A Nymph Without Mercy
VIII

She was curled in hislap, murmuring nothings into his ear that seemed to feed whatever part of himached for kindness and affection, long denied by his stony composure. Hisarmour had disappeared and he relished the feel of her—the true feel of her—pressed against him, therigid impediment removed. He allowed his hands to drift down the soft silk ofher gown, rivalled only by the suppleness of her skin before finally, finally, allowing his fingers to combthrough the long tresses of her hair that seemed to shimmer in the dim light ofearly morning.

Her eyes were asbright and blue as a midsummer sky, and they peered at him with such love andwarmth that he was left breathless.

“It could be likethis always, if you would let it.”

All of his oldarguments echoed tauntingly through his mind, yet when she looked at him thatway, they began to quiet—almost as if they had never been.

His appearance didnot matter.

His profession didnot matter.

Only she mattered.

Only ever her.

With trembling handshe reached out to cup her cheek, marvelling at the way his large palm seemed toframe her face so completely. So delicate, so very beautiful, and completelyand inexplicably his.

His lips met hers andsome part of his soul leapt forward and was found, mingling and twining withhers as the softness of her lips met his own slightly rough ones. At any othertime he would have been horrified that she could see him, would be forced to kiss a monster such as he, but as shesurrounded his senses—her hair twining over his shoulders as the kiss deepened,her arms coming to embrace him—such cares seemed a distant memory, ones that hehad no desire to locate.

“I love you, sweet Garrick.Please do not leave me alone for so long again.”

And as he pressed hiskisses onto every bit of skin he could, he breathed, “Never,” over and over, nearly as a benediction, a vow, one that hehoped would bind him to her as completely as she was to him.

Garrick awoke with astart.

Despite his bestefforts to reach Monavyn that night, such was not to be. Although Mairi’s formwas slim, her presence did not allow his horse to travel as quickly as heusually would, and he tired more easily. So eventually, late in the night andwith only a sliver of moon and starlight to guide him, he had stopped in asmall clearing at the edge of the forest and set up camp. He considered wakingher to ply her with foods, realising ruefully how little she had eaten thatday.

She must have beenstarving.

But she looked sopeaceful and contended as she slept and he instead allowed her to rest,promising himself that he would prepare her a bountiful breakfast at firstlight and ensure she ate her fill.

She was slight enoughas it was, and he was afraid that any more of this mistreatment—for he couldnot look back on his acquaintanceship with her and view it as anythingelse—would cause her to simply wither away completely.

The dream had beenunexpected, and most certainly unwelcome. He had not intended to sleep himself,instead deciding that keeping watch was a necessary endeavour. Garrick hadnever had a companion before, especially not one so enticing as Mairi, and hefully believed someone could try to snatch her away if he did not keep a steadyguard.

But regardless of hisresolve he must have succumbed to sleep, if only for a little while. And Mairiwas still tucked safely in his bedroll, and he felt far too much relief thanwas reasonable for a girl he did not care for.

His stomach growledfrom his own lack of food, and he felt another stab of sympathy for how hungryshe must be. He stretched, trying fruitlessly to release the kinks and crampsthat inevitably came from falling asleep upright and set about preparingbreakfast.

Perhaps preparingimplied too great an effort on hispart, as truthfully he had only to stoke the fire and place a few of thepasties on a large, smooth rock to warm by the flame. He debated with himself,but also pulled out the sweetie she had requested, considering whether or nothe should in fact gift her with it.

For reasons he couldnot explain, it troubled him greatly that another had cared for her, and it wasfrom this care that he had known to request such a treat for her.

Nonetheless, he hadnotmentioned Harold’s name and hadpaid the full amount. Even if hiscompanion wished to use her feminine charms to inspire men’s compassion, hemost certainly would not be taking the same advantage.

Something of hisconscience prickled at such thoughts. The longer he came to know her—though hewould not pretend to truly know her, not until the ridiculous matter ofRaghnall’s insistence that she was truly a nymph could be sorted—the moreconvinced he became that she was not the skilled manipulator and seductress hehad first assumed. Her tears were always, painfully, genuine, as were hersmiles and the occasional twitch of irritation when he had been an exactingbastard to her. What he assumed were the practiced wiles finely honed to be hisultimate destruction, he begrudgingly acknowledged now were simply her.

Her trying to bekind, and her trying to eke out whatever kindness from him he was willing topart with.

He poked a pasty withthe point of an arrow, not trusting the sticks scattered about as there was notelling what manner of animal had been traipsing about on them.

Already he couldsmell the delicious combination of buttery crust and stewed meat, and it took aconsiderable amount of his control to keep from snatching one to sate the edgeof his hunger. But he wished to offer her the one of her choosing, however smalla peace offering it might be, and he would not ruin it by being overeager.

He removed his helmand rubbed at his neck, tired and sore as it was from supporting the heavyweight for so long. He glanced at the sleeping girl quickly before pulling onhis mask—the easier to eat by.

If he left them muchlonger he feared they would burn, and surely burned pasties were worse than asmaller selection. That begged the question of how to wake her. He glanced downat the arrow point and briefly considered poking her with it, much as he hadtheir breakfast, until she awoke. But even as he pictured the sharpened pointof it coming into contact with her person, he was filled with visions of itpiercing her flesh and the strange sticky blood oozing and the fear and remorsethat had immediately followed.

His dream tauntedhim. Although her lips had been a figment of his own imagination, he vividlyrecalled how glorious they had felt as he nibbled at them with his, and hewondered if she might prefer to awake in such a manner.

He stopped thatfantasy short with a curt reminder thatit was simply a dream and that his kisses would never be foisted upon her whenshe was not even conscious to deny her consent.

That did little toquell the desire.

So instead he stoodover her, clearing his throat obnoxiously yet still she slept on.

She had when he leaptdown from the horse.

She had slept when helay her down in the softest moss he could replace so he could make camp.

And she had when hetucked her safely into his bedroll.

And still she slept,the savoury scent of breakfast pervading the air.

While many thingsabout her continued to amaze him, he rather thought that this particularattribute was the most incredible.

Finally he stoopedlow and assessed which area would be best to prod. She was lying on her goodside, her injured shoulder peeking out from the furs. He frowned, noting thathe would need to provide clean bandages after they had eaten. He alsobegrudgingly realised that he would be sacrificing more of his dwindlingspirits in order to clean it once again.

He berated himselfsilently for having left the tavern without having stocked one of his mostwelcome provisions.

“Mairi,” he murmured,allowing a fingertip to stroke down her sleep-warmed cheek.

His mouth grew dry,realising that although his dream might have fabricated details—her willingnessbeing paramount—the memory of her silken skin had been exact.

She sighed softly, agentle smile upon her lips as she snuggled deeper into the furs.

He swallowed thickly,trying not to remember that until recently, those had been his furs.

“Mairi,” he triedagain, this time more forceful although his touch remained gentle.

Her eyes flutteredopen and she smiled at him, and it sent an ache through his heart that he hadnever known before. “I had the most wonderful dream,” she whispered drowsily.

There was nopossibility, absolutely none, that she had been privy to what he had dreamt. Most likely she had beenhome with her father and Raghnall, pledging troths and dancing about at herwedding feast as she laughed and rejoiced at their reunion.

“A dream formed fromstarvation, I expect. Up with you, before our breakfast burns.”

She sighed, and henoted with a grimace that she shivered as she left the blessed cocoon ofwarmth. Her village must have been strange indeed if she could be dressed sowithout thought of a wrap. He sighed and pulled out his cloak from a saddlebag,shaking it out ruefully as he noted the few wrinkles that managed to corruptthe fabric.

“Here. I will nothave you sick as you follow me about. You are troublesome enough without alsosneezing on my chest as we ride.” He placed it on her shoulders, and she staredup at him with such wide eyes that he was momentarily lost in the sheer blueness of them.

Eventually she lookedaway and he was freed, and he busied himself with replaceing the flagon of water—themore appropriate beverage for their morning meal.

“Thank you, Garrick.”Her voice was hushed yet the gratefulness was clear, and he felt a momentarythrill. He might be boorish and have blundered every encounter he had with herthus far, but this morning he had yet to do so.

“You are muchwelcome, nymph. Now pick a pasty.”

She peered at theassortment curiously. “What are they?” Her stomach grumbled loudly and sheplaced a hand over it soothingly. “I suppose you do not much care what theyare, but you seem to want one. Have you a preference?”

Garrick stared at herincredulously as she allowed a hand to hover over each, seemingly waiting forher stomach to form an opinion.

“You are in earnest?”

Her eyes were wideand innocent as she glanced at him. “Is this not how you do it?”

He rolled his eyes andpicked up the finest looking pasty and handed it to her. “Eat, nymph, and ceaseyour foolishness.”

She lookedmomentarily disheartened by his tone, but nibbled on her breakfast dutifully.

Before promptlyyelping.

“It is hot!”

The interior steamedwelcomingly as he saw the small bite she had taken and Garrick could not helpbut take two for himself, biting into them voraciously without care should itburn his mouth. “Aye. Nothing worse than a cold pasty.”

She glared down at itand he could not help but smirk at how perturbed she appeared. “That was verynaughty to... to burn me!”

He could not help it.

He laughed, loud andlong, and quite possibly louder and longer than was appropriate. Especiallywhen he received another glare from her which only amused him more.

“Why should you laughwhen your food injures me?”

He waited to answeruntil all that was left was an errant chuckle, before taking another bite ofhis apparently discourteous food. “I do not laugh at your discomfort, my lady,merely your strange manner of address.”

She blushed and tookanother nibble, her brow furrowed as she chewed carefully, evidently waitingfor it to maim her further. But this time much of the heat must have beenreleased and she took another enthusiastic bite, the buttery crust and stewedvegetables clearly to her liking.

Garrick had yet tomeet a person who disliked a pasty.

They ate in silence,though he nudged her with his water flagon occasionally to get her to drink.She fumbled with the seal and nearly dropped it before peering into itscontents cautiously. He grunted, “I shan’t poison you, it is naught but water.”

Mairi drank deeplyand he felt another slice of guilt for how he had failed to care for her. Shedid not need to be his wife, or his bond-mateas she still called him, for him to help her. She was a maiden in need anddeserving of his intervention.

The dream stillmocked him, with all of its possibilities.

“What is your horse’sname?”

Garrick swallowed,relishing the warmth in his belly. “His what?”

“Do you not name yourbeasts? The saplings always loved naming the woodland creatures. It grew allthe sadder, however when predators would come.”

“A sapling is a tree,not a person.”

She tilted her head.“Not a person, an age. I am not far out of my sapling years myself. Do you haveanother name between seedling and maturity?”

Garrick shook hishead, wondering why on earth he had been burdened with such a strange girl.

Then he chastisedhimself for such thoughts, as he should be grateful for being in the company ofany girl at all.

“I can assure you,the names do not equate to flora.”

Mairi shrugged andtook another sip of water. “I do not know why you chastise me when we clearlymean the same things. You use strange words too but I do not criticise you forthem.”

He sighed the feelingof guilt pressing all the harder upon him. “You would not think it childish fora man grown to name his horse? You already said that it was the younger ones ofyour people that named the animals.”

She shook her headfirmly. “Not at all. I would think it shows that you have affection for thosein your care. To name something is to give it more meaning to you.” She pickedup a stick that poked out from the fire pit, its tip burning brightly. He wassurprised to see a flicker of fear on her face, though she tried valiantly tokeep it hidden. “At home we did not have fires. Trees had names and voices—theyhad meaning. They are quiet now.”

If ever a tone couldbe the epitome of wistful sadness, it would be hers. It resonated in some placebehind his heart, and before he had realised he had done it Garrick plucked thestick from her hand and cast it back into the fire. “I did not remove theselimbs from live trees. They were already upon the ground.” He did not know whyhe felt the need to defend his actions. The fire had kept her warm throughoutthe night and had heated their breakfast this morning. But even if her head wasfull of fancies—of trees with voices that she could no longer hear—he did notwant her to think he would be violent with what she considered a friend.

He did not want herto think that he would be violent with her.

Garrick brieflyremembered his experience by the stream, of a whisper of voices that were nothis own but that he had dismissed entirely. He was not of her kin, and therewas no possibility that such could be true. Yet he hoped she would never speakof such things in front of a magistrate, as he feared she would be condemned asa witch for believing so.

She smiled at himwanly. “It comforts me to hear it.” He did not like that expression on herface—eyes haunted with memory and loss even as she tried to keep her composure,seemingly for his sake. And he remembered that soft sleepy smile she had givenhim when she awoke, and he felt all the worse for it.

“Callum. His name isCallum.”

She mouthed the nameand looked back at his horse, grazing good-naturedly on whatever grasses caughthis interest. He was a large animal, even for a horse, but he had not alwaysbeen so. While most men would buy their horses trained and ready for a rider—especiallya horse meant for war and travel—Garrick had not done so. He was not always socapable as he was now, and he had found Callum half starved and beaten by acruel master. He was not the great and powerful stallion he could have been,but instead had looked at him so forlornly that Garrick had known he mustintervene—to do anything else felt like the greatest sin of all.

He had been ready tomurder the bumbling fool that called himself a horsemaster, but such had not provednecessary—at least, not strictly so. A jaunt to a local tavern and a few wellplaced bets left him with a full purse and a new horse, one that was once waryand frightened but now was more loyal than Garrick could have ever hoped.

He was his friend.

“You care for him.”

Garrick scoffed.“Aye. Too well, the fat beast.” But even he could hear the affection in hisvoice, and he hoped that Mairi did not see it as a weakness. Surely he wasallowed one friend in this world of rejection and misery...

And this time hersmile was genuine and touched her eyes and made them sparkle. “I am glad. I donot think it is good for a man to be entirely alone. If they cannot have afemale with them then at least their horse might be able to give a bit ofsense.”

This time it was histurn to glare but she smiled at him almost impishly and he realised belatedlythat she was teasing.

It was odd andunwelcome and yet it caused a strange clutching in his gut as he realised thathe liked it. He liked it coming fromher for it bespoke of a familiarity that they as of yet barely shared.

“Come, I must tend toyour wound and then I must depart.”

Whatever calm andgentle comfort she had received quickly fled and she looked at him in panic.“What do you mean? You said I was to remain with you!”

Garrick sighed. “Andyou shall. But if you think I am going to take you with me as I... fulfil theterms of my agreement, then you are gravely mistaken.”

She stared at him fora long moment before her chin rose in defiance. “You may leave me here if youwish but you cannot keep me from following. I told you, I will not allow you toabandon me again.”

Whether or not heintended it, there was no mistaking that this girl, this nymph, this angel, waswheedling her way into his heart.

But that did not meanhe would allow her to speak to him in such a manner.

“I most certainlycan, my lady. Though I can assureyou, you would replace it far more pleasant to simply agree. I shall return whenmy errand is complete and we may discuss where to travel next.” He sighed,trying to cool his irritation as he approached her. She leaned away and eyedhim suspiciously, and that simple act did little to help his agitation. “Bestill, foolish girl, I must change your bandage.”

She did not fight himas he removed the old bindings and exchanged them with another strip of histunic. He made quiet hushing sounds as he doused the gash with more spirits andshe cried out in pain, and he found himself rubbing soothing circles upon herarm before he stopped himself with a firm reprove.

Properly seen to andcertain that she had enough food and water during his absence, he turned toleave. “Please, do not go. Do not make me chase you.” Her eyes were wide andpleading, and that small fragment of his soul that was softening to this maidendemanded that he acquiesce.

But he knew that hisprimary task was to protect her, even against herself. It was too soon for herto trust him, to believe his word that he would return and he would not corrupther with the violence and blood that would soon follow.

So he took a ropetied to the saddle—new and crisp and unspoiled by death—and brought her to atree. She was crying as he wrapped more of his tunic about her wrist, aprotective measure so that her delicate flesh would not be besmirched by therasp of the rope, before looping the length of cord about her wrist and thetrunk. She could move well enough, yet it would efficiently hold her to thecamp without hurting her. “You shall have to trust me, nymph. I shall returnfor you. But what shall happen is not for your eyes, and I will not have yourloss of innocence on my conscience.”

And he tried desperatelyto ignore the look of betrayal as he rode away.