“I thought it better to keep you hidden from the men who attacked you.”
He looked at her with a scowl, his gaze slowly moving over her face. He touched his forehead gently. Then, his hand swept by his chin and paused. It slowly moved to his hair, feeling the shortened length with his fingers.
“I had to cut and dye it,” Mercy explained quickly. “As a disguise against the men who attacked you.”
“I do not need to hide from men.”
A grin slipped over her lips and she quickly pushed it away. “You were in no condition to fight them.” She eased her wrist from his hold. “Can you eat?”
He glanced down at the floor, the furrow never leaving his brow.
“It’s important to keep your strength up.”
He turned, attempting to swing his leg from the straw, but winced and clutched his side.
Mercy put her hand on his arm, partly to stop him and partly to help him. “You need to heal.”
He shook his head slightly, the scowl deepening.
She quickly picked up the flask from the ground and held it out to him. “At least drink.”
He took the flask and drank deeply.
It relieved her to see him follow her instructions. She watched his throat work as he swallowed. He would be hungry soon.
When he handed it back to her, there was gratitude and suspicion in his one open eye. Specks of ale sparkled on his lips.
For a surprising moment, Mercy couldn’t look away.
“The fight… I… I don’t remember it.”
Mercy’s eyes widened in shock. “You mean you don’t remember who beat you?”
“No.” He looked around the floor as if the answer was hidden there. “No. I don’t remember… anything before waking up here.”
“Nothing?”
He was silent for a moment. Then, he shook his head, his black, chin length locks swaying with the movement. “Nay.”
Tremors of apprehension raced down her spine. She nodded, to herself as well as him. “That is common with head injuries. Your memory will return.”
He lifted his gaze to her.
For a moment, she saw vulnerability and something else. Something she knew well. Concern. “Worry about recovering. Don’t worry about this.” She began to collect used cloths and folded them, placing them in a pile. As she worked, she became aware of his stare and turned to him. “You need your strength.”
“It is disconcerting not to be able to remember.”
She paused her work to look at him.
He stared down at his fist which he was clenching and releasing. “How long have I been here?”
“This is the second day. I think it’s a good sign that you have regained consciousness.”
“This fight… how did it start?”
“I’m not certain. I wasn’t there when it began.”
He scowled at his fist. “When I look into my past, I only see darkness.”
