After a few weeks, my brothers were noticeably more relaxed. They mostly stopped watching my every move when Owen was near and they didn't give him quite as many threatening looks. I'm not exactly sure what they thought I was going to do, but now they seemed to realize that things weren't very different from the way they'd always been. I wouldn't lie and say I didn't enjoy kissing Owen, or that his touch didn't send a jolt of electricity through me, but I was not a cuddly person. I rarely welcomed any kind of open affection. Public or otherwise.
Having kissed Owen in front of everyone seemed to spoil the fun of teasing me, so I no longer had that headache to deal with, and without having to worry about my brothers hovering every time I turned around, I was able to actually focus on what I was feeling. It was all so new and unfamiliar, and it still scared me, but I was no longer unsure about what I felt for Owen. I hesitated to call whatever it was love. Mainly it felt much too soon for that and I was still pretty hesitant. But I couldn't deny, at least to myself, that it was headed in that direction.
I started allowing myself to believe that, one day, I might be able to have those things I never dared to dream of before. A house, a family, and a normal life.
I was no sentimental fool. It was still a distant dream and I might not live long enough to fulfill it. I wasn't sure that I imagined that kind of life with Owen just yet either, but it was a possibility. More than that, now I knew that men like Owen were out there. Men who possessed qualities that my father would have appreciated. For that reason alone, Owen made me hopeful and happy for more than just the pleasant dipping feeling his smile evoked in my belly. Because now I felt like I might have a real future outside of all this.
Before long I started missing my mother. It wasn't a completely foreign feeling for me, however wanting to talk to her about my feelings for a boy, and wanting to introduce her to that boy, were completely new aspirations. I suppose part of me was still that little girl who couldn't help feeling that she disappointed her mother for not being the perfectly feminine daughter she probably expected when she got stuck with me.
My mother fiercely loved all her children. I couldn't doubt that. But it wasn't hard to tell that she wished that I'd been more like Cecily in certain ways.
And so, Owen and I acted as James' and Michael's escorts on their periodic visit home.
The visits had been our mother's condition to allow the boys to come stay with us. They were always relatively short as it was no longer safe for any of us to be in public very much. Usually either Jeremy or Stephen, unwilling to let the boys out of their sight for very long, accompanied them on the trip. That, I think, was part of the reason our mother was finally persuaded to let the younger boys go. She almost never saw her older sons anymore, so reluctant were they to leave the woods. But this way she was guaranteed to see them sometimes.
Jeremy and Stephen hadn't been thrilled when I announced my plans to take their place for this visit. Even though they were exponentially better, they were still reluctant to allow Owen and me even a minute of actual privacy. They didn't have much of an argument though since we weren't technically going to be alone. At least not until I sent the boys ahead on the return trip. Of course, I wasn't going to clue them in to that part of the plan. And with an hour and a half walk between my mother's house and camp, they wouldn't be able to do a thing about it except bluster and complain when Owen and I returned.
Before I reached the edge of the forest, Michael and James ran ahead, only pausing briefly to survey the scene to make sure it was free of soldiers. They were both trying hard to be mature, especially James, but I knew how homesick they became after a few weeks in the woods. Perhaps the transition was easier for the rest of us because we could all vividly remember the demonstrations of what it truly meant to be deemed the king's enemy. Or in my case, property to be taken and used for whatever they wanted.
Watchful of anything that might be suspicious, Owen and I walked to the house, following the boys through the still open door.
My mother looked up from hugging James, and her smile dimmed as she looked passed me to Owen. I almost laughed at the automatic suspicion in her eyes. Perhaps I wasn't so very different from my mother at times.
"Mother, this is Owen," I said quickly, to reassure her. "He's...my friend." I stumbled over that last part. Owen and I never discussed exactly what kind of relationship we had. Mostly we just talked a lot and were actually friends. But "friend" seemed like an inadequate description to attribute to this man who I might possibly love.
"He's her boyfriend," Michael teased.
My mother's eyebrows shot up. Michael didn't usually exaggerate.
Cursing the blush in my cheeks, I tried to swat my little brother, narrowly missing as he jumped out of the way and disappeared into the house behind James.
When I looked at my mother again, she had successfully masked her shock. She also seemed to have hidden her distrust, although I could detect some lingering wariness in her eyes.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Owen," she said, clearly interested in the man I hadn't openly denied the title of my boyfriend.
"Thank you, Ma'am," Owen said pleasantly. "It's very nice to meet you as well."
She nodded politely before pulling me into her arms.
"Honey, you've stayed away too long again."
"Sorry." I hugged her tightly.
"You'll stay for lunch." She held me at arm's length, giving me a stern look in an attempt to intimidate me into compliance.
"Mother, we really can't be long," I tried.
"Nonsense." She waved my argument away and put her arm across my shoulders, compelling me toward the kitchen. "I haven't seen you in over a month and you look much too thin. You're eating."
I caught the smirk on Owen's face before I was pulled away. He was undoubtedly enjoying the novelty of someone bossing me around.
"Besides, if I know my boys," Mother continued. "They've already started gorging themselves."
Sure enough, we entered the kitchen to find James and Michael heartily digging in to the beef stew. Our mother never knew when we would come or who to expect, so during the day she usually kept something warming on the stove, in case. She must have cooked the stew recently. It was still steaming and giving off a wonderful aroma.
Without bothering to ask if we were hungry, she retrieved two more bowls, filled them with the stew, and placed them in the empty spots at the table.
"Sit," she ordered with her hands on her hips.
Between the things we scavenged from soldiers and donations from our families and others who were sympathetic to our mission, we always had plenty to eat at camp. But it was mostly dried meat and bland vegetables or bread that went stale quickly. Basically anything that would keep for a while and that didn't require much, if any, cooking since no one was much of a chef. It was enough to keep us strong and healthy, but not very appetizing.
I really lost the battle as soon as I smelled my mother's cooking. Owen and I sat without argument and began inhaling the stew along with the boys.
Satisfied with our obedience, my mother tore off large pieces of fresh bread for each of us and sat at the head of the table.
"Owen, tell me about yourself." She said it casually, but I knew what an effort that must have been. The gleam in her eyes told me she was dying to know about him.
Owen glanced at me, unsure of how much to say. I shook my head just enough for him to get the message to leave out the part about our special activities. I'm sure my mother knew, at least to an extent what we did, but I didn't want her actually having anything other than suspicions in case anyone ever questioned her. I wasn't sure how well she'd be able to lie and I couldn't risk Miles overhearing anything if he should come home.
"Well, there's really not much to tell," Owen tried. "I've lived in the woods with a group of men for several years now. Recently we came across Jeremy with his, er, friends. We sort of banded together, and here I am."
"Indeed." I saw her lips twitch. No doubt she was still wondering how it was that Owen came to be here in her kitchen. Even the boys rarely brought anyone here and I certainly never had.
"Your accent is rather unusual," she said. "Where are you from?"
My interest was piqued. Owen never mentioned his past. After our first actual conversation, I never asked, assuming that like me, he didn't relish digging up painful memories.
"I'm from the North," he said simply.
"North?" My mother was surprised and so was I. The High King was from the North. His entire kingdom stood united against us in the rebellion.
"A small village not far from the kingdom," he added quickly, seeing our reactions.
"Which village?" My mother pressed. She wasn't comforted and I couldn't blame her. Most people in the north sided with the High King, whether they were part of his kingdom or not. My mother knew much more about those places than I ever would. She traveled as a child and knew many of the villages by name.
"It's um...Not really there any longer," he said awkwardly.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Her suspicion evaporated, understanding all too well why Owen's village ceased to exist.
He shook his head. "It was a long time ago."
My mother's lips pressed into a hard line and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. That it would never be long enough to forget.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Time passed quickly and before I knew it, Owen and I were sharing the large branch of a tree in the woods. We were far enough into the forest that we wouldn't be seen by anyone, but still close enough to view my mother's house. There was just something comforting about watching over her for a while longer. My visits were never long enough and it seemed as I got older, I missed her more as a friend than as a parent. I couldn't help smiling, thinking of the grilling she'd given Owen in the short time we were there. She wasn't satisfied with his earlier summary and insisted on a more detailed telling of his life before his trek into the woods.
I sat back and listened, enjoying his discomfort. Owen never liked talking about himself, at least not seriously. He was too humble. But he was clearly unwilling to be rude to my mother and refuse. And so without having to ask a single question, I learned about Owen's childhood with his two brothers, Charlie and Evan, until Miles returned and I decided it was time for us to leave.
"So that's your mother," Owen said and I thought I detected irony in his tone.
"Did you think I was raised by wolves?"
"I hadn't ruled it out." He smirked and I rolled my eyes.
"She's just so..."
"She's very beautiful," I supplied for him. The many years and even all the hardships she had to endure, hadn't diminished my mother's beauty. I always felt plain and awkward near her. And decidedly less feminine. I could understand Owen's surprise upon meeting her.
"So are you." He looked mystified.
I only watched him skeptically. I might be passably pretty. Maybe. And perhaps like my father said so long ago, maybe even beautiful in a way because I was different from other people. But I never fooled myself into thinking I possessed the kind of beauty my mother did.
Owen continued to look confused. "Surely you've noticed the way men watch you."
"You mean in a camp containing exactly one woman?" I almost laughed. "I might worry if they didn't."
"You're beautiful, Keira," he said seriously.
I uncomfortably looked away and picked at a loose piece of bark. I wasn't beautiful. Not really.
"You have these great big eyes that are so expressive, sometimes I can almost read your thoughts before you voice them." Apparently he could tell I didn't believe him and was trying to convince me. I wouldn't buy it though. Ripping the loose bark free, I began shredding it.
"You have this adorable little nose," he went on, embarrassing me further. "And these full lips that can be very distracting."
With a smile, I shook my head. I only let him kiss me a few times so far and it was no secret that he wished it was allowed much more.
"I'll be honest, I never thought of red hair as beautiful before, but now everyone else looks...dull and ordinary. Factor in your spirit and you literally outshine other girls. And you might not look like an exact copy of your mother, but that doesn't mean you don't look like her."
That got my attention. Mother and I looked nothing alike. At least, I never thought so. Forgetting the bark, I watched Owen interestedly, wondering what he thought.
"There's something...I'm not sure exactly. Something in your eyes or your face..." He looked thoughtful. "But I could tell right away she was your mother. I think I'd have known anywhere."
"Really?" I felt foolish for the slight stinging in my eyes.
"Of course," he said. "Has no one ever told you?"
I shook my head, smiling at the idea that someone in the world thought I resembled my mother in any way.
"Before you interrupted, I was only going to comment on your mother's exceptional skills at homemaking. And the fact that she's very ladylike. Whereas you...Well, you haven't exactly followed in her footsteps, now have you?"
I couldn't help laughing at that. My mother was the epitome of a proper lady and I was the extreme opposite.
"Cecily was always the one most like her." I smiled and looked off to the side, remembering how badly Cecily tried to mold me into a perfect lady like her. "That's probably why no one ever said I looked like her. By comparison-"
"Who?"
I stared down at my hands, realizing what I just did. It was always so easy talking to Owen, and just now I was thrown off by the fact that he thought I was beautiful and that I looked like my mother. I wasn't thinking of censoring my thoughts. I never talked to anyone about Cecily, Ian, or my father. No one except my brothers, and even then it was vague. It was something of an unspoken rule around camp that we didn't talk about those people we lost. It was just too painful. We could commiserate over the fact that we all lost someone, and that was enough.
I'm sure Owen could have figured out who Cecily was if he allowed me to keep talking, but he was giving me the chance to knowingly tell him about her. And it wouldn't be fair of me to deny him after he just spent a good half hour talking about his family. That couldn't have been as easy as he made it seem.
"She's my sister," I said quietly.
"What happened to her?"
An unexpected tear trailed down my cheek, but I barely noticed.
"I don't know." I met Owen's eyes.
He only watched me solemnly, allowing me to decide whether to continue speaking or not.
"The day I first saw that man, he came to our house to search for my brothers. To kill them. They were hidden and he almost left..." Almost. If only he hadn't seen her!
"But then he saw Cecily. My mother didn't think to hide her until it was too late, but she had her sit in the corner with her hood down, hoping they would miss her. And they almost did, but...then he saw her. He saw how beautiful she was and he just took her."
I stared into the distance, not seeing anything but that horrific day. Owen took my hand and squeezed, prompting more tears to fall.
"I don't know if she's...where she... If she's even still alive. I never got to tell her that I loved her or that I was sorry for always fighting. The last thing I ever said to her was in anger. I don't even remember why."
"He's the man you want dead."
Looking at Owen again, my hatred for the captain was renewed. "More than anything in the world." Somewhere in my mind, I knew that the captain was just one of thousands of men who did heinous things to countless people, and that it was slightly irrational for me to direct all of my fury toward him. But I didn't know any of those men. I didn't have a face in my mind - a specific target. The captain was the only tangible person I knew to blame for my pain.
"I tried to kill him then."
Owen snorted a laugh. "How old were you?"
"Nine." I smiled, knowing how foolish I'd been at the time. If he'd hit me harder or a few more times, he probably could have killed me then.
"Were you always so brave?"
"No." My smile quickly faded, thinking about being huddled in our cellar as the captain did whatever he did to my mother while he looked for me.
Owen obviously didn't understand my sudden mood change. He just gave me that patient look, again giving me the option to continue to speak or not.
"I thought I was so fierce. When he turned away, I tried to stab him with his own sword. He caught me, of course. And he got a good look at me so that he could come back and find me when I had the chance to grow up some, so he could..."
Owen's hand tightened around mine.
"He's been looking for me ever since. And I don't exactly blend into a crowd."
"No, you don't," he mused. "Which is why the rumors don't make you very happy."
I nodded. "I'm sure he's made the connection by now."
"You-" Owen stopped abruptly and we both looked in the direction of my mother's house, hearing the loud thumping from a man's fist on the door, followed by the command to open it.
I gasped, seeing the small band of soldiers congregated in front of the house. I instinctively reached for my bow, grateful to have it with me again.
It was practically suicide, walking the streets with a weapon. At least for me, it was. And if Miles saw it, he wouldn't be quite so clueless any longer. So we always left them in the woods whenever we visited, figuring it was safer.
"No, wait." Owen covered my hand before I could grab an arrow.
My mother opened the door and the soldiers ordered her outside. She quickly obeyed followed by Miles. Within a few seconds, they were standing in full view.
Ignoring Owen's hand I retrieved an arrow.
"Stop," he said firmly. "They just want to talk. They'd have killed them already if they wanted them dead."
I huffed, unable to argue. They wouldn't have knocked on the door either. Relaxing slightly, I strained my ears to try and figure out what was being said.
"...where your daughter is? She is suspect in a number of treasonous acts."
I almost fell out of the tree. I knew it! The captain did know it was me behind the raids and now they've come questioning my mother.
"She ran away years ago," my mother said. "I haven't seen her."
I winced when the soldier turned to Miles. He'd never lie for me.
"Is that true?" The soldier demanded.
"You heard my wife," Miles said, barely containing his anger. "If she says she hasn't seen her, she hasn't!"
My mouth fell open at his defense, but then I realized he was probably just protecting himself. If my mother was guilty, they'd assume Miles was as well.
"And what about you?" The soldier pressed.
"I ain't seen her either," he lied. "Not since the little brat ran off." I knew that last part wasn't such a stretch for him, but it worked well convincing the soldiers. After all, why would a man protect a stepdaughter he didn't even like?
The soldier stared them down for a minute before mounting his horse again.
"If you hear from her, you hold her and contact us," he commanded. "It'll be treason for the both of you if you defy me."
"She shows up again, I'll give her to you," Miles said and I believed that he really would. "There a reward?"
I couldn't see clearly from here, but I imagined the soldier sending a look of irritation toward Miles before he rode off, followed by his men.
My arms went limp and I leaned back against the tree in disbelief.
Once the soldiers were gone, my mother turned and stared in my direction, almost as if she knew I was watching. I longed to run to her and hug her one last time, but I knew it wouldn't be safe. Now It wouldn't ever be safe.
I could never visit my mother again. Neither could my brothers if it was this bad. I wouldn't doubt they would have someone watching the house from now on. If any of us showed up, it would be a death sentence. Probably even for Michael. And then they would deem Miles and my mother guilty of treason. Which was also a death sentence.
Owen's arm came around me and I leaned my head on his shoulder. My mother stood for another minute before turning to go back in the house.
"What if we could end this?" Owen breathed after a few minutes of sitting in silence.
"What?" I sat up to look at him.
He seemed unsure of my reaction but passionate about whatever he was getting at. "What if we could change things?"
"How?" I certainly didn't play by the rules, but I didn't have any illusions of changing those rules either. The High King was too powerful.
"It's just an idea really. It might not work. Even if it does, there's no guarantee that-"
"What are you talking about?" I impatiently interrupted his babbling.
"There's a festival every spring in the North," he said. "Just about everyone is there. A good portion of the army and especially all the leaders - majors, generals, everyone."
And captains, my mind added hungrily, already deciding I was in favor of whatever Owen was suggesting. Even if it was suicide.
"It's a celebration of their victory in putting down the rebellion," he went on. "There's a military parade and plenty of spectators."
"And they'd never suspect an attack on their own land during such an event," I added, understanding what he was telling me.
He nodded. "Most of them get drunk."
The smile that had been inching across my face, died thinking about the number of soldiers there would undoubtedly be in attendance. It would be unlikely to find the captain before they killed us all.
"There must be thousands of them. We could never hope to kill even half." Our increased numbers since Owen joined us would mean nothing in the face of an enemy so numerous. Even if many of them were drunk. And a defeat would only serve to give them something else to celebrate.
"We couldn't do it alone," he agreed. "But what if there were more people?"
"What people?" I eyed him warily.
"People who want them all dead like we do."
I looked at him, wishing for a way to make it work, but it seemed so futile.
"I'm proof that there are more people like you out there," he said. "We weren't the only group of rebel fighters beside you and your band, you know. And there are others."
"Others?" We were probably the best prepared of anyone to wage any sort of attack and we were still at an abysmal disadvantage. Normal people - bakers and merchants - wouldn't be prepared to do battle in the slightest.
"There aren't many villages left that are sympathetic to the High King. Now they see, even if they didn't before, that they're no more protected for siding with him than those who didn't. Most hate him, but are too scared to defy him."
"Then what hope do we have?" It would be slaughter of those brave enough to fight, all over again.
"They're too scared alone," he emphasized. "But maybe if someone got the word out that there would be a chance to defeat them once and for all."
"Who?" I asked, even though I knew who Owen had in mind for such a dangerous job. Even hinting to the wrong person, would mean immediate death. At least, immediate once they were brought to the soldiers.
"Well, I do love danger," he joked but I couldn't grant him even a small smile. If Owen did this, he could very well be killed long before he ever saw the realization of this dream and I would never see him again. Even if everything went wonderfully, we would still be apart for weeks or months with no hope of knowing one way or the other.
"It's the only way, Keira," he said seriously. "The only way there will ever be change. The raids...they're great, but they don't serve any real purpose other than fueling the rebellion. Losing a handful of soldiers every few weeks is nothing to the High King's army. More an annoyance than anything else. If we don't act on this soon, there won't be a rebellion much longer."
"I know." What he said was true. If we didn't do something big soon, people's anger would cool into resigned acceptance of something they felt powerless against. This really was our only chance to stand against the High King. It was most likely our only chance to leave the woods and have normal lives one day. The only way I'd be able to see my mother again. The only way I could even begin to see the realization of those dreams that I barely allowed myself to begin to think about. Assuming I survived, of course.
"Alright. I'll help you," I said, knowing that's what he wanted. He needed me to help convince Jeremy and the others that this was a good idea. And he needed me to be the inspiration for others to join the fight. To be the famed red-headed she-devil to lead them.
I only hoped I wouldn't be leading them all to their deaths.