Page 100 of Bound to a Warrior
Mercy stretched herself out of bed, concerned by what step she should take next. Having spoken last night with Duncan about her mother brought back memories more clearly. She had forgotten what her mother had said and done, though she certainly couldn’t berate herself over it.
It had been a day she would have rather not remembered. She had never seen her mother look so frantic. Her eyes had been wide with fear and instead of her usual impeccable appearance, she appeared disheveled, her brow perspiring, almost as if she had run a distance.
She had never thought her mother had ever run, but that day it looked as if she had run out of fright, or perhaps for her life.
Mercy shivered and hurried to dress, though she couldn’t get her mother’s wide-eyed, glaring expression out of her mind. She even recalled her mother shaking her and insisting that she obey every word. That Mercy was to go and stay at the river’s edge and not move,dare not move, until she came for her.
She hadn’t told Duncan all her mother had said to her after she had drawn the symbol on her palm. She didn’t want to. She felt her mother’s words were meant for her and her alone and she intended to keep it that way.
After her mother had drawn the symbol she had said, “I’m sorry, Mercy. I’m so very sorry.”
Mercy had assumed her mother’s apology had been for her plan that had gone terribly wrong and placed her daughter in harm’s way. And she was grateful her mother had acknowledged her regret, since it made Mercy feel that her mother truly had loved her.
She only wished that her mother hadn’t suffered for her own folly. But that was behind her now, in the past, and her mother had told her that the past was best left in the past. Right now she had to consider Bailey’s predicament and what to do about it.
She could keep silent and simply return to her father, but somehow she wondered if that was the right choice. Her father had never shown her any particular favor, let alone love. She had learned at a very early age that if she did as he asked, he treated her well. Do something that displeased him, and he wasn’t so kind.
Had her father assumed she had joined in her mother’s plan, or had he found out that she had no knowledge of it? And could he truly be trusted to free Bailey’s wife Kate? Or had she already suffered her fate?
There was a rap at the door just as she finished dressing.
Mercy bid the person entrance as she slipped on her boots.
Mara entered, shutting the door behind her.
Mercy stood. She liked Mara and she wanted no bad feelings between them. So she offered an apology.
“I am sorry for the way I spoke to you,” Mercy said. “And very sorry for claiming power I do not have.”
Mara grinned. “But you do have it, lassie. You are daughter to the king, bastard or not, and you have the power to speak as you did.”
“I meant no disrespect.”
“I know that, or else I would have handled it differently,” Mara said with a twinkle in her eye.
“I want us to be friends,” Mercy said. She truly liked Mara and admired how she combined her blunt nature with a smile.
“We are,” Mara claimed, “and always will be.”
“Then you forgive me?”
“Noting to forgive, lassie,” Mara insisted. “I came to fetch you for breakfast.”
“I haven’t missed it then?” Mercy asked. “I feared I slept through it and I’m famished.”
“Then you best hurry. Those lads of mine usually don’t leave a single scrap.”
Mercy smiled and followed Mara out the door. It felt good being included in the family. There was more than enough reason for them not to want her around, reason to be rid of her, and yet they welcomed her. Even with all the problems she presented, they treated her kindly. She may have arrived here only recently, but it was easy to see that these were good people.
And people her father would sooner see dead.
Mercy spotted Duncan as soon as she and Mara entered the great hall. To her, he stood out among the men. It wasn’t merely his size, which was considerable, there was much more. He had a commanding presence about him and a sharp intelligence. Combine both and it was obvious to see that leading came easy to him.
A crack of thunder sounded outside and a fierce wind whipped around the keep in a whistle-like sound, causing Mercy to rub her chilled arms.
A storm brewed, not a good omen at all, Mercy thought, and so she wore a tentative smile, not sure that it fit the moment. The brothers and their father were gathered around a table not far from the hearth.
She was familiar with all who were there except one man. His back was to her and it was wide, his shirt taut as if it didn’t quite fit him. Long dark hair fell past his wide shoulders and when he raised his heavy tankard, she saw that his thick hand palmed it and held firm, not an easy feat without strength.
