Page 39 of Bound to a Warrior
“Good,” she said, though quickly added, “not that it’s good you’re worn out, but that I feel less guilty knowing you require rest as well.”
“Then rest we shall have,” he said and before he released her chin, he kissed her softly and then took her hand as he headed for a thicket of bushes.
She was becoming all too accustomed to his kisses, even looking forward to them. She considered that perhaps the lovely and often intense feelings she experienced with him were the prelude to falling in love. If that was so she was in trouble.
She would dearly love to remain with his clan, build a life there and even continue to explore her mounting attraction and desire for Duncan. Unfortunately, that was a dream that would not see fruition. She simply could not allow it to, no matter how enticing it seemed. In doing so she would endanger many lives, just as she had Duncan’s.
She could not allow herself the luxury of believing she could have a normal life. It just would not happen, not now, perhaps not ever, unless of course the seer’s prediction proved true.
Sorrow stabbed at her heart. Her father had not been a loving man. He could even be harsh at times, though it had been worse when he simply ignored her as if she didn’t exist. She had wanted for nothing, except of course his love, or a minor demonstration of it. Time had taught her that she was more of a pawn for her mother and father to use in their games for power and influence. It explained why she was treated well, though not cherished, why she was taught various languages, why she was schooled in the manners of the high-born. Her mother wished to match her with the king who would claim the throne. Her father planned to sell her to the highest bidder, and she would be as her mother, a kept woman.
“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.
Chapter 13
Duncan 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?”
