CHAPTER 7
Helena
Helena watched with frustration as her horse joined the general exit. Except for a few items scattered on the ground, it carried everything she’d brought from home. Her favorite books, her clothes, all her money...
But what upset her the most was Le Capuchon riding away with her most prized possession on his back.
“He stole my bow!” she ground out to no one. “That good-for-nothing bandit stole my bow!”
A moment later, apprehension edged out her anger when several men sprinted through the trees. Her tension eased a little when she spotted Amitian dark blue on their clothing.
One of the guards released a string of words that wouldn’t be out of place on a ship. Another put his hands on his hips and sighed. “We’ll never catch them now. General Valentin won’t be pleased.”
The third leaned forward to examine something on the ground. “What’s this? A stocking?”
“It’s mine,” Helena interrupted, infusing her voice with regal stiffness. “Since you failed to catch the bandit who deprived me of my things, I demand that you set me free and grant me passage to my destination.”
They all jumped, whipping around to face her. One had his sword half drawn before he spotted her.
“That’s a new low,” one of them snorted as he relaxed. “Now he’s leaving members of his band behind so we don’t grab him?”
“Better take her to the General,” another added. “He’ll want to interrogate her.”
Helena’s mouth dropped open. “I am not a member of his band!” Never mind that she’d tried. “I’m a poor traveler that he kidnapped!”
The guard frowned. “He’s never kidnapped someone before.”
“You say that like you’re disappointed that he’s added it to his repertoire,” Helena noted, narrowing her eyes at him. The guard shifted his weight, eyes flicking toward his companions. “Shouldn’t you be unsurprised that a bandit has sunk to that level?”
One of the others laughed. “Right you are, Miss. Don’t mind Erwan; he believes the stories that Le Capuchon gives his loot to the villagers. Isn’t that right, Erwan?” the man added, elbowing him in the ribs.
“They’re not stories,” Erwan protested. “My—someone I know saw him do it.” Interesting. Why not identify the witness? “And most people who oppose him sustain minor injuries, if any.”
The other guard rolled his eyes. “Being squeamish and a bad shot doesn’t make him noble.”
“A bad shot couldn’t hit the targets he does,” Erwan stubbornly insisted. He folded his arms over his chest. “Easier to hit someone in the chest than above the knee. And every time he takes a shot, it finds a mark. I’m telling you, he minimizes injuries on purpose.”
Was it true? Her own wound wasn’t critical, merely disabling until it healed. And he had tended it...and tied her up.
She was withholding judgment for now.
“I think he mistook me for someone else,” she offered Erwan. It was galling to give Le Capuchon any kind of grace, but the guard was so sincere in his regard. He should know the truth behind his hero’s actions.
The first guard snorted. “Either way, we’ve lost him, and the General will want to speak with any witnesses. Let’s take her back.”
Helena buried her relieved sigh and flashed them a winning grin. “I’m so glad we got that straightened out. If one of you would untie me, I expect we can be on our way.”
~
They didn’t untie her. Erwan was kind enough to walk beside her and steady her at rough patches, but she made the trip back to the road with her arms glued to her sides. It was good for her injured shoulder, but the other one was getting stiff.
Once there, they loaded her into a cart in which they had hoped to transport Le Capuchon. It was humiliating – a princess, treated like a common criminal.
Not that she planned to tell them she was a princess.
A bump in the road knocked her sideways. Unable to catch herself, she fell against the side of the cart, wincing when her shoulder smashed into the wood. Forget his intentions; if she ever saw that bandit again, she was going to—
“It’s only a little farther, Miss.” Looking up, Helena found Erwan’s sympathetic eyes trained on her. He and his horse were trotting next to the cart, keeping watch over the “prisoner” and their injured men.
Not all of them rode in the cart with her, but nearly every guard bore some kind of wound.
Two of the men bouncing next to her had suffered the “arrow above the knee” shot Erwan mentioned.
One had a slice across his right arm that made it difficult to hold the reins. Another had been shot in the foot.
Helena assumed that one happened on the road. Because that seemed like an absurd target if the man had been running.
Regardless, as Erwan had claimed, none of the men had life-threatening injuries. They might be in pain, but they would heal.
She still wanted to take another shot at him, though. Right after she recovered her bow from the no-good thief.
Before long, the trees fell away from the road, and they trundled into the mountainside village of Arles. Log houses sat near the widening road, with more scattered through the trees behind them.
As they pulled to a stop outside a two-story building, a broad-shouldered man stepped up to the cart. His dark hair was trimmed close to his head, but it couldn’t hide the gray at his temples. A broad smile lit his face, and he rubbed his hands together, elbows wide, as he approached Erwan.
“What have you brought me?” he asked jovially. Glancing over the wounded men, he grinned wider before doing a double take. “A woman?”
His eyes narrowed, examining Helena’s tangled braid, bloodied dress, and sturdy bonds. Helena narrowed hers right back.
“A liberated captive, General,” Erwan supplied, his eyes darting toward Helena for a moment. “The bandit left her behind when he fled.”
“Liberated? Then why is she still bound?” The General’s eyebrows lifted as he turned toward the guard. His tone became teasing. “You wouldn’t be trying to sneak a member of Le Capuchon’s band past me, would you?”
Erwan rolled his shoulders in a shrug, but it looked uneasy. “Not intentionally. She claims to be a simple traveler, and she was like this when we found her.”
The General’s gaze transferred to Helena. Eyes crinkling, he joked, “You aren’t allied with our elusive friend, are you? If you were, I would have to haul you to the capital for execution.”
“He shot me because I tried to take off his hood,” Helena growled, pushing all of her pain and frustration forward. She scowled at the General. “Does that sound like an ally to you?”
“His hood?” General Valentin set his hands on the edge of the cart, leaning forward eagerly. “Did you see his face?”
She opened her mouth to tell him the little she’d seen when Le Capuchon was hovering over her. But something held her back.
“A brown beard,” she finally offered when the General’s eyes darkened. “He was quick to cover his face again; I wouldn’t recognize him in a crowd.”
The General’s forehead creased with disappointment. “That is unfortunate; I had hoped to finally identify him. It would be much easier to recover your lost belongings.” He sighed. “But his confounded hood continues to defeat us.”
“Is that why you call him Le Capuchon, then?” Helena asked, amused despite herself. “Because his hood is so annoying?”
A strange look crossed his face. “Why do you say that?”
Pinching her brows together, she watched him while she answered, “Because Le Capuchon is Old Amitian for ‘the hood’?”
“Is it?” Pleasure bloomed across the General’s face, making him look like the old cat at Reineggburg the time she’d snuck it some cream. Satisfaction filled his voice. “He is familiar with the old languages.”
The bandit must have named himself. Helena felt a momentary wince, but a throb in her shoulder dismissed any unease over the slip. She owed Le Capuchon nothing.
Arching an eyebrow, she asked, “Will you free me now and take me to my destination? It is the least you could do to repay your negligence. Had you not allowed a bandit to roam your mountains for so long, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Erwan’s eyes widened, but Helena ignored him, keeping her focus on the General. For a breath, she thought he might be angry, but his face quickly smoothed. “And what is your destination, nameless traveler?”
“I came to Amitié to visit my friend, Lady Marielle Dracovich de Bouclier.” She needed someplace to heal while she figured out how to recover her belongings. “And my name is Margit.”
The General waited, but when she failed to provide her family name, he gave her a tiny nod. “We are returning to Laurier; it would be my pleasure to escort you to her family’s home there.”
Helena hesitated. The only Amitians she’d met prior to her trip were her cousin Marielle and Aunt Chloe – growing up in an isolated castle and spending twelve years in a cursed sleep limited one’s acquaintance.
No one in the capital would recognize her, but she didn’t want word of Marielle’s “friend Margit” to spread.
She certainly didn’t want to give the wrong name when she met Marielle’s other royal cousins.
..assuming Aunt Chloe and Uncle Felix allowed her the anonymity at all.
“I didn’t come for the court scene,” she said stiffly, lifting her chin and mimicking the haughty posture that the Ralnoran noblewomen had perfected. “I am headed for her country estate.”
Please, Marielle, be at the country estate right now.
Folding his arms over his chest, General Valentin studied her with that friendly grin of his. He really did have a distinguished air about him; if Helena were two decades older, she might find him attractive. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t trust strangers anyway.
So why had she sought out a bandit that she’d never met before?
Good question. Perhaps her curse had addled her brain. Or perhaps her encounter with him had reminded her of the wisdom of keeping to herself.
“I did not plan to travel so far north.” The General began to turn away. “However, if Lady Marielle is not in town at the moment, I’m sure her parents—”
“Princess Chloe and Prince Felix should not be inconvenienced because of your incompetence,” Helena interrupted.
She could picture the horrified look on her mother’s face, but Helena was enjoying the verbal freedom of her false identity.
“Loan me a horse and provide funds for traveling or send me with one of your guards; it makes no difference to me if you do not come yourself.”
He laughed, a booming, boisterous sound. “Loan a horse to a stranger? How do you know Lady Marielle, Margit? Why is a foreign lady in our kingdom without guards or companions of her own?”
“I fail to see how that is your business.” She blew her hair out of her face and stared him down. “I’m a grown woman capable of making my own travel plans.”
“And if your choices put you at the mercy of a bandit?”
Helena lifted her chin. “I don’t need protection as long as I have my bow.” Fudging the truth, she added, “If I had known how fast your bandit is, I would have put my arrow through his shoulder instead of his hood. Perhaps then you would understand why I travel as I do.”
One corner of his mouth pulled up, and his cobalt blue eyes laughed at her. He didn’t believe her. “Then since you have no bow, I will grant you an escort. Erwan.” He turned to the guard and jerked his head in her direction. “She’s your responsibility. See that she makes it where she wants to go.”