The Archer's Daughter (11 page)

His eyes wandered in every direction, hungry. “Come here,” he told her, his voice husky and deep.

Crossing the short distance to the tub, Cate ascended the stool and tiptoed into the tub. Owen took her by the waist, settling her in his lap facing him. Warm water, verging on too hot, surged over her skin. Placing her palms on his chest, she flicked her thumbs over both his nipples. Owen’s fingers dug into her hips in response.

“What is this foolishness between us, Cate?” His eyes sought hers.

“A bit of enjoyment, ’tis all. Don’t ruin the moment with sentiment. I will attend the house of God and repent for my many sins if it pleases you, but I commit them willingly. For now…” Her tone changed to that of a whisper. Cate cupped the hard lines of his jaw, running her fingers over the prickly stubble. “Could you pretend as though you are my lover? One who would keep me safe in his arms, who vows to love only me, and that I will be his and he mine.” Her voice trembled when Owen slipped his hand under the waves of her hair and curled his fingers around the slender curve of her neck. He brought her closer.

“I would wish it so,” he whispered. “Stay with me tonight, my Catherine, and I will love you as a man should his woman.” His breath clung to the shell of her ear.

Fingers entangled in the dark depths of her tresses. Owen tugged them slightly, exposing the expanse of her neck and collar bone. With his mouth, he explored the curves and lines of her breastbone, lingering near the rapid pulse in her neck. He licked it, ending the tease with a playful bite, scraping his teeth over the spot.

Cate wriggled beneath the heat of his mouth. His cock grew hard, pressing eagerly against her womanhood. Her hand slipped beneath the surface of the water. When her fingers encircled the length of his shaft, Owen let out a sharp hiss.

“Like this,” he instructed, wrapping his palm around Cate’s, using her to stroke himself. Up the shaft, over the tip, then down. Owen thrust uncontrollably against her hips at the touch. “Oh, God, Cate,” he moaned, sinking further into the water. His hands returned to the surface. Taking the bit of soap on the stool nearby, Owen dipped it into the water then slid it up the length of her body, from navel to breast. He swooped under the left and then followed suit to the right breast. With his free hand, he trailed the sudsy path, tracing the bubbles to her nipples. The flesh puckered as his thumb passed over the taught peaks, warming her cooled skin with a tingling heat.

Cate took the soap chips from Owen, anxious to return the touch. His lips enveloped hers — a gentle exploration with his tongue filled her mouth. She returned the kiss, deep and full, only breaking it to take his bottom lip between hers. She suckled it for a moment before releasing to run lathered hands along the breadth of his shoulders.

His touch wandered over her body — up her thighs, to her belly, and then down to the soapy folds between her legs. Cate’s eyes fluttered closed. His name left her lips on a breathy whisper, followed by what expletives she could muster into words. She arched her back, encouraging his roving touch to continue. Owen slipped a finger inside her while his thumb drew little circles over the hardened nub between her folds. Cate cried out, grinding her hips against him. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into Owen’s slickened skin. Her chest rose and fell in erratic patterns as she tried to catch her breath, her body threatening to give way.

In one fluid motion, Owen took Cate by the middle and spun her in the tub so that her back rested upon his chest. Her head cradled in the crook of his arm, leaving his hands free to delve into the hidden crevasses of her body. He spread her legs, and they fell beside his, parted and bent at the knee. His heart pounded in his chest, reverberating through Cate’s. Flesh slid against flesh — gliding instead of friction — as Owen caressed, tasted, loved.

Cate rocked along the base of his palm as he continued to ready her. Her insides fought to scream, to release the building pressure rooted in her belly. Her breath came in unsteady pants as the fire continued to grow within her. “Don’t stop,” she moaned, on the verge of losing control.

Owen traced an imaginary line up her arm, over her shoulder, and along the curve of her neck. Stroking the shell of her ear, he took the lobe between his lips, biting it ever so gently, before curling his fingers along the arch of her chin.

Her moan deepened. “Owen, take me. I cannot tolerate this sweet torture any longer.”

His body went rigid beneath her, his once lucid muscles hardening around her. His arm circled her chest, pulling her deeper into the water.

Fingers settled firmly over her mouth, muffling a terrified scream.

“Be still.” Owen’s
words were commanding, yet hushed in her ear. He waited until Cate had slowed her breathing before removing his hand from her mouth. “Movement… just there.” His eyes flickered to the shuttered window. Lit torches hovered just behind the wooden slats. Tiny flecks of golden fire peeked through the cracks as the torchbearers passed by.

There seemed to be only a handful of passersby, but Cate doubted they were villagers. The villagers already knew Owen’s location and would not dare to disturb him.

Guards
.

“Do not make a sound.” He motioned for her to rise.

Cate rose from the tub, still suffering from the side effects of his attentions. She stepped over the edge and to the stool in one flowing movement. Taking a towel from the pile next to the bath, she dried off before donning her clothes in silence. Owen did the same.

“I do not believe those were villagers,” he said, buckling his belt.

“My thoughts as well,” she replied.

Cate waited for Owen to finish before beckoning him to follow. She took his hand in hers and led him into the darkness of the shop. Although the shop had been looted during her absence, only she knew where her father hid his personal stash. Behind the counter, a worn rug concealed a small door in the floor. With Owen’s help, Cate pried it open to reveal several swords and a bow. Cate slung the bow over her shoulder and tucked a short sword under her belt.

“You know,” she whispered to Owen, “my armor would be most useful at the present.”

“If you want to risk the trip to the MacKenzie’s, I would gladly help you put it on.” Owen said. He chose the sword equipped with a sheath.

“Are they here for you or for me?” Cate found a quiver still hanging and plucked several arrows from a crate. She hastily gave them a once over before stuffing them into the quiver.

“I do not know.”

Cate grabbed Owen’s shoulder. “Look at me,” she ordered. “Look me in the eyes and swear you won’t cut me through as soon as my back is turned.”

Owen turned to face her. He cupped her cheeks. “I swear it.” He took a breath. “As long as you swear you won’t loose an arrow when
my
back is turned.”

“I will do my best.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips before rushing to the back door. Cautious, she cracked the door open. Seeing no immediate threats, they slipped through the door and into the darkness.

Cate turned toward the village. She must warn the others. “Hurry, they will—” She glanced behind her. Owen rushed toward the trees and away from her. “Where are you going?” she spat.

Owen waved her closer. “Come, Cate! We must hurry!”

“Are you mad?” He wanted to run. Guards were in her village, and they must be extinguished. They could not know of her presence. The lives of her people depended on it. There was no time like the present to fight back, and he wanted to run? “We need to warn them!” Cate closed the gap between them. “What do you think will happen if those guards start to question the people? Allegiances crack even under the finest of circumstances. They will kill Wallace and Alice. I need to warn them before your mates find them. Do not think you are exempt from this, Owen. We cannot be sure of what they know… what they can use against you.”

Owen rubbed his face with his fingers, circling the tips along his brow. “I can speak with them. Tell them I lost you in the forest, lead them away from here. My words hold weight.”

Cate laughed. “They must die, Owen!” She was a fool to think his loyalty would lie with her. He still defended the guard and would until he took his last breath. It was his duty. It was in his blood, just like protecting her people was in hers. “If this is where we part ways, then I thank you for all you have done for me. But my village — my people — they will never be safe while the guard seeks to end my life. Kill or be killed, and I choose to live.” The certainty of her words rushed through her like a clap of thunder. Owen opened his mouth to counter, but Cate interrupted. “I am no coward.”

Deep lines contorted the mouth she so longed to cover with hers. But she couldn’t muster up the conviction needed to follow him. He could walk her right into the arms of the guard for all she knew. Cate paused to look at him, to drink in his features and burn them to memory. Then she turned away, slipping into the shadows of obscurity, leaving Owen standing in the darkness.

Cate made her way down the thoroughfare, ducking in and out of alleys and thresholds, seeking any visible signs of the guards. She found only two ransacking the remains of the feast, helping themselves to a barrel of wine. Cate’s heart pounded in her chest.

Murder was a sin.

Her mind and her gut waged war inside her. She’d caused enough harm in recent days but could not shut out the thoughts of what would happen if these men were to live.

A death to save a life. Justifiable.

The thought of eliminating this threat looming over her quiet village thrilled her. Surely, God would understand.

Cate counted her arrows. Three.
Damn
. She would give each purpose. Drawing an arrow, Cate sunk to one knee. She sized up the two men, waiting to strike. Her fingers trembled on the bowstring.

Patience. She must be the victor.

There was no other option. Sitting in the darkness she suddenly felt more alone than she ever had before. The wood was dark and hollow. Not even the frogs sang. For the first time she found no comfort in the forest she once called home.

Choosing the beefier of the two, Cate patiently waited until his back was turned before aiming. A shite way to die, and less than honorable on her part, but she was alone now. The man turned broadside, and Cate released a breath through pursed lips. Anchoring her thumb under her jawbone, she aimed, released, then waited with bated breath. The arrow sliced through the heavy blanket of fog steadily settling over the Moor. She heard the man grunt, and the shuffling of feet. Then, distinct voices. They searched for her.

Cate closed her eyes. She had failed to kill him. Hurriedly, she plucked another arrow and anchored it on the bowstring.

The wine. She’d let down her guard with Owen. She was such a fool. She had only weakened herself. With her confidence wavering, her fingers fumbled along the length of the shaft. Rising, she drew once more and fired at the shadow teetering in the mist. The arrow made contact, and the dark blob fell.

One more arrow.
By the blood of Jesus Christ in heaven
.

Cate remorsefully crossed herself for the curse then took up the last arrow. One guard lay motionless on the green, while the other charged in her direction. She fired off the arrow before he had the opportunity to gain ground. The arrow stuck the man in the upper shoulder. Enough to knock him back from the blow, but not enough to kill him.

A hot tear rolled to the surface, but she whisked it away, fighting the urge to run in fear. She pulled on the hilt of her short sword, clutching it between sweaty palms. Summoning a roar that would challenge any man, Cate burst onto the field, bolting head-strong toward the remaining guard. He seemed stunned to see her charging forward through the mist, and Cate used that to her advantage.

Bringing back her arm, Cate coiled her fingers into a fist and punched the man square in the jaw. She then swung her sword wildly, aiming for his midsection, but the guard was able to block her blow with only a moment to spare. The blades grinded against one another, the sharp hiss of steel panging her ears. Throwing her weight into the fight, Cate aimed to knock the man off balance, hoping to gain the upper ground. His brute against her celerity — if she could get to him quickly, the fight would end on her terms.

Cate took a chance, swiftly kicking the man in the groin. The sudden unexpected blow had worked in her favor more times than naught. He bellowed out but held his ground, blocking Cate’s sword arm with his own. The guard shoved against her, and Cate stumbled to the ground. Her sword arced wildly away from her, landing in the dewy grass. Digging her heels into the dirt, she pushed away from him, sliding over the wet grass on her back with ease. “Get up,” Cate ordered herself as the man trudged closer. The evil grin on his dirtied face struck fear in her gut. He was a menacing sight, with the arrows still protruding from his flesh and his mangled beard dripping with frothy drivel.

Cate rolled to her side. Inching forward from the mist in the distance was the guard she’d struck with the arrows. The urge to spout profanities along with her utter disbelieve lingered on the surface. Fingers wrapped around her ankle, and her instinct was to kick. Her legs tangled in the fabric of her kirtle as she scrambled to regain her footing. Her eyes burned hot with swelling tears.

Fight, Cate. Be strong
.

She aimed for the man’s head, kicking with all the force she could muster, and the guard released her. Cate sought her sword but could not reach it in the fray. Both guards would be upon her within moments.

“Get up!”

The words, while not her own, resounded through her as if she’d spoken them herself.

Owen.

Her heart leapt inside her chest. In an instant, he was there, his body a barrier between her and the advancing guards. “Get up, Cate!” he repeated, fending off the closest guard.

Cate wobbled to her feet. Inhaling deeply, she forced her mind to clear and regain composure. When her eyes opened, the man with two arrows protruding from his chest stalked in her direction, nearly upon her. With no time to move, Cate took hold of one of the arrows and yanked it free from the man. He bellowed, the shock only seeming to fuel his purpose. Cate thrust the tip toward the man’s heart.

The arrow imbedded deep into the man’s chest, but still he pursued her. “Why won’t you die?” she growled, backing away. She needed to find her sword, but the grass was tall, and her vision skewed. A glimmer of light pierced the air around her, and she turned toward the disturbance. Suddenly, the guard fell to his knees, wavered precariously back and forth for a moment, then slumped forward, dead. Owen stood to the side with sword in hand, his chest heaving.

Cate released a breath. She fell to her knees and clutched her sides, gasping for a steadying breath that wouldn’t come. Never before had she been so close to death.

Owen stood over the body of the remaining guard, glaring at her.

“Thank you,” she started, rising from her kneeled position.

“Don’t.” His eyes cut into her as if daggers. Owen shook his head, sheathing his sword. “What… Cate, do you… I… What in hell were you thinking?” he spat.

Cate’s eyes narrowed. “I was thinking of the lives in my village. I only seek to protect them!” She crossed her arms against the cold, suddenly feeling a chill creep over her.

“We have been over this! At what cost, Cate? How many more must die?”

She stepped closer. “As many more as it takes!”

“Do you think I take delight in helping you with your little murderous frolics?” Owen raked a palm over his face. “I just killed two of the King’s guards… for you! I do not know what this hold you have on me is, Cate, but this must stop! Why do you challenge death so?”

Cate swallowed down the hard lump rising in her throat. Death. It lurked at every corner for her. Perhaps dying in a battle seemed the better way to die rather than being put on display for all to ridicule and pelt with stones. Maybe this was God’s way of sheltering her from a drawn out death, and she had been missing all the signs. Perhaps she was meant to die on the very spot it all started for her — where she learned of her father’s death — but Owen, this man, kept getting in the way of God’s plan for her.

How she wished she could make him understand. Being near him would only lead to his own demise. Sooner or later, her time on earthly ground would come to an end. She could not drag him down with her. “You must leave, Owen. No one is keeping you here, and you are under no obligation to help me. In fact, it would be rather delightful for you to leave now. I cannot very well keep on track with my tasks with the King’s Guard following me about all day. Go!” She waved him away as if a nuisance child. Cate turned her back on him. She must gather her wits and seek out Wallace. She would need help disposing of the bodies. Wallace might end up killing her himself, but at least he wouldn’t chide her so. Cate found her short sword and tucked it under her belt then searched the area for her discarded bow and quiver.

“And where do you think you are going?” Owen hustled to keep up.

“Do not waste your time on me, Owen.” She paused to turn toward him. “Do you not think it time to return to London as you said? I am sure your father must be inquiring of your whereabouts. You have been absent for some time. Not to mention, you must deal with that little problem of your
faithful
men.” Cate continued on the path to the MacKenzie’s, and Owen continued to follow.

Cate trudged the distance to Wallace’s home, only to find the couple fast asleep in their bed. Wallace, more than likely drunk, snored lightly as Cate attempted to rouse him. He snorted briefly when she roughly shook his shoulder. “I’m heading back out, Wallace. I will return in a fortnight. Mind if I borrow the mare out in the pasture?”

Wallace grunted.

Cate kissed him gently on the forehead then ducked out of the room. Still woozy from the copious amounts of wine she’d imbibed on earlier, she gathered a few supplies into a set of saddlebags, all the while eyeing the silent Owen with a suspicious glare. She was surprised he hadn’t tried to talk her out of leaving or attempted to shackle her yet. She couldn’t read his disturbingly placid features, and it flustered her. Once finished collecting her belongings, taking care to remove her armor from Owen’s things, she called in and tacked the chestnut mare. When she returned from the pasture, Owen was readying his own steed, Jack.