Page 86 of Bound to a Warrior
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
