“I’ve brought Bartholomew. He can identify the brute,” Simon snarled.
Mercy rose up. “He is not here. How many times must I tell you that?”
“We’ll see. Stand aside and let Bartholomew look at…your cousin.”
“How dare you come here to insult me. I told you the knight escaped. Are you calling me a liar?”
They were looking for him. To beat him again? “It’s alright,” Richard called from beside her. “Let him look.”
Mercy glanced at him.
Richard saw uncertainty in her gaze. But he was not afraid. Nor was he a fool. He knew he was the knight they were looking for. He knew Mercy had cut his hair and dyed it. And he had shaved the thick beard from his chin. He hoped this would be enough to disguise his looks.
Bartholomew stepped up to him, his eyes narrowed. His gaze moved over his face.
Richard stared him in the eye.
Bartholomew’s gaze moved down over his body.
Richard was grateful Mercy had given him a tunic from her late husband to wear. It was tight across his shoulders, and short, but it would do.
“Well?” Simon demanded.
Richard held his breath, preparing to defend himself with blows. They were foolish to confront him with no weapons for defense.
Bartholomew scratched his head. “I can’t be sure.”
“Is it him or not?” Simon demanded.
“I…” Bartholomew looked at Richard again. “No. It’s not him.”
His shoulders relaxed, draining of tension. “The lady has said you are not welcome here. Be gone. And never doubt her word again.”
Simon grumbled. He whirled away, disappointed and angry.
Bartholomew joined him, and they both moved toward the road.
Richard looked at Mercy. Her face seemed pale in the afternoon sunlight.
They both watched the men move off down the road.
Richard chuckled. “I’ve never been so happy about shaving before.”
Mercy looked at him, but there was concern in her gaze. “We still need to be careful. You’re still healing. You can’t defend yourself against everyone.”
It irked him that she thought he was weak. That she thought he couldn’t protect himself. He was a knight! He had slain and battled others! The thought sobered him. Had he killed?
“Besides. You are still recovering. I will be alright. Kit, bring Richard his bag. It’s near my bed. I’m going to visit Abbey.”
As Mercy drew closer to Abbey’s cruck, she saw a crowd standing before the doorway, peering inside. Tremors of unease snaked down Mercy’s spine. She hurried to the open doorway, having to push her way through the villagers.
Inside, Lief held Abbey around the waist. A rope around her neck pulled her upright, the other end tied to a rafter in the ceiling. Her cloudy eyes were open and stared at Mercy with condemnation. Her face was greyish blue.
Mercy gasped but couldn’t look away.
Simon stood on a stool behind her and cut the rope tied to a rafter.
Mercy didn’t have to examine Abbey. She knew she was dead. She knew what had happened. She rushed into the room just as the rope broke and Abbey’s body fell forward over Lief’s shoulder. He caught her and moved to a nearby table.
