Page 21 of Bound to a Warrior
“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, placing 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 benotto 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.
“At least rest for a bit and let me tend to your sore feet,” Dolca said, turning to Mercy.
“Is my discomfort that noticeable?” Mercy asked.
But it was Duncan who spoke. “You should have told me you were in pain.”
“There was nothing you could have done, and I refuse to allow my sore feet to slow us down.”
“You are a stubborn one,” he snapped, angry with himself for not noticing.
“Stubbornness is sometimes necessary,” she said, though not defensively, but rather matter-of-factly.
