Captured by Her Enemy Knight

by Nicole Locke

  So he kept her that close. She should have been too tiny for him, his hatred of her too strong, but the touch of her body, the scent of her skin, all he felt was some unfathomable rightness.

  Only one other time had it felt like that for him. Once at a dance in Swaffham last winter where he met a masked woman...one that he hadn’t been able to forget. He dreamed of her late at night, saw her in every woman that even slightly resembled her, dark hair, eyes that met his. Their encounter was brief, he only touched her hand, but she haunted him. As the weeks turned into months, she became everything he wished for, if he could only find her again.

  Maybe if he hadn’t lost her that night, he’d realise she was nothing special. But they shared one dance and then she disappeared. He’d tried to find her afterwards, but no one knew who she was. He had no time to linger. His pursuit of his enemy was all consuming. His pursuit of this woman. The masked woman had to remain a dream.

  All the while, he listened to his enemy breathe, watched the fluttering of her pulse in her neck. Noticed her blushes as he tied her once again to the bed. The swallows she took of the weakened ale. Her eyes open to his, his palm cradling her head. The feel of her hair wrapping around his fingers. Mistrust until he took a drink from the same cup as her. Then defiance as she drank from that same side. From placing her lips where his had been.

  He couldn’t arrange his bedding for the night quickly enough. All against the door. An almost insurmountable trap, while he could sleep in comfort.

  And he needed to sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so, knowing the Archer was close, and he refused, refused to allow her to escape him.

  But now she was secured and he could succumb to his exhaustion. She might have slept, but there were dark circles under her eyes, she needed more.

  The fact he understood she needed sleep, that he was giving it to her, grated. But nothing else needed to be done for the night. To sleep. To rest, and tomorrow to start again. This from a place of knowing who she was and what she was capable of. To not underestimate her or the way he felt with her.

  Tomorrow would be different. He had the power now and he’d use it. Moments passed. The inn’s patrons retiring for the night left larger gaps of silence. Leaving just them in the room. Awake.

  She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. But he knew all the same, she was as awake as he. Every bone in his body demanded he rest, but she was within reach.

  Maybe here, now, would be different. Maybe now he could coax a secret. The need pounded in him to end this. He felt...he knew...too much time in her presence would only confuse what must be done. He had made a pact with the King, one he must fulfil or else jeopardise his friends. Whatever he felt when he was close to her must mean nothing. She could only ever be the Archer for him.

  Still, there wouldn’t be any harm if he asked questions. If she gave him lies, he’d end for the night and sleep.

  ‘I will take you to the Tower whether you tell me the truth or not,’ he said and waited. ‘Why bother to hide who you truly are?’ he continued even though she stayed quiet. ‘Don’t you take pride in your work? Those shots across my arm were beautifully executed. A friend of mine thought I had them done for art’s sake. Surely you have to know your skill is unparalleled. Why don’t you tell me of it?’

  She remained unerringly still, staring up at that ceiling, and he hated that he remained by the door where he could not see her expression.

  Sleep waited, but now that he asked these questions, he wanted to continue doing so. Even if she didn’t answer them, even if she didn’t...

  ‘No answer? How about your ability to kick? You are a slight thing, yet you’ve bruised my ribs and my nose swells. You recommended something to heal them. What was it?’

  Somehow her chest rose and fell enough for him to discern it under the quilt. A sigh, or was she weakening?

  ‘No words on how to heal me. No words at all. It will be a very long journey to the Tower. To your execution. Many men like to talk. To reminisce. To beg at these points. Men think it’ll soften me to their plight, or perhaps they want to be remembered. But you’re not a man, are you? Clever to disguise yourself as one. Or is it a disguise? You couldn’t kick me in a gown. Maybe you dress this way for all those trees you climb.’

  Still nothing. There were others in the past who’d kept their secrets until by some application of torture or threat, they broke. But words weren’t working here.

  What did he know of women? That they had strength, compassion. He couldn’t imagine her, a killer, to have any, but...nothing else was working. If she had compassion, if he had to make himself bleed to get answers from her he would. If this is what it took to bring her to confession—to torture himself—he would.

  Maybe it was sleep deprivation, maybe merely desperation. But he’d tell her all, tell her what he had lost. Tell her to call to some humanity within her. He killed when it became a matter of his life. She killed from a distance, when there was no possibility of coming to harm, and he didn’t know why. She wasn’t the enemy. Her accent was English.

  ‘The three men who were protecting me? I met Thomas when we were only five. He loved jests. Terrible ones. They didn’t make any sense, but he’d make them up while his mouth was half-full of stew and he’d almost choke himself to death laughing at his own humour.’

  He rolled his shoulders, feeling grief begin its painful grip. Each sentence, each memory opened wounds that cut far deeper than the ones she had given him.

  ‘Michael was far too quiet until he drank ale and we were always making sure he drank too much. Philip? I don’t know where he got his coin, but he had plenty and he spent it on the most ridiculous things that he had no use for.’

  The Archer stared at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling, but when he told of Michael, it caught, stuttered. He took a malicious pride in that reaction. Talking of his friends burned away whatever spell she cast with her looks, the softness of her hair in his palm.

  ‘What of your friends, have you lost them as well?’ he said. Another stutter to her chest, this time with a sound. Quick, brutal. Victory. ‘Tell me, little Archer, have you lost friends as well?’

  ‘I can’t—’ She jerked. ‘I’m not who you think I am.’

  A reaction or a lie? To see her expression! Though if he lit a candle, if he rose from the barricade he’d made by the door, he knew she’d say nothing more.

  ‘You can’t...what?’ he coaxed, keeping his voice even, almost soothing. Maybe this killer needed the dark to whisper her heinous confession.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I know you’re not who you pretend to be, but that’s the point of this conversation. I’ve told you of me. What of you?’

  Silence only.

  ‘I have been pursuing you for many seasons. I’ve studied you as much as you’d let me. I’ve come to conclusions which can only lead to your death. Don’t you wish to enlighten me to save your life?’

  She turned her head. He could almost see her now and was certain, with the shadows by the door, she couldn’t see him.

  ‘I said what I meant to say,’ she said. ‘You are mistaken. I am not the person you seek.’

  He’d kick the covers off him if it didn’t give his frustration away. Twice now. Twice she’d brought him to the edge. All this time, he’d imagined when he captured the Archer he’d feel only victory. He’d imagined that the vow inside him would be put to rest and he’d find some peace within him. Find whatever contentment and happiness she’d stolen from him.

  But, no, she’d keep to her horrible lies and obfuscation, her deceit. Taunting him with her mesmerising hair and unfathomable eyes. With a body that was honed as fine as her bow skills. And all of it sliced through his grief.

  He’d stormed away from her once and everything in him wanted to do it again. And she just lay there, her words meticulously controlled.

 
; ‘Not the person I seek?’ The words burned in his throat, in his heart. ‘You are hell to me. Hell.’

  Chapter Six

  It wasn’t a sound that woke Cressida. She could hardly hear anything above Eldric’s steady breath which hadn’t changed since he fell asleep atop the hill of blankets he’d insisted the inn provide him. The floor was well-worn wood, softened over the years and built with nary a gap between the planks. No draughts, a roof over her head, she would have contentedly fallen asleep without alerting others to her presence.

  But Eldric insisted on the thickest of blankets and a spare mattress from another room. Which all meant that even if he moved away from the door—a barrier to her escape—the weight of the rest of his comforts would preclude her from breaking past him.

  Every moment stuck was another agonising moment of imagining her father on a ship. A full day trapped and now her imagination had him with another child, with another weapon who would take her place.

  It wasn’t like her to agonise over rumours and thoughts. She was never idle, always running to the next camp to spy and gather information. Sometimes to be that weapon her father needed. Two days of being bound. Of someone else gathering food and taking care of her needs. All she had were these thoughts keeping her up all night.

  Though Eldric, in his tower of comfort, clearly had no difficulty sleeping. Even after he told her of the friends he lost because of her. Told and almost broke her. How weak she was with him! How much she wanted to comfort him for his loss when she was the one who had caused it!

  Not that he’d accept her offered comfort. Not ever. And even if she wasn’t who she was, why would he want her? She was...physically flawed, covered with her failings.

  After sleeping all day, she had no chance to sleep this night. In truth, she needed little sleep and Eldric...was Eldric, permeating all her thoughts awake and sleeping. Every move he made under the covers. Every turn and brush of his limbs against wool, every thump of his hand against the wooded door, or a dull bump of a foot against the floor plank, she heard and felt.

  To her everything he did was noisy, though he was probably no louder than any other. Everyone was noisier than her. But her focus on Eldric made anything else around them difficult to perceive, and that could easily result in her death...in his death if she wasn’t as well trained as she was.

  So her sudden alertness could only mean one thing. Danger. Stilling her breath and body, she ached to hear the now-familiar tromping of feet and muffled voices of the other inn residents she had been able to sift through over the last day. There were the feet of those travellers who came for the day and left quickly afterward. Then there was the innkeeper and his wife, the two girl servants and the three young men who carried buckets and food. There was one other regular set of footsteps. One she had assumed was a traveller staying for a few days in a fine inn, but now she knew differently, because she’d heard that distinct step before, that particular gait along the plankboards outside their door. It was here, again.

  This was no mere traveller rushing to the garderobe at the end of the hall. Her eyes went to Eldric, but he slept on.

  A shadow swept past the shutters just outside the room. The window was high in the wall and the light provided wasn’t moonlight, but flickering torches. Men at the door, others by the window. They were surrounded and she was bound. If she alerted Eldric, if she shouted out, it would only notify the men surrounding them.

  Another shadow. A moment of sound like a cough contained. They were too close now and she was truly helpless for the first time in her life. She looked to Eldric, only to see he wasn’t asleep. He lay in the same position, his back to the door, his body curled, facing her, but his eyes were open and pinned on her. With the softest of movements, he placed his finger against his lips for her to keep quiet.

  She moved her wrist, begging him to release her. His only response was to show his hand around the pommel of his sword, as he slowly stood up and moved to the right of the door.

  Leaving her completely trussed up like an offering to the mercenaries behind the windows and the door. Her heart hammered, but not for her safety. She knew what these men meant. Her father had been sending them to her since her disloyalty. They came, they fought and she received another mission. Right now, their surrounding them was merely another test she needed to pass.

  They wouldn’t permanently harm her; they wouldn’t dare. Even if they tried, she was usually prepared to quickly disable them and retrieve the next message from her father. It was the message, not the men, that was important.

  But this time was different. Now she was bound and Eldric gripped his sword. Eldric, who didn’t know this was one of her father’s games, who would take the threat in earnest; most likely fight to the death because that was how he was trained.

  What would happen then? Would the mercenaries forget the game as well? Would fatal blood be spilled? Worse, a mercenary could escape and report she was trapped, that Eldric was here. He would be in more danger than he already was.

  She shook her head and mouthed one word: No!

  He raised one brow as the door slammed open. The first mercenary tripped on the bedding and Eldric swung his sword.

  ‘Don’t kill him!’

  With a twist of his wrist, the flat of the sword hit the mercenary in the chest. She heard an arm break as the man fell. Two others forced their way in. Eldric gave a downward swing which caught the first one in the back of the head, but the other ducked and rolled over the overstuffed mattress.

  A bang on the window shutters warned of others. Eldric cursed as he fought the mercenary who had the advantage because Eldric’s back was to the opened door. Another bang outside, of feet scrambling to find purchase on wood.

  ‘Don’t leave me like this!’

  ‘You’re mine! They can’t have you.’ Eldric ducked the mercenary’s sword and dived towards the bed.

  ‘They don’t want me.’ That wasn’t exactly true, but how to tell him partial truths? She wasn’t used to talking at all, only holding secrets. Of hiding. ‘They—’

  ‘You told me not to kill!’ Eldric swung again, forcing the man to retreat further into the room. Closer to her and Eldric’s back was still vulnerable to the opened door. ‘You know them; tell me who they are.’

  ‘They’re here to harm me.’

  A crash of splintered wood. The shutters giving way beneath hands and iron.

  ‘They can wait their turn.’ Eldric rushed the man before him and bashed his fist against his temple. The man crumpled. Sprinting towards the bed, he cut her bound hands.

  Two more men poured through the door.

  This wasn’t right. There were too many. Many more than her father had ever dispatched before. And in this enclosed space she was unable to use her bow and arrow, her deadliest asset.

  Swords crashed on swords now. A grunt, the heavy shuffling of feet as Eldric fought two. So much noise and no one came to their rescue. That also didn’t bode well. Her hands were unsteady as she untied the knots around her ankles. Too many knots!

  She freed her feet just as the first man tumbled though the window. Lunging, she locked her arms around his neck until he passed out. She dragged his body into the room and grabbed his dagger as another man popped his head up. She dived under the window until he, too, hoisted himself over the sill, and she slammed the hilt on to the back of his head. He slumped and she dragged him into the room as well, then waited. Silence outside, while the movements of the men inside grew more reckless. She wouldn’t be distracted; she felt another person outside still.

  A crash into the wall as a body was slammed. Eldric? She looked; his sword was at an odd angle. His body was momentarily pinned to the wall, his chest and heart utterly exposed.

  He needed help! A scraping of a boot against wood outside. She couldn’t leave her position.

  Eldric dropped as a sword hacked into the wall right
where he had been. Cressida cursed. The mercenaries were ordered not to kill her, but that didn’t extend to witnesses.

  To stay here endangered Eldric, to not fight the man outside was fatal as well. The moment her back was turned, the mercenary would have the element of surprise.

  No choice for it, she’d risk her life. Jumping, she pulled herself up to the sill and looked down. By the unfettered malevolence of his expression, if the climbing mercenary could have yanked her over the sill and down below, he would have. Without a word, he dropped back to the ground and into the night. Most likely to gain entrance another way.

  She whirled around. Eldric now fought only one of them. Neither man had their swords, but his opponent had his dagger, twirling it as if deciding to throw or slice.

  With a yell, she charged. Eldric cried out as she leapt against the mercenary’s back, locking her arms around his throat to block his air. He grabbed her arms and flipped her over his body.

  She slammed into the floor, every bruise she’d already suffered roaring to life; she lost her bearings, couldn’t dodge the mercenary’s fist aiming for her chest.

  Not a fist! She tilted her body. The blade scored across her back and pricked the floor. His weight flung off her as Eldric tossed him towards the bed. His head, then his arm hit the post with a snap, he flopped to the ground and the dagger slid towards her.

  Skidding through the door, the man from under the window rushed in. His focus intent on Eldric, she threw the dagger. It lodged in his chest, knocked him back, his eyes locked with hers before he fell face forward. The thud echoed in the room.

  Silence for one, two heartbeats.

  ‘You killed him,’ Eldric said.

  Men lay at Eldric’s feet, a few of them already stirring. Her eyes sweeping for targets, she leapt across the floor, slamming the back of heads, knocking them out.