Chapter Six
Usually, the mornings were quiet.Eoos was pulling on his boots when he heard movement in the barn. He paused, listening. Was it that farmer returning?
Rustling came from the stall beside him. As he stood, he heard the ping of metal against metal. Slowly, he looked around the wall.
Kit sat on the ground, the breastplate on his lap. He held a cloth and was scrubbing vigorously with so much concentration that he didn’t hear Eoos enter.
Eoos stood for a moment. The armor was already cleaned. Kit had done a thorough job with it earlier. He picked up the left cuisses and a cloth, and sat opposite of Kit. He knew something was bothering the boy.
The two worked in silence.
Eoos focused on scrubbing the armor, watching Kit’s reflection in the smooth polished metal. “Where’s your Mom?”
“In the village,” he said with a pout.
Eoos didn’t look up. “It’s early.”
Kit scowled. “It’s Luke’s day. She went to help his Mom.”
Eoos paused and looked up at the boy.
“It’s his turn to go with the bishop,” Kit said softly. “I’ll never see him again.”
Understanding dawned in Eoos. It was what Kit was so fearful of. He had to see it. He had to understand what happened. He stood. “Be brave, Kit.”
Kit looked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“To see for myself.”
Mercy reluctantly made her way into the village. She knew the routine too well. The street was crowded with men and few women from the village. There were no children, except for the sacrifice. Mercy immediately saw Abbey standing before the Wolf’s inn. Bartholomew had fed her and Luke well that morning, almost as a last meal. She hurried to Abbey’s side and took her hand into her own.
Abbey looked at her with a mixture of relief and fear.
Mercy’s heart twisted. There was no turning back. “Are you ready?”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Abbey whispered.
“I’m here with you.” But Mercy couldn’t help the trepidation rising inside of her.
Abbey clutched Luke’s hand tightly.
Two soldiers waited at the other end of the street, each wearing chainmail. One of the guards came forward.
Abbey pulled Luke closer to her. “No,” Abbey whispered.
Mercy looked down at Luke. The boy’s eyes snapped from the approaching soldier to his mother. Then he looked at Mercy before burying his face in the folds of his mother’s skirt.
He clasped his mother’s hand with both of his small ones.
“No,” Abbey said, shaking her head. She held Luke’s hand, refusing to give him up. “I said no! I won’t give him up.”
The guard stood for a long moment, looking at her. Then he took Luke’s thin arm and began to pull him down the street to the bishop.
“You can’t have him!” Abbey shouted, holding tightly to Luke’s hand.
The guard ignored her and pulled until Luke’s hand was torn from Abbey’s.
“I said no! NOOO!” The wail echoed through the dirt streets of the village. Abbey stretched out her arms toward her young son.
