The little girl bobbed her head and disappeared into a back room.
“Does she know who I am?” Eoos whispered, “My name?”
“Eoos,” Mercy pleaded.
“Just a name. That will be enough for today.”
Mercy sighed and nodded. “This is dangerous. You are in too much pain. As your head heals, the memories will come. You mustn’t try to force them.”
“What if they don’t come?”
She stroked his cheek. Her hand was warm and tender and gentle and…loving. “They will.”
Her words soothed him, and the pain slowly faded from his mind. He stood shakily and she steadied him with a hand on the back of his arm.
The child appeared from the back room holding a mug. She handed it to Eoos. He was about to raise the cup to his lips when he spotted the stairway leading up to another floor. He lowered the cup, a scowl on his brow. “I have a bag. Where is my bag?”
“It is back at my barn,” Mercy said.
He looked at the little girl. “I procured a room for the night.”
The girl simply stared at him.
“What is my name?”
“Me da says you are Sir Richard le Breton,” she answered quietly. “The brute.”
