Rafe hurried down the road and then raced back. “Do you think my mum will recognize me?” Then he rushed down the lane again.
Mercy smiled.
Rafe was a wonderful boy, and Richard would have been happy to have him as a son. The boy had proven himself to be a fighter. And a survivor. He was sure part of Rafe’s attack on the bishop had been hatred for what the bishop had done to him.
As they topped the small hill, Mercy lifted her chin. She was no longer afraid to return to the village. Still, Richard saw the way her eyes hardened and her jaw clenched. This could never be her home.
The sun rose high in the sky as they approached the first field. A woman working in the long stalks of wheat looked up as the group approached.
Rafe froze. The boy had wanted to return home. Mercy insisted he be their first stop. He turned to look at Mercy.
She nodded encouragement.
Rafe walked slowly toward the woman as the group stopped in the road. It had been four years, four long horrible years for Rafe and his mother.
Mercy reached out and Richard took her hand, sensing how nervous she was for Rafe.
The woman came forward to greet them, wiping a strand of dark hair from her forehead. She held a basket on her hip. “Can I help ya?” She squinted in recognition. “Mercy, is that you?”
Rafe paused just feet from her. “Mum?” His voice wavered.
The woman looked him over from head to foot, and scowled. She glanced at Mercy and then Rafe again. Slowly, realization dawned on her face and her eyes widened in surprise.
“Rafe?” She took a tentative step forward. “Rafe?” She dropped the basket and ran to him, enfolding him in a tight embrace.
Richard grinned at the sight. Relief filled him. His mother welcomed Rafe. It could have been much worse. Like Thomas’s mother who never wanted him and sold him to the bishop. But Rafe’s mother welcomed him joyfully.
Richard tugged Mercy on. The rest of the children grew anxious to see their own families.
“Mercy!” Rafe’s mother called.
Tingles danced down Richard’s spine. Would she condemn Mercy now?
As Mercy hesitated, Rafe’s mother came forward and embraced her. “Thank you! May God bless ya ever more. Thank you!”
They continued on into the village.
Frederick the blacksmith removed the manacles without question. He told them Bishop Devdan was dead. Word had travelled quickly. Some mourned him, some rejoiced. He had been murdered, but they didn’t know who did it.
Neither Richard or Mercy commented, and the group moved on. The scene was replayed over and over as they returned the children. All of them except for Luke and Thomas. Kit and Luke played behind the horses, running and chasing each other while Thomas drew in the dirt of the road.
Mercy stared at them for a long moment.
Richard moved up to her side. “They will live with us.”
“Us?” Mercy asked, shocked.
Richard balked. He ran a hand through his hair. “I just… Where else…?”
“Why would you want to live with me?”
Richard’s eyes widened in surprise. “Do you have someone else you want to live with?”
She shook her head. “I just assumed –”
“You are amazing. And stubborn. And dedicated. And so damned lovely.” His gaze swept her face, and then a scowl came to his lips. “The question is do you want to live with me?”
She stepped closer to him so that their bodies were just touching. “After what you did?”
