“You dare threaten me?”
“Drawn and quartered, Harrison. Not pleasant.”
“Why do you think your father is here? Because you failed to do your duty. It was I who informed your father of your shortcomings.”
“She sits there in shackles, does she not?”
“’Tis easy to catch a whore when your cock is in her.”
Cate suddenly forgot how to breathe. She struggled to stay still. Every bit of her wanted to throttle Harrison. Both men had convincing arguments. So much so she could not tell with whom Owen sided. Father or lover?
“Owen!” the Captain called, interrupting the battle of wills.
When the footsteps retreated, Cate opened her eyes. She was alone. Rising to prop herself up against the tree, she waited. The men gathered their weapons, checked leather straps on horse tack, and conversed among themselves. One man stood statuesque nearby, surveying the distance on watch. Cate absorbed every detail — which hand each guard favored, how many carried swords and daggers, and who protected the Captain. She also noticed that Owen showed no interest in her at all.
A guard pulled Cate to her feet and towed her to the horses. Still shackled, she struggled to get in the saddle. The guard grasped her buttocks with both palms and squeezed, pushing her upward. Cate balked, swinging her bound fists in his direction. The guard walloped the back of her head in retaliation. Once the ringing in her ears subsided, she placed her foot in the stirrup and attempted to mount just to keep the guard at bay. Again, the guard made a grab at her, and all too close to her womanhood. Swinging her leg over the saddle, Cate settled into the seat. Staring down at the guard, she growled, “I swear to Jesus Christ, if you touch me one more time I will have your head on a pike.”
The guard made movement to strike, but Owen interrupted. “Murray, let the girl be.” Owen may have been keeping his distance, but Cate noticed how his eyes never stopped following her.
The group traveled in silence, leaving Cate to muddle through her nightmarish thoughts. The grueling pace didn’t allow for conversation. The road to London, now well-trodden and pronounced, permitted the horses to canter in rows of two. They would reach London soon.
From the crest of a hill, Cate spied the Thames on the horizon. The road they traveled opened into Southwark, the village just outside of London Bridge. Villagers scurried behind doors as the guarded party charged by. When the group approached the bridge, the guards called out orders to raise the gate. London Bridge towered over them. Cate stared in awe of its enormity. Beggars — sick and poor — pleaded nearby for alms as they waited for the massive iron gate to move upward. Cate wished she was able to aid them.
The gate slowly rose, and her eyes followed its ascension to the towers. A row of decomposing heads teetered on wooden pikes along the parapet. They were displayed in fanfare for all to see, and there was no doubt in Cate’s mind they belonged to those involved in the uprising. She turned away, trying to forget the agonizing death masks on the faces.
“Is that your kin?” The guard, Harrison, laughed as he trotted past Cate.
Her body told her to run like hell. In truth, she wanted to curl into a ball and cry. She couldn’t control her trembling as her horse was led along the expanse of the bridge and over the river. Her thoughts roamed to the contemplation of jumping, and the distance from bridge to water. She scowled. She’d sink, anyway, and she wasn’t at all keen on drowning, especially in the vile muck that was the Thames.
The Captain barked orders, pulling Cate from her morbid thoughts. They had reached the end of the bridge and sprawling London lay before her.
“Take the prisoner to Newgate by way of Watling, and keep her guarded at all times. Do not underestimate her, is that understood?”
“Yes, Captain!” a guard replied.
“Owen, come with me.”
Owen followed his father in the opposite direction, leaving her with a handful of surly guards. They escorted her down the expanse of Watling Street, completely surrounded on all sides. While passing St. Paul’s, Cate asked, “Might we stop for confession? I’m sure we all have sinned against God in recent days. Some more than others.” Her words were directed at Harrison.
The guard leading her horse answered, “You may ask for a priest before your execution. You may confess then.”
Cate didn’t find that at all comforting.
Newgate Prison was an imposing structure — dark and weepy. The stones, slick with draining rain water, looked as though they cried the tears of those doomed inside its thick walls. The gaoler met the group at the gate. Words were exchanged and papers given detailing Cate’s crimes against the Crown. Within a matter of moments, she was taken from her horse and shoved through the heavily armored door to the prison.
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.
CHAPTER TEN
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.
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