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 blade 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.”
