CHAPTER 11
Helena
Delicious warmth enfolded her. Helena snuggled into the blankets, rolling onto her side before hissing in pain when her left foot brushed the opposite ankle. Memory rushed back, and she shoved herself into a sitting position.
“Careful; you don’t want to jar that ankle. It’s fractured.”
She whipped her head around. The redhead looked familiar, but Helena couldn’t place her. “Thank you,” she began. “How did you happen to find me? I thought I was going to—”
The mottled greens and browns of camouflaged canvas caught her eye. And the air around her was frigid. She sat on a bedroll, not a bed.
The woman smirked at her. “I wouldn’t have saved you. But my brother would do anything for your friend, and Cap is always bringing home wounded animals for me to mend. Though you’re the first one that he shot first.”
As the pieces clicked into place, a swirling combination of dread and anger bubbled through her chest. “You’re Scarlett.” Helena ground her teeth together and spit out, “I want my bow back.”
Scarlett laughed. “Your bow? Sorry, it snapped when you fell.”
“Not that one.” Helena glared at her. “The one your precious Cap stole from me. I want it back.”
“You’ll have to ask him,” Scarlett replied lazily, leaning back on her hands. “I don’t know what he did with your things. One of our young people has been borrowing your horse, but I’m sure she’ll give it back if you ask nicely.”
Helena wanted to growl that she shouldn’t have to ask, but she held her tongue. Scarlett was acting kinder than the last time they met, but Helena might still be a prisoner. Restraints weren’t necessary with a broken ankle.
The sound of a flap being thrown aside drew Helena’s attention. A head of dark brown hair with a cheery smile poked through the opening. “I see our disciple is awake. How are you feeling, Margit?”
Blinking at him, she parroted, “Disciple?”
“Disciple, follower.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Since you followed us back from Marielle’s house.”
Her cheeks burned at the reminder. Facing the wall, she asked, “What do you plan to do with me?”
“Me? Nothing.” Stepping fully into the tent, he shrugged and sat down by her feet. “Cap? I’m sure he’d like to send you back to Marielle, but you won’t be going anywhere for a while. Not with that ankle, even with the splint and salve for the pain.”
That wasn’t the answer she’d expected. “He would just let me go? When I know where you are?”
Smirking, the short man placed a finger alongside his nose. “That assumes you know where we are when you’re not with us.”
The tents. They might have a new camp every day. Even if she could find her way back, they would be gone before General Valentin’s men arrived.
“I’m Jean-haut, by the way.” The short man extended a hand and nodded in Scarlett’s direction. “This is my sister Rouge.”
“Jean!” Scarlett hissed, her eyes seeming to glow as she glared at her brother. “Why would you tell her that?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t plan to spend the next several weeks trying to remember codenames. Besides, I believe Marielle. Margit isn’t with the General.”
Scarlett—Rouge—frowned. “And how can she be sure?” Shaking her head, she shoved her brother lightly in the shoulder. “Never mind. If you don’t have anything useful to say, get out of my tent. Margit and I do not need your help to get ready for the day.”
~
Helena took another tiny step, steadying herself on Rouge’s shoulder. No one sat at the logs ringing the campfire, but she could feel the eyes of Le Capuchon’s band on her. What reason had he given them for her presence?
Carefully lowering herself onto the nearest log, Helena pulled her cloak tight and cast her curious gaze around the camp.
Something about the clearing struck her as odd.
Perhaps it was the air of neatness, or the too-perfect placement of the branches supporting the tents.
Or the strange table Rouge was using to prepare a simple meal.
Her gaze drifted across the camp to several horses milling about on picket lines. One nosed aside the snow, searching for blades of dormant grass. Another stretched its head into the trees, peeling bark from the branches.
“We’ll have to find a new home for them soon,” a quiet voice said near her ear.
Startled, Helena threw herself sideways before resuming a placid expression.
The middle-aged man behind her offered an apologetic grin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I wasn’t scared,” Helena stiffly replied. “I just hadn’t noticed you standing there.”
The twinkle in his eyes communicated his disbelief. Gesturing to the empty spot next to her, he asked, “May I join you?”
“I can’t stop you.”
Instead of leaving at her haughty response, he chuckled, stepping over the log and sitting down. “I’m Adrien. Cap says your name is Margit?”
“What were you talking about when you arrived?” Helena replied.
Adrien’s brown eyes studied her for a moment before he tipped his head toward the edge of the camp. “The horses. You were watching them, weren’t you?”
Nodding, she let her gaze drift that direction again. “You don’t plan to use them any longer?”
“We can’t feed them,” he replied sadly. “It was hard enough during the summer; now that winter is approaching, the forest grass can’t keep up. Farrell has already decided tree bark is an acceptable substitute.”
As Helena watched the gray- and white-speckled horse lip another branch, more people drifted over to the logs.
A teenager with his black hair pulled back in a leather tie made no effort to disguise his curiosity as he plopped down across from her, but the young man next to him leaned his forearms on his knees, eyeing her with suspicion.
“So tell me, Margit,” Adrien said as a young woman with his eyes joined them. “Why did you follow our Cap home?”
Le Capuchon chose that moment to appear, his hood still drawn low over his face.
Helena’s eyes followed him as he found a seat.
Even with his band, he hid? “Curiosity,” she smoothly lied.
“Everyone from my c—my friend to one of General Valentin’s guards speaks well of Le Capuchon.
Is he more than a bandit? I wanted to see for myself,”
“You seemed pretty convinced before,” Rouge scoffed. Lifting two wooden bowls, she handed them to Jean-haut, who stood next to her. “Accusing us of stealing your things.”
“And…you did.” Helena raised a challenging eyebrow, dropping her claim of neutrality. “I traveled to Marielle’s estate on a borrowed horse because I had nothing but the clothes on my back.”
“Wait, you’re that woman who took a shot at Cap?” the black-haired teenager interrupted. His face gleamed with fascination. “I still can’t believe you tried, but you must be fast! No one catches him by surprise!”
Speaking of being surprised…
Helena stared at him while Rouge growled, “It is not impressive, Tucker! We should be thankful—”
“That her aim is worse than her speed. I know,” Tucker finished with a roll of his eyes. “So you’ve said.”
“There is nothing wrong with my aim.” Helena’s shock disappeared at the slur to her skill. Adding her glare to Rouge’s, she snapped, “He dismissed me like a child. I decided to prove my worth. How many archers do you know who can remove a man’s hood? On purpose?”
“Cap could do it,” Tucker grinned, accepting a bowl from Jean-haut, who was watching the argument with bright eyes. “Don’t know I’d trust anyone else to try, though.”
Rouge passed another set of bowls. “A likely story,” she mumbled.
“Give me my bow, and I’ll prove it.” Straightening, Helena shifted her gaze to Le Capuchon. “I still want to see his face. Don’t the rest of you?”
The group’s leader finally acknowledged her. “They’ve seen it. And I’m not giving you a bow.”
“Smart choice, Cap,” the suspicious man said. His eyes narrowed. “We shouldn’t trust her.”
“Peace, Laurent.” Le Capuchon waved Jean-haut toward Helena. “If I gave her a bow now, she would hurt herself.” He turned his face toward her. “But I also don’t trust her.”
She bristled. “And I don’t trust you, so we’re even. Need I remind you why a draw would hurt me?”
“Need I remind you why I took my shot?” His voice remained annoyingly calm. “If you don’t trust me, why did you follow me?”
“I—”
She couldn’t flee and had no means of defense. Admitting her plans to betray him to General Valentin was a bad idea.
Raising her chin, Helena said, “Like I said, I was curious. I may not trust you, but Marielle does. I want to know why.”
There – not a complete lie.
Shrouded by his hood, his expression was unreadable. Helena discovered she was strangely irked by her inability to rile him. Not that she had been trying…yet.
Smiling sweetly, she batted her eyes and continued, “But I suppose I’ve already found out.
I didn’t picture you as the type, given your reputation as a great archer.
” His head tipped a little to one side, and she imagined a wrinkle between his eyebrows.
“Rouge told me about your concern for wounded creatures. Tell me, what kind do you bring home? Bunny rabbits? Puppies?”
The circle was silent, many people looking down while some, like Adrien, watched their leader with a fond smile. Le Capuchon turned away as Jean-haut handed him the final bowl. Picking up a piece of dried meat, he bit off a chunk, then slowly chewed and swallowed before answering. “People.”
Helena glanced around the circle. “People?” she echoed.
He didn’t elaborate, nor did anyone else. Were they always this quiet? Or was it her presence that made them so?
The feeling of being alone in a crowd, of the people around her wishing she were far away, began to overtake her. They ate quietly, even energetic Tucker focusing on his bowl as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
If they had been stuffy nobles, she wouldn’t have cared if her presence disturbed them.
But these people felt different. It was in the way Adrien smiled at the girl who must be his daughter, the way Laurent’s eyes traced Rouge’s face when he wasn’t glaring at Helena.
It was Rouge’s good-natured glare at her brother when he poked her in the side, Le Capuchon’s quiet acknowledgment of the boy whispering in his ear.
Her throat tightened. What would it be like to belong here? To be accepted by Le Capuchon’s ragtag band?
Deciding to momentarily forget the hole in her shoulder, Helena put on a teasing grin. “So when I first met you, I should have pretended to be a damsel in distress? Would you have let me join then?” A ripple of surprise passed through the circle.
“You couldn’t pull it off,” Le Capuchon said after a moment. A hint of irritation laced his voice. “And I don’t accept spies. You’re only here because you’re injured. As soon as you’re well, I’m sending you home.”
Unwanted. Abandoned. Alone.
Helena gritted her teeth against the mental refrain. “I’m not going home,” she ground out. “And you can’t make me.”
The opening of Le Capuchon’s hood jerked toward her. He studied her briefly. “Back to Marielle’s, then,” he amended. “But you won’t be staying here.”
Unwanted. Abandoned. Alone.
Helena’s defenses crashed back down. Ignoring the burn at the corners of her eyes, she called up the heat of her anger. She slammed her empty bowl on the log and shot to her feet. “Then I won’t burden you with my presence. Excuse me.”
Fisting her hands, she spun to the side…and crumpled into Adrien’s arms.
“Easy there,” he soothed as she gripped his cloak, gritting her teeth against the pain in her ankle. “You don’t want to make that worse.”
“Thank you,” she muttered. How humiliating. She couldn’t even leave the campfire on her own. Somehow, while trying to find her freedom, she had lost what little she’d had.
As Adrien wrapped a gentle arm under her shoulders, she twisted to look at Le Capuchon. Giving him her sweetest smile, she said, “Dummkopf. Die n?chste Zeit, solltest du mich allein lassen.” Dummy. The next time, you should leave me alone.
Then she leaned against her kind support and tried to ignore the ache in her chest.