CHAPTER 16
Helena
Branches creaked high overhead, but only a light breeze disturbed the forest floor. Helena shivered and pulled her cloak more securely around herself. The sky wasn’t threatening snow, but late fall in the mountains was proving to be colder than in Ralnor.
Le Capuchon lifted his head, tilting it as if listening for something. She had noticed odd behavior in response to the breeze yesterday as well. Her mind drifted back to the wind she felt before they left their original camp.
“Are you a magic-user? Is it not your face but your ears that you’re hiding?”
His head angled toward her. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because you look like the wind is telling you something.” She shrugged as if it were inconsequential. “I’ve never seen wind magic performed, but I can’t think of anyone else who would use the wind as an informant.”
“I don’t have magic.” His voice was perfectly calm.
Well, that wouldn’t do. “I’m not sure I believe you,” she teased lightly. “Perhaps you should pull back your hood so I can see for myself.”
“No.”
“Ears only tell you something if they’re pointed,” Jean-haut cut in. “Magic can conceal the tips.” He tapped his chin. “Although it can also give the appearance of a taper, so I guess you can never be sure.”
Helena peered down at him. She could only see him past his horse because she sat on Farrell’s back. “I’ve been meaning to ask: doesn’t Jean-haut mean Tall Jean?”
She thought she heard a snort from Le Capuchon, and Jean-haut turned so she could see his wide grin. “That it does.”
“But you’re...not.”
He winked, then called out, “Brains as well as beauty, Cap. She’s a keeper!”
“You’re welcome to her,” the grumpy leader growled back.
Le Capuchon’s response hurt more than it should have. Was it so much to wish for one male in all the kingdoms who actually wanted her? Her, not her title?
Anger would fail her in this situation, so she covered the wound with a glowing smile. “Why, thank you, Jean-haut. I always pictured someone a little taller, but I suppose I could settle.”
She wished she could see Le Capuchon’s reaction to that. But he didn’t so much as shake his head.
Jean-haut, on the other hand, dropped his jaw before bursting into laughter. “That was good, Margit! Why, even Cap thought it was funny. Didn’t you, Cap?” he prodded.
Le Capuchon shrugged. “It would be funnier if she’d said it to Raoul.”
“But he’s not short.”
“And he’s the biggest flirt in Amitié.” Le Capuchon’s tone was dry. “So I would be highly amused if a runaway were willing to settle for him.”
Helena raised her eyebrows. Le Capuchon was less grumpy while chatting with his friend.
Jean-haut released an exasperated sigh. “He may charm every woman he meets, but you know he only flirts with Daphne.”
“And that would be enough, but what you call charm, I call flirtation,” Le Capuchon grumbled back.
And there was the grouchiness she’d come to expect from him. When he wasn’t being perfectly calm.
“Who’s Daphne?” Helena interrupted.
They both turned with an air of surprise. Had they forgotten she was there?
Glancing at Le Capuchon, Jean-haut cleared his throat and said, “No one. Just a friend.”
Her grin widened. This sounded like more than a friend.
Before she could push for more details, Jean-haut said, “I’m curious about you and Marielle. How long have you two known each other?”
Her mouth snapped shut. Questions about her history were dangerous for her anonymity.
“I think we met when I was...” Her mind raced. They wouldn’t know if she lied, but the truth was easier to keep straight. “Eight, maybe?”
“Eight?” She could hear a mild frown in Le Capuchon’s voice. “I’m surprised she’s never mentioned you.”
“Strangely enough, she never mentioned you, either,” Helena retorted with a bright smile. “I had no idea she was friends with a couple of outlaws.”
“It’s safer that way,” he murmured. “For all of us.”
Their path began to slope downhill, and Helena adjusted her position in the saddle. Riding without the reins left her strangely off balance.
Jean-haut cocked his head to the side. “Wait. If Marielle didn’t tell you, then how did you find us?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Le Capuchon replied for her. “She was spying. That’s what spies do.”
“I wasn’t spying,” Helena protested. Giving Farrell’s ribs a light squeeze with her knees, she managed to draw even with him for a few moments. “I was taking a walk. Stumbling upon the three of you was an accident.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t keep you from leaving.”
Helena lifted her chin. “She couldn’t have stopped me if she’d tried. But I didn’t give her the chance.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Le Capuchon took another few steps, then stopped in his tracks. Spinning on his heel, he gave her a glimpse of his nose as he stared straight at her. “You at least left her a note, didn’t you?”
Helena shifted in the saddle. She shouldn’t have to explain herself to an outlaw, but his disapproval stung. “I didn’t have time for that. Besides, I didn’t want her to come after me.” She doubted her cousin would have approved of her plan, regardless of her reasons.
“So instead, you let her worry?” He shook his head and started walking again. “You’re a very inconsiderate friend.”
“I didn’t leave a note for my family, either!” Helena said defensively. “Escaping Himmelsburg takes planning. I couldn’t risk someone finding the letter too soon.”
“Unbelievable,” he muttered.
“Careful, Cap. You’re sounding awfully concerned about someone you think is the General’s spy,” Jean-haut observed, his voice tinged with amusement.
Helena didn’t see anything funny about the situation. “And I suppose you left a note for your family when you ran off to the woods? Do you exchange regular letters to ease their minds regarding your safety?”
“That’s different.” Le Capuchon’s spine straightened. “I didn’t have the opportunity to tell them. And it’s better they don’t know where I am.”
“Yes, I’m sure your mother would be very disappointed,” she drawled.
Resting her elbows on her knees, she leaned forward.
It felt rather precarious on a moving horse, especially when her ankle wouldn’t let her grip properly with her knees.
“Most mothers don’t hope their little boys grow up to be outlaws.
But surely Daphne is concerned about you? ”
“You are likely right on both counts.” His voice was as stiff as the passing trees. “But those facts don’t change my situation. I can’t tell them. But you could.”
“I could tell your family where you are?” she asked innocently. “Does that mean you’ll tell me your name so I can find them?”
His head and shoulders drooped forward. When he lifted them again, his voice was calm and even. “No.”
“I believe he was referring to your family, Margit,” Jean-haut supplied helpfully when his friend said nothing else. “Or at least Marielle. If you write her a letter, Adrien will post it at the nearest village.”
“I suppose if I don’t, she’ll write my parents,” Helena mumbled. Sitting up again, she fingered the strap of her satchel. It and everything inside had come from her cousin. She didn’t want to admit it, but the bandit was right. Marielle would worry; Helena should have left some kind of message.
“Why don’t you want your parents to know where you are?” Jean-haut asked curiously.
Farrell stumbled on a rock, and Helena scrambled to catch herself. Once she was steady, she snorted and rolled her eyes at him. “I ran away, and I have no intention of going home. Why would I let my family drag me back?”
“Would they do that?”
She pulled her cloak tighter. “They’ve done it before.”
This situation was a little different than when she ran off to Daraigh, but she had no doubt Papa would send Axel to fetch her again. Either that, or Lord Carolus would; she couldn’t marry his son if she were hiding in Amitié.
“Margit.” Le Capuchon’s voice was gentle this time. If she hadn’t been annoyed by his previous disdain, she might have been touched. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Why don’t you want to go home?”
For a moment, the compassion in his voice had her opening her mouth to spill the whole depressing story. Michael, the council’s decree, Tobias and Liesl, Luther—
But then her mind caught up. “I don’t see why it matters to you. Once my ankle is healed, I’ll no longer be your concern. Unless you’re planning to keep me captive?” She raised a questioning eyebrow.
Jean-haut laughed. “Expecting Cap to not worry is like expecting the sun to not shine. He can’t help it.”
“I won’t worry when I push you into the lake in the middle of winter,” Le Capuchon said calmly.
“Only because you know I can—”
The short man broke off with another glance at Helena. Patting his horse’s neck, he continued, “You would be concerned if it were anyone else. Except maybe your worst enemy, but I’m not sure about that.”
He was hiding something. But Helena was more interested in knowing Le Capuchon’s expression; one of his shoulders twitched in response to his friend’s ribbing. Was he embarrassed that he was known for caring? Was it suppressed laughter at the banter?
She grinned. Only one way to find out.
Nudging Farrell forward again, she leaned dangerously in the saddle and swiped at his hood.
He spun and stepped away when her fingertips brushed the back of his head. “Must you do that?” A note of irritation colored his voice.
Despite her failure to snag his hood, Helena smiled in smug satisfaction. She so enjoyed making him lose his cool.
But then she started to slide sideways and clamped her legs around the horse to hold on.
Farrell leaped forward with a snort. Releasing a gasp of pain, Helena reached for his neck. Her ankle throbbed from banging against his side; hitting the ground would be worse.
But she couldn’t stop her hips from falling.
“Whoa!”
The startled exclamation was muffled as her brain locked out unnecessary input. The horse surging forward. Her injured ankle bouncing painfully over the saddle. Her hands slipping.
The merciless ground rushing up to meet her... until it wasn’t.
An arm wrapped around her waist while her back connected with something solid. Another arm hooked her right knee. She was still moving backward, and then she was falling again.
A grunt of pain sounded behind her as she landed on something softer than the ground. After a moment to catch her breath, she twisted to look over her shoulder. “We really must stop meeting like this, Cap.”
He just dropped his forehead on her shoulder and groaned.