Rafe was looking up at the crenel. Kit stood near her.
She wiggled further through the hole until she felt the opening grasp her around her hips. Her legs still dangled in the crypt. She kicked and twisted, trying to pull herself free, but she was stuck.
She held out her hand, pushing against the outside stone wall with her free one.
Kit grabbed hold of her wrist, as did Rafe. Both pulled.
Mercy shifted and kicked her feet, trying to get free. She suddenly felt hands on her ankles. The guards!
Desperation and fear overcame her. She kicked hard and hit one of them.
The boys pulled, tugging her forward.
The guards tried to yank her back. She could feel a set of hands grasping each leg now. Their strength pulled her back. She looked at Kit with anguish. “Rafe,” she called. “Take the boys to safety. Kit, go with him.”
He shook his head desperately.
The guards pulled hard on her legs. She slipped back, her hips were free now and she knew it would only be another yank before she was back in the castle. She clung to the outside wall desperately. “Do as I say,” she commanded, and then immediately regretted her harsh words. “I love you, Kit.”
And then the guards pulled her back into the darkness of the castle.
Richard spit on his manacled wrists. He used the spit as a lubrication, but even that was not helping. His skin was raw and burning from his attempts at freeing his hands. He would have to cut off his thumb to have a hope of slipping the manacles from his wrists.
He saw a light through the iron bars of the door. It was coming toward him. He straightened. He might have a chance of overpowering the guard. He was not giving up.
Through the slotted door, he saw two guards. One held a very bright torch and Richard had to squint. The other had his sword drawn.
That can’t be good, Richard thought. “Evening meal already?”
They unlocked the door and swung it open. “Stand up, heathen.”
Richard sat for a long moment, debating his options. In the end, he stood. One guard grabbed his arm and pushed him forward, down the dungeon hallway. He almost tripped but righted himself.
The corridor had only one torch. It was musky and warm. The clangs of the guards’ armor echoed through the corridor.
The guard with the sword was right behind Richard, the tip pressed against his spine. It would take little effort to knock it aside and bash the guard in the face, disarming him. The guard with the torch was at the rear.
The guard poked him in the back with the sword, urging him up the stairs. It was time. Richard stiffened, preparing to act.
“That woman was a feisty one, eh?” The guard holding the torch asked.
Richard froze. Woman?
“She didn’t kick you in the face.”
Tingles of unease danced up Richard’s spine. He glanced over his shoulder to see the sword-holding guard had a fat lip.
“The bishop was not pleased with her.”
Richard took a hesitant step up the stairs. Was she in the dungeon?
“Get moving,” the guard commanded him.
Richard took another step. Should he find her or wait to make sure it was her? He knew. He knew it was Mercy searching for her son. And now the bishop had her. The best way to help her was to be free. He spun, knocking the sword aside and plowed his elbow into the guard’s face. As the guard went down, Richard grabbed the sword from his hand.
The guard holding the torch dropped it and reached for his weapon.
Richard smashed the end of the sword into his head. The guard dropped to the ground.
The first guard groaned.
Richard grabbed his hauberk and pulled him close. “Where is the woman?”
The guard gaped, confused.
Richard shook him. “Where is she?”
“The bishop has her. They were waiting for you.”
A hard punch across the guard’s face with the pommel of the sword knocked him out. Richard searched the guard for the keys to his manacles. But there were none. He didn’t have time to search for them. He had to reach Mercy.
