None of the villagers gathered before the Wolf’s Inn dared move. They shuffled uncomfortably and looked away from Abbey.
Mercy’s heart pounded. Helplessness rose inside of her. The guard wasn’t listening to Abbey. She glanced at Abbey’s horrified expression and then back at the soldier.
The tall soldier in chainmail, with a sword strapped to his waist, held Luke’s arm in a tight grasp. The child looked back at Abbey with tears streaming down his round cheeks. “Momma!”
“Noooo!” Abbey jerked forward toward the child. “You can’t have him!”
The armored guard shoved the woman back with a firm hand as the child in his hold struggled to break free.
Mercy caught Abbey’s shoulders, holding her back. She was afraid her friend would get hurt. “It will do no good, Abbey,” she whispered quickly. “We’ll get him back.”
The words didn’t console the frantic woman. She was desperate. She dodged out of Mercy’s hold and ran to the child.
The men of the town stood, lining the street like statues, unable or unwilling to help.
The boy reached out his hands to his mother and Abbey seized the child, drawing him against her to hold him protectively.
Mercy watched the horrible scene, her heart aching for her friend. It was inevitable that Abbey’s son would be taken. They couldn’t stop it. The soldier was hearing none of Abbey’s cries. Luke would be taken. Mercy should have known that their plan wouldn’t work. What did the guard care if the mother said no?
The guard reached for his weapon.
Horrified, Mercy hurried to Abbey’s side, shouting at the guard to stop. She pressed her hand over his to prevent him from drawing his sword. “You can’t! She is distraught! She is –”
“It is the law,” the soldier snarled. “The bishop commands it.” He shoved Mercy aside.
She fell on her back into the dirt of the road, the scene playing out in painful slow motion before her.
The guard ripped his sword free of its scabbard and lifted it high overhead. For a moment, it gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting a blinding blast into Mercy’s eyes.
“No!” Mercy cried, reaching out to stop him.
Abbey lifted her arm to protect her child and herself against the sharp blow of the sword.
Nothing could stop the horrendous assault from happening. Nothing short of a miracle.
What happened was no miracle.
“Halt!”
The guard turned his head toward the stern voice, his arm still raised.
All eyes swiveled to the origin of the voice.
Clunk. Shuffle. Clunk. The golden rod hit the ground and the shuffling of the bright white robe against the dirt street sounded in the sudden silence. Over and over the sounds played as he came closer. Bishop Devdan.
Mercy couldn’t help it. She hated him. She hated him with her entire being, but she was too fearful of him to say so out loud.
Abbey squeezed Luke to her, kissing the top of his head, mumbling, “Please. No.”
Bishop Devdan pushed the guard’s hand down and stepped past him to her side. “There is nothing to fear.” He laid a hand on her bowed brown head.
Abbey squeezed her eyes closed; a strangled sob issued from her throat.
“It is the will of the Lord. As it was with Abraham. Do you fear the Lord?”
“He is my only child,” Abbey whispered tearfully.
“God is testing you as he did Abraham. Whom do you love more? Whom do you fear more? What kind of destruction will the Lord level upon this village if you fail this test?”
