free. “Alice, dare I ask why?”
The woman huffed, adjusting the bird. “Gifts for the earl’s son.”
“Oh, Alice, gifts are not needed. I assure you.”
“They are not from me,” grumbled Alice. “They are from the village folk… for the feast.”
“What feast?”
“’Tis customary to hold a feast in honor of nobles should they stay in the village. In the old days, it was but once a year, during the collection of rents. The people feel we should not upset the balance of things.”
“He has not even been here a full day. How do they know he is here?” Cate rolled her eyes. The village couldn’t afford such luxury. “We could have just eaten the horse,” she muttered, dragging the pig along the trail.
Upon returning to the men, a small crowd had gathered around the deer, helping to divide the meat among the families of Hawkhurst. Owen was covered in blood and elbows deep in the chest cavity of the deer, removing every piece of edible meat from the bones. Wallace looked fearsome with crimson stains slicked across the chest of his white under tunic. As Owen handed him chunks of meat, Wallace would pass it along to those standing in line.
Cate took the chicken from Alice and released it with the others pecking the ground near the coop, and it hopped off, content to be free of her. If only it knew what awaited it come sunset. Alice took the pig to the byre, mentioning to Wallace it would need to be put on a spit, and to find someone who could spare the room, as she already had a dying horse and a dripping stag in the yard. The old man grumbled his disdain and wiped his brow.
It warmed Cate’s heart to see Owen working beside Wallace. At least they weren’t trying to kill each other. How long he would stay, she couldn’t be sure, but for the time being, she wouldn’t complain. His presence kept her entertained. Their interactions were rather amusing. Cate was content to watch the pair work, until her focus lingered along the taut muscles creasing beneath the thick tunic Owen wore. She remembered just how they felt flexing beneath her palms, and sinful thoughts of the previous night flooded her mind. Cate rushed by the small crowd, praying her cheeks were not as flushed as she assumed they were.
A group of women lingered just inside the threshold of the house, bickering with one another. They hushed when Cate entered. Sets of tired eyes focused on her. “Well, get on with it. What ails you all?” Cate drew her arms around her waist defensively.
Alice stepped forward. “The women are uncomfortable with Lord Banebridge here in the village, after… what happened.”
“Owen had no part in the murders. What happened is being settled by the elders, and they should return from London soon. He was out there searching for me . It is my head on the block, no one else’s, so there is no cause for panic. If anyone should be afraid, ’tis me.” Cate spun on her heels and exited the house, suddenly unable to breathe.
Cate pressed her back against the outer wall. She sucked in a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly.
“Are you all right, Cate?” Owen squatted in front of a bucket of water, washing the blood from his arms.
Cate pressed her palms against her chest. “Owen. I did not see you there.”
He splashed a bit of water on his face then stood, rising fully to his intimidating height. With the water still lingering on his hands, he ran them through his hair, smoothing down the strays that had come loose from the leather strip keeping his shoulder length locks secure. “Do you wish to be alone?”
“No, no. To be honest, I don’t know what I wish at the moment.” Cate laughed nervously. In the span of one night, everything had changed. She knew naught of Owen’s intentions, and with the morning’s events, didn’t even know how long she would be remaining in Hawkhurst. She wanted nothing more than to drown her sorrows in the crook of his neck, cradled by the arms she felt safest
The woman huffed, adjusting the bird. “Gifts for the earl’s son.”
“Oh, Alice, gifts are not needed. I assure you.”
“They are not from me,” grumbled Alice. “They are from the village folk… for the feast.”
“What feast?”
“’Tis customary to hold a feast in honor of nobles should they stay in the village. In the old days, it was but once a year, during the collection of rents. The people feel we should not upset the balance of things.”
“He has not even been here a full day. How do they know he is here?” Cate rolled her eyes. The village couldn’t afford such luxury. “We could have just eaten the horse,” she muttered, dragging the pig along the trail.
Upon returning to the men, a small crowd had gathered around the deer, helping to divide the meat among the families of Hawkhurst. Owen was covered in blood and elbows deep in the chest cavity of the deer, removing every piece of edible meat from the bones. Wallace looked fearsome with crimson stains slicked across the chest of his white under tunic. As Owen handed him chunks of meat, Wallace would pass it along to those standing in line.
Cate took the chicken from Alice and released it with the others pecking the ground near the coop, and it hopped off, content to be free of her. If only it knew what awaited it come sunset. Alice took the pig to the byre, mentioning to Wallace it would need to be put on a spit, and to find someone who could spare the room, as she already had a dying horse and a dripping stag in the yard. The old man grumbled his disdain and wiped his brow.
It warmed Cate’s heart to see Owen working beside Wallace. At least they weren’t trying to kill each other. How long he would stay, she couldn’t be sure, but for the time being, she wouldn’t complain. His presence kept her entertained. Their interactions were rather amusing. Cate was content to watch the pair work, until her focus lingered along the taut muscles creasing beneath the thick tunic Owen wore. She remembered just how they felt flexing beneath her palms, and sinful thoughts of the previous night flooded her mind. Cate rushed by the small crowd, praying her cheeks were not as flushed as she assumed they were.
A group of women lingered just inside the threshold of the house, bickering with one another. They hushed when Cate entered. Sets of tired eyes focused on her. “Well, get on with it. What ails you all?” Cate drew her arms around her waist defensively.
Alice stepped forward. “The women are uncomfortable with Lord Banebridge here in the village, after… what happened.”
“Owen had no part in the murders. What happened is being settled by the elders, and they should return from London soon. He was out there searching for me . It is my head on the block, no one else’s, so there is no cause for panic. If anyone should be afraid, ’tis me.” Cate spun on her heels and exited the house, suddenly unable to breathe.
Cate pressed her back against the outer wall. She sucked in a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly.
“Are you all right, Cate?” Owen squatted in front of a bucket of water, washing the blood from his arms.
Cate pressed her palms against her chest. “Owen. I did not see you there.”
He splashed a bit of water on his face then stood, rising fully to his intimidating height. With the water still lingering on his hands, he ran them through his hair, smoothing down the strays that had come loose from the leather strip keeping his shoulder length locks secure. “Do you wish to be alone?”
“No, no. To be honest, I don’t know what I wish at the moment.” Cate laughed nervously. In the span of one night, everything had changed. She knew naught of Owen’s intentions, and with the morning’s events, didn’t even know how long she would be remaining in Hawkhurst. She wanted nothing more than to drown her sorrows in the crook of his neck, cradled by the arms she felt safest
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