The Archer's Daughter (12 page)

“Where are we going?” Owen asked as he mounted his horse.

“
We
… aren’t going anywhere. You are returning to London, and I am returning to my trees.” Cate hoisted herself into the saddle, adjusting the length of her kirtle. She would have to make a note of changing her attire as soon as possible, as the fabric was a dreadful annoyance to ride in. She just needed a new set of hose to accompany her armor, and she would be good as new. The first lone sap to wander through her forest would leave it bruised and bottomless.

“Are you continuing to search for your father’s killer?” Owen reined his horse closer to Cate’s.

She straightened in the saddle. “And what of it?”

Owen didn’t reply. He stared at her, as if he could see right through her hardened exterior. Cate clucked her tongue at the mare and turned her in the direction of Bedgebury forest.

They traveled together in silence for quite some time. Owen left Cate to her thoughts, which ran wild with speculation. Truth be told, she hadn’t the slightest inkling of what to do next. She thought she was on the right path with the killing and robbing of guards and excisemen, but Owen had been right… even if he hadn’t spoken the words. All the fighting and the killing was getting her nowhere. The only thing revenge was leading her toward was a short drop and a sudden stop. Her neck was on the line, and now with a hefty bounty, at that. And still, she was no closer to avenging her father’s death. Her once clear thoughts were now clouded with madness. With each passing day of not finding the man responsible, she spiraled further into the darkness. She must put an end to this… her father deserved justice.

She would return to the forest, to gain what little knowledge the people might have of the massacre. A name was all she needed, but with so much death, who would be willing to give it? Cate sighed. Perhaps she was going about it all wrong. She needed to speak to those who were there, perhaps even bribe an unsavory group with coin from her own pocket. They would know those involved in the massacre at Mile End. They could give her names. Precious names.

Cate tried to picture the negotiations in her mind. What had happened that fateful day? Who would travel with the King — his retinue? Certainly he would need protection. His royal guard would be in attendance, as well as a fair amount of his forces. The Captain of the guard would surely be called upon for guidance, as the King was young and unwise in the ways of negotiations. Surely, the Captain would want his progeny by his side. Only the best for such a precarious situation.

Cate brought her mount to a sudden halt. A thousand fists seemed to punch her in the gut. “You were there.”

“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 the 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.

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?”

“You dare threaten me?”

“Drawn and quartered, Harrison. Not pleasant.”

“Why do you think your father is here? Because you failed to do your duty. It was I who informed your father of your shortcomings.”

“She sits there in shackles, does she not?”

“’Tis easy to catch a whore when your cock is in her.”

Cate suddenly forgot how to breathe. She struggled to stay still. Every bit of her wanted to throttle Harrison. Both men had convincing arguments. So much so she could not tell with whom Owen sided. Father or lover?

“Owen!” the Captain called, interrupting the battle of wills.

When the footsteps retreated, Cate opened her eyes. She was alone. Rising to prop herself up against the tree, she waited. The men gathered their weapons, checked leather straps on horse tack, and conversed among themselves. One man stood statuesque nearby, surveying the distance on watch. Cate absorbed every detail — which hand each guard favored, how many carried swords and daggers, and who protected the Captain. She also noticed that Owen showed no interest in her at all.

A guard pulled Cate to her feet and towed her to the horses. Still shackled, she struggled to get in the saddle. The guard grasped her buttocks with both palms and squeezed, pushing her upward. Cate balked, swinging her bound fists in his direction. The guard walloped the back of her head in retaliation. Once the ringing in her ears subsided, she placed her foot in the stirrup and attempted to mount just to keep the guard at bay. Again, the guard made a grab at her, and all too close to her womanhood. Swinging her leg over the saddle, Cate settled into the seat. Staring down at the guard, she growled, “I swear to Jesus Christ, if you touch me one more time I will have your head on a pike.”

The guard made movement to strike, but Owen interrupted. “Murray, let the girl be.” Owen may have been keeping his distance, but Cate noticed how his eyes never stopped following her.

The group traveled in silence, leaving Cate to muddle through her nightmarish thoughts. The grueling pace didn’t allow for conversation. The road to London, now well-trodden and pronounced, permitted the horses to canter in rows of two. They would reach London soon.

From the crest of a hill, Cate spied the Thames on the horizon. The road they traveled opened into Southwark, the village just outside of London Bridge. Villagers scurried behind doors as the guarded party charged by. When the group approached the bridge, the guards called out orders to raise the gate. London Bridge towered over them. Cate stared in awe of its enormity. Beggars — sick and poor — pleaded nearby for alms as they waited for the massive iron gate to move upward. Cate wished she was able to aid them.

The gate slowly rose, and her eyes followed its ascension to the towers. A row of decomposing heads teetered on wooden pikes along the parapet. They were displayed in fanfare for all to see, and there was no doubt in Cate’s mind they belonged to those involved in the uprising. She turned away, trying to forget the agonizing death masks on the faces.

“Is that your kin?” The guard, Harrison, laughed as he trotted past Cate.

Her body told her to run like hell. In truth, she wanted to curl into a ball and cry. She couldn’t control her trembling as her horse was led along the expanse of the bridge and over the river. Her thoughts roamed to the contemplation of jumping, and the distance from bridge to water. She scowled. She’d sink, anyway, and she wasn’t at all keen on drowning, especially in the vile muck that was the Thames.

The Captain barked orders, pulling Cate from her morbid thoughts. They had reached the end of the bridge and sprawling London lay before her.

“Take the prisoner to Newgate by way of Watling, and keep her guarded at all times. Do not underestimate her, is that understood?”

“Yes, Captain!” a guard replied.

“Owen, come with me.”

Owen followed his father in the opposite direction, leaving her with a handful of surly guards. They escorted her down the expanse of Watling Street, completely surrounded on all sides. While passing St. Paul’s, Cate asked, “Might we stop for confession? I’m sure we all have sinned against God in recent days. Some more than others.” Her words were directed at Harrison.

The guard leading her horse answered, “You may ask for a priest before your execution. You may confess then.”

Cate didn’t find that at all comforting.

Newgate Prison was an imposing structure — dark and weepy. The stones, slick with draining rain water, looked as though they cried the tears of those doomed inside its thick walls. The gaoler met the group at the gate.  Words were exchanged and papers given detailing Cate’s crimes against the Crown. Within a matter of moments, she was taken from her horse and shoved through the heavily armored door to the prison.