A Nymph Without Mercy

Damn that girl.

While Garrick had many talents to aid him in hunting his targets, the little nymph seemed to leave none of them. Leaves that should have been disturbed due to her movement lay as they had freshly fallen, and he could find no imprint of her feet in any loose bits of dirt.

If only his conscience did not prickle so harshly he could take it as proof that she was not his responsibility—perhaps she had not truly ever existed. Memories of his first impression of her returned, an angel from heaven that he had struck with his bow, only now to have returned from whence she came.

But Raghnall had been real enough, his neck pliant as his fingers found purchase around his windpipe.

Garrick had never been one for feelings, and he deeply resented that one brief encounter with a maiden had made him question his own sensibilities. Raghnall would have been killed simply for having threatened him, and he would already be in Monavyn, his task accomplished.

And yet here he was standing in the midst of the forest, searching for any signs of a girl that most likely did not wish to be found.

When he heard sounds of the stream he led his horse onward, as although he had not ridden the beast hard, he had not been watered since the day before.

His horse lapped gratefully and Garrick considered filling his own flask with water, but decided against it. The spirits might have been mostly used to cleanse the girl’s wound, but he was not going to waste what was left by diluting it with questionably clean water.

He kicked a rock in frustration—though perhaps if he was a more honest man, he could recognise it as petulance—and that was when he saw it. A small, dainty footprint in a bit of mud by the shore, that most certainly could not be mistaken for anything but a feminine sole.

Garrick could not imagine why evidence of her existence should fill him with such relief.

He looked about the area more thoroughly but could find no other sign of her. Knowing she was by the water meant she would not perish from thirst, but it could also mean she was wet and cold. The day was pleasant, but not warm, and if she should have fallen in...

He groaned and sank against the trunk of a weeping willow, cursing himself and the girl for complicating his already disagreeable existence.

Raghnall had said he should feel her.

As if such a thing would mean something to him.

His helm suddenly felt heavy and with a sigh he removed it. Already he had become more careless than ever before when it came to exposing his face, but he found that he did not possess the energy to worry about that as well. He pulled at his hair as if somehow the action could bring him the knowledge of where he might find her—if he should indeed find her.

But of course it did not and he allowed his uncovered head to rest against the smooth bark of the large tree, his body enshrouded by the long green boughs that gently skimmed the water below.

And he sat.

He closed his eyes.

And he listened.

Birdsong echoed cheerily through the trees, and the soft clomping of his horse as he moved to sweeter grasses met his ears. A light breeze rustled errant leaves, and in that moment the forest nearly felt alive.

Such a shame that he should lose her.

Humans can be so foolish.

He is not pretty enough for her.

Some part of him knew that the whispers he heard were not a danger, and the rational part of him dismissed them as the nattering of an over-tired mind. But still, he listened more deeply, and though he almost scoffed himself at the action, he did his best to feel.

And feel he did.

He felt a tinge of happiness that was not his own, as what did he have to be content about? He felt an echoing sadness and a burden that threatened to overwhelm him yet a determination and resolve to keep such sorrow at bay.

Suddenly, he knew.

Not a specific location—that would be far too convenient and helpful.

No, he was merely left with an errant thought, a wisp of confidence that if he considered too long would leave him wandering the forest aimlessly.

His horse did not seem overjoyed at leaving his meal behind, but Garrick felt hurried, that somehow if he tarried too long he would lose whatever seemed to prod him on in what he hoped—and dare he say, he prayed?— was the proper direction.

So swiftly replacing his helm, he departed.

To his bemusement he found himself on the very road he would have travelled if not waylaid by the impudent man concerned with Mairi’s wellbeing. Even when faced with the choice of two directions his hesitation was slight, choosing to follow whatever this pull was that prompted him toward the left.

Only to find himself stopping at a stone building, a stable boy already hurrying forward with an open palm to tend the horse.

Finally he entered the tavern, with only a moment’s vacillation as he chastised himself for believing in whatever force had brought him here.

Except when he entered the smoke filled room his eyes immediately landed on her.

And something that he had not realised had been taut within his chest loosened, and breathing seemed all the easier.

His earlier worry seemed well founded as her hair still showed evidence of dampness and her dress was crinkled from where water must have soaked it. She had a cup of what he assumed to be ale that she held firmly between both hands, and her eyes were lowered as she stared into its depths.

His heart clenched in sympathy when he noticed the evidence of tears still upon her cheeks.

He stalked forward purposefully, displeased by the many eyes that strayed to her corner and wishing that their reunion might have been in private.

“Could you not have found refuge in a more suitable location?”

Her head rose so quickly he half expected her to next complain of some injury to her neck. “Garrick? You came for me...”

He hummed, taking the seat across from her without waiting for an invitation. He raised the visor so he could see her clearly, yet it covered enough of his features to keep him safely concealed from prying eyes. “Were you expecting another? I am afraid that your lover has come and gone already, though he sends you his warmest regards.”

Mairi’s lip trembled and he felt almost sorry for speaking to her in such a flippant manner, though he chastised himself thoroughly for any such remorse. Even if he felt a certain... protectiveness for the girl before him, he would not become a lovesick fool.

He was not nearly so pathetic, and he would not simper and pander to a woman merely because she was the first to pay him any attention.

“Raghnall spoke to you?”

His brow furrowed at the realisation that she could so easily identify the man from his unflattering—and arguably uncouth— description.

And he shifted uncomfortably at the sharp stab in his belly at the thought of her with another.

“He did. He asked that I be kind to you.”

Her smile was so desperately sad that some hidden part of himself ached in tandem. “That sounds like him. He only wanted for me to be happy.”

Garrick’s scowl deepened. “Would it make you happy to know that he surrendered you to my care? That he intends to make no further attempts to contact you?”

She nibbled at her lip and he assumed it was to stem yet another bout of tears. “He should not have done even that. The elders could banish him on principle. I would not wish this upon him...”

Her vigil over her cup of ale resumed, and Garrick’s indignant response was ceased by the approach of a tavern wench—though her days entertaining customers with her appearance had long since ended. “What can a getcha, m’laird?”

“Whatever my lady is having will be more than sufficient.” Her words had hurt him and he was ill prepared to keep the sting of his ire from his own. The wench gave a quick and unpractised curtsey before hurrying off to the kitchens, obviously glad to be away from his poor temper.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remembering his earlier relief at having found her relatively unharmed. But before he could offer an apology—or at least, what little of one he would be willing to present—she spoke.

“I was coming to find you. I was not entirely sure how, but I knew that no matter what you said it was important I remain with you.” Her voice was strong but now it began to waver. “No matter how unkind you choose to be, I still believe that my place is at your side.”

What a pretty sacrifice she made.

He could beat her, bed her, and still she would think it wise to remain with him?

Even the thought sickened him.

He did not want her to make such a sacrifice. If ever she chose to remain with him it should be because he was a man worthy of her—worthy of her beauty and her smiles, not because of some ridiculous sense of obligation.

Which was why he had abandoned her that morning.

He groaned and was grateful for the ale that saved him from making an immediate reply. He could not easily drink it with only the visor of his helm lifted, and he was not about to expose himself by its complete removal. Instead it would be a prop, much as hers was, and he watched her dip a slender fingertip into a bit of foam and move it about the rim.

Garrick swallowed thickly.

“Do you think I wish for a slave? For a mindless harpy to wander behind me and do my bidding, simply because she feels it is my right to demand it of her?”

Her gaze rose sharply to meet his, and for the first time he saw a flicker of her own indignation. “I think that you are my bond-mate. I think that if you would allow yourself a moment to cease your attempt to leave me then we could begin to forge our bond as a properly mated pair! You would not ask anything of me that I would not willingly give because you would feel my distress, and I should wish to care for you because I would be able to feel your satisfaction!”

He stared at her, mesmerised by the rising colour in her cheeks and the way her breath grew shorter as she spoke to him with such ferocity. While he might question her sanity for believing such drivel, he could not in good conscience discredit her authenticity. She believed that what she spoke was truth, but he could not help but remember that she would have pledged herself to any other poor unsuspecting soul that had touched her unawares.

She did not want him she merely wanted her mate.

“I am not interested in a wife.”

A lie if ever there was one.

So many nights he lay alone in his bed—or more typically, his bedroll—and wondered what it would be like to feel a warm body pressed against him, sleepy and barely audible sighs whispered against his flesh from a wife who was properly sated. He would remain awake not from the terrible knot of loneliness but because it was his duty to keep her safe, and perhaps because he wished to experience just a bit more of her, lying prone and trusting in his arms.

Mairi bit her lip. “Is that what you call your bond-mate? A wife? Would you also be my wife?”

Garrick could not help the sharp bark of laughter at her query. “Nay. Should we have spoken vows then I would be your husband, and you my wife. But we did not so I am as much a stranger to you as any other man in this room.”

She flinched and her gaze settled once more at her untried mug, and he quickly decided he never wished to see her do so again—not from something he had done.

He sighed deeply and tried to remember all that Raghnall had told him. He would have him believe they were a magical people, and that was something Garrick could not yet permit himself to consider. But it was clear she was from a very different way of life, and while it would be taxing to explain so much to her, he could at least attempt to be patient. “Forgive me, I should not laugh. Things are different here and much more is involved for a couple to be wed.”

“How did you find me?”

Garrick was unprepared for how her demeanour had shifted. Her quailed appearance was gone and in its place was the prim posture of a lady that would put any true noblewoman to shame.

It made him sit a bit straighter in his own seat.

“I fail to see how that is relevant. But if you must know, I followed your tracks.” He sincerely hoped she overlooked the way he had spoken just a little too quickly. Garrick was an excellent liar, but with this girl...

From the small smile on her lips, she had overlooked nothing.

“I do not believe you, Garrick. Even though I was unable to follow our bond to you, it is clear that you were able to use it to find me. That is good.” The last part was barely more than a murmur, almost as if she was offering herself reassurance.

He made no reply, but she did not seem to mind as she pressed on. “Do you not see? Your ways of sealing might be different than mine, but that does not negate the fact that we are bonded. I did not know that it was possible to be so with a human, I thought I should perish when you struck me, but instead we are sealed. We should rejoice, not argue at every turn.”

“Pardon me, my lady, but I do not see much to inspire my enthusiasm. I do not have a home to offer you. I travel hither and yon doing the bidding of kings I do not call my own, and many of those tasks include killing men I have never met.” His voice was low and barely more than a hiss of air, but he could tell from the way her eyes widened that she understood him perfectly. While he did not fear any of the men in the surrounding tables as they would prove little match for his abilities, he did not wish to draw undue attention all the same—not when Mairi could be put at risk. “Whether or not I feel something for you is inconsequential.”

Her eyes had widened at his confessed occupation, and he took a grim satisfaction from it. Good. He wanted her to have no ridiculous fantasies about his person—that would only lead to expectations and disappointments on both their parts.

“Is that... common, among men? To kill one another?”

Garrick shrugged. “It depends on the kingdom. Some do better than most at keeping men’s proclivities focused in a more productive direction.”

He did not much care for the intensity of her scrutiny. “Yet you choose to do so. Where is it you call home?”

That was not a topic he would discuss with anyone, let alone the little nymph before him. “Far, and you would not know the name, so you needn’t trouble yourself with it. Instead, we should plan on what to do with you as you most certainly cannot remain in my company.”

She had the impudence to smile.

“I beg to differ... husband, was it? A strange word.” Garrick’s heart clenched with a sudden thrill as the word fell from her lips, especially as it was directed at him. “I can assure you that even if you should leave me to work and toil and live with another, I would still find my way back to your side—even if I must work to secure our bond on my own. I am certain with enough practice I should become attuned to it. And perhaps I can assist you with your work,” she offered, though her nose wrinkled in distaste.

But that lone offer was enough to show him precisely why she must never continue with him. No matter his intentions, no matter how honourable they might be, inevitably he would corrupt some of that feminine innocence that exuded from her so effortlessly.

And he did not think he could bear that upon his conscience.

“You will do no such thing.”

She sighed, dipping her finger into the amber liquid before placing it in her mouth and suckling at it gently. Her brow furrowed as she considered the taste, but she must have found it wanting as she did not take another sip. “I believe we are at an impasse then, Garrick, for I refuse to let you abandon me again.”

The insufferable cheek.

But Raghnall’s nearly tearful plea came unbidden to his mind, and the very fact that he had sought her out confirmed that if he ever intended to move past this dreadful place, he would need to be constantly aware of her location. If she refused to remain where he settled her, then it was only logical that she should accompany him.

Garrick was never one for companionship.

She must have mistaken his silence for a temporary lapse so as to reinstate his argument for she pressed on, this time quietly and without her previous force. “I do not know what a lover means to you and your people, but I think you should know that Raghnall has only ever been my friend. Perhaps if things had been... different then he would have petitioned my adar, but...” She sighed and hid behind her hair, and Garrick knew a moment’s discomfort at the realisation of all she had lost.

It must be a heavy burden indeed.

And he was the bastard that continued to mock her for her sorrow, never relenting even as she beckoned him for aid.

But as he also considered her words he realised with growing shame that he was relieved at her assurance. His unwelcome visitor had been young and fair—though perhaps a bit too fair as he could easily have been mistaken for a female, if one was not already aware of Mairi’s otherworldly beauty.

Simply because he agreed to her continued presence did not mean he would be forced to take her as a wife. The knowledge that any man could have been in his position was still too near and left his stomach unsettled. No, but he could offer her protection, something she would desperately need in this world of cruelty and lust.

He might not be willing to offer his sword and his life to a king, but he was quickly coming to believe he would do so for this creature if she but ask it of him.

“Very well, nymph, you may stay with me.”