The Archer's Daughter (14 page)

Owen waited until his father had settled into his office after the morning meal to approach. After downing a glass of liquid courage, Owen rapped on the office door.

“Enter,” called Robert.

Owen pushed the door open and stepped into the room. “Good morning, Father.”

“Yes, what is it? I have much to do today.” His father sat behind the sizeable desk, scrawling on parchment.

“I grow bored. Allow me to lead the search for more rebels. I know where some make camp, and it would be an honor to bring them to justice.”

Robert still focused on his work. “I left Harrison in charge. I need you here to plan the execution. You have a commanding head on your shoulders, and I know you will see it through.”

“Harrison is a clodpate. He harbors ill intentions against you and the King and only seeks coin. He will not hesitate to leave you destitute when it comes time for the executions. You will find yourself wanting, Father, and how will that look in the eyes of the King? Allow me to go. I will not fail you.” Owen placed both palms on the desk, leaning over its gilded edges.

Robert sighed. “Very well, I will change the order. I will give you one week’s time to round up as many as you can. I do not care if they are children. Get a confession from them in any way you know how.”

“Thank you. You will be the talk of the city, I promise you that. So please… just await my return.” Owen left the room to ready.

An hour later, a messenger delivered a note detailing where to meet the guards Owen was to command to round up more rebels for Lord Lancaster’s display. The more he could bring in, the better, he was told. The guards were to meet Owen at dawn’s first light — unfortunately for them, Owen would be long gone by then. Owen scrawled a response on the note to his father, stating he’d already gathered his own trustworthy men and did not want to wait on ill-equipped for hire mercenaries. The ruse would buy him time.

With correspondence in
hand, Owen left his quarters without so much as a second glance. He chose to forgo the evening meal, and in its stead, sought a meeting with an old friend in Highgate. The Gatehouse was a clandestine pub — hidden from the main street in the well-to-do town and often overlooked by all but those who had use of its intended purpose. Unknown and out of the public eye, it was the perfect headquarters in which to set his plan to action.

Big Ben Murtaugh wasn’t hard to find once inside the Gatehouse. All Owen needed to do was look for the loudest, biggest bear of a man in the place. Sure enough, at a back corner table sat his old friend. Although it had been nearly five years since Owen had last seen Ben, the man hadn’t changed in the least. His dark hair was just as wild and untamed with a full beard to match. He drank from a tankard, downing the insides in long gulps. When Ben caught sight of Owen, he rose, pushing back his chair with such a force that it tumbled backward to the floor.

“Ladies,” Ben addressed the tarts lingering near the table. “Stand, as you are now in the presence of greatness.” Despite his towering size, Ben greeted Owen with a low, swooping bow. “Your lordship, to what do I owe this honor? Please, come and sit for a spell.”

Owen grinned. “I wouldn’t want to interfere in what might be your only chance at achieving a place to sleep tonight.” The men laughed, embracing as old friends. Owen clapped Ben on the shoulder. “It has been a long time, my friend.”

“Indeed,” said Ben. He righted his chair and then sat, shooing the women away from the table. “So what brings you to Highgate, my lord?” As Owen sat opposite the table, Ben pushed a tankard in front of him. “The last I heard you were on your way to a speedy retirement.”

“I have come to call upon you for a favor.”

Ben leaned back against the splat of the chair. “So a serious visit, then?” His demeanor changed, a solemnity settling over his brow.

Owen toyed with the tankard, swirling it in circles in the dewy puddle the condensation created on the worn wooden table surface. “Yes, of the greatest importance. I hate to ask you, but I know not whom else to ask. I trust none other in this wretched city.”

“After five years with not so much as a how do you do, for you to call upon someone such as me, a favor can only be one of two things. Money or a woman.” Ben raised a bushy brow and cleared his throat. “
Viscount Banebridge
.”

Owen stumbled over his words before sighing. “Yes, ’tis most certainly a woman.”

“Ahh!” Ben playfully taunted. “It is always a woman!” He laughed, his great size jiggling against the wooden table, causing it to rock precariously on rickety legs. He slapped a palm down suddenly on the table surface. “So tell me of this woman, Bane. Did you finally agree to a well-suited union?”

Owen’s father had set up several betrothal meetings over the years, and Owen had denied every one of them with every excuse under the sun given. From sickly to intolerable, he’d broken his share of hearts.

“On the contrary,” he said. “She is the forbidden fruit.”

“Tell me you did not fall for a whore.” Ben looked at Owen expectantly. “No matter how much she says she loves you, she is lying. She loves your large… purse.”

“No, not a whore. A stubborn, pig-headed twit of a thing who mocks my title at any given opportunity, and my money is the least of her wants. Even if she did have it, she would give it all away to those less fortunate. Her complete disregard for authority is abhorrent, yet her unyielding loyalty to those she holds affection for would rival any sworn fealty. She is truly a marvel.”

Bed nodded. “And you love this woman?”

Owen had never been so sure of anything in his life. “With every fiber of my being.”

“And this woman, does she love you back?” Ben leaned closer, his eyes fixed on Owen.

“I… I believe so. She didn’t kill me when given the chance, so that is promising.” He had spilled his heart to her in the prison cell, but she hadn’t repeated the words back to him. Owen didn’t know whether or not her feelings held true. Love or no, it didn’t matter. He would free her — risk everything — because he had told her he would do so. He would keep his word. He would give his life for her, if that was what God asked of him.

“I owe you a great deal, seeing as you saved
my
life once, so tell me how I can save yours. What it is you want me to do for you, my friend?” Ben brought the tankard of ale to his lips.

“Help me break her out of prison,” Owen said bluntly.

Ben Murtaugh promptly choked on his ale. After a bout of sputters and a coughing fit, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “By all that is holy, man, pray tell, who is this woman you speak of? Certainly no lady, I presume?”

“The rebel leader, Cate Archer,” Owen replied, his words hushed so that others might not overhear his treachery against the Crown. He couldn’t be sure of just how well known her name had become since her capture.

“You aim beneath your station, my lord?” Ben seemed genuinely taken aback by the revelation. “And a wanted woman? You certainly know how to pick ’em, eh?”

“By God, I am not worthy of her. She is the flicker of light in an eternal sea of darkness.” Owen rubbed his nape. He knew not how a person could frustrate him so, yet turn him to a bowl of mush at the simple thought of her. Station, nobility, breeding… wealth — none of it mattered to him in the least. He wanted
her
, not what her lineage had to offer. “She challenges every known boundary and speaks her mind freely. And when she touches me, Ben… I have never felt something so blood-tingling.”

“I have never known you to feel so strongly for a woman,” Ben said. “This Cate must mean a great deal to you for you to seek me out in such a way, and I will give you my help. Tell me of your plan. That is… if you have one?” He raised an eyebrow in speculation.

A plan. What he had was an idea he hoped he could pull together without dying in the process. Owen pulled a stack of sealed parchment letters from his satchel. “I am in need of three couriers, each to deliver these,” he said, pushing the letters across the table closer to Ben. “They must carry them with the utmost speed and tell no one. Secrecy is of the essence. The locations are written on the front of each. I will pay them well for the task. Do you know of three you trust?”

“I do,” said Ben. “I will send two of my own sons and know of a trustworthy third.” He scooped up the letters and tucked them inside his coat. “What else?”

“I am in need of a churlish group easily swayed by coin, and I also need someone to fetch a washerwoman by the name of Nel. She resides in Lancashire. Erm, do you own a wagon, by chance?” Owen recalled every step of his plan in his mind, spouting what details he could remember. His encounter with Ben was his only chance to see each step completed.

Ben laughed. “What in hell is this plan where you need a crew, a wagon, and a washerwoman? Are clean linens of the utmost importance here?”

Owen cracked a smile. He knew very well how absurd it all sounded, but the less Ben knew, the less opposition he might incur. “If all goes as planned, I will remove Cate from her cell in plain sight, and none will be the wiser.” There was much work to be done. Owen continued to tell Ben of the plan, and the pair solidified what would work and what would most likely get them caught. For the plan to flow inconspicuously, Owen relied heavily on the allegiance of the gaoler and could only pray the man would stay true to his word. Putting absolute trust in a stranger was harder than Owen ever imagined.

“Meet me here in three days’ time, just after sunset, and I will have worked out the details.” Ben bid Owen farewell and they shook hands — the deal had been struck.

After gulping down a hot meal, Owen retrieved his horse from the stable in the back alley behind the Gatehouse and set his course for Hawkhurst. He didn’t know how well he would be received, but he was counting on Wallace’s love for Cate to keep him alive.

He rode to the brink of exhaustion, only stopping when his mount demanded it. Owen traveled the quickest route possible — straight through Bedgebury — and for once in his life, prayed he would come face to face with a peasant rebel or two. In an unfortunate turn of events, Owen seemed to be the only soul in the woods. Perhaps the woodland creatures sensed his urgency, for not even the trill of the prevalent dunnock was present.

When Owen arrived at the MacKenzie’s, he flung himself from the saddle, promptly falling in a crumpled heap on the ground. Unbeknownst to Owen, his legs had lost their feeling and had turned into a shaking puddle of limbs. A tingle swept the length of his body, and he rolled to his back to stare up at the early evening sky, attempting to gather thoughts and breath. The delicate evening pinks melted into soft hues of blue, swirling together like a mouth-watering dessert pudding. His stomach groaned, forcing Owen to clasp his palm over the pang.

“Are ye alright there, Lord Banebridge?” A heavily bearded Wallace stared down at Owen. After a few moments of a solid glare, the Scot offered a helping hand up.

Owen clasped Wallace’s palm and stumbled to his feet, his legs still wobbly.

Wallace scratched the hair on his chin. “What brings ye to Hawkhurst, my lord?”

“Cate,” Owen replied.

“Cate isnae here,” Wallace tentatively stated, eyeing Owen.

Owen sucked in a deep breath before revealing Cate’s whereabouts. “She is in Newgate, and I am here to ask for your help.”

“The prison?” Wallace balled his hands into fists at his sides. “Ye were supposed to protect her!”

“I know, and I have greatly failed on my part.” Owen straightened, stiffening his spine. “I love that woman, and I will do anything to see her freed.”

Wallace looked about then waved Owen closer. “Come in, come in.”

Owen followed Wallace into the home and tipped his head when he saw Alice. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Alice.”

“Alice, make the man a plate — he’s starving.” Wallace sat at the table and motioned for Owen to follow. “So tell me how ye intend to save my Cate.”

Owen informed Wallace of his proposal, of his meeting with Ben Murtaugh, and how he planned on removing Cate from her cell right under his father’s nose. A well-timed skirmish in the forest would draw most of the guard from London, allowing Owen more freedoms to leave the city undetected.

“Ye are going to get yerself killed,” said Wallace.

“If that’s what it takes.” The surety of Owen’s words surprised him. Yes, he was willing to die for her. He
would
die, if that was what God required of him. He would pay his penance for his sins however Christ deemed worthy.

Alice placed a bowl of steaming stew and a cup of wine on the table in front of Owen.

“Thank you.” He smiled at the woman and took up a spoonful.

“Well…” Wallace paused. “This wee plan of yers is so mad, it might just work. And I would be proud to be a part in it. The minstrels will sing of it in years to come, whether ye are successful or not. When do we leave?”

“I wish to be on the road by morning, as I must meet Ben in London. Wallace, do you own a wagon, by chance?” Owen slurped at his dinner, briefly forgetting manners in an effort to fill the ache in his belly.

“Eh, no, but I know a lad who owes me a rather large favor. I am quite sure I could wrestle one away.” Wallace chuckled.

“Excellent. It needs to be large enough to fit several bodies,” Owen said.

Wallace stood. “Finish yer meal, my lord, and I will go fetch us a wagon.” The Scotsman kissed his wife, grabbed an overcoat, and then left the house.

Exhausted, Owen curled up on a blanket near the fire and slept without prompting. His dreams were filled with images of Cate, and her wisplike ghostly figure sent him into a panic. He couldn’t reach her, so he called out her name, willing her to answer.

She did not.

~~~~

A fine mist
settled over Hawkhurst. Owen paced the ground while he waited for Wallace to finish hitching Owen’s horse to the rickety wagon. The sun had yet to rise, but if they tarried for much longer, they wouldn’t reach Ben in time.

“Are you ready, man?” Owen pressed a palm against the tension building along his nape.

Wallace fiddled with the leather straps, struggling to keep Jack in place. “Well, seeing as my cart horse was taken in the middle of the night by a pair of ruffians…” Wallace turned to deliver a glare. “We have to make do with your beast. And he doesn’t take to being confined, now, does he?” Wallace climbed into the wagon and gathered the reins. “Aye. Let us be off, then. I believe there is some rescuing in need of doing.”

Owen nodded in agreement. A fair assessment. He joined Wallace on the rickety bench seat, and the pair started the arduous journey to Highgate. Time was slipping by.

The men kept to the roads, but the traveling was slow. Jack wasn’t at all accustomed to hauling a wagon and refused to cooperate at times. Owen dared not remove him from the bindings in fear the horse would bolt, leaving them helpless and stuck in the forest. They stopped to rest for a few brief moments, allowing Jack access to water from a small creek they needed to cross. After pushing the wagon free of the muck, the men were back on course, with sights set on Highgate. The chatter was light, both going over the plan several times until they knew it backwards and without thought. Neither knew if it would work, but both agreed it was their best shot at getting Cate out alive. Sneaking her out from inside the prison gates would never be suspected. Especially not by the son of the Captain.