Thomas shrugged. “’twas nothin’. The bishop’s men were after ya. Anyone who is an enemy of the bishop is our friend.”
That seemed to relax the boy about to run. He ran a dirty sleeve across his nose. He was the smallest one. He was thin, his clothing hanging off his body. His dark hair hung over his eyes as if he were hiding from someone.
Mercy’s gaze took in the other two children. The one in the center had his arms crossed. He had brown hair and a blackened eye. Was he a fighter as Richard was, or had some adult done this to him?
Her gaze moved to the other boy. His eyes were dark, and his lips were a thin slash. His hair was pushed back from his face. Mercy gasped slightly. She knew him! His face was thinner than she remembered, and longer, older. She took a step closer to look into his eyes. Older eyes, but still a child. “Rafe?”
Distrust and apprehension filled his eyes. He took a step away from her.
“It’s me. Mercy. Mercy Brooker.”
His eyes narrowed as his gaze swept over her. “Mercy?”
She nodded. “I’m Kit’s mother. Do you remember me?”
A moment passed in which she thought she could be wrong. Maybe this wasn’t Rafe. But then, his eyes widened. “Yes! I remember you! I remember! I used ta play with Kit! You lived in the same village as me! Can you take me home?”
Her heart ached. Rafe! He had been taken four years before Kit, just before Dean’s death. “Yes!” Overjoyed, she stepped forward to embrace him, but he pulled away from her quickly. She froze, staring in shock. What had happened to him? What had the bishop done? She nodded, trying to reassure him without touching him. “It’s alright. I’ll take you home.”
Hesitant and fearful, his stare swept over her. He nodded and kept his distance.
He wasn’t the carefree, happy child she remembered, the young boy who had played with Kit. Kit! Rafe would know where he was. “Have you seen Kit?”
Rafe shook his head.
“Where did the bishop take you?”
“Why didn’t ya stop him?” Thomas demanded. “Why did ya let him take Rafe?”
“I couldn’t,” Mercy replied, but at his accusation, a dagger of repentance and horror sliced through her. “I couldn’t stop him. The bishop is very powerful. He has soldiers.” She sighed softly. “I’m sorry. I would have if I could.” She dropped to her knees before Rafe. “I’m sorry.”
Rafe nodded but wouldn’t look at her.
“I will bring you home.” She looked down at the ground, at the ripped blankets strewn about. “But I have to find Kit first.”
“Can’t you take me home first?” Rafe asked.
“It’s not safe. The bishop might go back to Goodmont. If he found you –”
Rafe’s scowl was fierce and angry. “I’m not going back with him.”
“I will take you home. I promise. When it’s safe.”
“It will never be safe. I escaped once. He would never let me escape again.”
“We all escaped,” Thomas proclaimed proudly, lifting his chin in defiance.
“From where?” she demanded. Because that was where Kit was. “Where did the bishop keep you?”
“The castle.”
“On the hill,” Rafe added.
“He keeps us prisoner there.”
Bishop Devdan’s castle. It wasn’t far. The boys could have escaped and come here to find safety. He kept them prisoner? That wasn’t what he told the village. “Did he hurt you?”
They looked from one to the other and then down at the floor. “No,” Thomas said for all of them.
