Free The Archer's Daughter by Melissa MacKinnon

claim me as legitimate, and no one dared question it. He took me from my mother and I lived in his estates as his son and heir. He kept my mother on as a servant, but I rarely saw her. I was but a boy of ten when my father took the position of Captain. He graciously gifted me with his Viscount title – an honor he did not have to bestow on his bastard – and I have been doing his bidding ever since.”
    His upbringing explained why she had heard the faint lilt of Irish when they had first met. His father would have hired a tutor for his schooling, and subsequent removal of said unsightly lilt. Owen must have grown up surrounded by death and destruction. Come to think of it, Cate had as well. What a quality to have in common. “With your father’s status, why were your men plotting to kill you today? Surely, being his son should count for something amongst them?”
    “That I cannot answer. I can only assume the bounty for your head has risen to a tempting amount and you would be easier to kill with me out of the way. They hold no loyalty with me.”
    “I am returning to my village tomorrow.” Was she warning him? Telling him? Asking for permission? She had been completely honest with him from the moment they first met, and Cate couldn’t explain it. He was her enemy, yet she felt completely at ease with him. It was the strangest feeling. “You are welcome to join me if you fear returning to London would further put your life in danger. You would find respite in Hawkhurst.”
    “I am certainly not finding it under this tree.” Owen groaned, sliding up to a sitting position at the base of the pine. He leaned against the trunk and closed his eyes.
    Cate rose to her elbows. “Your wound. Has it started to fester?”
    “I’m not sure. I cannot see a bloody thing.”
    “We cannot risk a fire. We might as well welcome them for dinner.” She clamored to her hands and knees. Twigs and needles crunched beneath her weight as she shuffled closer to Owen. “Let me take a look. You could be losing more blood. The bandage wasn’t that secure.”
    “How are you to see my wound if I cannot?”
    “There are other ways to see.” Tentatively reaching out her hand, she felt for Owen’s leg. “Is it this one?” she asked, walking her fingers up his calf.
    Owen croaked out, “Yes.”
    Cate pressed forward with her examination despite the hindrance of darkness. The flesh contracted beneath her palms as she worked her way to the knee, the dried blood rough under her fingers as she probed for his wound.
    Owen drew in a sharp hiss when her hands traveled even further north. “Take heed, woman, for you do not understand the repercussions such dealings have on a man.”
    Her fingers lingered on the inside of his thigh just under his braies where the gash wept. “Oh,” she breathed softly, “I do.” Fingers clasped tightly around hers, pinning them in place against the meaty portion of his thigh. A rush came over Cate, accelerating her breathing and the steady beating of her heart.
    Taking her hand in his, Owen gently pulled her closer and brought her palm to his chest. He placed it flat over his erratically thumping heart. “See what your touch does to me?”
    “It rivals my own.” Cate returned the touch, bringing his palm to her chest. She pressed his hand just above the swell of her breast. The heat of his skin seared through her thin tunic, igniting a flame deep in her belly. Never had she felt something so thrilling and fearsome at once. He lingered there, his only movement being from her own breathing.
    Owen brushed his thumb over her nipple. The bud swelled instantly from the light touch, as his thumb lowered to trace the underlying curve of her breast. Cate fell forward slightly, catching herself before crashing against him completely. She exhaled along the arc of his neck, taking a breath before righting herself.
    She brought her fingers to his face, lightly grazing his cheekbone. The course hair of his stubble bit