Mercy's Prince (7 page)

King Orland, fortunately, was unscathed though
in a foul mood. After making sure Sir Rudyard would be cared for, Valerian mounted
Theo. He hung back from the main force and the king’s anger. Before he could
face his father and weather the brunt of his storm, even though the anger would
not be directed at him this time, Valerian had to quiet the tempest in his own
breast. He could scarcely tear his gaze away from the sight of Ruddy’s leg.

What had he done? In the moment it had seemed
the thing to do, to save his friend’s life. But how would a knight, especially
one as valiant and noble as Sir Rudyard, live with the loss of a leg? Would it
have been kinder for Valerian to let him die after all?

“Sire.” Kieran’s quiet voice pierced Valerian’s
numbness. “Shouldn’t we return to the Keep?”

Valerian gazed up at his squire, sitting
patiently on his bay stallion. How did Kieran manage it? Did nothing disturb
his calm courage?

“What do you think, Kieran? Should we have
saved him?”

Kieran turned his horse nearer to Theo, who
snorted but did not move.

“All I can tell ye, Sire, is that I believe
life is a precious gift. Once Sir Rudyard recovers from the shock of his
injury, I feel certain he will nae squander that gift.”

Valerian didn’t answer. Words were so
inadequate at times. But after a few minutes he was ready to go back, and he
and Kieran rode in companionable silence.

***

Caelis took the long way back to the Keep,
riding alone with Drew. He pondered what he’d seen today. The Mohorovians,
though formidable opponents with their massive size and natural armor, were not
undefeatable. They had several weaknesses that must be exploited. Their long
fingers capably grasped the battle-ax, but if the men’s spearheads had a
grappling hook added, Caelis had no doubt those axes could be pulled out of the
reptilian hands. The creatures’ scales were too thick for regular arrowheads to
penetrate, but if a bow could be designed that would deliver shorter, thicker
bolts with more power, then the Horde could easily be defeated.

“Drew.”

“Yes, sir?” Drew pulled his horse alongside
Caelis’ white stallion.

“Did you notice the obvious superiority of the
Horde’s battle-axes over our spears?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“I have an idea that might give us an
advantage. I must meet with the armorer. Should King Orland ask for me, tell
him I will be in the armory.”

Before Drew could answer, Caelis spurred his
horse and raced toward the Keep. He crouched low over his stallion’s neck,
laughing. Not only would his ideas destroy the enemy, they would earn the king’s
gratitude and give Caelis the advantage over Prince Valerian, too.

Mercy set a bowl of porridge in front of
Rafael. When he grabbed his spoon, Mercy placed her hand over his.

“We must be thankful first,” she said. “Will
you say the blessing?”

Rafael’s eyes widened, and then he became shy.

“I never said it, Sissy. Papa always said it.”

“I know, love. But Papa is not here. You are
the man of the house until he comes back.” Mercy squeezed her brother’s hand to
reassure him.

“I can do it. I know what to say.” Rafael
straightened, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. “For this food we are to
eat, may we be thankful. Amen.”

“Amen.” Mercy smiled at the pleased look on his
face.

While they ate, Mercy replayed yesterday’s
incredible childbirth over and over, but it was Sister Providence’s words about
her “gift” that had shaken her most. Was she truly a Healer, then? Was that how
it happened for Papa? If only she could ask him about it. She placed her spoon
in the empty bowl.

“Did you ever watch Papa Heal someone?”

“Only when my arm got broke.” Rafael wiped his
mouth and held up his right arm. “This one, ’member?”

“I do remember.” Mercy felt his wrist for the
knot where the break had been. Frowning, she cupped his arm and closed her
eyes. With a gasp she
Saw
clearly that the bone had not healed properly
and what she needed to do to make it right.

When she started to drift, Rafael shook her,
insistently.

“Sissy! Wake up!”

Mercy opened her eyes. Rafael frowned in
concern.

“What happened?” She glanced down at Rafael’s
wrist. The knot was gone.

“There was light in your hands,” he said. “Like
a candle. It was warm, too.” He moved his wrist back and forth. “It feels
better now.”

“Was there a light when Papa Healed you?” Mercy
shivered, suddenly cold.

“No, Sissy.” Rafael slid down from the stool.
“Can I play now?”

“Yes, love.” Mercy tried to smile, but she
couldn’t stop the chattering of her jaw.

After Mercy wiped off the bowls and spoons, she
went out to her herb garden behind the cottage, hoping the soil and the sun
would calm her inner turmoil. She knelt among the plants and inhaled their
mingled fragrances. If Healing was a gift from the Most High, then it would
explain how she
Saw
things that eyes alone could not possibly see. It
would also explain why something she could only describe as
power
coursed
through her hands but also used up some vital part of herself. Despite the
warmth of the sun, Mercy shuddered.

Rafael’s mention of a light reminded her that
Sister Providence had seen it, too. Had there been light under Papa’s hands
while he worked? She couldn’t remember ever seeing it. But why would her
experience be different from his? If only she could ask him about it! Before
she could collect herself and think about what needed to be done in the garden,
Serene appeared with a basket on her arm.

“Hello, Mercy. Can you steal away to the river
for a little while? It’s very important that I speak to you there.”

Mercy stood and wiped her hands on her apron.

“I need to fetch water, so I might as well go
now as later.” She’d never seen such a radiant glow on Serene’s face before.
“Is there any reason you can’t talk to me here?”

“Yes, but you’ll have to come to the river to
find out why.” Serene started toward the gate. “Come quickly!”

Mercy went to fetch two buckets and a carry
yoke. It wasn’t like Serene to be secretive. But now she was so curious that
her earlier disquiet faded. She peeked inside the cottage and found Rafael
playing with his clay animals.

“I must fetch water now. Stay inside and I’ll
be back shortly.”

“Yes, Sissy.” Rafael didn’t even look up from
his playthings.

Mercy shrugged the carry yoke over one shoulder
and walked as fast as she could to the village gate. Her Aunt Prudence was
gatekeeper today, sitting in a chair and carding wool.

“Peace be to you, Auntie.” Mercy opened the
gate with her free hand.

“And to you, Mercy. Going for water, I see.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mercy hoped her aunt wasn’t in a
prying mood today.

“Well, if you see Serene while you’re out
there, remind her of the respect she owes her elders.”

“Yes, ma’am. I shall.” Mercy’s face became
warm. Before Aunt Prudence could say any more, Mercy was outside, shutting the
gate behind her.

She hurried down the path. When she reached the
willow tree, Serene was pacing, anxious about something.

“What is it?” Mercy whispered, fearful that
something dreadful was about to happen.

Serene’s gaze bore into hers, as if she was
trying to
See
Mercy’s heart.

“Do you really love Gabriel?”

Mercy was so taken aback she couldn’t answer
right away.

“I think so,” she managed to say.

“Mercy! Either you love him or you don’t. I don’t
see how you could love him, though. He’s old enough to be your father. And he’s
so somber all the time.”

“Yes, I know.” Mercy ducked her head. “But he
did choose me. He and father arranged everything.”

“Aren’t you afraid to be trapped for life with
an old man? A stranger?”

“He’s not a stranger.” Mercy frowned. “I’ve
known him since before Mama died, since he first came to our village and stayed
in our home. I’m sure after we’re married I will grow to love him in time.”

“You don’t understand.” Serene shook her head.
“Love is more than that. It’s a feeling—well, it’s like having all the stars in
the sky crammed into your sewing basket. It’s when you want him beside you, and
no one else.” She smiled with a pleased look on her face.

“Do you feel that way about Ishmael?” Mercy’s
heart skipped a beat. Maybe Serene would be able to tell her something of the
way of a man and a maid that no one else seemed to want to talk about. After
all, she was to be married before Mercy would marry Gabriel.

“Of course not. That’s why I don’t want to
marry him. It wasn’t my idea, you know.” Serene lowered her voice. “I wanted
you to meet me here so I could tell you good-bye.”

“Good-bye?” Mercy’s chest tightened, making it
hard to breathe. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to marry the man I love.” Serene’s
eyes burned with emotion.

“What?” Mercy nearly lost her balance and had
to set down the carry yoke.

“His name is Jacob.” Serene gazed across the
river. “I met him when he came to trade with my father last year. I’ve been
seeing him once or twice a week ever since.”

“You have?” Mercy whispered, fearful the wind
would hear this sacrilege and bear witness that she was privy to it.

“I love him, and he loves me.” She turned back
to Mercy. “How could I spend the rest of my life with Ishmael knowing that I
loved another man? Would that be fair, either to me or to Ishmael?”

Mercy could not answer, but now she was curious
about every detail of this forbidden relationship.

“Has he kissed you?”

“Oh, yes.” She took Mercy’s hand in hers and
led her back toward the village. “It’s so wonderful, Mercy, to love and be
loved, and—to choose.”

“Is it worth being banned from the village?
Never seeing your family again?” Mercy didn’t add,
never seeing me again
.

Serene stopped at the bridge and hugged her.

“I will miss you terribly, my dearest friend.”
She pulled back, and there were tears in her eyes. “But I choose Jacob over
everything and everyone else.”

Serene ran across the bridge where a man on
horseback waited. He pulled her up to the saddle, kissed her, and they rode
away without a backward glance.

Mercy burst into tears. The hole of abandonment
reopened in her heart, the same emptiness she’d carried since her mother died.

***

Valerian entered the infirmary with trepidation
gnawing at his stomach. Would Rudyard hate him? If so, Valerian would find a
way to live with that. More importantly, though, could the knight use his
strong will to go on with his life?

Few of the cots were occupied. Valerian spotted
his friend by the contrast of his copper-colored hair upon the white linen. No
one else had hair quite that shade of red. When he approached the bed, Ruddy’s
eyes were closed, but his face did not look peaceful. It was impossible not to
notice the missing leg under the thin sheet, and guilt pressed upon Valerian’s
chest.

He stood at the foot of the bed, wondering
whether to go or stay, when Rudyard’s eyes flew open. His gaze pierced
Valerian.

“What are ye doing here, Your Highness?” His
voice was strained.

Valerian’s feet were immobile. He wanted to
come closer but couldn’t make himself.

“I had to make sure you were going to survive.”

“Survive?” Rudyard managed to pull himself
upright. The stump moved under the sheet. “Is that what ye call this?” He
savagely pulled off the cover to reveal the bandaged wound.

“I only thought—”

Rudyard’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

“Why, oh why didn’t you let me die? How can I
live as half a man?”

“All I could think was that life is precious,
and with your wife expecting the babe, they would need you.” Valerian
swallowed.

“Shannon?” Rudyard frowned. “How did ye know
about the babe? I had not told a soul about that.”

Before Valerian could blurt out that Ruddy had
told him, he realized he must have
Seen
it in the older man’s thoughts.
That was not a thing to be admitted with emotions so raw.

“I’m sorry Ruddy, I did what I believed best at
the time. I pray you’ll find the will to go on.”

He wanted to say more, but Rudyard pulled the sheet
over his stump and lay back, closing his eyes.

“Leave me, Your Highness. ’Tis nothing more tae
be said.”

Valerian turned away and left the infirmary.
For the first time in his life he wanted to break something. At that moment
Kieran ran up to him.

“Sire, the king requests your presence in the
throne room immediately.”

He nodded curtly and followed his squire. His
fists clenched and unclenched. How could he calm himself in time? If he tried
to speak, he was sure a scream would burst out. Before they reached the throne
room, Kieran turned into a side room, pulling Valerian with him.

“My lord,” said Kieran quietly. “Ye have
moments only to calm yourself.”

Was it so obvious? Valerian couldn’t even
swallow, his throat was so constricted.

Kieran snatched a pillow from a nearby chair.
He held it between them.

“Hit it, Sire.”

“What?” Valerian choked on the word.

“Hit the pillow as hard as ye can. Don’t hold
back.”

“A prince must control such urges.” Valerian
shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Ye canna afford not to. Hit it.”

Halfheartedly Valerian punched his fist into
the pillow.

“Harder, Sire.”

Valerian punched it once more.

“Harder!”

With a cry Valerian smashed his fist into the
pillow, knocking Kieran back. A dam broke, and Valerian pounded the small
target over and over, giving in to the blind rage. He stopped when the pillow
vanished. Valerian came to himself and found Kieran on the floor. He held out a
hand to lift the squire.

“Kieran, forgive me.” His face grew warm.

“I forgive you, my lord. Feel better now?”
Kieran grinned.

Valerian’s eyes widened and his jaw relaxed a
little.

“Yes. I truly do.”

“It works for me every time. But now we must
hurry.” Kieran tossed the pillow on the chair.

The moment the dragon doors opened and he saw
the look on King Orland’s face, Valerian wished he had not taken the time to
beat on a pillow. Lords and knights, including Sir Caelis, the bishop, and
Aylmer the Seer were ranged around the king, all waiting for Valerian, it
seemed. He reached the foot of the throne and bowed.

“What is your will, Your Majesty?”

The king gestured to the empty place at his
right hand. Waryn’s place.

Valerian swallowed. When he stepped onto the
spot where his brother had always stood, his guilt over Waryn and now Ruddy
rose in his throat, and he tasted bile. Valerian forced his face to project
calm he did not possess.

“Bring the prisoners forward,” King Orland
said.

The doors opened again to admit a group of
about forty men and youths dressed in farmer’s homespun. Although the prisoners’
hands were bound, they did not look as if they would offer any resistance.
Before they came too close to the throne, the guards halted them. All the men
bowed to the king, and Valerian saw their braids then, the braid of the
pacifists’ uncut hair.