The Archer's Daughter (13 page)

A heady darkness greeted her, sucking away every last bit of hope remaining inside her. The shackles were removed from her wrists. Cate was led to a small room where she was checked thoroughly — and not at all kindly — for weapons and concealed items. Once cleared, she was then taken up several sets of stairs to a long corridor on the east end of the prison. Gated cells lined both sides of the small hallway. Thick iron bars barricaded all doors and the few windows at each end of the corridor. Both men and women moaned incoherently, their painful cries echoing throughout the expanse of stone. Cate envisioned the noises as the haunting spirits still trapped in the forsaken place.

The gaoler stopped just short of the end of the corridor. Before her was a long room, gated and locked securely. Inside, the walls of the cell were riddled with women of all ages and in the worst of conditions. Some were chained to the floor, while others were tethered to the walls. Cate heard the lock click. The gaoler heaved the door open then pushed Cate over the threshold. The women, filthy and malnourished, clawed at her feet as she walked through the maze of bodies. Their thick chains rattled with every move, and the noise bit at her ears. Cate was placed between two unmoving women against the wall. Both wrists were clasped in metal bands, which were attached to long chains on the wall behind her.

Although surrounded by dozens, Cate had never felt more alone. Sunken eyes stared at her, foreshadowing her own fate. The weight of the chains bore down on her, and soon she was forced to sit. She closed her eyes and prayed. She asked her father to forgive her and asked for protection for Owen. But most of all, she prayed for a knife so she might slit her throat.

Owen leaned against
the mullioned window framing, watching a steady mist fall on the rooftops of London from his high perch in his father’s office. The Captain carried on behind him, sorting papers and rambling on about the recent capture of more rebels, and what a grand spectacle he had planned for them at Tyburn, London’s current location for mass executions.

“We would charge admission, of course… for the hanging. I have been told the number is up to fifteen now,” the Captain said. “I’m sending a patrol in the coming days to round up more of the rebels.”

“And how many more must you acquire before you will be putting on this display?” Owen crossed his arms. The airs his father presented disgusted him. “You have been hunting these rebels for nearly a fortnight.” And all the while Cate rotted in prison with no respite in sight. He hadn’t been able to gain an audience with the King, and he didn’t dare speak to his father of his prospects.

Secretly, Owen had found a close aquaintance willing to deliver a set amount of coin to the prison in order to make sure Cate received food and water. Without it, she would surely starve. It was the least he could do for the time being, seeing as he was stuck between duty and his father.

And his conscience. Even confession hadn’t eased the guilt festering in his heart. With each passing day his mind spiraled ever deeper into the dark abyss that clouded every waking moment. He questioned every decision he’d made in the last fortnight, but one thing he was sure of… she had to live.

Lord Robert set the stack of papers he sorted purposefully on the desk and turned toward his son. “Does it matter? The more, the better, I say. This city is crawling with these maggots.”

Owen sighed, running his palm along his nape. “You cannot just go around gathering up anyone you suspect of being a rebel based on mere suspicion without just cause. It would never hold. These people, they are the backbone of this country. The laborers, the invisibles. I have seen how they live and what they must do to survive. Not all of them are rebels just because they are poor.”

“What has come over you, my son?” Robert glanced up from his desk. “You act as though you care about these people.”

“Sending all of these
rebels
to trial would last a month’s time.”

“Ahh.” The Captain grinned. “Therein lies the beauty of it all. There will not be a trial. They need only to confess.”

“And I am sure that will be beaten out of them?” Owen rolled his eyes. To think, he once aspired to be like his father. Mighty and merciless. He would do anything to please him. After witnessing the way things were handled at Mile End, Owen had immediately turned in his resignation. And yet, here he was, stuck in the same office with the man he now loathed. Before, he was a soldier, first and foremost. He’d followed, never questioned.

Until he met Cate. Cate had taught him that — to question everything. To see things in a different light, to go about freely. And now he wanted solitude and peace more than anything, and as far from London as he could possibly get. Even his estates in Banebridge seemed too close.

“Of course.” The Captain’s eyes wandered about the room, as if he were purposefully avoiding Owen. “All have confessed… all but that
girl
.”

The annoyance in his father’s infliction brought Owen to attention. “You’ve had the girl beaten?” He clenched his fists at his sides to keep himself from taking a swing in his father’s direction. A gut-consuming repugnance festered just under the placid demeanor he so desperately tried to portray. “She is a known felon. Hell… she sent Henry de Burke’s head along with her name… but, she will not yield. ’Tis the damnedest thing. She speaks in riddles, curses like a ruffian, and the gaoler told me she has even sung a minstrel’s tune when… questioned. Something having to do with three yellow-haired wenches. A jolly tune…” And with a slight fluttering wave of the fingers, his father cast the conversation aside, seemingly preoccupied with other matters.

The words bit at Owens ears. Oh, Cate. Willful right down to the end. Even when faced with death, she knew how to get to him. She stood strong even though imprisoned, while he stowed away in the safety of the guard tower. The law be damned. He needed to see her. If it meant risking his own neck to get inside Newgate, then so be it.

“We have quite the plan for that wench,” Robert continued. “She is a pretty young thing, and it would be a shame to let that go to waste. I’ll allow the men to have a go at her, of course, before her hanging. Stripped of her rags, she will be paraded through the city naked, for all to see. She made a mockery of the court, so I intend to return the favor.” Lord Lancaster tapped the tips of his fingers together, as if seeing the scheme in his mind. “Just before she is to hang, I will tell her just how her father died. Babbling like a babe. How delightful it will be. The look on her face when I tell her will be worth it all. The people will rejoice!” He threw up his arms in mock celebration.

Robert uncorked a decanter, pouring a bit of the amber liquid into two glasses. “Have a drink, will you? You look absolutely dreadful.” He handed Owen a glass.

Owen downed the liquor in one swallow. Honor and duty be damned. He must follow his true north. No woman, not even a criminal like Cate, deserved what terrible fate his father had in store for her. Owen loved that woman, damn it. Tonight, he would enter Newgate. He had no other choice. Cate had to know.

Owen paced his quarters, waiting for London to settle into the ominous darkness of late evening. He’d withdrawn enough coin from his coffers to pay off whomever might stand in his way or see his exit from the Guard Tower. Once sure he would not be called upon, Owen slipped out through the back doors undetected and made his way to the Guard stables. He chose to tack his own horse rather than have it readied for him… less questions needing answers he didn’t have. He spurred the horse onward, leaving the guard tower behind. Owen stuck to alleys and byways, taking the utmost care to avoid anyone who might recognize him. Being seen entering the prison without consent could cost him dearly.

Upon arrival at Newgate, Owen dismounted then handed both of the guards keeping watch over the entry several coins a piece. He told them to watch his horse and he would return in a few moments. They granted him entry without a fuss, pocketing the money.

The gaoler met him just inside the doors. “State your purpose.”

“I am here to question one of your prisoners about a murder. A Catherine Archer.” Owen tapped his coin purse.

The gaoler chuckled then smirked. “Aye, I know the name. A feisty tart, that one. She gives my men what for right proper, she does.” He waved his hand for Owen to follow. “This way.”

Owen followed the burly gaoler through dank corridors and up several flights of stairs. His heart pounded in his chest, further quickened by his taking the stairs two at a time just to keep up with the gaoler. For a man of his size, he could navigate his prison with the agility of a youthful boy. Shrieks and cries splintered through the paths as if they were spirits from long ago. Owen had the sudden urge to cross himself as he blindly followed the gaoler into the darkness.

“She’s back here,” the gaoler groaned while coming to a stop. He reached to his belt for a ring of keys. They unceremoniously jingled as the man twisted the lock. He tugged open the heavy gate just wide enough for Owen to step through. “Not long,” the gaoler muttered. “The condemned are not allowed visitors.”

“I will thank you heavily when I return.” Owen ducked through the doorway. The stench of death and sickness overwhelmed him and he staggered a step back, inhaling sharply. He paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. “Cate?” he called out.

“Cate?” a mocking voice echoed from within the shadows.

“Answer me, Cate. I must speak with you.” Owen ventured deeper into the long room. Dark lumps hovered near the walls, while some were splayed out along the floor, nearly piled on top of one another.

The echoing voice cackled from afar. “Cate, Cate!” The crazed voice then mumbled incoherently.

“Well, if it isn’t his Royal Highness, the Jackass of Banebridge…”

Cate. Her voice, while hoarse and raw, still sent his heart reeling. Owen chose his steps carefully, avoiding limbs and chains while he moved toward the direction in which Cate’s voice had originated. “Speak to me, Cate.” Still too dark to see her, he needed her guidance.

“Why didn’t you just kill me?” Her words wandered, the infliction drawn out and slow.

Left. Twisting toward her voice, Owen was at her feet within three short strides. He fell to his knees beside her. She slumped precariously against the back wall, as if she would keel over at the slightest of breezes. Chained by thick links, her arms hung to her sides. Gently, Owen cupped her cheeks in his palms. He tilted her head up until he could see the whites of her eyes. “Because I love you,” he murmured in reply. With every defiant fiber of his being, every beat of his heart, how he loved this woman.

“You sure have a daft way of showing it.” Her words came on a breathy whisper.

“You must forgive me, Cate. I did what I must. We both would have been killed on the spot had I proclaimed it earlier — hell, I do not think I knew of it before the night I lost you — I
will
make this right.” He gathered her into his arms, holding her against his chest. “You have to stay strong, Cate. I have a plan to free you of this place, but you must trust me. I understand how outlandish this must sound seeing as we’ve both betrayed one another, but you must have faith in me. You must live.” Owen squeezed her, his arms folding around her thinning frame. “As God as my witness, I
will
find a way.” He pressed his lips against the shell of her ear. “People will come to see you. They will give you instructions, and for once, by the mercy of God, you must do as they say. Speak of this to no one, do you understand?”

She nodded slightly.

“They will ready you for execution. If the guards question you, stay strong, and do not tell them anything. Do not give them reason to see you hanged earlier. My father has weight with the court… there will be no trial. Rather, a spectacle has been planned for this, and you the prize. He has a twisted heart and will keep you alive long enough to see his plan through. I have to convince my father to bide his time. I will give him an offer he cannot refuse.”

“My lord…” The gaoler gave his warning from the door of the cell.

Owen grazed his fingers along the curves of Cate’s jaw line. He kissed her eyelids atop of sunken eyes then carefully placed a kiss on the straight lines of her mouth.

“I cannot do what you ask of me, Owen. It is my time. I have lived this life to fulfillment. I accepted this fate a long time ago. Your time with me was just a sweet reprieve.”

“No,” he whispered, brushing the hair from her face. “You have the courage of any man. You can do this. I speak the truth, Cate. I am in love with you. I have been since I first saw you, and I will not live without you by my side. I will see this righted.” He felt her lips curve beneath his in a weak smile.

“Even when you thought me a lad?”

“One would have to be a fool to mistake such heavenly beauty for a boy.”

“My Lord Banebridge.” The gaoler addressed Owen with urgency.

“I must go,” he told her, although his heart begged him to stay. How he wanted to rip the chains binding her and leave London, never to look back. They could run, but to where? No, he had to do this right. He would still uphold honor and duty in the highest regard, but no longer for the approval of a man who would never freely give it. His father be damned. Owen had blindly obeyed for long enough.

Giving Cate one last embrace, he bid her farewell and told her to do as she was instructed, even though the tasks would seem illogical. Owen returned to the door. Digging in his purse, Owen removed a handful of coins and held them out for the gaoler.

The man hesitated but took them when Owen pressed them forward. “My family hails from Kent,” the gaoler whispered. “Let me know what I can do to help.”

Owen gave the man a hearty pat to the shoulder. “My thanks, friend.”

The gaoler locked the gate behind Owen and escorted him back through the twisting halls and stairwells. “Wait.” The gaoler held out his arm, blocking Owen, as a pair of prison guards rounded a corner. When the area was clear, they continued to the main entrance.

Owen thanked the man for his services and silence. The gaoler grasped him by the shoulder as Owen turned to leave. “You have my word, my lord. I was raised in Kent. That girl, she is a saint to those people. If you require my help, I will freely give it.”

Owen nodded. “I will be in touch soon.” He found his horse with the two guards he’d left it with just a short distance from the entrance to Newgate. He gave each guard one more coin a piece then mounted his steed. He tore through the streets toward his residence at the guard tower. There was much to be done, and his first order of business was with his father. He must persuade him to stall the execution. Owen would need the rest of the night to come up with a damned good reason why.

He spent the remaining hours of darkness at his desk scrawling out correspondence and plotting out his ideas for granting Cate her freedom. He paced the planked floor, taking note of the names of those he could call upon for favors owed. He’d saved many a life during skirmishes and battles throughout his service with the Guard, and if there was ever a time he needed help, this was the moment. How the hell he was going to get Cate released while still keeping his dignity and title, he didn’t know. Living in exile for the remainder of his days would do neither of them any good. He still had his pardon from the King; perhaps the retirement he’d been seeking should finally be put into effect.