clean it off.” He glanced at her with a grimace. “It’s going to hurt when the cold water rushes over them.”

  “What’s a bit more pain before they numb?” she asked with a weak laugh.

  “Pain is pain, long or short; it’s still felt, still suffered,” Duncan said and one by one he carefully placed her sore feet in the cool stream.

  The harsh sting clouded her eyes with tears, though not a one fell. It took only a few moments before the throbbing pain faded, and she sighed with relief.

  “You should have told me you were in pain.”

  “There was nothing you could have done, and we couldn’t stop.” She nodded toward his unblemished feet. “Your feet are accustomed to strenuous hikes?”

  “I’ve walked a good portion of the Highlands.”

  “Where are you from in the Highlands?” she asked, curious to know more about him.

  “Not far from here,” he said. “And where do you call home?”

  Since he wasn’t forthcoming with answers, she purposely kept her response vague. “We’re far past my home.”

  “Where is it you’ll be going when you’re free of me?”

  His question jolted her. How was it that in such a short time she had grown accustomed to having this man by her side? And the thought of not seeing him ever again, while a foolish musing, actually disturbed her.

  “As far away from here as possible,” she admitted with a degree of sorrow. “And you? Where will you go?”

  “I will remain with my family and friends and tend to my duties.”

  She would have liked to know more, but a crunch of leaves had them both anxiously scurrying to their feet.

  Two squirrels in play tumbled along the ground and then raced up a tree to jump from branch to branch until they were out of sight.

  “We need to find shelter,” Duncan said as he turned, snatched up his boots, tugged them on and then reached for hers and the sack of food.

  She took them from him, but before she could slip them on, he startled her by scooping her up into his arms and settling her firmly against him.