It had been a trifle more difficult to keep the hissing mama from scratching her and Bathsheba’s eyes out. The scratches and bites could be tended later.
Artemis had encountered the most difficulty, however, when she’d lifted the squirming kittens and began placing them into the basket she’d brought with her for the purpose of hauling them to the Grange. It seemed she’d missed a crucial bit of information about their cargo. These weren’t docile newborn kittens whose eyes hadn’t yet opened. These were weeks-old kittens and …
Active.
Very active.
And very skilled at escaping.
There were five of them.
Still, somehow she’d managed, and was now stomping through the woods, the return journey to the Grange a very different experience from the silent, careful steps that had carried her to the barn. Now, her sole purpose was to cross overthe boundary to her land as quickly as possible, discretion no longer a concern as the hissing mama cat dogged her every step with noisy yowls of discontent.
If only they would cooperate.
“I’m saving your wee lives,” muttered Artemis in a sing-songy voice. “Perhaps you could show a little gratitude?”
But one didn’t help animals for the gratitude.
She glanced down at four sets of bright eyes shining up at her. The fifth kitten, a feisty orange, was using his razor-sharp claws to climb up her arm. She’d already placed him back in the basket twice. Knowing a losing effort when she saw one, she was inclined to let him have his way. He would be perched atop her head, claws dug into her scalp, by the time they reached Mrs. Hopper’s waiting kitchen.
Loyal to the last, Bathsheba remained close by Artemis—the other side from both the basket of kittens and the mama cat, rightfully wary of their fierce, fluffy charges.
None of them were happy.
Still, determination drove Artemis’s every step.
Sometimes, the hard thing was also the right thing.
The kittens would be safe—that was the hard thingandthe right thing.
She’d hoped to be home before the sun broke across the horizon, but the air was taking on the hazy slate-blue of impending dawn, and they still had a good ten minutes of quick-paced walking before they crossed onto her land.
Maybe she should’ve brought a groom to help. But no, she didn’t want anyone else involved if she were caught. If trouble was to come in the form of consequences, she would face them alone. After all, what good was being a lady if one couldn’t use the title to extract oneself from the occasional scrape?
Not that the kittens or the mama cat or even Bathsheba gave a toss about her title.
In fact, that was one of her favorite things about animals.
How you treated them was who you were to them.
It was lovely.
“Not much longer,” she encouraged in a low, calming voice.
It was a lie, but a necessary one—to herself, especially.
Of a sudden, Bathsheba’s ears perked up, and her gaze went sharp with watchfulness. A moment later, the quiet erupted with the force of her bark. Artemis stopped cold in her tracks. The orange kitten had reached her shoulder and mewled directly into her ear. These last few months, she had become attuned to the variety of Bathsheba’s barks.
She knew this one.
A single warning bark, the entirety of her focus fully trained upon a point in the distance.
Someone was in these woods with them.
Her mouth went dry and her palms moist. She inhaled a shaky breath. She knew everyone within a twenty-mile radius, and they knew her. There was nothing to fear.
Her breath steadied, and she opened her mouth. Before she could speak, however, a firm voice rang out, “If you put your takings down, you can leave with your freedom.”
