“Oh my,” she said, suddenly realizing it was hours past dawn. “Have I slept a whole day away?”
“That you have,” he said breaking off a bit of fish in his hand and blowing on it to cool as he handed it to her.
Mercy cupped her hand and gratefully accepted it, popping small pieces into her mouth. It was the most delicious fish she had ever tasted and she wanted more, much more.
“I slept myself, just getting up at the break of dawn, and then I caught two fine fish.”
Mercy gasped. “You mean this fish is all mine?”
“It is,” Duncan said. “I already ate mine.”
“You are my hero,” she said with a wide smile.
“And it only took a fish,” he teased and dropped a good portion of meat into her hand.
“What of the soldiers? Won’t they see the smoke, smell the fish?”
“I believe we’re far enough away. And that they are still busy waiting for us to cross that field.”
“We fared well against them,” she said with a nod and popped more meat into her mouth. “You cook a delicious fish.”
“It helps that you’re starving or you might think differently.”
Mercy laughed and held out her hand. “Starving or not, it’s the tastiest fish I’ve ever eaten.”
Duncan slapped his hand to his chest. “You’ve won my heart, lass, you have.”
A tingle raced through her at the thought that she could even have a chance at winning his heart.
Foolish.
She wished her mother would stop creeping into her mind. She had heard it enough through the years and didn’t want to hear another word or warning. She wanted simply to spend what time she had left with Duncan and learn for herself, judge for herself and experience for herself.
“More?” she asked, her cupped hand held out to him, and her request not only for the fish.
“All yours,” he said plucking another fat helping of meat off the fish and into her hand.
“All mine,” she whispered, her gaze on Duncan and not the fish.
“Do you feel rested enough to travel?” he asked.
“More than enough,” she answered with a nod. “And I suppose we should be on our way.”
“The further we travel into Pict territory, the less likely the soldiers will follow.”
“How long before we enter their land?”
“Half day’s journey,” he said.
She finished eating, thinking that no doubt the Picts would have sufficient tools to free them of the chain. Once again she wondered, what then? But there was no time and certainly no sense to dwell, only time to act.
When the last of the fish was eaten, Mercy went to the stream, Duncan following without protest, and refreshed herself. This time her reflection didn’t shock her. Duncan had cleaned not only her wound but the grime from her face. She turned to where he knelt beside her.
“Thanks to you I didn’t frighten myself when I looked upon my reflection.”
He grabbed hold of her chin. “Your reflection could never frighten. You’re too beautiful.”
And with that he kissed her. She hadn’t expected it, though she certainly welcomed it. He took his time and was ever so gentle that she simply melted against him and allowed him to steal her senses.
She cared for nothing at that moment except the kiss and the way his arm slipped around her, ran up her back and down again while all the time he continued to kiss her. She was lost and didn’t care. She wanted only to enjoy this moment with him, this kiss, and so she did. Every weave and tangle of their tongues sent tingles down to her toes and his lips were so very firm and confident, tempting her, urging her to respond that she did so without thought or reason.
They could barely breathe when he finally and reluctantly ended it, resting his forehead against hers.
“One day,” he said breathless. “One day.”
He didn’t have to say more, she knew what he meant, felt what he meant and agreed. One day they would satisfy the passion that continued to grow between them. It was inevitable.
“We better go,” he said and turned to douse the campfire with dirt. “We may come upon a croft or perhaps a field yet harvested as we travel and get to enjoy another hardy meal.”
“Nothing will ever taste as delicious as the fish you cooked for me,” she said as they bent down, gathered and folded the blanket into the sack.
“I will always be there for you. I will keep you well fed and see you safe, of that you have my word.”
He sounded as if he recited a vow and the thought warmed her heart. It was so very nice to know someone cared enough to watch over her. Her mother and father may have professed to do the same, but it was for selfish reasons. Duncan did it for…
She would have halted her steps, the thought jolted her so, but Duncan would surely question her abrupt halt and she would not know what to say.
Her thoughts far surpassed the gait she kept alongside him. Why did he do it? Why speak as if he took a vow? Why pledge anything to her? He owed her nothing. They worked together to survive. That was the way of it, pure and simple. And yet…
She recalled with clarity the moment that she and Duncan had been chained together. How could she forget it? Here had been this large Highlander warrior that towered over her and whose width even thwarted her shadow as the shackles were locked. And he had been scowling. She thought he had looked ready to devour her.
They had no time to speak, nor had Duncan looked as if he had wished to say a word to her. They had been forced to walk at a grueling pace and it had been through his actions that she had gotten to know his nature.
The first time she had tripped, his large hands had been quick to grab her and more gently than she had expected. He then had told her to be careful here and watch her step there. She had soon found herself taking hold of his hand if she felt herself unsteady. And when she had, he had wrapped his fingers around hers.
In a short time she had learned he was an honorable man whom she could trust and she supposed that had been why she had so easily stepped off the side of the cliff with him.
“Your thoughts are deep this morning.”
Mercy glanced over at him. Her heart fluttered and for a moment she felt that she couldn’t catch her breath. She didn’t know what it was she saw in Duncan this time that she had never seen before, but there was something there and it touched her heart in a way she had never known.
She shook her head. “Too heavy.”
“Share what burdens you.”
“Haven’t I burdened you enough?” she asked with a tinkle of laughter.
“You are no burden and what burden there is”—he raised their clasped hands, the chain rattling—“we share.”
A sudden thought had her asking. “What did you think when the soldiers chained us together.”
“How lucky I was to be shackled to a beautiful woman.”
“You did no such thing,” she accused, her eyes and smile wide.
“I give you my word.”
“But you must have had doubts—”
“Doubts about what?” he asked.
“How our differences would hinder us?”
“What differences?” he asked.
She poked his chest playfully. “You big. Me small.”
He laughed. “What you lack in height, you make up for with your tenacious nature.”
He was praising her courage again and she appreciated it, especially with it coming from a Highlander warrior.
They talked on and off throughout the morning and grew silent as they traversed a steep hill and just after entering the woods beyond, Mercy sensed a change. She couldn’t say what it was but somehow she sensed this land was different. There was a reverence to it, as if it demanded respect, and she didn’t mind at all paying homage to it.
“We’re on Pict land now?” she asked softly.
“Once we came over that rise we were, but they saw us approach long before that,” Duncan said.
“Then we are welcom
e?” she asked.
“Anyone who means no harm is welcome.”
“They will greet us?”
Duncan shook his head. “No. They will watch us.”
They walked for a couple more hours before coming upon a croft. Duncan didn’t pull back as he had done on other occasions. He simply approached with a smile and a wave to the man on the roof repairing the thatching.
He was a slim man, though solid with light hair and smooth skin and a pleasant smile.
“Good afternoon to you,” Duncan said.
“It is a good afternoon. The sun high, the day warm,” the man said. “If it is food and rest you look for, you are welcome.”
“Thank you for your generosity. I am Duncan and this is Mercy. And we could use nourishment.”
“I am Able,” the man said, climbing down the ladder resting against the front of the cottage.
A robust woman emerged from behind the house, a basket brimming with freshly picked greens on her arm. Her full cheeks were flushed, and her light hair a mass of curls escaping a single ribbon and bouncing around her unmarred face. A lovely embroidered green blouse was tucked in the waist of her dark blue skirt and a pale yellow apron covered a good portion of that.
“This is my wife, Eleanor,” Able said.
“Welcome to our home,” she said.
Any doubt that these people were other than who they presented themselves to be faded quickly from Mercy’s mind when Eleanor smiled. It was sincere, warm and welcoming. They were safe. These people meant them no harm, though she couldn’t help but notice the strange markings that wrapped around Able’s upper arm and there was one around Eleanor’s wrist.
Mercy knew little about the Picts and the little she did was from those who believed them their enemy. The talk she had heard certainly didn’t match what she was seeing for herself.
“So is that a new way the Scots have of holding on to their wives?” Eleanor asked, her dark eyes twinkling as she pointed to the shackles.
Duncan gave a nod to Mercy. “She fears I will stray.”
Mercy grinned and raised her arm. “Aye, and so I solved the problem.”
The couple laughed.
“Come and eat,” Eleanor invited.
It was a hardy stew she gave them with fresh baked bread along with cider and ale, and friendly conversation. When it was done Able approached the matter of their shackles.
“Was it the king’s men who did that to you?”
“Aye, it was,” Duncan said.
“I hope the true king does return and set things right,” Eleanor said. “He would know how to bring peace to this land since the blood of the Picts and Scots run through his veins.”
Able nodded. “He would understand and respect our ways.”
“This king who is to return is not merely a myth?” Mercy asked.
“Some believe it is,” Eleanor said, “but those who know understand otherwise. The time will come for him to rise and claim the power that is his. Now about this chain.” She looked to her husband.
Able turned to Duncan and shook his head. “I have no tool capable of removing them. You’re going to need a smithy to get them off.”
“Is there one nearby?” Duncan asked.
“Are you headed to MacAlpin land?”
“We are,” Duncan confirmed.
“There would be the closest smithy, otherwise you would travel further away from your destination to reach one.”
“Bliss could help you with those wrist sores,” Eleanor said.
“She’s a healer?” Mercy asked.
Able smiled. “She’s many things, and she has a good healing touch.”
“Her cottage is a bit off course for you,” Eleanor explained. “But it may be worth it.”
Mercy and Duncan thanked the couple and left with their sack full and directions to Bliss’s cottage.
When they were a distance away from the croft Mercy turned to Duncan. “There is no reason to add further delay to reaching your home. We need not visit this healer.”
Duncan stopped walking, forcing Mercy to do the same. His fingers went to the wound at her head and she winced when he probed the area.
“It looks as if it’s turned an angry red, so there is no question to it,” Duncan said. “We go to the healer.”
“Able never claimed her to be a healer. He said she had a healing touch.”
“It matters not how she heals you,” Duncan said and brushed his lips across hers. “As long as she heals you.”
Chapter 15
Rain clouds thwarted the setting sun as Duncan and Mercy approached Bliss’s cottage. Duncan stopped a few feet from it and glanced around. It was exceptionally quiet, but then that was more likely due to the land. This area had always been more serene than anyplace he had ever been. Though the cottage was a bit larger than the usual, it had familiar characteristics. And somehow he knew it welcomed.
He had no doubt they were being watched and had been since entering Pict territory. In a way it lent comfort, for the king’s soldiers would be quickly noticed and not last long here.
“Something troubles you?” Mercy asked.
He smiled and with the urge stronger than ever to kiss her, he did and then said, “The only thing that troubles me is that I want to kiss you all the time. Your sweet, warm taste is addictive.” He kissed her again, needing to confirm it for himself. “I will never tire of the taste of you.”
“Then savor all you want,” she invited.
He wrapped his arm around her and drew her up against him, their bodies coming together in a perfect fit. “Be careful what you offer.”
“I offer it freely,” she said with bitter sadness that disturbed him.
He wanted to tell her that his offers came with conditions and promises, but now was not the time. There was much that had to be done, the chain coming off being one; and then it would be time to talk, and much needed to be said.
“Welcome.”
Duncan and Mercy turned at the sound of the melodic voice that called to them and both their eyes spread wide. The woman standing a few feet from the cottage was stunning. Her beauty actually captured their breath and left them speechless.
While her garments were those of a peasant woman, plain brown wool skirt and soft yellow blouse, her features were those of royalty. Her long blond hair varied in shades of shimmering gold and cascaded softly around her face and down over her shoulders, ending just past her breasts. She stood a good seven inches over five feet and was of slender build, but it was her face that caught and kept the attention.
Surely, she was of heavenly descent for only angels could be that beautiful.
“Come,” she waved to them. “The rain will start any moment now and bring with it an autumn chill.”
As if the sky heard, fat raindrops suddenly began to fall and Duncan, taking firm hold of Mercy’s hand, ran with her to the cottage.
The woman closed the heavy door behind them and motioned them to the large fireplace. “Go warm yourself while I get you hot cider.”
Duncan and Mercy eagerly accepted her hospitality and sat on the floor in front of the roaring flames and let the heat soak through them.
“You are Bliss?” Duncan asked as she handed him a tankard of cider.
“I am and you must be Duncan,” she said and then turned, handing Mercy a tankard. “And you must be Mercy.”
Duncan furrowed his brow, wondering how she could possibly know who they were. She quickly satisfied his curiosity.
“News travels fast in these parts, especially when it concerns the king’s soldiers chasing after a man and woman shackled together. Though none were sure you would come our way.”
“We had no choice,” Duncan explained.
“The king must want you both badly to send so many of his men after you,” Bliss said.
Duncan allowed her her conclusions. He didn’t want to draw any special attention to himself. It might jeopardize his mission.
“You both must be exhauste
d, that chain is a heavy burden.”
“No!” Duncan and Mercy sang out and stared at each other, startled by their harmonious reply.
“The chains are no burden,” Duncan said, though his eyes were on Mercy. He had reiterated it often enough, but he wanted her to know again and again that she was not nor ever would be a burden to him, chains or no chains.
“Aye, Duncan is right,” Mercy said. “The chains are no burden at all.”
He smiled, pleased that she was letting him know that she felt the same.
The flames suddenly spit and roared, casting light upon them and making Mercy’s head wound appear far more damaging than it was and causing Duncan alarm. But before he could voice his concern, Bliss spoke.
“I have salve that will help heal your wounds,” she offered and set about fetching it before either of them could thank her.
“You live here alone?” Mercy asked.
“So to speak,” Bliss said.
Duncan wondered what she meant, since she offered no further details, but he didn’t ask. There was a sense of safety in her cottage, and he instinctively knew there was no need to worry while here.
While Bliss applied the salve to Mercy’s head wound and then her wrist, she talked with them. Duncan noticed that her answers to questions that concerned her were vague, though she was quite informative about the land and her people.
He decided to respect her privacy and did not venture any further than she wished. When she was done with Mercy she started on his wrists, rubbing the soothing salve over his wound. He had thought the cream would sting and her touch would hurt, being the skin was raw, but surprisingly, the salve was cool and her touch light.
Able had said she had a healing touch and he certainly agreed. Remarkably, his wrists were already feeling better.
When Bliss was done, she stood. “I have fresh clean clothes you both are welcome to if you’d like.”
Mercy’s face lit with joy and then faded.
As if Bliss knew Mercy’s mind, she said, “You can bathe first if you’d like.”
Mercy pointed to the chains. “It would be difficult, though I would dearly love to bathe and have fresh garments.”
“You can have both,” Bliss said. “There is a spot where I bathe. It is secluded and the water warm. And we’ll work around the chains with some needle and thread.”
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