Page 27 of Bound to a Warrior
“We need to get moving,” he said, not trusting himself not to kiss her there and then. Her lips were much too inviting and he was much too hungry to taste them. “The darkening sky threatens another storm.”
“We should find shelter then,” Mercy said, sitting up.
Duncan followed and got to his feet, taking her along with him.
Mercy brushed the debris from her blouse and skirt as she asked, “How far to your home?”
“Four days if we keep a good pace and do not have to detour further to avoid the soldiers.” He was truly anxious to get home. He had much news to share and there was still much to be done, though he had no doubt his brothers would have much to say about the shackles.
They began the climb down, hands joined and their steps confident.
Chapter 9
They found shelter in an abandoned cottage weathered and beaten by time. Though four walls remained intact, the sky was clearly visible through a gaping hole. Still, it provided sufficient protection from a light rain that had started falling.
A pallet whose stuffing leaked through torn patches was bunched up in a corner and Mercy went to its rescue, forgetting Duncan was attached to her. She stopped and turned her head when she heard him stumble to keep up with her.
“I’m sorry, but that worn bedding looks fit enough to save us from another night’s rest on the hard ground.”
“A tempting thought,” he agreed, and led the way.
It startled Mercy to realize that she enjoyed watching him move. There was courage and confidence in his steps that she didn’t often see in others. And his thick arms rippled with muscles even in the slightest of movements and hardened like the blade of a mighty sword when a stronger strength was needed. She could easily attest to that, since he had captured and held her in his arms often enough since they first met. His neck also fascinated her, thick and wide, the perfect haven for her to tuck her head.
She counted herself lucky, in an odd way, for being chained to this man. Otherwise she would have never been able to know him so intimately, and she was glad for it. From what she had learned so far, she believed him to be a special man. Or was it that she found herself deeply attracted to him that made him so special in her eyes?
They spread the lumpy bedding on the floor near the corner and away from the hole in the roof. Then they both plopped down on it and smiled at each other.
“It’s a fine bed we have for tonight,” Duncan said.
She reached for the sack he had dropped to the ground before helping her. “And we have food and a blanket. We are living well.”
She placed the folded blanket on the ground in front of them and then began placing the food on top.
“You are accustomed to living well?”
His inquiry startled her, but she had to expect him to be curious about her, since she was about him.
Still, she was cautious. “Why do you ask?”
He reached out and took her hand turning it over to trace a finger around her palm. “Your lovely skin bears no signs of hard labor.”
For a moment Mercy’s thoughts could center on nothing but the tantalizing play of his finger on the flesh of her palm. It teased her senses to the point of igniting her passion, just a spark here and there, though it would surely flare if he continued. She was relieved yet disappointed when he stopped, though it allowed her to slowly regain clarity and respond. Not that the sparks completely dissipated. They lingered and threatened to ignite if she didn’t ignore them. Not an easy task.
“I have been fortunate to have had a privileged life,” she admitted, seeing no reason to deny the truth, with evidence proving otherwise.
“You seem too adventurous for being privileged.”
Mercy laughed, recalling old memories. “My parents weren’t always privy to my actions. I loved climbing trees, using branches to sword fight and riding my beautiful mare presented to me for my birthday one year.”
She almost choked on her last few words, the hurt of leaving her beloved mare, Sky, behind rising to torment her. She loved that horse dearly and rode her every day, but there had been no time to get to her. There had only been time to do as her mother said.
“So adventurous, and yet you never learned to swim?”
Mercy returned to spreading out the food. “My mother’s doing. She had a deathly fear of water and refused to allow me near it.” She didn’t bother to explain where her mother’s fear came from—that her mother’s own father nearly drowned her when she was young. She didn’t want to have to explain that her mother’s mother was a kept woman and that when the wealthy man’s wife finally gave birth, he wanted to make certain no bastard of his stood in the way of his true daughter’s inheritance.
Mercy’s grandmother had saved her only child and ran, and taught her daughter never to trust a man, just as she, Mercy’s mother, had taught her daughter—Mercy, though, had no choice but to trust Duncan; and the more she trusted him, the more she felt she could trust him.
“I’ll teach you how to swim.”
