Eoos stepped past her.
Simon quickened his pace down the road and off her lands.
Mercy dropped to her knees at Kit’s side. She took his face in her hands, examining his cheek. A hot red handprint was appearing on his tender skin. “Are you alright?”
Kit wrapped his arms about her, and she hugged him fiercely.
“What were you doing?” Mercy whispered to him. “Why did he hit you?”
“I was telling him to stay away from our barn,” Kit said, pressing his face into her shoulder. “That he couldn’t go in. He didn’t like that.”
Mercy squeezed Kit tightly. She picked Kit up and turned to Eoos. In the light of day, he looked worse. His eye was swollen closed and turning colors, his lip puffed up. His cheek was swollen. And still, he had protected her son. Overwhelming gratitude consumed her. “Thank you.”
He nodded his head before wincing and grasping his stomach.
“You shouldn’t be on your feet,” Mercy advised.
“I thought it was the right thing to do.”
Her heart melted. She was so grateful to him. “It was,” she whispered, stroking Kit’s head.
He nodded. “Am I truly your cousin?”
She smiled. “No. I made that up so he wouldn’t recognize you from the inn.”
“Then I am the knight who was excommunicated.”
She froze. She should tell him the truth. She should tell him what he had done.
Kit looked at her. “You lied?”
She was lying about a good many things. And she didn’t like it. Not one bit. She considered Richard to be dishonorable, yet she was the one telling shameful lies. “I did it to protect Eoos.”
Kit rubbed his cheek. “At least your lie didn’t hurt as much as Simon’s hit.”
It could hurt worse, she knew, if the bishop found out. She kissed his cheek and began to carry Kit across the yard to the cottage. She was so thankful Eoos was there to protect Kit. She paused and turned back to Eoos. “Come inside. Warm yourself by the fire.”
Eoos paused and glanced at the barn. Then, he nodded and followed her.
Eoos ducked his head beneath the door frame as he swiped aside the cloth acting as a door and entered. He didn’t like that this thin fabric was the only thing separating Mercy and her son from the outside. His gaze swept the room.
Near the far wall, a fire burned in the hearth and a pot hung over it. A chicken raced across his feet, flapping its wings. Tucked into a corner of the room was a straw mattress big enough for Mercy and her boy. There was a table and two chairs near the hearth, and a thin elderly woman sat in one of them. When she saw them, she stood anxiously. “What happened?”
Mercy put Kit down and the boy raced after the chicken. “Simon wanted to have words with Eoos.”
The elderly woman’s eyes slid to Eoos, and a look of terror crossed her face.
Mercy lay a hand on her wrist. “Eoos protected Kit.”
The woman’s gaze slid to the boy. “Is he alright? What did Simon do?”
“He’ll be fine. Thanks to Eoos.” Both women turned and looked at him.
Eoos felt a rush of warmth move up his face. “It was nothing,” he stated, but he was happy to help Mercy. His stare shifted to her and their gazes locked. Something protective and appreciative bubbled inside him.
Kit paused with the chicken in his arms and elaborated. “He punched Simon in the face! One punch knocked Simon to the ground.”
Mercy nodded at the woman’s shocked expression.
