“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 cussing 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.
