“God’s blood!” Richard stormed after her. He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “They know you! You can’t just walk into the cathedral and start searching for Kit.”
She lifted her chin. “How will you do it?”
“Oh, no!” He wiggled a finger before her face. “I’m not giving you that information so you can use it.”
“Richard, please. I can help you. There’s nothing for me here now. My entire life is with that evil man.”
His eyebrows rose. “The bishop?”
“Not all men of the cloth are holy.”
Tingles danced along the nape of his neck. That is what he had thought of Archbishop Thomas Becket, the man he had killed. And it had gotten him into a whole world of trouble. “Be careful what you think. Sometimes it will lead you to trouble.”
Mercy scowled. “He takes children from their families. No man of the cloth would proclaim that as the will of God.”
Richard considered her words. It sounded so logical and correct. But who was he to judge? After the gruesome act he had committed in the cathedral. Guilt scratched the back of his mind. He shook his head. “I’m not one to ask.”
A noise from down the road made Mercy turn. “The men will be back.” She looked at him. “Let me come with you.”
Richard began to shake his head.
“I can’t stay here. Not with…” She looked back at the cottage. “…all the memories.”
Richard sighed. He stared hard at her. He certainly did not want her with him. But if she was with him, he could protect her and keep her out of trouble. He cursed. “Then fetch a bag for the road and be quick about it.”
She turned and raced back into the cottage.
He waited near the barn and his horse, Eoos. He grinned. It was ironic the name he had been called was the name of his horse. He patted the palfrey’s neck, his mind shifting to the mission before him. He considered his options; formulated a plan. Someone knew something about where the children were being held, but they could not ask in Goodmont. Too many knew his face and Mercy’s. They would have to journey to another village that worshipped at the cathedral; a village in the bishop’s dioceses. Mercy would know which village to go to. Perhaps shecouldhelp him. He would simply have to remember that she was not to be trusted.
Just as he thought this, he smelled smoke. He looked up at the cottage to see the chickens run from the structure. Through the gaps at the side of the curtain, he saw flames. His heart quickened and he quickly moved forward. A figure pushed the curtain aside, emerging into the morning sunlight. Her brown hair reflected the red of the snapping flames behind her as they quickly engulfed the cottage. She carried a sack over her shoulder and a piece of burning wood. She tossed the wood aside as she approached.
“What did you do?” Richard gasped as he stared at the flames eating away at the cottage.
“With any luck, they will think I died in the flames.” She walked by him.
The fire spread fast. Hungry red tongues danced and ate away at the roof.
He had to admire her thinking. It would give them time.
“I only wish I could burn the village.”
He glanced at her retreating form in surprise. What had they unleashed?
