Eoos nodded. A good suggestion. “Perhaps after I visit the inn.”
“Do you remember how to ride?”
Eoos shrugged. “I’ll try anything to remember.”
They walked in silence, their footsteps crunching rocks and dirt.
“Is there anything you can tell me to help me remember?” He had a suspicion she knew more than she was telling him.
She was quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t know you before the fight.”
“You stopped it.”
She nodded.
“What were you doing at the inn?”
“I wasn’t at the inn when the fight started. Walter ran and told me.”
“Why did you stop it?”
“I thought you were an answer to a prayer.”
He gripped the reins for Pounder loosely but sternly. Maybe he was the answer to her prayer. He just didn’t remember. “I must have done something bad for all the townsmen to beat me.”
Mercy remained silent.
“I should talk to them.”
“No!” Halting suddenly, she looked at him with wide, alarmed eyes. “I mean…then they would know you aren’t my cousin. They would try to beat you again.”
“Mercy,” he said softly. “I have to find out who I am.”
“You said you would help us.”
“Aye. And I will. That won’t change.”
“I don’t think speaking with the men who beat you is the answer. If they recognize you, all of our planning will be for naught. I don’t want you hurt again.”
“I have to find out. You must understand that.”
She nodded, silent for a moment. Finally, she looked into the distance. “We’ll go to the inn later this afternoon.”
Elated, Eoos hoped to recover more of his memories.
Mercy knew she couldn’t deny Eoos finding out the truth about who he was. It was cruel not to tell him. Misgivings plagued her. What if he wouldn’t help them after he discovered he killed the Archbishop? It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter if he found out he had killed the Archbishop Thomas Becket. But something inside of her doubted him. What if he would not stop a man of the church? What if he decided that to save his soul, he should give Kit to the bishop? Or turn himself over to the bishop? Or what if the village men recognized him and killed him this time? That was why she had agreed to take him to the inn that afternoon. Most of the farmers would still be in the fields and Bartholomew would be at the baker getting grain and yeast to make ale.
When Alice arrived, Mercy went to search for Eoos. It wasn’t hard to find him. When she called his name, Kit poked his head from behind the barn.
She hurried to him. He stood behind the barn, gazing at something. Eoos sat atop his horse, moving it back and forth across the field behind the barn. She joined Kit and watched him for a moment. There was never a more striking vision. His mastery of the horse was amazing. He sat tall in the saddle; a gentle breeze ruffled his dark hair.
“He’s amazing,” Kit whispered.
She had to agree.
Eoos spotted her and steered the animal toward them at an easy gallop. His face was healing, the swelling retreating. A large bruise still ringed his eye. The puffiness had receded from his lip. Even battered, she could still find beauty in his face. His hair ruffled by the breeze, his lips a sensual slash, the intense way he stared at her. Her insides liquified beneath his stare as heat engulfed her.
He stopped before them. “Good day, Mercy.”
