CHAPTER 22 #2
Jogging back to Farrell, Cap quickly untied the horse and rode toward the southern trail. He hadn’t gone far when he found the faint outline of a hoofprint. All signs of Margit’s cane disappeared after that, but he didn’t find his missing arrow or any blood.
If she’d been captured…
He’d never lost one of his people. But a distant awareness whispered that trailing Laurent or Tucker wouldn’t bring the same tightness to his chest.
Cap watched the faint marks on the ground as he rode swiftly along the trail. His prey wandered closer to the creek, and Cap reined Farrell in. If the scout had stopped for a drink, it would be an ideal time for an ambush. If he was still there.
A faint voice drifted through the trees. Male. “—show—in the right direction—searching tomorrow. Le Capuchon—”
Cap dismounted as quietly as he could and looped Farrell’s reins over a tree branch. Pulling his bow free, he crept toward the voice.
“—more than he deserves—the way he’s treated you.”
The trees ahead parted, and Cap saw a young guard kneeling on the ground next to a cloaked figure with a bow on its back. He felt a moment of confusion. Why would she still have her bow if she was a captive?
His heart sank. Unless she wasn’t.
“—can’t do that.”
“Margit—”
Cap crept closer, stepping carefully so he wouldn’t reveal himself. He needed to hear their conversation. Needed to know if he’d been wrong about her after all.
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know. And even if I did, I wouldn’t.”
The guard abruptly stood, pacing away and running a hand through his hair before giving Cap a clear view of his face. Erwan again? Cap frowned; he’d always liked the young man, but they were on opposite sides this time.
Suddenly, Margit rose awkwardly to her feet. An amused smile pulled at Cap’s lips when she focused an arrow at the startled guard. But still he waited.
“What do you think you’re doing, Margit?” Erwan asked. His right hand twitched, but he wisely left his sword where it was. “Do you plan to kill me?”
“I don’t want to,” she replied icily. “But I’m leaving, one way or another.”
The guard scooted a foot toward her. “You can’t mount my horse with that leg. And it’s a long way down the mountain with a cane.”
“Better that than let you turn me over to the General.”
“If you’ll only tell me—”
“No, Erwan.” Her voice was firm, but her stance wavered; she couldn’t put the proper weight on her back leg. “I will not give up my friends.”
“Even though they abandoned you?” he shot back.
Her bow dipped for a fraction of a second. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
“Oof!”
The guard tackled her, dodging her bow and catching her waist with one arm. The arrow flew into the trees.
“That will teach me to underestimate a woman,” Erwan grumbled, sitting up and wrestling her against his chest. Margit fought like a wild cat, but he wasn’t playing with her like Cap did.
The guard managed to lock both of her arms against her sides, then reached for the pile of rope where she’d been sitting. “Heavens, Margit, I told you I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Then let her go.”
They both froze. Margit’s eyes leapt up to Cap, and her frustrated expression crumpled into mashed lips and rather wet-looking eyes. “Cap. You came for me.”
“Always.” He said it without thinking, but the truth of it settled into him.
Her green eyes had irritated him when they met on the road near Arles, then again after he brought her to camp.
But they had softened since then, matured.
Made him smile even when he doubted her.
And he would miss them when he sent her back to Marielle’s estate.
Transferring his gaze to the guard, he ordered, “Let her go, then move away to the tree line.”
“Le Capuchon?” Erwan whispered. His mouth was hanging open, but his eyes weren’t wide with fear. And, Cap realized with a jolt, they were staring straight into his.
He’d forgotten to pull up his hood.
Margit rolled free of Erwan’s limp arm, snagged her bow, and hobbled over to Cap’s side. She looked like she wanted to hug him, but she wisely refrained.
Cap kept his focus on the guard, his heart pounding with the knowledge of his mistake. “Untie her cane from your saddle and toss it over here.”
The guard stared for another moment before rocking to his feet and saluting. “Yes, sir.” He jogged to the saddle, untied the prop, and passed it over from a distance.
“Sir?” Margit whispered. He could hear the question in her voice, but he couldn’t worry about that now.
“Don’t follow us,” Cap warned, backing away. He kept his arrow trained on the guard. “And whatever you think you know, don’t tell anyone.”
“No, I—I wouldn’t dream of it.” Sounding dazed, Erwan remained where he was, arms loose at his sides. “But why are you—I mean, I know why—but why—”
“Not another word.”
After another few steps, Cap stuffed his bow in its sheath, scooped Margit up, and jogged toward Farrell. She squeaked as she wrapped an arm around his neck. “What if he follows?”
“He won’t,” Cap assured her with more confidence than he felt. “But can you reach my quiver?”
She nodded against his cheek. He wanted to lean into it, but now wasn’t the time. “I’ve never shot from someone’s arms, but I’m willing to try.”
“Good.” Farrell stood just ahead, his ears pointed forward as they approached. Thank the heavens the horse was used to Cap running up to him.
Slowing, Cap adjusted his hold so he could hoist Margit onto the saddle. As soon as she was steady, he swung himself up behind her and grabbed the reins.
She twisted in her seat and gave him a sly grin. “Perhaps we should practice, just in case.”
“Practice what?” he asked, his attention on sending Farrell in the wrong direction as noisily as possible.
“Shooting from someone’s arms.” Her grin turned wicked. “If we have to re-enact our escape, the skill could come in handy. But it would mean you’d have to hold me again. Think you’re up to it?”