Chapter Two
Mercy Brooker looked down at the wounded knight.Walter, her good friend and nearby neighbor, had helped her move him here, to her barn, where she tended his injuries as best she could while he was unconscious. Cushioned on a bed of straw and covered with a blanket, he was as comfortable as she could make him. His face, framed by brown, wavy hair, was barely recognizable. Discoloration had set in around his left eye and the opposite cheek. His lower lip was cut and puffy. She had removed his tunic to check for further wounds but had found none. She had checked for broken bones, but there were none. She had done all she could for him and yet, he had not regained consciousness. Blows to the head were the most dangerous. She had seen many die from such injuries. And she needed him to live.
“He doesn’t look like he’s in any shape to be anyone’s salvation.”
Mercy scowled at the woman standing beside her. Abbey Webb, one of the villages finest weavers, was her closest friend, more like a sister to her. “He’ll be fine,” Mercy reassured her, but she wasn’t certain he would be. “When he recovers, he’ll be a strong knight ready to defend us.”
“He killed the Archbishop. Do you think we should put our faith in him?”
“We have no one else.” Mercy picked up the bloody cloth and the water basin and turned with Abbey to return to the cottage. She stopped in the doorway to look back at him. A beam of moonlight shone in through a gap in the side wall. The muted light fell over his face. The color around his eye was darkening. His lip was extended and swollen. But there was something about him. Something strong and strangely hypnotic. Maybe it was because she was putting all her hope in him. Maybe because he had come in answer to her prayer.
She chuckled softly, self-mockingly. She was desperate. It was foolish to put all her hope in one man, one man who might not survive the night.
Abbey reached for the door to exit, but Mercy caught her hand. “Don’t worry, Abbey. We’ll find a way to save Luke.”
“You have to give him to the bishop,” Abbey whispered. “Hecouldbe our salvation.”
“That’s not the answer, Abbey.”
Abbey yanked her hand from Mercy’s hold. “It is! Maybe the bishop won’t take Luke then. Maybe…”
Mercy shook her head. “Do you really believe that?”
Abbey looked down. “I have to. He’s coming for Luke in three days. I have to believe we can stop him.” She shook her head. “What else can we do?”
Mercy stared at her friend. “Stick to the plan. Can you do that?”
Abbey looked doubtful. “Then what is the knight for?”
“To defend us, if we need him. To fight for us.”
“He’s unconscious! He’s in no shape to fight.”
Mercy looked back toward him. “He’ll get better.”
“But if we give him to the bishop –”
“Abbey, the bishop will take the knight and then take Luke, and all of our hope will be gone.”
Abbey sighed and her shoulders sagged. “I can’t lose Luke. I don’t know what I would do.”
Mercy wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her tightly. “I’ll be right there with you.”
Abbey nodded but worry creased the lines in her forehead.
Mercy followed her out of the barn, closing the door softly behind her.
Walter, her friend and neighbor, greeted them outside. He had a hand on his back, rubbing it gently. He swiped a strand of his gray hair from his forehead and straightened when they emerged. “We should have left him at the inn.” He took the basin of water from her hands.
She looked at Walter. She patted his arm with affection. “You did fine.”
“I’m sorry. Truly, I am. If I had my way, I would have left him in the woods to die.” He ran a hand through his grey hair as he tucked the basin beneath one arm. “You’re alone here, Mercy. I don’t like leaving him here.”
“We’ll be fine. You can go. You need to get some sleep before dawn.”
Walter scowled. “I’ll check back after dinner on the morrow.” They walked to the doorway of the cottage. Abbey entered ahead of them.
Mercy thought of her patient. The knight. One of the four knights who had attacked and killed Archbishop Becket. The townsmen had attacked him ruthlessly, even though she doubted they knew which knight he was. It didn’t matter. Most of the men thought all of the knights should be dead for attacking the Archbishop. “Do you know which knight he is?”
