“Where is your beautiful boy?” the bishop asked Mercy.
Shocked, Mercy could not move. She was frozen to the spot.
“He is a beautiful child. I look forward to seeing him.”
Mercy recoiled. How did he remember Kit?
He cast one last look at Mercy.
Her eyes narrowed, and her teeth clenched when his gaze touched hers. She quickly looked down at Abbey, placing an arm around her shoulders. When she looked up again, the bishop was walking away, Luke’s hand in his.
Simon approached them. “Stupid woman,” he grumbled. “You almost brought the wrath of God down upon us.”
“You just stood there,” Mercy whispered, helping Abbey to her feet.
“I’m not risking that. If my crops fail or there is a drought, that will be the end for all of us.”
“I won’t believe that God has demanded our children,” Mercy stated, rubbing Abbey’s arm. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the bishop. “This smells of humanity.”
“You doubt the Bishop?” Simon demanded.
Mercy shook her head. She needed to bide her words. There were too many listening who would run to the bishop. “No. But I think we should stand together.”
“We are!”
“You have no children. You don’t know how it is to give one up. To make that kind of sacrifice.”
“Your boy’s the next sacrifice, isn’t he? I’m not listening to anything you say. You are just looking out for yourself and your child.”
“I am going to pray for salvation,” Mercy whispered. “Because it will not come from you.”
She moved past Simon, supporting Abbey.
They had walked halfway down the road, away from the other villagers, when Abbey yanked herself free from Mercy’s hold. “You just stood there. He took my son and you just stood there.”
Mercy stared at Abbey in disbelief. “What could I have done?”
“Kill him,” she snarled. “You promised. You promised me.”
Shocked, Mercy opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Get away from me,” she snarled.
“Abbey –” Mercy reached out to her.
“Go home.”
Mercy stood numbly as Abbey stumbled past her. Her hands were still outstretched for her friend. Abbey was just upset, as she should be. But Mercy couldn’t stop feeling guilty.
She turned and locked eyes with Eoos! He stood in the shadows just beside the baker’s house with his horse. Frightened he would be discovered, she made her way to his side.
His stoic gaze was leveled down the street, on the path the bishop had taken. His jaw was clenched. “This shouldn’t be allowed.”
Sympathy and resolution washed over her. She took his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked back to the cottage, leading his horse.
“What does he do with the children?”
Mercy shook her head and shrugged. “No one knows. They are never seen again.”
“Has anyone spoken to the bishop?”
“And said what?” She shook her head. “No. Everyone is afraid of him. He says this is punishment for our sins.”
“What do you think?”
“I think I will do anything to save Kit. I won’t let him go.”
His gaze swept her. “How long has the bishop been taking the boys?”
She looked away at the rising moon, thinking back to the first time she arrived in Goodmont. “Since I married Dean. When I came into the town, it was already happening. I remember the first boy I saw the bishop take. I remember the mother was numb, almost as though she were drunk. She just let the bishop take her son. Her husband held her tightly in his embrace. The child was a beautiful boy with blonde hair and blue eyes, bright and always with a smile.” She looked down. “I can’t blame her really. She had other children. She couldn’t deny the bishop.”
“And the fathers? They don’t fight? They don’t protest?”
“Against the bishop? Against one of the church?” She half laughed. “No. They wouldn’t dare. They’ve convinced themselves that the bishop needs the boys.”
“Needs children?”
“Perhaps they are servants working for the church. Perhaps they…” But she couldn’t think of anything a five-summers-old child could do that a grown man couldn’t do better.
Silence spread for a moment until Eoos uttered the words, “Kit will be five soon.”
Despair swept through Mercy and she felt a weight in her chest. She could only nod.
“What will you do?”
“I will find a strong knight to stop him,” she whispered and lifted her gaze to lock with his. “I will ask him to help us. To save my son.”
Chapter Seven
Eoos understood what she was asking. He stared down at her. He wanted to help; he had already promised Kit he would. But he was only one man. “What can I do against the bishop’s men?”
Tears shimmered in her blue eyes. “There has to be some way. There must be something we can do. Won’t you help us?”
“I can’t even remember who I am. What would you have me do?”
“Please, Eoos.”
His horse whinnied and tossed his head, bumping Mercy. She lost her balance.
Eoos quickly reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her. She regained her balance, and when he should have pulled his hand away, he didn’t. She needed him. And she had helped him to heal, offering him food and a warm place to stay, seeing to his injuries. He was in-debted to her. He just didn’t know what he could do. “I will do all I can.”
She pulled her arm back until her fingers touched his and she squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Eoos.”
The horse whinnied again.
Eoos cast the animal an annoyed glance and his gaze came to rest on their interlocked fingers. “Is there a magistrate you can speak to about this?”
Mercy shook her head. “I’m positive the bishop is paying him, or the magistrate doesn’t believe us. He simply ignores the matter.”
“Have you sent a missive to the Pope?” Mercy looked at him with such tenderness that his insides twisted.
“We don’t know how to write.”
“I do. We can start there.”
“It will take weeks to get a missive to the Pope. Kit doesn’t have weeks. I need to… to take him somewhere. Keep him hidden.”
“You would leave? Run away?”
“I would do anything to keep Kit safe. But I have nowhere to go.”
She was desperate. Her eyes were large with anguish, bright with agony. He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “I’ll write a missive. We’ll start there.”
Mercy nodded, but doubt furrowed her brow.
“If we hear nothing, we shall begin to plan an escape.”
Mercy threw her hands around his neck, hugging him tightly.
Shocked, Eoos caught her and held her against him.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Mercy whispered.
Her body was soft, her cheek pressed against his even softer. Something stirred within him, something warm and comforting and needing. He wanted to protect her.
She pressed a kiss to his cheek before pulling back.
Startled, he could only stare at her. Her pert nose, her full lips. She smelled like the flowers and honey. When she stepped back, he immediately missed her warmth, her touch. He cleared his throat softly, the memory of her kiss still wet on his cheek.
Together, they walked down the dusty road toward the cottage. He turned to regard the village as it grew distant. It was a small village and the people were afraid. He wondered what he could do to help Kit. He would try everything.
“Did you remember anything about your horse?” Mercy asked.
Eoos looked at her, jarred out of his reverie. “No. Nothing.” It was strange the way he recalled his past. He knew things, but he couldn’t remember important things, like his name.
“You should ride him tomorrow.”
Eoos nodded. A good suggest
ion. “Perhaps after I visit the inn.”
“Do you remember how to ride?”
Eoos shrugged. “I’ll try anything to remember.”
They walked in silence, their footsteps crunching rocks and dirt.
“Is there anything you can tell me to help me remember?” He had a suspicion she knew more than she was telling him.
She was quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t know you before the fight.”
“You stopped it.”
She nodded.
“What were you doing at the inn?”
“I wasn’t at the inn when the fight started. Walter ran and told me.”
“Why did you stop it?”
“I thought you were an answer to a prayer.”
He gripped the reins for Pounder loosely but sternly. Maybe he was the answer to her prayer. He just didn’t remember. “I must have done something bad for all the townsmen to beat me.”
Mercy remained silent.
“I should talk to them.”
“No!” Halting suddenly, she looked at him with wide, alarmed eyes. “I mean…then they would know you aren’t my cousin. They would try to beat you again.”
“Mercy,” he said softly. “I have to find out who I am.”
“You said you would help us.”
“Aye. And I will. That won’t change.”
“I don’t think speaking with the men who beat you is the answer. If they recognize you, all of our planning will be for naught. I don’t want you hurt again.”
“I have to find out. You must understand that.”
She nodded, silent for a moment. Finally, she looked into the distance. “We’ll go to the inn later this afternoon.”
Elated, Eoos hoped to recover more of his memories.
Mercy knew she couldn’t deny Eoos finding out the truth about who he was. It was cruel not to tell him. Misgivings plagued her. What if he wouldn’t help them after he discovered he killed the Archbishop? It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter if he found out he had killed the Archbishop Thomas Becket. But something inside of her doubted him. What if he would not stop a man of the church? What if he decided that to save his soul, he should give Kit to the bishop? Or turn himself over to the bishop? Or what if the village men recognized him and killed him this time? That was why she had agreed to take him to the inn that afternoon. Most of the farmers would still be in the fields and Bartholomew would be at the baker getting grain and yeast to make ale.
When Alice arrived, Mercy went to search for Eoos. It wasn’t hard to find him. When she called his name, Kit poked his head from behind the barn.
She hurried to him. He stood behind the barn, gazing at something. Eoos sat atop his horse, moving it back and forth across the field behind the barn. She joined Kit and watched him for a moment. There was never a more striking vision. His mastery of the horse was amazing. He sat tall in the saddle; a gentle breeze ruffled his dark hair.
“He’s amazing,” Kit whispered.
She had to agree.
Eoos spotted her and steered the animal toward them at an easy gallop. His face was healing, the swelling retreating. A large bruise still ringed his eye. The puffiness had receded from his lip. Even battered, she could still find beauty in his face. His hair ruffled by the breeze, his lips a sensual slash, the intense way he stared at her. Her insides liquified beneath his stare as heat engulfed her.
He stopped before them. “Good day, Mercy.”
The tone in his voice sent ripples of excitement rushing through her. She ran a hand along the horse’s neck. “Did you remember anything?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I found that I knew how to saddle him.”
She nodded. Yes. As a knight, he would know that. And as a knight, he would know how to command a horse.
“Are you ready to accompany me to the inn?”
His voice was a rich timbre that sent vibrations through her body. He knew how to command more than just a horse.
“We can ride there.” He extended a hand to her.
She faltered.
“I want to go!” Kit called.
“This is work for adults,” Eoos told Kit. “Your mother and I will return.”
“Alice will have work for you,” Mercy added.
“Awww,” Kit grumbled, kicking a pebble.
Mercy lay a hand on Kit’s head. Yes, Eoos knew how to command. Armies as well as children. She pressed a kiss to Kit’s head. “We shan’t be long.”
Kit slowly moved toward the cottage, his head hung as he shuffled and kicked the dirt.
Mercy looked at Eoos. He extended his hand to her again. Mercy balked as tremors of delight ran up her spine. Still, she resisted the temptation he offered. “I should saddle my mare.”
“My horse is already saddled. A ride into the village will not over tax him.”
Mercy glanced at the barn in hesitation. She didn’t feel it appropriate to ride with him. So close. Together.
“What are you afraid of?” He pushed his hand at her.
That did it. She opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. She straightened her back and lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid.” She placed her hand into his.
In one movement, he pulled her up before him. She squirmed as her hip hit the saddle.
He slid her over his legs more comfortably.
“This saddle isn’t meant for two people,” she complained softly.
He grinned, his lips quirking to the side; his eyes danced in merriment. “No, it’s not.” He spurred the horse.
She fell back against his strong, solid chest, having to hold onto the pommel of the saddle for balance. His arm slid around her waist, steadying her. She couldn’t help but notice the comfort and ease with which her body molded to his. For a moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like to be held in his arms. Safe. Wanted. Desired. Oh, wicked, wicked thoughts. She had not felt or imagined these feelings since Dean had passed. Why now? When love should have been the farthest thing from her mind.
“The ride is not far?”
“No,” she answered. “The inn is just up ahead and a little off the road.” She pointed the way.
He guided the horse with ease, as if he had done it a thousand times before. “Still no memories?”
“No.”
He followed her directions, and when the inn came into view, he reigned in his horse. The horse danced nervously, and he did not urge it on.
Mercy looked over her shoulder at him.
“It is as if there is something there, something I can’t quite grasp but just out of my reach.”
“How do you feel? Any headaches?”
He looked down at her with warm, grateful blue eyes. “None.” He swung his leg over the horse and dismounted, then reached up for her.
His hands spanned her waist and she placed her hands on his shoulders. Strong, amazingly muscled. She could feel rippling strength beneath her hands. For a moment, she stared at his face. Healing magnificently. The bruise around his eye was fading and his lips were almost back to normal except for the cut. Back to luscious, beckoning fullness. She mentally shook herself and stepped away from him.
He looked at the inn again and started toward it.
She trailed behind as he tied the horse to a nearby tree. She remembered the last time she had been here. She had rushed in to find him being beaten by five of the townsmen. He was laying on the floor, unconscious and bloodied. When she had first seen him, she didn’t think he would survive.
He glanced at her. “You look as hesitant as I.”
She shook her head, pushing the image from her mind. It disturbed her more than she was willing to admit.
The main room was dark and empty, except for a low fire in the hearth.
Eoos stepped past Mercy, scanning the room. His hand immediately went to his waist, where his scabbard would be. Tingles danced across the nape of his neck. An uneasy feeling filled him, and he suddenly wanted to rush from the inn. Instead, he stepped deeper into the room.
She stood with her hands clasped before her, staring at him with concern.
He grinned weakly, trying to comfort her. He knew she had not been at the attack until the end. And then, there came another image, one he had seen before. Mercy shouting, standing over him as she tried to push the other men back. She had stopped the attack.
Again, he looked at the fire. Another hot burst of pain erupted in his mind and he saw other flames. A torch, maybe. More shouting. Agony ripped through his mind. Shouting that echoed. He couldn’t hear the words. A broken sword. His broken sword.
He felt hands on his shoulders, guiding him to a chair. He pressed his temples, wanting the agony to stop but needing to find out who he was, what had happened to his sword.
“Eoos!” Mercy called, worried.
Her voice came from far away. He opened his eyes to look into her large blue ones.
The door opened and a small girl emerged, wiping her hands on her brown cotton dress.
Images descended over Eoos like a rain. The girl speaking to him; a round bellied man shaking his head and waving his arms. “Outside!” the man cried. Blows rocked him. Again, and again they hit him. Pain with each strike. But he did not attack the men. He knew he could kill some of them with his fists, but he didn’t.
“Eoos!” Mercy shouted, shaking him.
The agony filled his head until he wanted to cry out, until it blinded him and he could take no more. He clenched his teeth and willed the images away, but they would not be banished. He saw men standing over him, their fists descending again and again. He covered his head to protect it from the blows as well as the pain in his mind.
Something wet and cool pressed against his forehead. He opened his eyes to see Mercy wiping his brow with a damp wet cloth. The fire in his mind eased and the pain slowly faded. He looked at her worried stare. “I saw them,” he gasped.
“Them?”
“Simon was one of them. But I couldn’t see why they attacked me.”
A Knight With Mercy - an Assassin Knights novel Page 6