Page 8 of Bound to a Warrior
He helped her into her skirt with some regret, taking a quick, last glance at her creamy smooth skin and her slim limbs, not to mention the tiny patch of curly black hair between her legs that tempted the hell out of him. Her lovely naked vision would not leave his head for a long time, no matter how hard he chased it away.
“We must find food,” he said needing to get his thoughts on something less tempting.
“I must admit. I am starving,” Mercy said.
He helped her sit so that they both could slip on their boots they had left by the campfire to dry.
“My stomach has been grumbling since before dawn,” he said.
“You didn’t sleep well?” she asked as he assisted her to stand.
“Well enough.” He certainly wasn’t about to tell her that her constant shifting and snuggling had been the cause for his fitful sleep.
“I had a wonderful sleep,” she admitted. “I am refreshed and ready to meet the day. Where do we find food?”
She was right about being refreshed. Her smooth skin glowed with a renewed rigor and her deep blue eyes sparkled with determination. She looked even more beautiful today than she had yesterday.
Why that made him grumpy he couldn’t say, and he sounded curt when he didn’t intend to. “We need to get moving.”
Surprisingly, she wasn’t offended by his terse response or perhaps she simply ignored it. “I agree. The king’s soldiers could be searching for us.”
His tone turned civil. “We’ll find something to appease our stomachs until tonight. Then we’ll camp early and hunt for a hare or two.”
Mercy licked her lips. “I look forward to it.”
Wet, shiny and plump.
“I’m ready.”
“So am I.” He had to smile, though he didn’t admit it wasn’t food he was thinking about. Those lips of hers were luscious and he wouldn’t mind tasting them.
They walked for a couple of hours, the sun bright and, fortunately for them, the last breath of summer in the air. But that could change tomorrow this far north in the Highlands. They would do best to get to their destination as soon as possible.
Duncan wondered how his three friends had fared in their mission. They had all worked hard to get to this point in time and their success or failure would be Scotland’s success or failure.
He nearly stumbled when he was suddenly yanked to a halt.
“I’m sorry,” Mercy said with a sincerity that had him shake his head.
“Don’t worry about it. It isn’t easy being chained to someone.”
“Shackles aren’t the only things that chain people,” she said and turned to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “I’d like to pick some sprigs of heather.”
“We can’t dally,” he reminded, though followed her.
She didn’t. She hastily claimed two sprigs, one dropping to the ground as she tucked the other in her hair behind her ear.
Duncan quickly snatched it off the ground, the sweet scent drifting across his nostrils. She reached for it as he moved to tuck it alongside the other sprig and their hands met. They stilled for a moment, and while Duncan knew it would be wise to surrender the small blossom to her, he didn’t.
He placed the sprig beside the other one, running his fingers lightly along the tip of her ear as he finished.
“It suits you,” he said.
Did he imagine that her breath caught before she spoke? Had his breath caught as well? How strange that such a simple act could cause breathlessness.
“How silly of me,” she said. “Our lives are in danger and I stop to pick heather.”
He took a solid hold of her hand, though the chain already held them firm. “Nonsense. It is good that you think to do the things you normally would. It makes our dire situation seem less dismal, and besides the heather looks lovely in your hair.”
