“Mercy?”
She whirled.
Walter stood in the doorway. He glanced at Kit’s sleeping form before moving to her. “What are you doing?” he whispered.
Relief swept through her. “Help me. I’m packing.” She continued searching for the flask. “I can’t stay here.”
“You’re leaving?” he asked with exasperation.
Mercy searched beneath the straw. Her hand closed around something leather and she brought it forth with a sigh. Dean had won this in a dice game before she knew him. They had never used it.
Walter walked up to her. “Think about what you’re doing. You can’t just leave in the middle of the night!”
She shot to her feet. “I have to! Look what happened to Abbey! I’m not going to end up like that. I’m not going to let them have Kit!” She moved around Walter to the blanket, tossing the flask into it.
“You have time. You don’t have to go right now.”
“What difference will it make if I leave now or later? Will Simon or Lief or Roger or any of them change their mind and help me? Will the bishop let me keep Kit?” Her voice broke on the last. “I won’t end up like Abbey.”
Walter sighed softly. “Where is your knight?”
Despondence settled across Mercy’s shoulders. “I don’t know. He’s gone. His horse is not here.”
“He left?”
“I don’t know.”
“I told you to turn him over to the bishop.”
Mercy shook her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. The bishop would still want Kit.”
“It’s dangerous on the road at night. At least wait until sunup.”
Mercy felt impending doom all around her. Richard was gone. She was alone. She glanced at Kit. He was all she had. Her heart swelled inside her. How could she protect him?
“Think of your boy, Mercy. Think of the danger you will face alone on the road. Wait until sunup.”
With a sigh, she nodded in agreement. It would give Richard time to return from wherever he went. It would give her time for her final hope. “Only until sun up.”
Despite Mercy’s best efforts, she continually looked for Richard. She had come to depend on him more than she realized. They had planned to escape together. She ran her fingers over her lips.
She had trusted him.
Her insides twisted tight. She glanced one last time at the road as the sun began to rise, hoping and wishing to see his strong form riding toward her. But the dirt road remained empty and quiet. Disappointment crested inside of her. She returned to the cottage. She had already loaded the horse, and there was just one more thing to do. She gathered Kit into her arms. He stirred, but she kissed his forehead, whispering, “Quiet, Kit. Sleep, little one.”
She ducked beneath the curtain and stepped outside…
…and froze. Standing on the road, as if waiting for her, were Simon, Thomas and Bartholomew. What made her gasp was the three soldiers and Bishop Devdan that were also there on horses. Her mouth dropped and she clutched Kit to her. She glanced at her horse, but she knew she could never outrun them. She straightened her back. “Bishop Devdan,” she greeted. She shot a condemning glare to Simon.
“My dear,” the bishop said. He slowly dismounted and held his hand out. One of the soldiers dismounted and placed his golden cane in his hand. Clunk. Shuffle. Clunk. He approached her.
Mercy squeezed Kit tightly, protectively. “It is not time.”
“No,” the bishop agreed. “But I have been told that you intend to flee.” He glanced at her horse and back to her.
“Flee?” her voice quivered. “No! I am going to visit my cousin. One of them is ill and –”
The bishop cocked his head. The round purple zucchetto covering part of his balding head tilted with the movement. “I’ve heard enough of your lies, child.”
