The Archer's Daughter

by Melissa MacKinnon

  “What?” Owen slowed, turning in the saddle to glance back at her. Confusion muddled his face.

  “At Mile End. You were there with your father, weren’t you.” It wasn’t a question so much as an accusation. Cate kicked her feet from the stirrups and jumped from the mare. She toed at the dirt and brought her fists to her head, pounding them lightly against her brow. Bloody images clouded her thoughts. “Tell me you weren’t there, Owen!”

  With caution, he dismounted. “I never said I wasn’t.”

  He chose his words wisely, the bastard. All this time. All this time, he knew. The son of a bitch knew. “Did you inform the guards of Hawkhurst? Tell me you did not lead them to my village, Owen.” The contents of her stomach verged on the precipice of expulsion. Oh, what had she done? She had led them straight to her home, her refuge. For a man. A stupid, manipulative man she had let blind her with flattery and carnal indulgence. He’d used her, gained what little trust she would give so that he could lure her to his father… to her death. She wanted to cry, to scream out — make him hurt as much as she did.

  “Cate.” Owen took an apprehensive step forward. He eyed her precariously, their bright depths pooling into a meld of fire and ice. “Let me explain.”

  Glancing down, Cate realized she grasped her sword. She didn’t remember drawing it, but she reaffirmed her grip on the hilt. “I do not want to hear what you have to say.”

  Another step closer, this time with arms splayed gently to the sides. “Cate, give me the sword.”

  A tear burned a trail down the length of her cheek. “Was this a part of your plan? Gain my trust only to stab me in the back with your lies?”

  “You are the one holding the sword, Cate.”

  She planted her feet firmly in the earth. “Take up your weapon, Owen.”

  “I will not fight you.” His voice was soft and in earnest.

  A sob crept up her throat, and she battled against the urge to let it break free. “Take up your sword!” She shouted the words at him, wishing her anger would consume him as well. Cate swung at him, testing his resolve.

  Owen flinched, but held fast. “No.” He took another step closer, now well within striking distance.

  “Please,” she muttered. “Pick it up.” Tears flowed faster than she could wipe them from her face. She sucked in a breath. “Did you kill my father?” The words escaped on a whisper.

  “I killed a lot of men that day.”

  Grief fueled her madness. She shook her head, unwilling to believe it. This man — her enemy — had proven himself worthy of such a title. He needn’t say the words, she already knew the answer.

  She charged him, but Owen was ready. He easily tugged the sword from her hands and flung it to the side. He wrapped his arms around her middle in a tight embrace, pinning her arms to the sides. When she struggled to break free, Owen pulled her close. The more she fought, the tighter his grip on her became. Cate wriggled her fingers toward Owen’s wound and promptly dug the tips into the tender flesh of his thigh.

  Owen bayed his discomfort, but his hold did not waver. Instead, he fell to the bracken, taking Cate down with him. In a tangled mess of shoving, kicking, and steadfast arms, the pair rolled down the embankment, landing in a small stream. The shock of wet and cold sent them both scrambling for breath, but Cate was relentless in her battle against Owen. She punched, she elbowed, anything she could do in an attempt to release the anger overtaking her.

  “Stop!” Owen pleaded. “Just listen!” He fumbled to hold her still. “I was with my father the day the rebels stormed London. We met them at Smithfield.”

  Cate wished she could shut out his words. She didn’t want to know how he had killed her father. She stilled. “Please, no more.”

  “You must hear this, Cate. I beg of you, please hear me speak. For so long I have wanted to say the words, but I knew not how to say them in fear that I would lose you.” He clasped her hands in his. “I never imagined that I would have such… strong feelings for you, which makes my sins that much more unforgiveable. I was a coward, Cate, a selfish scared fool, and I knew from that first meeting in the woods that I was never going to give you up.”

  Just more lies. He taunted her now, pulling at her heartstrings to take advantage of her sex. She was a woman, after all, and he a handsome man. She closed her eyes, as if not looking about his visage would shut out the words that pained her heart so.

  “Yes. I was there, Cate. I knew nothing of the King’s plan until it was too late, and my father had taken the life of the rebel leader, who went by the name of Tyler. Negotiations had been made until Tyler betrayed the King. My men and I protected our King Richard, and all lost their lives for their treason. I left for my estates the very next day. I knew what we had done was wrong, and I would not — could not — be a part of it any longer. That was supposed to have been the end of it. But then…” His voice faded. “I was called back into service by my father specifically to seek you out.”

  Cate stilled. “You were to kill me, that day in the forest.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you did not.”

  “I couldn’t.” He brought his palms to her face to cup her cheeks, forcing Cate’s eyes to meet his.

  Inhaling a staggered breath, Cate listened to the tinkling sounds of the water rushing over her legs and the chirping of night birds in the trees above. Her father had left London with a charter. It was the charter that had sealed his fate. He was not a fighting man — just a messenger. “He… he… was given the charter. He held the charter, and someone killed him for it. That is all I know.”

  “I am the King’s Guard, Cate. It is my duty to protect the King. I follow orders — I do not ask questions. That is all I know.”

  Her thoughts swirled with contemplations. She knew the meaning of duty and honor. She lived by her own code, as did Owen. Two completely different worlds. With his noble bloodlines and her kind considered the utmost petulance by most, they could never be. Her heart willed it to be so, but their relationship hadn’t exactly been built on a foundation of truths. Or trust.

  “Cate…” He brought her close, her steps sloshing in the current. In a bold fervor, Owen lowered his lips to hers, testing her willingness to meet his kiss. His breath was warm against her cooled skin, and she gently parted her mouth, allowing him access. He kissed her with a gentleness like no other. Something in him had changed. “Come, we will sort this out. I mustn’t lose you,” he breathed against her cheek.

  She clutched his chest for support. Although hesitant, Cate nodded her acceptance and allowed Owen to guide her from the stream. “I apologize for the fingers in the leg part,” she muttered, waving in the direction of his thigh.

  “That was well played,” he admitted, holding out his hand so they could scale the embankment together.

  Cate placed her palm in his. Warmth radiated through her, calming the tremors of her tattered nerves. Water gushed from her kirtle as she made her way to the top of the slope. Sopping wet and weighed down by the heavy garments, she struggled with her footing. As she slipped, Owen caught her about the middle. When she moved to rise, Cate found herself being spun with force. A small cry released on a breath and she pulled against the restraint pinning her arms in a solid grip.

  “Do not say a word,” Owen breathed in her ear, tightening his hold.

  “Well done, my son.” The voice, articulate and sharp, echoed from the top of the embankment.

  A piercing pain swelled deep inside Cate’s belly. She felt as though she’d been kicked in the gut and unable to draw breath. She inhaled deeply, only managing to suck in a shallow bit of air. Her surroundings were closing in on her. The rippling stream behind her now crashed as if an ocean upon rocks.

  Standing tall on the upper embankment was the King’s Guard, brandishing the royal colors in full splendor and illuminated by flaming torches. Bright reds and blues adorned well fitting doublets. Six guards sat on armored horses, armed and ready to strike.

  “So this is t
he halfwit causing such an uproar?” Robert Grey, Earl of Lancaster and Captain of the King’s Guard — Owen’s father — glared at her as if she were the devil himself. She knew him instantly, as he bore the same cut jaw and vivid eyes as his son.

  Cate gathered she had made quite the impression if the Captain had taken it upon himself personally to see to her capture. She opened her mouth to speak, but Owen growled in her ear before the spiteful words she’d intended to spew at the man were spoken.

  “I know what you are thinking right now, Cate, but you must trust me, at this moment more than ever.” Owen’s fingers wrapped around hers, and he squeezed them gently as if to reassure her. Then his grip loosened slightly.

  “It seems I have no choice,” she replied.

  “There is always a choice, Cate. One only needs to make the correct judgment.” Her own words rang in her ears.

  “Let’s go.” Owen’s command was stern, and he pushed her forward slightly.

  Cate struggled up the embankment, as Owen still held her captive. Her eyes bore down on the Captain. “I gather your son gets his looks from his mother.”

  She felt a thud against the back of her skull. Flashes of light speckled her vision until a black tunnel overtook her, and she fell into the darkness.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Her head throbbed in steady rhythm with the beating of her heart. Cate cracked open an eyelid, unaware of her surroundings. After a few blinks, her vision cleared, revealing morning’s light. Horse legs and a dirt road moved beneath her. She was on a horse — strapped to one, at least. Her arms were outstretched and bound together by shackles. She lay over the saddle on her belly with her legs dangling freely to one side. Men spoke in all directions around her. Feigning unconsciousness, Cate strained to listen to their conversations. The information she could gather might be useful.

  Two of the voices she recognized immediately. They were the guardsmen who plotted against Owen. They spoke in hushed tones and rode in front of her horse. Another horse slogged along behind her. Glancing slightly to her right, Cate peered at the flank of the horse she was propped on. Spying a healing wound, she knew she rode Dinner. She could only speculate the story Owen had told his father about her capture. Perhaps it wasn’t a lie and he told the truth, plotting against her the entire time — gain her trust only to hand her over to his father.

  A plausible ruse, only… Owen had seemed just as shocked to see his father as she had. She wished she could talk with him, learn exactly what had transpired between father and son. She would bide her time, what little remained, until they came to a stop. She had words for Owen, and plenty of time to get them right.

  The pace at which they rode was relentless. The group of men traveled for hours, pushing the horses to their limit. They stopped only for a few minutes at a time to relieve themselves or give the horses water, but never long enough for Cate to attempt any means of conversation or escape. The day dragged on endlessly.

  Squirming in an attempt to make herself more comfortable, Cate rocked along the arch of the saddle, hoping to startle the horse and further help her to fall off. The pounding in her head had yet to cease, and her gut ached to no end. With one last wriggle, she slipped backward, landing on her backside in a heap. The horse jumped to the side to avoid stepping on her and came to a stop several paces away.

  “Hold!” Owen spoke, reining his horse to a halt before it trampled her.

  The remaining men slowed and formed a perimeter around the Captain while Owen dismounted. Turning his head toward the waning light, he instructed the men to make camp.

  “We should press on.” Lord Lancaster tossed his reins to the nearest guard, dismounted, and approached Owen.

  “The sun sets as we speak. You don’t know what lurks in the darkness. There is an evil in these woods. I have seen it firsthand, and it is not to be trifled with. We will camp here and enter London tomorrow.” Owen fiddled with the girth of the saddle.

  “You forget your place, Owen.”

  Owen sighed. “You pulled me into this, Father. I have been through hell doing what you asked of me, and I will see it finished. We camp here.”

  The Captain didn’t further the argument. Instead, a silent battle waged between them. Lord Lancaster jutted out his chin, while Owen scowled his disdain at his father’s vehement authority. In the end, the Captain retreated.

  “Very well, then,” Lord Lancaster grumbled. “Secure the prisoner.”

  Cate was placed with her back against a tree just off the main road with hands shackled in chain and irons in front of her. She laughed when the men discussed which route they should take to London, as the two traitors stated the group should avoid Bedgebury at all costs. Owen kept his distance from the pair yet never turned his back to them. He, too, took heed to his surroundings. The traitors couldn’t be trusted. A small fire was started, and the men ate rations from their packs. None was offered to Cate. She expected as much.

  Despite numerous efforts to stay awake, Cate found herself dozing off to the crackling song of the fire. A slight touch to her shoulder startled her upright, and she bumped the back of her head against the tree trunk she was propped against.

  “Here.” Owen handed Cate a bit of food and a flask.

  Cate took the offerings and ate in silence.

  “If you wish it, I will sit with you for the night. I am leery of the men. I promise no harm will befall you under my watch.” He sat down beside her, staring into the fire.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Will you stand beside me while the hangman tightens the noose around my neck as well?”

  “Cate,” he whispered. Owen picked at the blades of grass near the bit of earth he sat on. “You cannot let your mouth run away like that with my father near. If he were to find out about… us, I would be standing there next to you. Son or no, I have committed serious crimes. We must continue on. I am the King’s Guard, and I must do my duty. My father must know where my loyalty lies. He must believe I am true.” He turned toward her then. The fire glinted in his eyes, and for the first time Cate saw fear in them. “Once we return to London, perhaps I might gain favor with the King and plead for your release. I cannot do that if I’m hanging beside you.”

  “You need not worry, Lord Banebridge. I will not condemn you. Those two, however…” Cate nodded slightly at the two traitors. “I am quite sure they have informed your father of previous events.”

  “As long as he trusts me, that’s all that matters. It’s not uncommon for men of position to take certain… liberties. He cannot fault me for that, seeing as I myself am the product of such dalliances.” Owen took the flask from Cate’s trembling hands. He placed it against her lips, allowing her to drink. She swallowed hard against the burning liquid, choking it down. “Rest now. You will need your strength to face tomorrow.”

  Cate yawned. Owen sat close, but not so close as to attract unwanted attention. She closed her eyes. “Owen?” she exhaled.

  “Hmm?” he murmured.

  “I’m afraid.”

  “I will not let them touch you.”

  His words were supposed to be those of comfort, but Cate found no solace in them. It wasn’t the men she was afraid of… it was dying — what they would do to her. She knew when she started this quest for revenge that it wasn’t going to end well for her, and Cate had accepted that. It saddened her to know her father’s death would be forgotten. She had hoped she would have avenged her father before meeting death. Cate closed her eyes, hoping such thoughts wouldn’t mar her dreams.

  Cate awoke to a blanket of warmth, soon realizing the comforting heat radiated from within Owen. He held her snug against him, cradled in the curve of his body with both arms wrapped around her middle. He did his best to shelter her from the light mist falling through the trees. She listened to the steady rhythm of his heart, breathing in his scent. His skin still lingered of soap, faintly masked by the remnants of sweat and earth.

  Just then, he snapped awake, and taking note of the position they were
in, quickly peeled himself away from her. Tiny bumps welled on her skin where the sudden cold swept over her. The ground rustled beside her, and she saw Owen rise and step several paces away. She could not fault him — being caught near her would mean uncertain consequences. He had unknowingly placed himself in danger during the night, caused by an immoral familiarity they’d both allowed. Cate focused on steadying her breathing, feigning sleep. Approaching footsteps crunched closer, and Cate clamped her eyes shut. She remained motionless.

  “Did you sample some of that?” A man snickered not far off. Cate presumed he stood next to Owen.

  “No, I did not.” Owen’s words were sharp.

  “Oh, come now… I would have taken advantage of that sweet little honey pot. Perhaps she would even welcome it, no?”

  “You shut your mouth, Harrison,” Owen snapped.

  Harrison released a deep, hearty laugh. “Ahh! I knew you were consorting with her, eh?”

  “You would think so lowly of me, Harrison? That I would take advantage of a chained female prisoner?”

  “Why wouldn’t you? You are a man of the King’s Guard, able to do what you please. Your father would allow you to get away with murder — hell, he has!” Harrison replied. “I think the Captain would love to learn of your frolics in the wood. Perhaps that is what took you so long? Forget about the time while fecking in the forest?”

  “I’m sure the Captain would be thrilled to hear of your plot to kill me and the prisoner to claim the bounty you are not entitled to. Perhaps I should inform him of your conspiracy against the King?” Owen’s words were muffled, growing quieter the further he strayed from Cate.

  “There’s no conspiracy against the King.” Harrison fumbled over his words.

  “No? Who is he going to believe, the Viscount of Banebridge or a traitorous hired fool? What I do is none of your concern. I suggest you keep your mouth closed and keep eyes on your back. I would hate to see a soldier of the King’s Guard tried and sentenced for conspiracy. Do you know the punishment for such crimes?”