She heard a ripping sound and then she was flying through the air. She landed hard on a dusty floor on top of Rafe. She sat up quickly, apologizing, “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”
“Aye. Are you?” Rafe asked.
“Aye.” She looked up at the hole about three feet from the ground. She had done it! They had done it! They were in.
Both quickly scrambled to their feet. Mercy could hardly see. Torchlight from a stairway down the hall was the only light. She wondered how he had found the exit. How he had managed to escape in such darkness. But as they walked toward the torchlight, she looked over her shoulder. Moonlight shone in through the hole in the wall. Mercy grinned. Rafe was smart and lucky. She had to admire him.
She reached out and captured his arm. “Rafe. I’m in. You should leave. I can do it.”
There was silence for a moment before Rafe answered, “I keep thinking of Will. The other boys will be just as afraid as he was.”
Compassion filled Mercy. If anything happened to Rafe, she would never forgive herself.
“I’m going with you.”
Mercy opened her mouth to object but then closed it. He could guide her. “If anything happens, if we are caught, I want you to run. Don’t worry about me. I want you to escape.” She couldn’t see whether he nodded or not.
He reached back and put his hand in hers before leading her to the stairway. He paused there and both of them looked toward the stairs. He waited only a moment before continuing up.
Tingles of trepidation shot across Mercy’s spine. She was no spy. This was so out of the ordinary for her. She hoped the bishop underestimated the lengths she would go through to get her son back. She hoped he was not as smart as she was. She hoped… Kit and Richard were alright.
She squeezed Rafe’s hand. He looked up at her. Shadows played across his face and his eyes were wide. Mercy wished he didn’t have to be here with her. She wished he had never been taken. She wished the bishop had never set foot in their village. The only thing she wanted right now was to make sure the ones she loved were safe.
She nodded to Rafe, and together they moved to the top of the stairs.
Rafe put a finger to his lips and listened for a moment. Then, he looked out of the opening first one way and then the other. He stepped out.
Mercy followed him into a corridor. They hurried down the hallway. Just a few torches in sconces on the wall lit the way. It was still dark but not as dark as the crypts.
He ducked into a spiral stairway and started up. Mercy followed. He paused at the top, listening, before continuing up to the next floor.
Mercy glanced out onto the floor. It was a wide-open room, empty. She followed Rafe up the stairs until he stopped at the next floor.
“He’ll be down here. But there might be a guard at his room,” Rafe whispered.
Mercy felt her world spin. She was so close. How could she overpower a guard?
He looked out from the shelter of the stairway and quickly ducked back. He nodded.
She considered her options. She could… hit the guard over the head with… she looked around, but there was nothing except cold stone walls. She could…
“I’ll distract him,” Rafe whispered.
“No,” Mercy gasped.
“Get as many boys as you can. You remember the way back?”
“Rafe,” she whispered. She was supposed to be the adult. She was supposed to come up with the plans. And yet, here she was depending on a boy. A young boy who had already experienced so much trauma. “No.” She grasped his arm tightly. “We’ll think of something else.”
“I know this castle. One guard won’t be able to catch me.”
Her fingers squeezed his arm. “I won’t leave you here.”
He grinned. “I know.” And he ran out into the corridor.
Mercy watched him hesitate and freeze. He then turned and ran down the corridor, away from the guard. Mercy pressed herself into the shadows on the wall. The guard ran past the stairway, chasing Rafe.
Mercy waited for a moment and then looked out of the stairway after the guard and Rafe. Neither was in view. She hurried to the first door. She wasn’t sure which door the soldier had stood guard at. She opened the door, calling softly, “Kit?”
There was no answer.
She moved across the corridor to the next door and opened the door. “Kit?”
A small boy appeared from the darkness of the room, but he was not Kit. She beckoned for him to follow her with a wave of her hand. “Come on. We’re leaving.” The child stood unsurely.
Unable to take a moment to reassure him, Mercy moved to the next door and opened it. “Kit?” Without waiting for a response, she walked to the next door and the next. Until all the doors in the hallway were open. Then she turned around.
From each room, a child, a boy emerged. They eyed her with fear and with uncertainty.
Mercy’s gaze swept the corridor, her gaze searching each of the faces. Kit was not there. Her heart stopped and a pain gripped her chest.
“Mom?”
She whirled. Kit stood behind her. With a strangled cry, she ran to him and embraced him, kissing his head and cheeks over and over. “Oh, Kit,” she said with relief. She had thought deep down that she would never see him again. But here he was, in her arms. She pulled back to look him in his beautiful blue eyes in relief and desperation. Part of her couldn’t believe she had found him. Part of her knew she would. “We’re leaving.” She looked back at the boys. “All of us. I know a way out.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mercy led the boys down the hallway and into the stairway, keeping a tight grip on Kit’s hand. She was never, ever going to let him go. She paused on the first floor and listened. When she heard no movement or speaking, she glanced out into the large room. Again, it was empty. She hoped the bishop was having a fitful sleep. She urged the boys down the stairway. There were ten of them -- some older, all between five summers and ten. Five years. The bishop had been stealing boys for five years. The thought made her ill, but she pushed it aside to concentrate on freeing the boys.
She followed them into the darkness, instructing them to hold hands. No one would be left behind. She wondered where Rafe was and checked over her shoulder to see if he was coming.
When she reached the bottom floor, the darkness was so complete, she couldn’t see. She paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, giving her eyes time to adjust. She searched for the moonlight that she had seen shining in from the hole in the wall.
“Mom?”
“It’s alright, Kit,” she whispered.
She took a step forward and her foot kicked something across the floor. It rolled, clunking, until it came to a stop somewhere in the dark. Prickles shot down her spine. She didn’t want to know what that had been.
She spotted the small ray of moonlight shining in through the wall and hurried forward, guiding the children. She paused just before the hole. “Here. This opening leads to the outside.” She looked over her shoulder at the shadows illuminated by the flickering light of the torch in the stairway, checking to make sure they had not been followed. “You will all fit. I did.”
None of the boys moved forward.
“Kit,” Mercy said. “You go first. Show them it’s alright.”
“No. I don’t want to leave you.”
Mercy knelt and cupped his face in her hands, her heart squeezing. “You have to. Be brave.”
He shook his head.
Mercy was so grateful she had found him. “We have to get these boys home.” She pressed a kiss to his head and stood. Urgency tickled her body. She knew her time was running out. They had to get away from the castle before sunup. She picked Kit up. He clung to her and she held him for a moment. Then she held him up to the hole.
Kit crawled into the opening with ease, like a small mouth had gobbled him up.
Mercy leaned into the hole. “Kit?” There was no answer. Panic began to gnaw at her. “Kit?” she asked with desperation.
“I’m here. I’m outside.”
Relief swept through her. Suddenly, the boys crowded forward, scrambling for the hole.
“One at a time,” Mercy said. She picked up one boy and helped him into the hole. Another child didn’t need help and went in after him. They clustered around her, desperate for freedom. She hurriedly helped another into the opening. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “Don’t push.”
One of the children suddenly screamed.
Startled, Mercy ran to him. It was difficult to see in the dark, but she saw a shadow on the floor. She reached for him and her hand brushed his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“There!” He pointed to the floor.
In a ray of moonlight from the hole, she saw a skull on the floor. It must have been what she kicked when she entered. She pushed it gently into the darkness with her foot so none of the others saw it. “It’s alright. Hurry.” She gathered him to her, pulling him toward the opening and helping him into the hole.
“Stop!”
Mercy whirled toward the stairs to see Rafe run into the darkness toward them. “Hurry!” she told the children. There were only three remaining, but guards were coming. They needed to get out. Another child hurried into the hole.
Rafe reached her side. Together, they turned back to see guards tramping down the stairs.
Another boy climbed into the hole. Mercy helped the last boy.
The guards stepped into the crypts, calling, “Who’s there? Halt!”
Mercy pushed Rafe toward the opening, hoping the guards didn’t see the light of the moon shining through the hole. Hoping they only heard movement. Rafe disappeared into the opening.
Mercy didn’t wait. She went right in after him. She inched forward until she was halfway in. She pushed forward until her torso was outside, until she could feel the air of freedom against her cheeks; she could see the boys clustered around the opening.
Rafe was looking up at the crenel. Kit stood near her.
She wiggled further through the hole until she felt the opening grasp her around her hips. Her legs still dangled in the crypt. She kicked and twisted, trying to pull herself free, but she was stuck.
She held out her hand, pushing against the outside stone wall with her free one.
Kit grabbed hold of her wrist, as did Rafe. Both pulled.
Mercy shifted and kicked her feet, trying to get free. She suddenly felt hands on her ankles. The guards!
Desperation and fear overcame her. She kicked hard and hit one of them.
The boys pulled, tugging her forward.
The guards tried to yank her back. She could feel a set of hands grasping each leg now. Their strength pulled her back. She looked at Kit with anguish. “Rafe,” she called. “Take the boys to safety. Kit, go with him.”
He shook his head desperately.
The guards pulled hard on her legs. She slipped back, her hips were free now and she knew it would only be another yank before she was back in the castle. She clung to the outside wall desperately. “Do as I say,” she commanded, and then immediately regretted her harsh words. “I love you, Kit.”
And then the guards pulled her back into the darkness of the castle.
Richard spit on his manacled wrists. He used the spit as a lubrication, but even that was not helping. His skin was raw and burning from his attempts at freeing his hands. He would have to cut off his thumb to have a hope of slipping the manacles from his wrists.
He saw a light through the iron bars of the door. It was coming toward him. He straightened. He might have a chance of overpowering the guard. He was not giving up.
Through the slotted door, he saw two guards. One held a very bright torch and Richard had to squint. The other had his sword drawn.
That can’t be good, Richard thought. “Evening meal already?”
They unlocked the door and swung it open. “Stand up, heathen.”
Richard sat for a long moment, debating his options. In the end, he stood. One guard grabbed his arm and pushed him forward, down the dungeon hallway. He almost tripped but righted himself.
The corridor had only one torch. It was musky and warm. The clangs of the guards’ armor echoed through the corridor.
The guard with the sword was right behind Richard, the tip pressed against his spine. It would take little effort to knock it aside and bash the guard in the face, disarming him. The guard with the torch was at the rear.
The guard poked him in the back with the sword, urging him up the stairs. It was time. Richard stiffened, preparing to act.
“That woman was a feisty one, eh?” The guard holding the torch asked.
Richard froze. Woman?
“She didn’t kick you in the face.”
Tingles of unease danced up Richard’s spine. He glanced over his shoulder to see the sword-holding guard had a fat lip.
“The bishop was not pleased with her.”
Richard took a hesitant step up the stairs. Was she in the dungeon?
“Get moving,” the guard commanded him.
Richard took another step. Should he find her or wait to make sure it was her? He knew. He knew it was Mercy searching for her son. And now the bishop had her. The best way to help her was to be free. He spun, knocking the sword aside and plowed his elbow into the guard’s face. As the guard went down, Richard grabbed the sword from his hand.
The guard holding the torch dropped it and reached for his weapon.
Richard smashed the end of the sword into his head. The guard dropped to the ground.
The first guard groaned.
Richard grabbed his hauberk and pulled him close. “Where is the woman?”
The guard gaped, confused.
Richard shook him. “Where is she?”
“The bishop has her. They were waiting for you.”
A hard punch across the guard’s face with the pommel of the sword knocked him out. Richard searched the guard for the keys to his manacles. But there were none. He didn’t have time to search for them. He had to reach Mercy.
Chapter Sixteen
Mercy stood in a small room with a golden table situated on a raised dais. A thick wooden cross was positioned at the front of the altar. Before it, Bishop Devdan knelt, his head bowed in prayer.
A guard stood on either side of her. She looked around, but the room was barren except for the two steps before the wooden cross. She had been waiting for the bishop for what seemed like hours now. But he didn’t move, he simply knelt there. The one saving grace for Mercy was that the boys had escaped. They were gone and the bishop couldn’t hurt them any longer. She found satisfaction in that.
Finally, he moved. With a sigh, he clutched his golden staff and used it to rise. He looked old. Frail. He turned to her and regarded her with cold eyes. Shrewd eyes. Angry eyes. “You must be proud of yourself.”
Mercy lifted her chin.
“You think yourself clever.”
“Relieved, now that the children are safe.”
“Safe? They were safe here. They were sheltered. Well fed. Taken care of. I took care of them. I loved them.”
“I love Kit! He is my boy. You have no right to take him from me.”
The bishop hobbled down the stairs, moving toward her. His fingers clutched the golden staff. “Yes. You were the most vocal about the children.”
“People died because of what you did!”
“The children do God’s work.”
“What work did they do?” Mercy demanded. “What work did a child do that a grown man could not?”
He shook with rage for a moment, his eyes widened in outrage. Then, he took a deep breath, glancing at each of the guards. “It is not for you to say.”
“It is for me to say! Kit is my son! I am his mother. There is no better place for him to be than at my side!”
“Ahh. Kit. He is a special boy.”
Tremors moved across Mercy’s shoulders at the inappropriate way he said Kit’s name.
“I am delighted I found him. So
…innocent. So…” He looked at her. “I can’t get enough of his blonde hair. So fair and…lovely.”
Disgust filled her and she yanked away from the guard’s hold. “He’s gone! You’ll never get your hands on him now!”
The bishop nodded. “It is a shame that I lost him. But there are so many other boys.” The bishop puffed out his lower lip and his eyes glinted. “I will have to be satisfied that you will never see him again.”
Realization silenced her. He was right. Kit had escaped. But she had not. Despair filled her. They were still separated. She would never show the bishop that he was victorious or that he had hurt her. She lifted her chin. “But neither will you. I saved him.”
Suddenly, a door opened behind them. Mercy turned.
Richard charged in, sword raised before him. He dispatched one guard before he could draw his sword, and whirled on the other.
Richard had come! Joy exploded through her.
Suddenly, the bishop lunged forward, moving with astonishing speed. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back against his chest, placing the golden staff across her throat. He tugged the rod against her throat.
Mercy pushed against the staff so she could breathe as she watched Richard battle the guard.
Swords clanged through the room as metal met metal again and again. Both of Richard’s hands held the hilt of the sword because they were still manacled together.
Mercy’s hands hooked over the staff, trying to pull it from her throat.
Richard knocked the sword aside and lunged, impaling the guard. He pulled his sword clear and whirled. He froze. He locked eyes with her. “Let her go and we will go,” Richard told the bishop.
The bishop growled, holding Mercy tightly. “Put your sword down.”
“Or what?” Richard demanded. “Will you kill her? Killing is a sin.”
“You should know.” The bishop grinned. “Other guards will be here soon. They will have heard the fighting. I can’t lose.”
Desperation washed over Mercy. She gazed at Richard. They had been so close. No! She had to do something! Mercy’s hands tightened over the staff and she shoved it. But the bishop pulled it tighter against her throat making her gape for breath.
A Knight With Mercy - an Assassin Knights novel Page 13