Chapter Eleven
“Are you sure we shouldn’t godirectly to the cathedral?” Mercy asked.
Richard clenched his teeth. “I agreed you could accompany me, not that you would have a say in the plan.”
Mercy scowled. She slouched in the saddle of her horse. They had been riding all day. That was an entire day without Kit. Anxiety crept around her like spiders. “Maybe –”
Richard brought Eoos to a halt and glanced over his shoulder to look at her. “Should we knock on the front door and ask if they’ve seen the boys?”
Mercy frowned.
“We’ll start in the village of Dunford. You said the village also worshipped at the cathedral. We’ll ask around, subtly. See if any of their children were taken. Remember, we don’t want to call attention to ourselves.”
Mercy kept quiet. She bit her lip. Kit had never been away from her for an entire day. What was the bishop doing to him? “I miss him,” she admitted.
Richard grunted. “It’s very important you think about this question. Does anyone know you in Dunford? Is there anyone that would recognize you?”
Mercy considered his question. “No. I visited Dunford once with Dean.” She looked at Richard’s proud, strong back. He was so different from Eoos, the man she had cared for; the man she remembered him to be. He seemed…colder…somehow. “The question should be will anyone recognizeyou.”
“Not unless they saw me at court or my home.” He swiveled around to look at her. “It’s not likely.”
“And yet Bartholomew recognized you.”
Richard seemed to consider her words. He nodded. “We’ll have to be very careful. Let’s get one thing straight. You are to do everything I tell you without question. Do you understand?”
Mercy grimaced.
“I’m not rescuing you if the bishop or his guards happen to see you.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Not after how she treated him. She should have told him the truth.
“Then we are in understanding.”
She nodded. “All I want is my son back.”
“That’s what you’ve wanted all along.”
His tone was stated as fact. There was no condemnation in it. For that, she was grateful. She knew he was angry with her. But she was angry, too. He had said he would save them. She had expected him to honor that vow. But he hadn’t been there. Perhaps he was not the one who was colder, more distrustful. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was both of them.
They rode in silence for the rest of the trip until they came to Dunford. It was a bigger village than Goodmont. As they approached, the road became more crowded with merchants moving to and from the village. Thatched roofed houses lined the streets. In the distance, Mercy saw a tall spire with a cross on it. Like a beacon, it called to her.
Someone bumped her horse, and she looked down to see a bread merchant hurrying by. Slowly, she acknowledged all the people on the road. One woman carried a child on one hip and a basket on the other. A merchant led a horse-drawn wagon filled with large empty casks away from the town. They passed a man arguing at the side of the road with another man.
Despair set over Mercy. How were they going to find Kit here? They should go directly to the cathedral.
As they neared the town, calls of merchants reached her. “Get your bread here before the sun sets!”
“Candles!”
“Thief! Someone stop him!”
Mercy saw a small boy running from an apple merchant who waved a stick above his head. The child raced across the road and toward another shop. She grinned, hoping the boy got away.
A boy! This town had children. Why was the bishop preying on her village? She watched where the boy disappeared between two buildings before turning her horse toward the merchant. She dug in her pouch and produced a coin.
The merchant’s eyes glittered at the sight. “A fresh apple today?”
Mercy shook her head and pointed after the child. “That boy.”
