The Archer's Daughter

by Melissa MacKinnon

  The pair settled in a cluster of low-lying pine, the fallen needles providing a comfortable respite for the night. Cate unsaddled the horse and checked its wounds before hobbling it and allowing it to graze nearby. There would be no fire during the night; the smoke and flame could give way to their position if someone were to be searching for them. There would also be no food. She was too tired, and the woods around them were now too dark to hunt. Cate would have to wait until morning to find something to fill their bellies. What little water they had would have to make do.

  Crawling beneath the pine, Cate settled in next to Owen, placing her hands under her head for a makeshift pillow. “You aren’t so virtuous as to not share a bed of earth, are you?” she asked him.

  “I would never deny a woman who willingly asks to sleep in my bed.”

  Cate laughed quietly, happy the tone between them was of light jesting and not of murderous plots. “Surely a man of your stature would stay virtuous to his wife?”

  “I’m not married, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  His voice was calm and smooth — gentle, and reminded her of the brook she used to play near as a child. It tickled her insides just as the rippling water had — the sudden shock of the cold against her skin took her breath away for but a moment, just as looking upon Owen’s features did.

  “Does this surprise you?” he asked.

  Cate paused, muddling over the question. As a matter of fact, it had. He was a handsome man, strong and fit for battle. A son of noble birth, she’d assumed he would have a wife along with a substantial amount of land and wealth. Children, servants, the whole lot.

  “And what of you, Cate? Are you married? Is there a man waiting by the threshold for your return?” Owen kept his gaze on the sky, the waning daylight streaking the summer sky with shades of golden amber. Darkness would creep across the land within moments, taking the beauteous pigments with it.

  A sadness spread through her. “No.” Life spat a harsh reality. They rested in silence, breathing in steady tandem as the sun sank below the horizon. Cate contemplated sneaking away in the dead of darkness, cutting all ties with the nobleman, but something tugged on her heartstrings. She couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but something was keeping her thoughts tethered to him.

  Crickets chirped a playful melody with pond frogs nearby, their nighttime symphony enveloping the land as darkness fell among the trees. Cate let out a long sigh and stretched. Her eyelids grew heavy from the soothing sounds of nature. Dinner snorted, and Owen remained silent. The space between them seemed like an eternity, leaving Cate to ponder whether or not she should insist on checking Owen’s wound again, just so she could have the opportunity to touch him. All thoughts of inappropriate touching halted when Owen spoke.

  “Cate, might I ask you something?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You seem to be a woman of honor and morality, although I find that line a bit wavering perhaps, but you returned to see to my safety when you needn’t have. Might I ask you, who has wronged you so deeply that you felt compelled to commit such crimes against the Crown?”

  “Did your father not tell you?”

  “To speak the truth, I was on my way to my estates in the north when my father summoned me to London. I follow orders, I do not ask questions. My father is… a complicated man.”

  “I loved my father with every fiber of my being, so when he was brutally and unjustly murdered, I took it upon myself to avenge his death. My father, a reasonable and just man, traveled to Mile End to help further negotiate fair rents and taxes for our village. King Richard promised rent reductions and the end of the poll tax in exchange for the cease of protests. We were being drained dry by the tax collectors.” Cate sucked in a weary breath. “They took everything from us. My village was starving. He wanted to help.” Visions of the last time she’d seen her father floated through her thoughts as if only yesterday. He’d hugged her and bid her farewell, and she had prayed for his safe return. Cate never saw her father again.

  “When he did not return, I left home in search of him. I didn’t make it far before hearing of his death. I was told the King lied and issued a decree that all rebels were to be hunted down. Royal forces scoured the villages. Possession of a charter became a death sentence. My father held the charter for our village, even though he was not involved in the proceedings — the storming of the Tower and the beheading of the Archbishop and Lord Chancellor. Before I could return home to warn them, Richard’s army swarmed through Kent. People, good God fearing people, swung from the gallows. Women and children… anyone they could get their hands on. Kent lost nearly fifteen hundred.”

  “My God,” breathed Owen.

  Cate inhaled deeply, the wounds still fresh to her memory. “I have heard upwards of five hundred in Essex.”

  Owen was surprisingly quiet. Perhaps the shock of it all was overwhelming, but he was rooted in London. Had he not heard of the uprisings? Of all the killings? Surely he had dealings with the peasant uprisings around the city. “Your father is Captain of the King’s Guard. Were you not involved as he was?”

  The silence between them was deafening, and the fact that Owen wouldn’t answer her was unsettling.

  She continued. “I have been searching for my father’s killer for nearly a month. I will not rest until the bastard has succumbed to proper justice by my own hand. It matters not to me if I lose my own life… I will see it finished.” A fueled hate for the unknown murderer simmered in her gut.

  “I am truly sorry for the loss of your father, but you cannot travel around the wood just killing everyone you cross paths with.”

  Cate snorted a stifled laugh. “I have just cause… the people who still reside here in the countryside. Someone needs to protect them. Who will stand up for them if not me? The sheriff?” She released the laugh. “He abandoned us long ago. A nobleman has no business being south of Bedgebury. And the tax collectors? They still come to steal what little coin the people have left. If they are lucky enough to escape with their lives after I’m through with them, they gladly hand over what they have in their purse. I consider it a gift. A reimbursement for our troubles and hardships.” Cate kicked at the earth with the heel of her boot.

  “You are unlike any other woman I have met, Cate Archer.” Owen released a sigh and repositioned himself on the bed of pine.

  Not knowing what had come over her, Cate was content to speak, although it was a one-sided conversation. The release of tension was exhilarating. “Tell me about your father, Owen Grey, Viscount of Banebridge.” She drawled out the words, enunciating his title in a teasing manor, hoping it would convince him to engage in the conversation.

  “My father…” Owen seemed to contemplate the request as if he would surely be punished for simply thinking of it. “As I spoke earlier, my father is a complicated man. He is hard, cold, and not one to be questioned.”

  “Are you his only son? My father was not blessed with any sons… there is only me. I think I would have enjoyed the company of a brother.”

  “No, I am the second son. My older brother died from a sickness that took to his lungs when I was just a lad. My father was heartbroken.”

  “That must have been a terrible burden to bear.”

  “I only learned of the existence of my brother when my father came to fetch me. Seeing as my brother had died, that left my father without an heir. Being an earl, he must have an heir.”

  “Fetch you? I do not understand.” Cate’s brow furrowed as she listened intently.

  “You see, my father carried on with the washerwoman… an Irish immigrant who worked in his household. She is my true birth mother, but when my brother died, I was young enough for my father to claim me as legitimate, and no one dared question it. He took me from my mother and I lived in his estates as his son and heir. He kept my mother on as a servant, but I rarely saw her. I was but a boy of ten when my father took the position of Captain. He graciously gifted me with his Viscount title – an honor he did
not have to bestow on his bastard – and I have been doing his bidding ever since.”

  His upbringing explained why she had heard the faint lilt of Irish when they had first met. His father would have hired a tutor for his schooling, and subsequent removal of said unsightly lilt. Owen must have grown up surrounded by death and destruction. Come to think of it, Cate had as well. What a quality to have in common. “With your father’s status, why were your men plotting to kill you today? Surely, being his son should count for something amongst them?”

  “That I cannot answer. I can only assume the bounty for your head has risen to a tempting amount and you would be easier to kill with me out of the way. They hold no loyalty with me.”

  “I am returning to my village tomorrow.” Was she warning him? Telling him? Asking for permission? She had been completely honest with him from the moment they first met, and Cate couldn’t explain it. He was her enemy, yet she felt completely at ease with him. It was the strangest feeling. “You are welcome to join me if you fear returning to London would further put your life in danger. You would find respite in Hawkhurst.”

  “I am certainly not finding it under this tree.” Owen groaned, sliding up to a sitting position at the base of the pine. He leaned against the trunk and closed his eyes.

  Cate rose to her elbows. “Your wound. Has it started to fester?”

  “I’m not sure. I cannot see a bloody thing.”

  “We cannot risk a fire. We might as well welcome them for dinner.” She clamored to her hands and knees. Twigs and needles crunched beneath her weight as she shuffled closer to Owen. “Let me take a look. You could be losing more blood. The bandage wasn’t that secure.”

  “How are you to see my wound if I cannot?”

  “There are other ways to see.” Tentatively reaching out her hand, she felt for Owen’s leg. “Is it this one?” she asked, walking her fingers up his calf.

  Owen croaked out, “Yes.”

  Cate pressed forward with her examination despite the hindrance of darkness. The flesh contracted beneath her palms as she worked her way to the knee, the dried blood rough under her fingers as she probed for his wound.

  Owen drew in a sharp hiss when her hands traveled even further north. “Take heed, woman, for you do not understand the repercussions such dealings have on a man.”

  Her fingers lingered on the inside of his thigh just under his braies where the gash wept. “Oh,” she breathed softly, “I do.” Fingers clasped tightly around hers, pinning them in place against the meaty portion of his thigh. A rush came over Cate, accelerating her breathing and the steady beating of her heart.

  Taking her hand in his, Owen gently pulled her closer and brought her palm to his chest. He placed it flat over his erratically thumping heart. “See what your touch does to me?”

  “It rivals my own.” Cate returned the touch, bringing his palm to her chest. She pressed his hand just above the swell of her breast. The heat of his skin seared through her thin tunic, igniting a flame deep in her belly. Never had she felt something so thrilling and fearsome at once. He lingered there, his only movement being from her own breathing.

  Owen brushed his thumb over her nipple. The bud swelled instantly from the light touch, as his thumb lowered to trace the underlying curve of her breast. Cate fell forward slightly, catching herself before crashing against him completely. She exhaled along the arc of his neck, taking a breath before righting herself.

  She brought her fingers to his face, lightly grazing his cheekbone. The course hair of his stubble bit at her fingers as she explored his jaw line, and she followed it to the squareness of his chin. Circling up to his lips, she ran the pad of her finger over their fullness. Slightly parted, Owen lightly kissed it, licking the tip.

  He whispered her name, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. His hands settled on her waist, and he turned into her, a silent beckon for her to move closer. With her touch still warm on his face, Cate pressed her lips against his, full and demanding. Owen reciprocated the need, his fingers kneading her flesh.

  Cate abruptly cried out, breaking the kiss when a sharp pain radiated from her side to her middle. Owen had caught her unawares near her tender wound. He apologized profusely, soothing the area with the warmth of his palm. She cut his atonements short with another kiss, exploring his mouth with her tongue. Then without warning, Cate ended the connection and retreated to her bit of pine. “Goodnight,” she yawned, turning her back to Owen.

  For the first time in her life, Cate found herself unable to trust her actions. Her body had betrayed her instinct for self-preservation, and damn it… she’d enjoyed every bit of it.

  And it scared the hell out of her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Oy, Owen.” Cate nudged him in the leg with her foot. He still slept, nestled in the pine. “Wake up.”

  His eyes fluttered, then widened. Sitting up, he wiped his weary face. “The sun has barely risen.”

  “And the deer will have bedded before we even find them, so you must get up. Honestly, you act as though you fought in battle or something.” Cate grinned, repositioning the quiver on her back.

  “Why are we searching for deer?” Owen crawled out from beneath the shelter of the pine and rose on unsteady legs. He brushed the bracken from his clothes, quickly inspected his wound, and stretched his arms above his head.

  “My people are starving, and since you said I couldn’t feed them your precious horse, I now need to hunt. Few have such skills as I.” Cate grew impatient. Dawn saturated the sky, encroaching on her with every passing moment. “It is up to me to feed them. I have been absent for too long.”

  “All right then.” A sly smile — a twitch of the mouth, really — formed on his lips as Owen entertained the idea. “Can you not hunt once we have reached Hawkhurst?”

  “The fields are bare and the forest as well. I have traveled to Bedgebury for many a deer in the past.”

  “The King’s deer?”

  Cate nodded. “Only the finest.”

  “You don’t fear being caught?” Owen stared at her with intent, an incredulous glare blanketing his face.

  She waved off his questioning. “I don’t fret over it. I’m quiet, and I’m careful. The King is none the wiser. Besides, there is already a price on my head, and as of today, it has most likely tripled. It doesn’t frighten me in the least. Can you hunt?”

  “I’m a fairly good tracker.” Owen quickly ran his fingers over his hair, tugging out the tangles and bits of pine from his slumber. It hung loose at his nape, framing the line of his jaw and curling slightly at the ends.

  “I wager I’m better,” she teased.

  Owen arched an eyebrow. “If you’ll wager whatever that was you did last night, I’m all for it.”

  Cate could feel the heat rising through her cheeks. She turned, not wanting him to see her fluster. “Let us go, then.”

  She found a fresh trail not far from where they had stopped for the night. From the size of the tracks, a large buck was traveling to his grazing spot along a well-marked path. The grass was worn from months of steady use. This hunt would be easy. Cate needed something to go as planned for once. Her luck had been nonexistent since meeting this Owen Grey. Licking her finger and raising it into the wind, she detected which way it was blowing. “This way,” she whispered to Owen, crouching low to the ground. She led him around a small, green clearing, repositioning downwind of the deer.

  She spotted him. Graceful, muscular, and donning the largest antler rack she’d ever seen, The buck was absolutely perfect. She raised her bow as Owen ducked down beside her. Twigs and forest litter crunched beneath his boots, spurring Cate to flash him a look of pure evil. “Could you be any louder, giant?” she scolded, lightly punching him in the arm.

  Thankfully, the deer only raised his head at the sound. Soon it was back to grazing, its tail swishing about with ease. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, running her fingers over the goose feather fletches. Cate loaded the bow. Standing to her ful
l height seamlessly, she pulled back the bowstring, aimed, and then released. The arrow whipped through the open field, imbedding in the chest of the deer just behind the shoulder. It kicked its hind legs and jumped a few twisting leaps forward before teetering to the side and collapsing in a heap.

  Her heart burst with jubilation. Cate flashed Owen a prideful grin. “Perfect shot.” He nodded. Cate slung the bow across her chest, lightly jogging to where the beast fell. She pulled out a knife hidden within the depths of her borrowed quiver, thankful many of the archers in her village knew of her father’s little trick. It was a small knife but got the job done. Owen retrieved the horse while Cate gutted the buck, and both worked together to sling the carcass over the saddle.

  After washing up in a nearby stream, Cate steered them toward her home of Hawkhurst. The talk was light and strangely consisted mostly of food and which cut of meat each wanted to sample first. Cate asked Owen if he knew what true hunger even felt like, poking fun at his current state. A hearty laugh was followed by a long silence. Cate didn’t want to broach the subject of her predicament — they tread on uneasy waters as it was. The journey home was not a long one. However, Owen slowed them down immensely. He stumbled along the path and winded easily. Cate feared his injury didn’t fare well.

  As the sun painted the sky, an array of pink and yellow hues across a smear of veiled clouds, Hawkhurst came into view. Nestled in a tiny valley, it sat motionless and guarded with shutters closed against the evening chill. Only ghostly reminders of the days’ transgressions remained. Cate’s speed increased slightly, the thought of sleeping in her own home at the front of her thoughts. Owen lagged behind, quite openly hesitant.