Captured by Her Enemy Knight

by Nicole Locke

  Utterly aware of Eldric standing and watching everything, she dragged the two bodies under the window together, swiped the bindings he’d used on her and tied them to each other. There wasn’t enough binding for their feet, but if she tied their hands, used the furniture, it would hold them until she escaped.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I have to—’ She clenched the tunic of another mercenary and dragged him until he was closer to another. Every movement stung as the wound in her back pulled and fresh blood poured. No hope for it. She needed to be done quickly and leave before the mercenaries woke or the game would begin once more. Injured, she would be too weak to fight again.

  ‘You killed him. You told me not to kill—why did I not kill them?’ He shook his head.

  She had killed a mercenary. She had killed one of her father’s men. She hadn’t been thinking. Instinct. The heat of the moment? No, she did it because Eldric was risked. Because...she was protecting him.

  ‘It was an accident,’ she said.

  His eyes, which had blazed with retribution, censored at once. ‘You never have accidents. Not a murderer like you.’

  She couldn’t say anything to that. On both accounts, it was the truth. It was no accident; she’d kill again to save Eldric. As for her being a murderer...it was and would always be how he saw her. No choice now. No ruse or fakery. She’d shown her true self when she fought the mercenaries.

  Now she needed to do what needed to be done. Then...then she’d find a way to apologise to her father. She simply needed more time. Lifting the bindings in one hand, she said, ‘I need to leave. Help me before they waken.’

  ‘We need to leave,’ he corrected. ‘You’re my captive and this location is compromised.’

  ‘I am no captive,’ she said.

  She could run right now, but she needed to search for the missive attached to one of the men. Which pouch? How to search when Eldric’s entire focus was her?

  ‘Something is wrong.’ Eldric looked out in the corridor. ‘Dead of night, but we made sound. Where are the innkeepers?’

  ‘They would have been paid.’

  His head swung to hers, she ignored his glare and knotted the rope around another pair of wrists.

  ‘Even the patrons?’ At her shrug, he continued, ‘You’ve done this before. You knew they were coming.’

  There was no pretending she was some healer, or an innocent maiden he’d mistakenly kidnapped. She could barely maintain the ruse before her father’s men attacked. ‘If I was alone, they would have only harmed me. If they could have got to me. They mostly never do, but here in this room there was no choice. Being bound made this far more dangerous. They never would have intended—’

  ‘Harmed you? Intended! He thrust a blade at your heart!’ Eldric pointed to the man slumped against the wall. ‘That one tried to gut me.’

  ‘It’s not true,’ she said, scrambling to her feet, not wanting to think on that or the ramifications of the man she’d killed. She hid her grimace as she felt her back wound tear that much more. The pain froze her for a moment, two before she could take the next few steps to Eldric’s packed tunic to tear it into strips. ‘It can’t be true. We...misinterpreted what they were doing. We need more bindings to gag them.’

  ‘Bones!’ Eldric yanked the clothing from her to rip himself. ‘Tell me who those men were. Why did you not want me to kill them?’

  If she meant to protect Eldric, she could tell him nothing. Yet, she knew he would keep questioning her. He’d let nothing go since she released that first arrow and marked his arm. Something bound them that day. Something...inevitable.

  Like heartache. Loss. As much as she cared for him, he would always hate her.

  Her back throbbed and dizziness hit her. She needed to find the missive from her father telling her what he expected next. His orders centred her, gave her purpose. Reminded her of what was right and true. Then she could find a shelter and hide until she was safe to travel again.

  Too much time with Eldric. With their words exchanged and his deeds. Saying he wanted only her death, but giving her food, shelter, ensuring the bindings would not cut. Too many words, his unfailingly all-too-close presence. All of it confusing. Her life wasn’t meant to share with another. Her father and his missions were all she was, all she should be.

  There! She spotted the red pouch attached to one of the men by the window and flipped it open. Inside was the almost comforting sealed parchment. Her father was still with her. He was here even among this chaos and Eldric’s questions. Ripping it open, she read words on the page. Ones that couldn’t be—

  A moan from one of the captives as Eldric yanked him up. He rammed part of his tunic into the man’s open mouth and cinched the ropes around the last two mercenaries’ wrists. Their limbs whitened around each rope knot.

  He caught her eye. ‘Do not think I do your bidding now. These men tried to kill me no matter what you believe. They deserve every bit of pain I mete out to them before we go to—What are you reading?’

  Nothing. She felt the paper in her hand; forced her chin to lower. Begged her eyes to decipher a different set of sentences. The same. Letters swirling before her. Triple-checked the handwriting, and the seal. It was her father’s. Everything in her knew it was her father’s, but it couldn’t be.

  ‘Nothing.’ She crushed it. ‘I’d hoped that it would be some—’

  Eldric snatched the message, stepped back, read it. Glanced at her as if he didn’t know who she was. She didn’t blame him. She didn’t know herself.

  Hours of him demanding answers. She needed a few of her own. She shook the bound mercenary who had the pouch. His eyes fluttered, but his head stayed lulled.

  ‘Stop it,’ Eldric ordered. ‘Do you mean to undo our deeds?’

  Cursing, she shook the next mercenary, felt the skin in her back tear until white stars threatened her vision. Somewhere she heard a groan, but her captive didn’t wake. Impatient, she slapped his face. His eyes shot open and she stared straight into them.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  He moaned.

  Shaking him again, she demanded, ‘Do you?’

  He swallowed. ‘You’re his first daughter.’

  She should be his only daughter. ‘What was your mission?’

  He sneered. ‘To kill you.’

  She locked her suddenly weakened spine. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘You’re expendable. He has another.’ His grin widened. ‘There will be others. There will be others and they’ll come for you as well. Finally, you’ll get what’s coming to you. Replaced by a half-Scottish child no less. Stolen and half-filth and still he wants her more than you. You’re not his favourite any more and you know what that means. You know—’

  He jerked; blood poured from his lips. Cressida dropped him, finally recognised the dagger in his chest. She turned.

  ‘You can’t tell me not to kill that one,’ Eldric said. ‘Should I do the rest?’

  There was no answer to that. She didn’t make the decisions on whether someone lived or died. That was her father’s choice. Except for Eldric and his music, the rest of the world didn’t exist for her, yet she suddenly seemed to be in the middle of it.

  It was too much. Too much and all too soon. She felt oddly weak from it all.

  Eldric’s eyes narrowed on her. ‘Are you fainting?’

  She didn’t think so, but what did she know of fainting? She’d been knocked unconscious before and this felt like that, but her eyes were open. All she knew with certainty was the world wasn’t as steady as it once was.

  ‘Tell me who you are.’ His fingers flexed as if wanting his sword. To gut her? To die by Eldric’s hands was all too believable an end for her.

  ‘Who do you think I am?’

  He growled low, without mercy, ‘What you have always been to me: my enemy, the Archer.’
r />   She closed her eyes on that truth. She was only death and it was all she deserved as well. ‘I am...what my father made me.’

  Chapter Seven

  Eldric didn’t know anything. Oh, he was certain this was the woman who had killed his friends—the same Archer he was required to bring to King Edward for beheading, for torture—and she’d proven who she was when she fought him and the trained men. No woman fought like that without years of gaining these deadly skills.

  She was a killer and, after months of hatred, hatred he still harboured, he’d captured her. But everything else... He kept her here trying to gain answers, but at this moment, facing her, his blood ramming through his veins, he no longer knew the correct questions.

  That message. When she declared it was nothing and crushed it in her fist, he had to have it. He clenched it still and felt the crisp prick of the parchment weaken. But he continued to reel from the punch the words threw him. ‘This missive. Is this some sort of code? Does it have another meaning?’

  She parted her lips, but didn’t make any more effort to answer his question. He had patience. The heat of battle hadn’t left his limbs. He jammed wool into the warrior’s mouths to gag their cries and secured knots around wrists and chairs. Now, with no ready task before him, his body felt unsteady. A few breaths caught and all would be easier.

  For once, the Archer didn’t look much better than he felt. White-blonde hair snarled across her shoulders, her pallor almost sickly. He could determine nothing of her emotions. Her eyes were fixed on the floor before her bent knees.

  She had fought like a warrior, dispatched the men with grace and skill. Even after being knocked breathless, when the mercenary thrust his blade towards her chest, there was no hesitation in her movements. Now...she wasn’t resting or waiting like him to ease the fight from her body. Instead, everything about her was subdued. Beaten.

  What he needed to determine from her he must do somewhere else, not amid these prone bodies who posed a threat. The innkeepers and patrons must have been paid off, but they would return. He and the Archer needed to be far away from Dover, but right now neither of them moved.

  ‘If this isn’t a code...’ he swallowed ‘...what does it mean?’ He didn’t need to read it again. ‘What does it mean when it says, “If you are reading this, then I have failed to end your life. If so, it will only be the first attempt. There will be another and another until the deed is done. Accept it or do the deed yourself.”?’

  She flinched at his words as if he was punching her with every one of them. She couldn’t seem to answer any question. Still, he continued them. ‘This is a message for you, isn’t it? You saw that red pouch; you knew what you were looking for. Said these men were sent before, but the red pouch you were expecting as well.’

  She swayed a bit, but didn’t raise her eyes. ‘Many times before. Many times, but not always. It wasn’t supposed to be for always. These men, the fight, my acquiring the pouch and the mission...the message. This isn’t the first time.’

  Her voice was unstable. Weak, but he noticed her slip of the tongue. A mission. She was given missions. But not this time. ‘Look at me.’

  Her chest rose and fell a bit faster, but she kept her eyes to the floor. Truth flared within him. ‘This isn’t a code. This person wants you dead.’

  ‘It can’t be—’ Her bent legs shuffled under her as if trying to escape. ‘We need to go. I need to find... I have to know.’

  None of the mercenaries were awake or stirred, and no one came crashing down the hall. She’d told him the witnesses were paid off, but how could a whole town be paid off? How much wealth was spent for tonight’s entertainment? His patience with this game was gone. If innkeepers or patrons interrupted them, another blade would fly into a chest.

  Seasons of pursuing this enemy of his, hours of interrogating her, attempting to torture her with truths he knew. He felt further from understanding her than ever before.

  ‘How much do you know? How much are you not telling me?’

  She raised her eyes at that, but didn’t look at him. It was as if she was seeing something far in the future, or far in the past. ‘I know so much and can’t tell you any of it, Eldric.’

  A splinter of fear woke his hot body. Hours together and they hadn’t exchanged names. He still didn’t know hers. He was no fool. He knew she must know something of who he was. The way she looked at him, the words she almost said.

  But her saying his name wasn’t what caused him to leap across the floor and skid to her side. It was the way she said it. It was the way her eyes were unfocused as she looked at him now. Battling the hesitation, he laid his hands on her shoulders. She felt like ice. Shock? After reading the missive and hearing that mercenary’s words, she’d paled, but now he wondered if it was something else. ‘Are you injured?’

  Her eyes fluttered, but kept firm on him, as if fascinated by his features. He thought he’d seen such an expression once or twice since he bound her, but she always shuttered her expression too quickly to be certain. Now she stared with openness as if she had nothing to hide or was incapable of it.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he repeated. When her eyes shut and she slumped into his hands, he clutched her to him. She moaned, but didn’t wake. There weren’t enough curse words in the world as he felt what he should have known before. The heated liquid of blood against her back. The dagger! He’d watched her evade the point, but she hadn’t been quick enough. The bastard had carved her.

  He had nothing on him for such a wound. A healer! But he didn’t know this port town. He didn’t know... He knew ships. Trying to staunch the flow of blood, he swept her in his arms and pelted out the door, his heavy footsteps thundering down the empty hall and out into the night where a few workers still lingered on the docks. The ships blazed with patrols and activity.

  Scanning a few of them for possibilities, he chose the most maintained. When his feet echoed on the gangplank, her eyes opened. ‘Where are you...?’

  ‘Stay awake,’ he said.

  ‘This isn’t your ship.’

  Of course she would know that. She’d been successfully hiding the truth from him, but he knew full well why information so easily flowed from her now. Shock, injury. He was a bastard, but he would take advantage of it. ‘Tell me how you know me.’

  Her hand on his shoulder slipped, caressed the area above his elbow. Stunned, he felt the purposeful tracing through his tunic before ice rushed down his spine and his skin prickled. She caressed the scars she’d given him. Three strikes from arrow points across his arm as she killed his friends.

  ‘Because I’ve watched over you.’

  Her eyes remained partially unfocused; he could feel the blood now dripping through his fingers. She rambled words that made no sense. Was she dying?

  ‘Hold on!’ he demanded even though it was better if she remained unconscious for what he had to do.

  Crossing the plank to the deck, he called out and a man with a short sword drawn stepped out of the rooms below.

  Dover as a Cinque Port meant that at any time the King could commission a ship docked here and he just happened to have royal papers that would allow him to do the same. Releasing the pouch at his waist, he tossed it to the man. ‘Do you have a healer?’

  The man was dishevelled, but his clothes spoke of wealth. No doubt the Commander. Sheathing his sword, he opened the pouch, unrolled the message and his eyes widened. When he began to bend at the knee, Eldric lost the last of his patience.

  ‘Don’t bow. Get me a healer and privacy.’

  The Commander waved away the patrols that had appeared since he called out. The men didn’t hesitate. Either well trained or something of his own glower warned them off.

  ‘There’s none on board. I’ll fetch one, for a price. As for privacy, this way.’ The Commander indicated with his chin.

  Eldric followed the man, then realised the impossi
bility of it. Ships’ stairs were small, the hull’s ceilings low, he’d have to fold himself into a crouch to get through the doorway. He refused to release the Archer. ‘Bring him to me here.’

  The man opened his mouth to protest. Save him from fools and small places. ‘Do it!’

  While he waited, he knelt and laid her by the doorway so those searching the docks couldn’t easily spot them.

  ‘Never seen you shout at people before,’ she said, her eyes almost guileless.

  He steadied his breath, which caught too many times when he didn’t brace himself for the beauty of her eyes. Hours in her presence and he still couldn’t grasp that such opacity existed. But it wasn’t their colour and clarity that riveted him this time, it was the look within them. Only in sleep had he seen any softness to her. But now was different. Now she was awake and her wide blue eyes held a fragility that was at odds with everything he believed she was.

  ‘Do you hurt?’

  She shook her head. Grimaced as something in her tugged. ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t move,’ he said. How long did it take to find a healer?

  She settled in his embrace and the cold wooden deck rocked and creaked underneath them. Overhead dawn came and with it the sound of seagulls and some carts lumbering against uneven cobblestones.

  She didn’t look away from him and he couldn’t look anywhere else. Her hair had lost the plaits during the fighting. The white curls tangled, slanted across her cheeks as if still locked in a mêlée. There was an unnatural paleness to her skin, which only accentuated the unusual colour of her lips.

  Beautiful. Deadly. A liar. She hurt terribly or else she’d never let him see her or talk to him like this. He was a bastard, but this wasn’t the time for chivalry. He had to press his advantage.

  The message burned in his mind, but he’d get to it soon enough. Someone wanted her dead and had sent mercenaries to kill her. But mercenaries and missives weren’t what he truly needed to know.

  Because her words implied something he couldn’t allow. Secrets he held, but not only his own. If she had followed him, if she knew more about him than just his vengeance against her for his fellow comrades... ‘Did I give myself away these past months? When you murdered Philip and I followed you, did you see me at some point? Did you watch for me because I meant to kill you? Were you in those trees waiting for me?’