Page 36 of Bound to a Warrior
Now he could get a good night’s sleep and in a matter of three, possibly two days, they should be home and safe. The chains would come off and they would be free.
And then he would make love to her.
Chapter 12
By late morning Mercy was feeling the fast pace they had kept since dawn. Her calves hurt and her feet ached and her back caught in pain now and again, no doubt from sleeping on the cold, hard ground. And if that wasn’t enough, her stomach growled in want of food, the morning meal having been woefully inadequate.
Still, Mercy forged ahead, hoping that all she endured would be worth it, that somehow she would find a home and a peaceful life. Perhaps the seer’s prediction was true and the rightful king would reclaim the throne and bring peace to Scotland. She hoped and prayed it was so, for his arrival would mean her survival.
She wondered what Duncan thought and asked as they continued walking. “Do you believe the rightful king of Scotland will claim the throne?”
“Do you believe the wrong king sits on the throne?”
“I cannot say for sure, only what I have heard,” she answered.
“Which is?”
“That Kenneth the third who sits on the throne is no descendant of Cinaed, the first King of the Scots. And to be rightful king, ruler of the Scots, he must be of his bloodline.”
“So it is told. It is also told that Kenneth took the name of the true kings of Scotland before him, but has not an ounce of Cinaed’s blood in him.”
“Then the seer’s prediction could very well be true,” she said with a shake of her head. “Though I must admit the prediction makes no sense to me.”
“It need not,” Duncan said. “Only he who would be king needs to understand it.”
“But the prediction says that when he meets death on his own, that is when he reclaims the throne. If he meets death, how can he ever sit on the throne?”
“The one who will be king will know and that is all that matters.” He smiled. “You seem to know the prediction well.”
Mercy nodded, not wanting to tell him how her mother had repeated it often enough while trying to determine how to find this king and, Mercy assumed, offer her only daughter to him.
“Recite it for me,” he said.
“Do you not know it?”
“Not particularly well.”
Mercy cleared her throat and in rhythmic tone began, “When summer turns to winter and the snow descends, the reign of the false king begins to end, four warriors ride together and then divide, among them the true king hides, when he meets death on his own, that is when he reclaims the throne.”
“And the Scottish people celebrate,” Duncan cheered.
“You favor the true king?”
“A true king serves his people. The present king serves no one but himself.”
“What do you think will happen to King Kenneth?” she asked.
“That will be a decision left to the true king,” Duncan said, taking her hand as they maneuvered around a rocky path. “However, those who have suffered under his reign might demand his death.”
“Hasn’t there been enough death?”
“Blood is always spilt in the battle for freedom.”
Mercy knew the truth of his words. Whether it was a country’s battle or an individual’s, freedom came with a high price. She fought for her freedom now, more so since she had finally tasted it. No longer did her mother dictate to her, or plan her future without thought to her daughter’s hopes or dreams. And though her mother’s death saddened her, she also felt a preponderance of guilt for the relief it brought her. That left only one person with the power to decide her future and he already had.
Once she survived the king’s edict, then she would truly be free.
Duncan wrapped his arm quickly around her waist before he brought them to an abrupt halt.
