Longbow Girl by Linda Davies Page A

trained archer with lethal skills.
    Another of her father’s favourite sayings slipped into her head. He’d told her how he and his army comrades used this one when they were lost and frightened. It was their own version of the Twenty-Third Psalm: Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, because I am the meanest son of a gun in the valley . Merry amended it further: I will fear no evil, because I am the Longbow Girl .
    She headed back into the farmhouse, locked the doors behind her, pulled shut all the curtains against the darkening sky, spent the evening deep in thought. The threat was still out there, she knew that. She could and she would defend herself, but what she really needed to do was make the threat go away. Neutralize it completely. And that meant getting rid of the book as quickly as possible.

T he next day, a thaw finished off what the snowploughs had started, allowing James to head home from Manchester.
    He knew it was time to face his parents. He couldn’t stay in Manchester for ever – at least, not yet.
    He walked to the station, took a train, then a bus and walked again from the centre of Nanteos, up the road, across the de Courcy parkland, into the Black Castle. It would have been so much easier to have driven, he thought to himself. Illegal, but easier.
    Like many children who lived on farms, James had learnt to drive way below the legal age. He considered himself a good driver. It was just the law that prevented him driving on public roads. He couldn’t wait for his sixteenth birthday, in a few weeks, let alone his seventeenth. To be able to get a job, the job. . . fund himself, drive, be independent. But in the meantime, he had to deal with his parents as best he could. He arrived home and headed straight for his father’s muniments room, where he felt sure his father would be locked away with Parks and Philipps, deep in documents.
    He paused outside when he heard the raised voices.
    â€˜Heard that the Owens are in some kind of financial difficulty. Falling behind with mortgage payments,’ his father was saying.
    James froze.
    â€˜How d’you know that?’ his mother asked.
    â€˜Bank manager tipped me off,’ replied his father. ‘Said if something doesn’t come up, they might have to sell.’
    James recoiled in horror. The Owens losing their farm? It was unthinkable. Did Merry know? And was this because of the stallion?
    â€˜I imagine in that case,’ came Dr Philipps’s voice, ‘that they would want to sell the book. I’d heard the farm has been in their hands for over seven hundred years,’ he said gently, his voice laced with sympathy.
    â€˜Yes,’ replied his mother. ‘But interestingly, not long enough !’ she declared, sounding oddly triumphant.
    â€˜What’s your point, darling?’ asked his father. ‘You’re up to something, aren’t you?’
    His mother gave a little chuckle. ‘Well, how long they’ve had the land is rather crucial, when you think about it. You reckon the book comes from the 1200s, Dr Philipps?’
    â€˜That is my estimate, Lady de Courcy, but I would like todo some more testing back in the laboratory,’ replied the historian.
    â€˜Professor Parks, do you have a view?’ continued his mother.
    â€˜I’ll have more of a view after I’ve carried out a full excavation of the site, Lady de Courcy,’ said Parks. ‘It’s still covered with snow. I cannot resume until it is fully thawed.’
    â€˜Hmm,’ replied his mother. That wasn’t the answer she was seeking.
    James clenched his fists. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.
    â€˜Let’s just go with Dr Philipps’s view for the time being, shall we?’ his mother went on. ‘That the book dates from the 1200s. That means that when it was placed in the burial mound that land belonged to us , to the de