Simon scurried down from the stool and cleared the table with a sweep of his arm.
Mercy jumped as a pottery jar crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.
Lief reverently eased Abbey onto the table.
For a moment, Mercy couldn’t move. Tears rose in her eyes as she stared at her friend. She couldn’t help her. She should never have let her go home alone. She should have stayed with her.
She stepped up to Abbey’s side. There was nothing she could do for Abbey now. She was gone.
Mercy reached out and brushed her hand over Abbey’s eyes, easing them closed. She bid her a silent farewell as heavy guilt settled over her shoulders. She never should have left her.
“She killed herself,” Lief whispered in disbelief.
“What a weak woman,” Simon grumbled.
Mercy whirled on him. “How dare you disrespect her like that? You were too cowardly to stand up for her child. Her death is on your shoulders.” She stepped away from Simon. “It’s on all our shoulders.” She glanced back at Abbey’s body. “The bishop took her life. There was nothing left for her.” Fear tightened a lump in her chest as tears rushed through her eyes. She pictured her face over Abbey’s. Would she do the same thing if the bishop took Kit?
No. There had to be a way. Some way to save Kit. And herself. She had been unable to save Luke, how was she going to save Kit?
Richard sat on a straw bale in a circle of flickering candlelight. He pulled open a flap on his bag. Kit had brought him his bag, the one they had brought from the inn. He had to know who he was. He had to remember his past. Maybe something inside the bag could help him remember.
He shoved his hand inside the cotton bag. He pulled out clothing. A tunic, a pair of leggings. Nothing he remembered. He plunged his hand inside again and pulled out a knife sharpening rock. A knight would have that. He was surprised he remembered what it was. He reached inside and pushed his hand back and forth. His fingers wrapped around something metallic, round and small at the bottom of the bag. He brought it forth. Coins. He tossed them aside, aggravated. They lent nothing to who he was.
Frustrated, he took the bag and turned it over, dumping the contents onto the dirt floor. More coins rolled across the dirt, clothing and rags fell out. He spread the contents on the ground, searching. Nothing. Nothing that helped him remember.
He stood and ran his hands through his hair, pushing it from his face. The moonlight shone in through the slats of the barn wall. He had to know. There was something everyone was hiding from him. What had he done? What had happened? He gritted his teeth and paced. There had to be something! He kicked the bag and it flew across the stall, hitting the far wooden wall with a dull clunk.
Surprised and confused, Richard turned to eye the bag. It should have been empty. It should have made no sound.
He approached the bag slowly and stood over it for a long moment. His shadow covered the burlap sack completely. He bent down and reached for it, weighing it in his hand. It felt empty. But wait… There was something… He crumbled the bag in his hand until he felt something hard wedged inside. He held the bag so as not to lose the item within. It was strange. It seemed to be hidden within the sack, but there were no pockets that he could find to shelter the item. He turned the sack, but there was no way to get to it. Frustrated, he paused, a fierce scowl on his brow. He glanced around the stall, searching for something to aid him. Leaning against the wall of the barn, Richard spied a scythe. He attached part of the sack to the sharp metal blade and pulled. The bag ripped and something fell to the ground. He bent to pick the item up.
A small golden cross. He turned it over. Tingles danced across the nape of his neck. It was bejeweled with rare and sparkling gems. Expensive. No wonder he had hidden it.
“Richard?”
At Mercy’s voice, he spun to find her rushing into the barn. He instinctively tucked the cross into the waist of his leggings. “I’m here.” He moved to greet her.
She hurried to him.
At her anguished look, Richard asked, “What is it?”
For a moment, she said nothing. Her desperate gaze swept his face.
He touched her arm, trying to soothe her. “Did something happen?”
Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Abbey is dead.”
Richard frowned, his gaze moving over Mercy’s distraught expression. “What happened?”
“Luke was everything to her,” Mercy gasped. “She… She took her own life.”
Richard led her to a bale of hay and had her take a seat on it. “I’m sorry.”
“I hate this. Watching as the bishop and his guards come down the road to take a child. The villagers come out to watch but do nothing. They stand by and let him take the boys.” Her fingers curled to fists on the straw.
“I’ve written the letter to the Pope and had Kit take it into town.” He could tell by her slumped shoulders and clutched hands that it wasn’t enough. “I can object, at your side, to the bishop taking Kit.”
“Abbey objected. She told them no, that they couldn’t have Luke. It did no good.”
