The Archer's Daughter (6 page)

And only once. She needn’t get carried away with bothersome things like feelings. “You need a name, horse,” she muttered. “Perhaps I shall call you… Dinner.”

An early evening mist settled around the trees as Cate neared the clearing in which she’d left Owen. Tiny droplets of water and sweat clung to her skin, plastering her tangled hair to her brow and cheeks. Several long strands had worked their way free from the binding and blew freely with the light breeze. Dropping the saddle, Cate took a moment to gather herself. She let loose her hair, removing the strip of twine keeping it in place along her nape and tucked the scrap in a saddlebag. She ran her fingers through the mess, attempting to tame the dark waves. The horse snorted, blowing a lock of hair from Cate’s shoulder. She gave its nose a gentle push. “I still fare better than you, Dinner.” Cate sighed, heaving up the saddle once again. “Let us go see how the handsome adversary copes, shall we?”

Finding Owen where she had left him, she paused to watch him. He didn’t see her approach; rather, he focused with cautionary hesitation at the bloodied gash on his thigh. He picked at the torn fabric, assessing the inflicted damage, gritting his teeth as he enlarged the tear in his breeches. Owen let out a stifled cry and sucked in a breath. He muttered a curse then took hold of another piece. Before he could muster up the courage to jerk it free, Cate stepped forward and cleared her throat, hoping the disturbance would make for an opportune distraction.

“Out of all the horses, you choose the one most likely to die?” Owen chuckled, pushing back the damp locks clinging to his brow.

Cate dropped the saddle and glared at Owen. “Did you happen to see a herd stroll through, by chance?” She took the opportunity to scratch the horse’s cheek. “I thought him dead, but he is alive enough to make it home. Come tomorrow’s eve, we will eat until our bellies grow sick.”

“You are not eating my horse.”

“He’s going to die anyway, aren’t you, Dinner?” She cooed, turning her attention to the horse. It snorted and shook its head, pulling against the bit.

“You
are
a little murderous bitch, aren’t you?” A heavy laugh erupted from Owen, and he smiled. “He is called Jack, and I am thankful he still lives.”

“Why, so you can hide my armor again, my lord? In the pack the entire time? I should wallop you.” She left the horse to graze and knelt beside Owen. “Let us take a look, shall we?” Cate tenderly peeled away the fabric from the wound on Owen’s thigh, gently touching the reddened skin around the gash, looking for bleeding or more punctures. Slipping both palms inside the tear in his breeches, Cate wrapped her fingers around each side of his thigh, sliding her palms down the sinewy flesh. The muscle grew taught beneath her touch, and Owen sucked in a sharp breath when the back of her hand grazed his groin. Her eyes met his.

“The goods are still there, darling, you need not worry.”

Cate felt her cheeks flush. Returning to her examination, she gauged the full length of the wound. It was long but not overly deep. “It doesn’t seem as though it will kill you, but if we don’t deliver you to a physician soon, I fear the imminent pus will. I will clean it the best I can, and in the morning, we will ride to my village.” Cate withdrew her hands, the sudden change in temperature sending chills up her arms. “I fear the hardest part will be getting you there.”

“I’ll be fine.” Owen nodded in the direction of her wound. “What of you? Your wound bleeds.”

A darkened wet spot seeped through her tunic, and she covered the stain with her palm. She hadn’t noticed the blood until he mentioned it. “Bugger,” she cursed, gathering the hem of the tunic. She tugged at it, exposing her soiled bandage. “It looks as though we will both be needing that physician.” Cate smiled, but a silent panic took root in her chest. This wasn’t the way she had pictured her death.

Somehow, she managed to tear off a sleeve from a tunic on a dead man. It was relatively clean and would make do for a bandage. When she finished securing it around Owen’s wound, Cate helped him to stand. “We need to leave this place. The others are sure to collect their dead soon, and it would be best if we weren’t here. Can you ride?”

“You should take the horse,” he replied.

“This is no time to play the gentleman. Get on the horse before I slaughter it right here.” The idle threat worked, for Owen helped her saddle Jack. Cate helped Owen mount the uneasy beast, taking great care with placing his foot in the stirrup as to not disturb the makeshift bandage on his thigh. Owen gathered up the reins, all the while arguing that Cate should be the one riding, despite her evil looks.

Cate inspected the sky, seeking the position of the sun. Taking the horse by the bridle, she pointed it homeward, to Hawkhurst. She walked alongside the horse with her found bow slung loosely over her shoulder. Were they to be attacked, she would be ready. She decided they would cut through the forest and remain clear of the roads, as they were more apt to run into resistance along the well traveled paths. She knew the forest well and was confident she would lead them true. Cate also wanted to avoid meeting up with any of the Royal Guard, who may be seeking out Owen. That would not fare well for her… not at all.

Dinner the horse grew tired before long, giving Cate a reason to make camp for the night. She wouldn’t admit that she, too, was near the point of exhaustion. The events over the last several days had tested her endurance as well as her spirit. Never before had she faced such dire measures. The romps through the wood seemed like child’s games compared to what she faced now. Her well-thought-out plan to rid Kent of money-hungry thieving nobles was now just a distant memory.

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.”