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to her. Cate promptly stuffed the entire piece in her mouth. Juice dribbled over her bottom lip and down her chin. With her tongue, she swiped the juices from her lips. Cate wiped the drips from her chin with the pad of her thumb, which she then stuck in her mouth, not wanting to waste even a drop. When Owen didn’t reply, she watched him eat until he sensed her eyes on him. As he looked up from his breakfast, she asked in earnest, “Are you going to finish that?”
    Owen relinquished the spit.
    One of Owen’s men, whom he’d referred to earlier as Harrison, approached. “Come on, now, Banebridge. She’s had her fill, her wound has been mended. Let us be getting on.” Harrison tossed a saddle pad over his shoulder before pulling the accompanying saddle from the pile. The guard walked to his horse, intent on leaving.
    Damn. Her idea of an in-depth conversation about her fate now lay with the pile of bones at her feet. The food had been tasty, at least. And she hadn’t even had to steal it.
     

CHAPTER FOUR
    All too soon, Cate was back on a horse and traveling closer to London. Her once calm thoughts turned to madness with each passing hour. She felt as if she were an animal caught in a snare, just waiting for her killer to silence her woeful cries. The more she rebelled against the restraints, the tighter they became. The skin under the shackles — raw and pink — burned as trickles of sweat gathered around the hardened rings.
    The trees parted, and there before her was the access road, the one leading straight to hell. She’d been to London only once, when her father had delivered an order of bows to the King’s armory. Cate had been young and fascinated by the ordeal. How she wished he was here with her now. He would know what to do. But alas, he was not. She had failed him, and her father was now forever in turmoil somewhere between heaven and hell as he’d been denied a proper burial by these indignant bastards.
    Birds chirped cheerful melodies amongst the pines, and Cate wondered what in life they could be so happy about. In a vengeful mood, Cate whistled the shrill, persistent “ tseep ” of the carefree dunnock, a favorite inconspicuous bird she would track when just a wee thing. The high trilling note received a barrage of song in return, from the many males seeking the illusive female she mocked.
    A raven returned the call, spurring a wave of wings. A barrage of leaves and tree clutter plummeted to the forest floor in aberrant circles, settling on Cate’s hair and clothes. The beginnings of a grin formed on her lips, and she fought the urge to form a full-fledged smile, lest someone see it and question her good spirits.
    Cate attempted to brush away the debris, but her constraints made it impossible. She blew an errant leaf from her tunic then scratched her cheek with her shoulder where a stem had tickled the tender skin. A residual soap smell still lingered on the fibers of the tunic and she inhaled the pleasing woody scent deeply. The tunic, being of finer craftsmanship, would suit her armor well, acting as a fine replacement to the itchy linen one Owen had destroyed.
    As if he knew her thoughts, Owen commented on her armor, or lack thereof. “It wasn’t made for you, was it? Your armor?”
    “His lordship heeds to the detail of women’s garments?”
    “You enjoy provoking me.” Owen took the reins in one hand and relaxed his stature, slightly turning toward Cate to engage in conversation.
    “I find it highly mirthful and positively sinful.” She spied a twitch of a smile beneath the light growth of facial hair lining his strong jaw line. “To answer your inquiry, no, it was not made for me. It was made for a rather dainty imbecile of a man who thought it amusing to taunt young maids with his wee willy by the water’s edge. I put an end to that, and now I am the owner of a very fine piece of leatherwork, which I pray you had the good sense to preserve during your ministrations. I took great