The Arrow Read online

  She might never have known the truth. Aye, Cate had much for which to thank Helen MacKay. She’d given her her life and her father. The king had been at her side when she woke initially after being shot—before the fever had taken hold—and had told her everything.

  She still couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t abandoned them. It had been at her mother’s insistence that he stayed away. She wanted to give her marriage a chance, and her betrothed—the man that would become Cate’s first stepfather—had been deeply jealous of the king. Her mother had thought her former lover’s absence would give them the best chance for a happy future.

  She was supposed to tell Cate the truth when she was old enough to understand, but for some reason never had. Maybe she’d thought Cate had forgotten him? Maybe she’d thought it best not to open old wounds? Maybe it had been too hard for her to have Bruce around, she’d loved him so much? Cate would never know.

  Her father had never intended to stay away forever, but the war had come and he’d been fighting—and fleeing—for his life. By the time he’d returned to Scotland to re-claim his throne, her village had been attacked, and it had been too late.

  At least he thought it had been too late. Despite her insistence that she’d lied to Gregor, her father put the entire blame for their long separation squarely on his archer’s shoulders, and nothing she said would change his mind. Bruce was just as intractable as her mother had accused her of being. Cate, of course, didn’t see the similarities. She was reasonable.

  The maidservant had just finished tying the ribbon that bound the bottom of her plait, when her pixieish doctor entered the chamber.

  Used to the other woman’s intense scrutiny, Cate gave Helen time to study her from head to the toes that were peeking out from beneath the edge of the fine linen night rail and velvet robe her father had given her.

  When she’d finally satisfied herself, Helen’s gaze returned to hers. “You look much improved. The bath was not overtaxing?”

  Cate shook her head and smiled. “On the contrary, I feel like a new woman. I can barely feel the soreness in my shoulder.”

  Helen’s eyes narrowed, as if she knew she lied. “You are not leaving this room for a few more days—soreness or not. It’s only been a week. You need more time to gain back your strength. You bullied me into letting you take a bath, but that’s as far as I will go.” She sighed, as if she was much put upon. “You are much like your father, you know. He was a horrible patient, too.”

  Cate’s mouth quirked in an effort not to smile. The comparison—even an unflattering one—pleased her.

  She was surprised that anyone could bully Helen MacKay. Despite her fey appearance, the skilled healer seemed to have a will of steel, and from what Cate had seen, she ordered the king about as if he were a recalcitrant squire.

  “I hope I will not need to force-feed you vegetables?” Helen asked dryly.

  Cate shook her head, recalling her father’s distaste for almost anything that grew on a tree or out of the ground. “I like vegetables—except for beets.” She wrinkled her nose.

  Helen harrumphed. “Let me guess, they taste like dirt? I’ve heard that before. Just last night I caught the king trying to pass the carrots I had made specially for him off to the hounds. To the hounds, if you can believe it!” Shaking her head again, she moved closer to where Cate sat on the edge of a trunk to address Lisbet. “You were careful?”

  The maidservant nodded nervously and Cate interjected, “Lisbet was very careful not to let the bandages get wet and followed all of your instructions.”

  Helen nodded. “Good. Then let’s see you back into bed. There is someone who wishes to see you.”

  Cate stiffened.

  As she was holding her by the arm, Helen sensed her reaction. “I refer to your father.”

  The tension immediately dissipated. Cate could see the other woman’s unspoken plea but would not heed it. Helen didn’t understand her refusal to see Gregor, and Cate was too proud to enlighten her, but Helen respected her wishes, and that was all that mattered.

  Cate knew Helen was married to Magnus MacKay—one of the Phantoms, she suspected, from the glimpse she’d had of him when he’d come to fetch Helen for something—but it was Gregor who’d brought her here. Helen never said anything, but Cate sensed there was something between them. She could see it in the other woman’s eyes every time Cate refused to see him. Helen cared about him.

  Knowing Gregor, Cate could guess what had been between them. The prickle of jealousy only reminded her of what she’d seen and the lifetime of jealousy she would have faced had she married him. Still, she was grateful to Helen. Whatever the circumstances, she owed her her life.

  Cate allowed the two women to help her back into bed and tried not to wince as they propped the pillows up behind her tender back.

  The arrow had struck the bone of her left shoulder blade. As any movement of her arm caused extreme pain, Helen had suggested she use a sling. It helped immeasurably, but the jostling of getting comfortable reminded her that no matter how anxious she was to leave the sickroom, it would be some time before the wound was fully healed.

  She’d been lucky she wasn’t taller, Helen had told her. A few inches lower and the arrow would have found her lung or heart.

  Cate refrained from correcting her. Gregor’s arrow had found her heart, albeit a couple of weeks before the second had struck. The first had been far more painful.

  As it was, Helen assured her that she would be good as new in a few weeks—if she didn’t overtire herself and allow the fever to return.

  “Shall I send him in?” Helen asked. “He was pacing rather impatiently in the antechamber when I came in.”

  Cate laughed. “Aye, it’s probably best not to keep a king waiting.”

  While Helen went to fetch him, Cate arranged the heavy fur bed-covering around her. Though there was a fire in the brazier, the stone walls were lined with fine tapestries, and glazed glass filled the two windows, it was January in the Highlands and the tower chamber in the castle was drafty.

  A moment later, the door burst open and the King of Scotland strode through. His gaze scrutinized her almost as intensely as Helen’s before the smile reached his eyes. She thought there might have even been a sheen of dampness when he looked at her. “Ah, Caty, you look so like your mother it brings back so many memories. What a beauty you’ve become.”

  Cate blushed. Though she knew he exaggerated, she could not help but be flattered by the comparison. Her mother had been beautiful, and even the slightest resemblance to her was enough.

  He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. Fifteen years of warfare had aged Robert Bruce. There were lines around his face and a hardness to his visage that hadn’t been there before. The loss of three brothers, countless friends, and the imprisonment of his wife, sister, and daughter no doubt explained much of it. But when he smiled and his eyes twinkled, he didn’t look all that different from the handsome young knight who’d filled their small cottage with such light and laughter. She’d been right about him after all.

  “You are feeling better.” He tipped her chin, turning her face to the light streaming through the window. “I think I see some color in your cheeks.”

  “I feel vastly better after the bath. As soon as I’m permitted to walk outside, there will be much more color in my cheeks.”

  Her father smiled but held up his hand, fending off her not-so-hidden plea. “Don’t look at me. That’s between you and Helen. She’s mad enough at me as it is. Apparently, you became too distressed the last time we spoke.”

  Cate’s heart stopped. “Sir William is well?”

  His mouth pursed with distaste. “Aye, thanks to you. Without your intervention, the traitor would have been put to the gibbet. Instead, he will be sent to the Isles so I won’t find myself facing him over another castle wall. Consider it repayment for saving my life.”

  Relieved to hear that the old knight’s life had been spared, Cate eased back on the pillows. She di