A Knight With Mercy - an Assassin Knights novel

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  “When can I trust him?”

  “I’m not certain, but we can start with a bowl of porridge and see him strong.” She brushed into the cottage.

  Kit skipped behind her. “Can I bring him the porridge?”

  Mercy ruffled his hair. “Not yet. I have to get to know him to see whether he is trustworthy.” And she hoped he was.

  Chapter Three

  Richard stretched out his legs slowly. The sunshine shone in through a rotted slat on the side of the barn. At least he could tell the passing of time. It had been one day since he had opened his eyes. He could feel his strength returning. His side was still tender, and his lip still swollen. He could almost see out of his puffy eye; the swelling was easing. The woman, Mercy, had given him a cloth with herbs in it to place over the swelling. It seemed to be helping.

  It was his head he was worried about. Last night, pain had pierced through his mind like a sword. He could barely sleep. Now, he was tired but wanted to rise and test his mobility. He vowed he would stand today. He was no cripple to be lying in a barn and be tended to. He was a knight and had had worse than a sound beating. Startled, he realized that he was a knight. Some part of his memory was still there. Perhaps Mercy was right, and all his memory would return.

  When he heard movement, he glanced at the door.

  “I’m not going in when he is awake,” a voice said in a hushed tone, but not hushed enough that he did not hear.

  “I will tend him.” He knew that voice. Mercy.

  “I don’t like you treating him alone.”

  “I treat many men alone.”

  “They are villagers. All of whom we know.”

  “Then come in with me.” The door opened and Mercy entered, carrying a bucket of water.

  He grinned. He was beginning to really like her. He felt a strange rush of anticipation when he knew she was coming. Her presence made his pain tolerable.

  He caught sight of an elderly woman standing with her arms crossed outside of the door. “I’ll be right here…”

  The door closed on her words.

  “That’s two,” he greeted as Mercy dropped to her knees at his side.

  She lifted her blue eyes to his. “Two?”

  “Two people who have warned you about me.”

  Confusion marred her brow.

  “The little boy and the woman,” he clarified.

  She lifted her eyebrows in understanding and then brushed the thought aside with a wave of her hand. She took a cloth from the pile she carried in after setting the two basins on the ground.

  “You don’t think I’m a threat?”

  She looked him in the eye. “Are you?” She looked doubtful.

  He took offense and drew himself up. “At times.”

  She smiled and turned to the basin. She gently dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out.

  He scowled. “I can be,” he insisted.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He sank back against the wall and lifted his knee. Agony flared up from his stomach, and he winced, even though he tried to hide it.

  She paused, seeing the grimace. “How is your head?”

  He lifted his hand to touch his forehead. “It will do.”

  Mercy put a hand on her waist and cocked her head to the side. “It will only help your recovery and my ministrations if you tell the truth. There’s no need for you to feel threatened by me.”

  “Threatened?” he asked in disbelief. He didn’t find women threatening.

  “I’ve come across this before. Men do not want to feel inferior to women, so they push aside their aches and lie about their condition. And then they die, or sometimes have a leg cut off.”

  “How long have you been a physician?”

  A grin touched her lips as she removed a cloth from a cut on his arm. “I’m not a physician. My husband was.”

  He held his arm out for her. “Was? Where is he now? Perhaps he can treat me.”

  Mercy sat back on her heels. “I should be insulted, but I’m not. I’m sure Dean would have treated you if he could. He passed away.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mercy nodded. “You and the entire village, I’m sure.”

  Richard scowled. “I meant no disrespect.”

  She shook her head and dabbed at the cut. “I learned a lot from him, but I’m no physician. Still, I’m the best the village has. I have taken his place in their eyes.” She sat back without replacing the cloth.

  “How long ago did he die?”

  “Two years. He fell ill and never recovered. But you are avoiding the question. How is your head?”

  “It hurts at times. But it is nothing I cannot endure.”

  Mercy grinned. “I’m sure.” Her smile faded. “Have you remembered anything further?”

  He shook his head. “No. I try, but I can’t.”

  “Do you remember anything? Your name? Where you came from?”

  “Sometimes I feel as if it is just there, behind the fog, but I can’t find it. Have you ever forgotten a word? It’s like that. I know it, but I can’t…seem to find it.”

  “Relax,” she said softly. “It will come back. But until then, we must call you something.”

  “Eoos.” The word came to him and he didn’t know from where and he didn’t know if that was his name or not. But it was familiar.

  “Eoos?” Mercy repeated, baffled.

  He nodded. Yes. The word was so familiar that it must be his name.

  “Eoos,” she seemed to roll the word around as if tasting it. Then, nodded. She lifted her gaze to his. A ray of sunlight splashed across her eyes making them sparkle. She was beautiful, he suddenly realized, and was shocked by his realization.

  She leaned forward and brushed her fingers against one of the bruises on his stomach.

  He jumped as tingles danced through his torso.

  “Does that hurt?”

  He shook his head. No. It did not hurt at all. Her touch was like magic, strangely sensual. Calming and arousing at the same time. As she continued touching him, he cleared his throat. He needed to get his mind off her closeness, her very alluring smell. “Do you know anything about my past? Who I am or whenst I come?”

  She moved her fingers to another bruise, tenderly pressing against it. “I know of no man named Eoos.”

  He had thought that perchance he had come from Goodmont, but apparently that was not the case. “Do you know anything of me?”

  “I know you were beaten at the inn.”

  “Do you know why?”

  Her concentration centered on his stomach, perhaps too much so. She leaned in close to peel a cloth from one of the cuts on his torso.

  One of her brown locks fell forward and brushed against his skin, sending tremors through his body. Gods blood! How much more agonizing torture could she put him through?

  She set the cloth aside and reached for a flask. Then she shook her head.

  “Do you know who did it?” he asked in a husky voice.

  “Aye,” she said, pouring cool liquid over the wound.

  He winced and stiffened, but the burning subsided.

  “I would not approach them until you get your strength back.” She put a fresh cloth over the cut.

  Wise advice. Suddenly, pain erupted through his cloudy mind and the fog seemed to part. He was in a room, looking up through a crowd of faces as she came toward him. Mercy. And then, he remembered the angel who had saved him. “It was you.”

  She lifted her confused gaze to lock with his.

  He reached out and captured her hand, partly to prevent her from turning away, partly to hold onto something through the pain. “Why? Why did you stop them?”

  “They would have killed you. I didn’t think that was a sin the men of this village needed to harbor in their souls.” She looked at him again with a strange contemplative expression before pulling her hand away and turning to collect her cloth. “A few more days of rest and you should be well enough to be on your feet. I left a b
lade and basin of water for you to shave with. If you need help, I can help you when I return.”

  The pain in his mind dulled and faded. He didn’t want her to leave. Not yet. “Mercy!”

  She turned to him.

  His gaze swept over her face. So beautiful. Her hair was pulled back in a coif, strands of dark curls hanging around her oval shaped face. Her blue eyes lit his soul like the sun. Her lips were full and tempting. Lord, he wanted to kiss her.

  Mercy cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  Richard’s heart pounded. He wanted to reach out and touch her. He wanted to pull her against him and kiss her deeply. Instead, he just sat.

  She stood, holding the basin before her. “You are welcome to stay until you can ride.” She turned away and headed for the door.

  “I don’t believe that I thanked you. For everything.”

  She turned to him; her shapely lips turned up at the corners in a grin.

  It was as though he caught his breath, as though he were holding his breath. He couldn’t explain the strange sensation that suddenly engulfed him.

  “No. You didn’t.” She continued out of the barn.

  Mercy eased the door closed behind her, holding the basin of water and some soiled cloth.

  “What did he say?” Abbey pushed herself from the side of the barn. “Will he help us?”

  “Shh,” Mercy warned, glancing back at the barn and then at Abbey. “Where’s Alice?”

  “Inside.”

  “I didn’t ask him. It’s too early. He’s still recovering.”

  Abbey’s face fell in worry. “I don’t have much time. They’ll come for Luke in two days.” She grabbed Mercy’s arm, and water sloshed over the side of the basin onto the dirt at her feet. “I don’t want to give my baby up.”

  “I know,” Mercy whispered. And she did. But she didn’t know what else to do. The men of the village refused to stand against the bishop.

  “The bishop comes with two guards every time. I can’t fight them alone.” Abbey shook her head.

  “Follow the plan. Just say no to the bishop.”

  Abbey nodded, but she looked fearful. “It’s not right. The bishop takes the boys, and we never see them again. We don’t know what he does with them. I won’t give Luke up. Not even to do God’s work.”

  Mercy chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. She wasn’t certain that Abbey was strong enough to deny the bishop. “Have you considered running?”

  “Running?”

  “Leaving the village.”

  “Where would I go? A woman and a child alone on the road?” Abbey shook her head. “I couldn’t do that.”

  Kit and another boy with dark hair ran past them.

  “Don’t forget the horse!” Mercy called after Kit.

  The boys giggled as they disappeared into the field of long stalks.

  Mercy started across the yard toward the cottage. The clouds had covered the sun and a cool breeze touched her cheeks. She caught a glimpse of Kit and Luke through the crops as they jumped up and down to scare the birds. So innocent. She wished they could just be boys and not have to worry about the bishop and being torn away from their families.

  Mercy and Abbey had made it halfway across the yard, when she heard conversation coming from the road. Low conversation. She glanced toward the road to see Simon the farmer and Lief the town’s rat catcher, walking toward her. The bald spot on Simon’s head shone in the sunlight. He used a hoe to aid him in walking, even though he didn’t need it. Lief was younger than Simon, with brown hair that was plastered to his head.

  She quickly handed the basin to Abbey. “Bring this inside.”

  “I’m not leaving you. You know what they want.”

  Mercy wiped her hands on her brown skirt and approached the men as tingles of trepidation shivered down her spine. “Good day!”

  The men stopped talking and walked up to her. Lief pushed his brown hair flat with his hand as he approached.

  Mercy realized what Abbey was speaking of. Dread welled up inside her. She mentally counted the day and realized with growing alarm that it was Friday. She was to have an answer for Lief. She should have told him no immediately when he asked to marry her, but she was so tired she just wanted to get home. She had promised to have an answer for him by…today.

  “I’ve come for your answer,” Lief said.

  “And I’m here as a witness,” Simon added.

  Abbey grumbled something unintelligible about Simon.

  Mercy drew in a deep breath. She didn’t want to hurt Lief but had no intention of marrying him. He could not protect Kit. And that would be the only reason she would marry again.

  “Lief,” she started quietly. “I appreciate your offer –”

  “It’s dangerous out here on the fringe of the village all by yourself,” Simon said, cutting her off. He glanced at the field and then the cottage. “How long before a brigand comes and steals your horse?”

  “Walter visits to make sure Kit and I are safe.”

  “As do I,” Abbey added.

  “And what good would you be against brigands?” Simon demanded of Abbey in a sharp tone. “Walter is an old man. He is no deterrent to thieves. Now, Lief here is strong and fit.”

  Not for a sword, Mercy wanted to say, but kept silent. She began to shake her head.

  “Think on it, girl,” Simon warned. “You are in no position to be alone.”

  Mercy narrowed her eyes at Simon. “Shouldn’t you be harvesting your crops?”

  Simon scratched his stringy brown hair. “Amelia is working the fields.”

  “Your wife?” Mercy gasped. Simon was a lazy man, prone to letting others do his work. Poor Amelia. “Alone? Aren’t you worried about thieves coming to rob you?”

  Simon grimaced in distaste.

  “You should help her,” Mercy advised.

  “You should learn your place. Women don’t tell men what they should be doing. That has always been your fault. That husband of yours shoulda beat some sense into you instead of letting you do whatever you like.”

  Mercy’s lips tightened. She looked at Lief. “I’m sorry, Lief. I appreciate your offer of marriage and protection, but you are not the man for me.”

  Lief scowled in disappointment but bobbed his head.

  Mercy regretted being harsh with him. Simon was the one her anger and impatience should be aimed at.

  “You’ll regret this,” Simon promised.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Those brigands will come and pull up your skirts and have their way with you. You’d probably like it.”

  “Get off my lands.”

  Simon stepped toward her. “A woman has no right to own lands. It’s not natural.”

  “And yet I do.”

  Lief grabbed his arm, but Simon yanked it away.

  “Simon,” Lief warned. “She doesn’t want me. It is her right.”

  “Her right?” Simon said. “Someone shoulda taught her the proper place for a woman.” He grabbed her shoulders.

  “Momma!” Kit cried from the edge of the field where he and Luke were watching. He began racing forward across the yard.

  Abbey shrunk back in fear.

  “Stay there, Kit!” Mercy ordered with a firm voice that stopped Kit in his tracks. She pulled the dagger from her belt and pressed the tip against Simon’s stomach. She tried to remain calm even though her heart raced. “Get your hands off of me.”

  For a moment, everything froze. Simon’s angry eyes glared into hers. His fingers tightened over her shoulders. Would she stab him? Could she do it when all her training was to save and help the villagers?

  Simon pushed her back. “You’re not worth it.” He spat on the ground and took a step backward.

  Kit raced up and hugged her leg.

  Mercy stood for a long moment, shaken. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. As she watched Simon and Lief move off down the road, Simon cussi
ng all the way, she slowly lowered her arm holding the dagger. If Simon had his way, she would be married off to his friend and they would be sitting in the house drinking ale while she and Kit worked the fields. She looked down at Kit, resting a hand on his blonde curls. “I’m fine, Kit,” she whispered.

  “Are you alright?” Abbey asked.

  Mercy nodded. Simon was right about one thing. She did need protection. She and Kit both. As she turned toward the cottage, she saw the barn door swing shut.

  Chapter Four

  Mercy stared at the boys as they slept on the straw mattress tucked in the corner. So peaceful, not a care in the world. She was envious.

  Abbey clutched Mercy’s hand tightly across the table. “Simon is not going to like that you rejected Lief.”

  Mercy squeezed her hand. “Nor that I pulled a dagger on him.”

  Abbey giggled softly. “That was a sight!” She grunted. “Serves him right. I wish I had the courage to draw a dagger on him. And on all the rest of those cowards in the village.” She leaned forward. “Do you really think the knight will defend us?”

  Mercy cast a glance across the room toward the door and the barn beyond. “He doesn’t remember who he is. Or what he’s done. I should have told him that he killed the Archbishop.”

  Abbey sat back. “What good would it have done?”

  “It’s not right to keep his identity a secret. He deserves to know.”

  Abbey leaned forward again. “Tell him.”

  “Tell him what? What he’s done?” Abbey nodded and Mercy continued, “And then what?”

  “He can stand against the bishop. He can defend us. Protect the children. Lord knows the men of Goodmont won’t do it. We need a man of honor!”

  Mercy raised her eyebrows in surprise. “He killed the Archbishop. He is not a man of honor.”

  “He stood up to the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  “He killed the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  “Maybe he should kill Bishop –”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “You’re thinking it. I am too. We’ve talked about it. It’s the only way.”

  Mercy sighed softly. “Another bishop will be assigned to take his place. He might take our children, too.”

  “And he might not. Do you really believe the orders come from above the bishop to steal our children? What would the church want with young boys?”