Page 11 of Bound to a Warrior
“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.
