CHAPTER 8
Helena
The long drive stretched ahead of her, winding up the side of the mountain. Erwan had told her that they were in the foothills here, but they seemed like mountains to her. The rolling hills around Himmelsburg and Reineggburg were nothing compared to this.
“Is your shoulder all right?” the guard asked, turning concerned eyes on Helena as she sat on her motionless horse, gazing up at the large manor house built into the hillside. “Do you need to rest before we continue?”
Shaking her head, Helena squeezed the horse’s sides with her knees, urging it forward. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She offered him a half smile. “No sense making you lift me down and back up again so close to our destination.”
The irritation at her helplessness swelled up again. Erwan had been kind during the weeklong trip and had shown extraordinary patience with her inability to mount and dismount on her own. And with their slower pace – her injury didn’t appreciate bouncing along on the back of a horse.
If she had been in his boots, she would have already given herself a sleeping draught, tossed her unconscious body over the horse’s withers, and ridden as fast as was feasible just to get it over with.
Thank the heavens Erwan was more like her brother than like her.
Nerves twisted her stomach into knots as they rode slowly forward. Her cousin was not expecting her and would likely greet her by name. Would Erwan see it? Or would he have already ridden away with her borrowed horse? And what if Marielle was in town? The staff wouldn’t admit a stranger.
Worse, what if Marielle’s parents were in the country? They would insist on sending a letter home, and then Papa would know where to find her.
The house loomed above her, its face an odd mix of stone and wood.
But nestled against the mottled pale pink and dark gray rocks and surrounded by an old stand of scrub oak, it looked.
..right. Like it had grown there instead of being built.
It wasn’t tiny, nor was it huge. More like Reineggburg than the castle in Himmelsburg.
But somehow still a bit intimidating.
“You’re sure this is the right place?” Helena pulled the corner of her lip into her mouth, chewing on it with her upper canine. She eyed the door apprehensively.
“Haven’t you been here before? I thought you were friends with Lady Marielle.” Erwan’s voice sounded off; was he rethinking his decision to convince General Valentin of her innocence?
Pasting on a reassuring smile, she twisted in the saddle to face him.
“I am. But I wasn’t allowed to travel growing up, so I only saw Marielle when she visited her Ralnoran cousins.
” She looked at the front door again, its ordinary size soothing.
“I haven’t seen her in several years due to.
..events that prevented me from accepting visitors.
And since then, she hasn’t traveled because of the excitement here. ”
She was trying to mask her anxiety, but something must have leaked onto her face, because her companion’s brow furrowed as he examined her. “Are you worried about your reception? Should I come with you?”
“No, of course not,” she hastily answered. “Marielle would never turn me away.”
“Maybe I should wait outside for a few minutes,” he replied with uncertain eyes. “Just to be sure.”
Helena laughed. “If it eases your conscience. Could you help me down so I can introduce myself to her staff?”
It was galling to need the assistance, but she couldn’t deny that his hands felt pleasant on her waist. She would prefer Michael’s, but—
No. Michael was beyond her reach now. And she liked it that way. He didn’t want her, and she didn’t want him.
She gave Erwan’s hand a light pat before he stepped away and flashed him a teasing smile, enjoying the way his ears grew pink while his face stayed perfectly straight.
Since she’d written off princes and noblemen, perhaps she should consider the men who watched over them.
Especially the ones that did so with a bow.
But right now, she needed to find out if her cousin was home.
Summoning her courage, she straightened her back and marched up the stone steps. The solid wood hurt her knuckles, but the sound was pitiful on her side of the door. Hopefully, it was echoing across an entry hall on the other side.
After a minute of chewing on her lip and forcing her feet to stay still, she risked a glance over her shoulder.
Erwan was watching her with a strange expression.
“Maybe you should try the bell,” he suggested.
When she frowned in confusion, he nodded toward a wooden handle hanging from a chain beside the door. “The doorbell.”
Right. Sheltered princesses might be clueless about doorbells, but anyone else would be familiar with such things. If she didn’t want anyone to realize that there was a Ralnoran princess running around Amitié, she needed to be more believable.
“Oh, there it is!” she exclaimed with a false twitter of laughter. “How did I miss that before? So silly of me.”
Facing the door once more, she reached out and pulled the cord, grimacing at the wall. Hopefully, Erwan wouldn’t tell General Valentin about her odd behavior. She preferred to stay inconspicuous to those in charge of the kingdom.
And she’d already drawn the regent’s notice by her encounter with Le Capuchon.
Her brows drew down. Shouldn’t Queen Valerie or Prince Raphael’s younger sister be regent? Even though as women, they couldn’t inherit?
The soft sound of a releasing latch brought a smile to her face and her princess poise to her spine and shoulders.
If she intended to convince the proper-looking footman to let her inside, despite her single guard and lack of luggage – not to mention her dress, which had seen better days – she would need to sell her story.
“May I help you?” he asked, his tone perfectly polite and his eyes skimming her before darting over her shoulder. He seemed torn between an instinctive reaction to her personal presentation and what his eyes were telling him about the trappings of her reality.
“I am here to visit my friend, Lady Marielle. Is she in?” Helena replied, drawing herself up a little straighter.
His eyes flicked behind her again as he weighed his answer. “I will check. Who may I tell her is calling?”
“Margit. From Ralnor.” Then, in case her cousin needed another hint, she added, “Tell her that I’m the reason her copy of the latest Stewart mystery went astray.”
A tiny lift to his eyebrows accompanied his brisk nod. “If you’ll wait here, please.”
He hesitated, looking torn, then motioned her inside.
She caught a subtle head twitch in the direction of another young man.
The footman who admitted her disappeared down the hall, while the other young man discovered a sudden need to rearrange the items on a small table nearby.
Helena didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended.
Several minutes passed before a black-haired woman in her mid-twenties strolled into the entry hall. Her mouth, usually a little too wide on her face, was pressed into a polite but wary smile. When she caught sight of Helena, it stretched into a broad – if confused – grin.
“It is you!” Marielle exclaimed, rushing forward. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? And why did you give your name as Margit?”
Keeping her smile firmly in place, Helena widened her eyes. “Because that’s my name.”
Marielle wrinkled her button nose, but instead of pursuing the issue, she said, “Marcel, if you could fetch...my friend’s things and—” She broke off, eyebrows drawing together. “No, you said she arrived without any, didn’t you?”
“I had a little trouble along the way,” Helena grimaced. “My things didn’t make it.”
Marielle’s eyes darted back to her, jumping up and down as if absorbing her full appearance for the first time. “Your dress—and is your arm in a sling? What happened?”
“A little run-in with the bandit in your woods,” she said as nonchalantly as she could. When her cousin blinked at her, she supplied, “Le Capuchon. He shot me in the shoulder and then ran off with all my belongings. My dresses. My horse.” Her jaw clenched. “My bow.”
Marielle’s mouth dropped, her lips forming a large O. “He—but why?”
“Why did a bandit rob me?” Helena scoffed. “Despite what that guard out there – and you, apparently – think, he’s no saint.”
“But he—” Snapping her mouth shut, Marielle turned to the footman again. “Please prepare a room for—Margit. I assume you’ll be staying with us?” Helena nodded. “And show her guard where he can stay.”
“Actually, he isn’t mine,” Helena cut in. “Erwan is on loan from General Valentin. But he planned to wait until I was settled.”
The color disappeared from Marielle’s already pale face.
“He’s one of the General’s men?” Bringing her hands to her waist, she pressed her palms together and took a deep breath.
A calm mask settled over her features, but Helena could see an edge of concern around her eyes.
“Marcel, please let the guard outside know that he is no longer needed. Margit will be safe here.”
Without waiting for the footman’s response, Marielle grabbed Helena’s arm and took off down a nearby hallway. Helena followed meekly, preferring to endure the impending conversation where the servants couldn’t overhear.
As soon as the sitting room door closed behind them, Marielle released Helena’s arm and spun to face her. “Would you care to explain how you ended up in my home with no notice, no guards except a tool of the General, and the claim that Le Capuchon hurt and robbed you?”