CHAPTER 13
Helena
Helena studied the cane suspiciously. For nine days, she’d been stuck relying on one of her companions to help her walk. No one had mentioned a prop.
Until Rouge had suddenly announced they were leaving.
The rest of the group scurried about, packing their few belongings and dismantling their tents.
When Le Capuchon and Jean-haut jogged into camp a few minutes later, Jean-haut presented Helena with a cane.
As if he’d found the smooth, straight piece of wood lying in the forest.
A faint tingle tickled her fingers when she touched it the first time, just like that disturbing breeze earlier. Maybe she was overly sensitive because of her curse and the trials her brother and his wife had undergone in the last year, but she would have sworn a magic-user had sent it.
“Come on, Margit, time to go.” Helena’s new taskmaster tied a green handkerchief over her distinctive hair before tossing Helena’s satchel to her. Dropping the cane, Helena threw her hands up to catch it.
“Planning to tell me where we’re going?” Helena retrieved her cane and pushed herself to her feet. “Or am I expected to blindly follow?”
“Even if I tell you, you’ll be blindly following.” A week ago, Helena would have called Rouge’s smirk mocking. Now, there was something friendly about it. “But I don’t know our destination. Where Cap leads is where we’ll go.”
“You have a lot of faith in your captain. Following him without question like that.”
A scoff heralded Laurent’s arrival. “You wouldn’t understand,” he interjected, his voice dripping with disdain. “A foreign noblewoman, and a runaway to boot.”
Helena’s spine stiffened, and she glared at him while throwing her satchel over her shoulder. “If you’re out in the woods with Le Capuchon, doesn’t that mean you’re a runaway as well?”
His lip curled. “My reasons are none of your business. If I didn’t think you’d turn us all in, I would vote for returning you to where you came from at once. A pampered noblewoman has no place here.”
“Pampered noblewoman? Hardly,” Helena snorted. “If Cap would give me my bow, I would be more at home here than I was at home.”
Her comment elicited a snicker from Rouge. “Until you have to cook, clean up, or mend a tear in your clothes.”
“You can squabble on the way, children.” Jean-haut’s merry voice greeted them as he strolled over to the rough table. “We need to be off.”
Laurent and Rouge hurried ahead, leaving Helena to limp along at the back of the pack.
Gritting her teeth, Helena began the arduous task of walking with a broken ankle.
The cane helped, but both hopping and putting a little weight on her foot were painful.
Adrien noticed and dropped back to join her.
“Would you like some help, Margit?” He offered his arm with a fatherly smile. “You haven’t had long to heal, and we have a lengthy journey ahead of us.”
Her ears perked at that. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“Cap knows where he’s taking us, and that’s enough for me.” The fondness with which he always spoke of their leader crept into his eyes. “But we never move to someplace near our last camp.”
Even Adrien. What had the bandit done to earn such unwavering trust from these people?
“You should walk with Alanna,” she finally replied, looking away as if she had no interest in leaning on his arm. “She likes the buffer from Tucker, and you have enough to carry already.”
His gaze darted to the strap of the heavy pack on his back before traveling to Alanna and then returning to Helena. “Noticed that, did you? What else have you seen in the last few days?”
Blowing some stray hairs out of her face, Helena kept her eyes focused ahead and hid her wince. She hadn’t meant to reveal that; it wouldn’t help the belief that she was a spy.
“I’ve had experience with unwanted suitors,” she finally admitted. “Your daughter doesn’t mind being around him, but she prefers not to be alone with his exuberance.”
Adrien continued to study her curiously. “Perceptive, indeed. Is your experience your own, or observed?”
Disliking the personal nature of that question, Helena looked away. Her eyes caught on Le Capuchon and Jean-haut, each leading a horse at the front of their group. The head bandit looked over his shoulder, his invisible eyes seeming to seek her out. Confounded hood.
Helena glared back.
After a moment, he faced forward again. Nudging his horse sideways, he stepped out of line and waved the others along. As the column passed, his attention drifted back to her. When she and Adrien reached him, he nodded to the older man.
“Thank you, Adrien. You may join Alanna if you wish.”
Chuckling, Adrien lengthened his stride. “That’s a dismissal if ever I heard one.”
Helena turned stiffly away from him. She would rather be alone so she could hide her weakness, but Adrien was preferable to his silent captain.
As expected, Le Capuchon said nothing, simply matching her slow pace and walking beside her. His refusal to talk grated on her nerves. Was he ensuring she didn’t slip away to find General Valentin? As if she could with her ankle.
His hood rankled her again. She couldn’t watch his face for clues to his thoughts if she couldn’t see it.
But she didn’t need his thoughts to rile him.
Smirking, she fixed her eyes ahead. “My brother had a friend who always hid her face. It was rather shocking, but I’m sure yours can’t be worse.” Fighting to keep an innocent expression, she turned to him and added, “If it is, I promise not to scream in terror. Or laugh.”
She could almost hear his teeth grinding in annoyance. “I do not wear my hood from shame.”
“If you aren’t ashamed, then why wear it?” Feeling a spark of mischief, Helena maneuvered a little closer to him. “You should let people see.”
Then taking advantage of its blind spot, she lunged for his hood.
Le Capuchon jerked back, throwing up his arm to block her. Laughing, Helena balanced on her good foot and tried again, but he grabbed her wrist in an iron grip and pulled her arm down.
“Whoop!”
She toppled forward, scrambling to catch herself with the cane—and suddenly found herself firmly pressed to a very solid chest. With her left wrist still locked in his hand and a strong arm wrapped around her waist.
For a moment, she forgot this was the grumpy man who had put an arrow in her shoulder. Helena was only a few inches shorter than him, but she’d fallen such that her head was at his chest. It was a very nice, warm chest, and a very nice arm holding her up.
And a perfect angle for seeing his face.
Grinning, Helena lifted her eyes in gleeful anticipation of finally unmasking him. But just before she caught him, he leaned back, turning his head so she could see nothing but his scruffy beard.
“You’re no fun.” Pouting playfully, she made one last attempt to grab his hood before he set her roughly on her feet. Or foot, with her cane for support. He stepped out of her reach while she took a moment to appreciate the way his cloak fell around his broad shoulders.
A little closer, and she might be able to see under his hood. Was he lying when he said he wasn’t ashamed of his face? Or was it as nice to look at as the rest of him?
He twitched his cloak back into place, then reached over to catch his horse. Helena’s lips curved up.
“You dropped the reins to catch me,” she observed with delight.
“Don’t make me regret it.”
His voice wasn’t as deep as her brother’s, but it was a pleasant voice all the same. Even when he transitioned from unflappable to a bit grumpy.
“Well, you have no one to blame but yourself, you know,” she told him, hobbling after the others. “It’s your fault that I’m here.”
He patted his horse’s neck, keeping his face turned away from her. “You would have frozen if I’d left you at the bottom of the cliff.”
“You see?” she returned smugly. “Your fault.”
“You wouldn’t have needed my help if you hadn’t followed me in the first place.” He huffed and faced forward, rolling his shoulders as if uncomfortable. Or irritated.
Watching from the corner of her eye, she argued, “If you hadn’t dragged my c—my friend into your schemes, I wouldn’t have followed you.” Her amusement dimmed. “And if you hadn’t shot me, I wouldn’t have been at Marielle’s house to know about it.”
“If you hadn’t tried to take my head off with an arrow, I wouldn’t have shot you,” he growled back.
Ooh, it was fun to make him lose his cool. Even annoyed as she was with him, his response put the mischief back in her smirk. “Your hood, not your head. And I didn’t try. But if you had agreed when I asked to join you, I wouldn’t have taken the shot.”
“Which would still have put you here.”
“In which case it would still be your fault.” She grinned. “Either way, I’m here, but because of your choices, you have to put up with me injured and useless for a while. And it’s all. Your. Fault.”
An indecipherable grumble was his only response.
“But maybe you don’t mind,” she teased. “After all, if I were whole and healthy, you wouldn’t have had the excuse to abandon your horse and wrap your arms around me just now.”
“The excuse?” he blurted out. His right hand clenched into a tight fist at his side. “You think I held you because I wanted to? Trust me, Margit, embracing you is the last thing I want to do.”
Unwanted. Abandoned. Alone.
Every drop of amusement fled at his words. Swallowing, she forced the pain to the side and dredged up an angry smile. “Dummkopf, denkst du da? macht es mich froh, hier zu sein? Mit dir?” She laughed. “Ich mochte lieber mit einem B?r zu laufen.”
Fool, you think it makes me happy to be here? With you? I’d rather walk with a bear.
A heavy silence descended on them. Helena couldn’t tell what Le Capuchon was thinking, nor did she care. His hood could be hiding the most handsome face she’d ever seen, and it wouldn’t matter.