Red Rider Redemption (The Red Rider Saga Book 3)

by D. A. Randall

  “Helena, you’re not a soldier. You’re a young girl. You should be enjoying your life. Attending parties, meeting young men –.”

  “I’ve met young men.”

  “Not everyone is cruel, Helena. You know that. And a girl who can help around the house, who can cook and sew –.”

  “I can’t cook! And I can’t sew!” I stomped to the nearby table, grabbing up the patchwork from my last attempt – the patch with snarls that Mama kept there among her own lace handkerchiefs and exquisite dresses she had designed. I shook it at her face. “I’ve tried to sew! You can sew. But I’m not you. I never will be!” I threw the snarled thread and patch at her feet. “I can hunt. I’m good at hunting, like Papa. But I’ll never be the person you want me to be. I’ll never be pretty like you.” Her image started to blur from the tears that welled up. “And no young man will ever be kind to me or come to my home and sit with me, because he would have to look at my ugly face!”

  Mama stood to her feet, her eyes pleading. I turned away to escape, but she cradled me from behind. The next moment, I was in her lap as she sat back in her cushioned chair and rocked me gently, while I sobbed like a child waking from nightmares. I cried and cried while she tugged me close and stroked my hair and pressed her cheek against my head. It was a full minute before I regained control. But she continued to rock me, back and forth, as I sniffled and ground my teeth together behind my misshapen lip.

  “Helena, you have to give people a chance. You have to give your life a chance. You’re changing now. Becoming a woman. You need to prepare yourself for the life you’ll have when you marry.”

  Five minutes ago I had felt like the most powerful girl in the world. Now I felt as though I had a gaping wound bleeding from the inside. “I can never marry, Mama. Look at me.”

  She said nothing at first. She just kept cradling and rocking me, so warm I wanted to crawl inside her embrace and hide there forever. She seemed strangely calmer now. Even more peaceful than usual. “Someday you’ll meet a boy who will see you for who you are,” she said, quiet and close to my ear. “We all have scars, Helena. We all have shame. A boy who truly loves you will love you in spite of your scars. And even because of them.”

  I grunted. “Mama. No one will ever love my scars.”

  “Of course they will,” she said. “Your scars are part of you. They make you who you are. They’re not ugly. And neither are you. You were a brave, beautiful girl before, and you still are. You just don’t know it yet.”

  I stared at my mother’s embroidered dress, so elegant and fine, as I lay against her. So demure in her cushioned rocking chair. So utterly different from the person I was. And from the person that I was – in fact – becoming. “Will you always think that? Even if I – even if I’m not the woman you want me to be?”

  “Yes, I will,” she said immediately, lifting me upright to meet her eyes. “I don’t want you to stop hunting. I don’t. I only want you to have a life you can enjoy. To have a home and a family of your own. You’ll have those things one day, Helena. Trust me.”

  I wiped my cheeks and puffy eyes. “All right.”

  She smiled. Then she slumped a little in the chair, as if something had sapped her strength. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Helena. I have something to tell you.”

  “Yes, Mama?”

  She beamed. “I’m going to have a child.”

  I stared, thinking I misheard her. “You’re – You’re having a baby?”

  She nodded. I had never seen her so happy. Not since I was little, before the wolf attacked. I threw my arms around her and hugged her tight.

  She clutched me deep into her bosom. “I want this for you, Helena. I want you to know this joy. Believe me, you’ll find a man who sees you for who you are inside, not just …”

  She stopped herself, wisely. With equal wisdom, I made no reply. We broke the embrace and I met her eyes. “I’m so happy for you, Mama.”

  She still smiled, but some of the sparkle left her eyes. “And are you happy, Helena? To be a big sister?”

  Something had stirred inside me. As if I was the one giving birth. As if it was my own child. “Yes,” I said. “Yes. – We’re going to have a baby.”

  Mama had clutched me to herself again. “You’ll make a wonderful sister, Helena. And someday, a wonderful mother. I know it.”

  I had wrapped my arms around her, feeling her heart beat. Wondering if I could sense the baby growing inside her. “Thank you, Mama.”

  3.

  I fell against Crimson’s flank, nearly nodding off. I blinked hard, tensing my fingers on the reins and forcing myself to sit upright in the saddle. Gathering my breath, I focused on the path leading through the dark pine forest beneath the sliver of a moon. My heart raced, my chest heaving. What had Laurent done to make me feel so weak?

  More wolves howled, their shrill cries rattling my every nerve.

  They sounded much closer.

  I squinted at the dark path before me. A pair of small yellow eyes narrowed at me from the forest. Joined by another.

  And two more pairs.

  Four wolves faced me, barring the trail.

  As my head and body throbbed with nausea.

  I had no choice but to fight my way through them. To try to shoot one or two before they devoured me.

  The lead wolf shuffled its paws, scraping the dirt as it drew back a little.

  They didn’t know Laurent had somehow poisoned me. At least, I hoped they didn’t.

  As it was my only chance to survive.

  I spurred Crimson forward at a run. “Hyah!”

  The wolves stared at me, eyes widening as I charged. I grit my teeth, fighting against the churning in my stomach and the throbbing pain in my temples. Forcing myself to stay steady as I drove my heels down into the stirrups, nearly standing.

  The wolves backed away, losing their footing as they scrambled to escape. They fled into the darkness of the surrounding trees, clearing a path for me, terrified by my red hood, knowing I could easily strike them dead. Not knowing I could barely focus.

  Then I heard them growl again behind us. First a solitary wolf, then the others joining his brave challenge as they returned to the path, preparing to chase us.

  They needed more convincing.

  I tugged on the reins, still tensing my entire body. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Turn!” I called.

  Crimson whirled about to face them, as I ground my teeth and struggled to hang on. I opened my eyes to see the shocked faces of the wolves as they crouched low. Not to attack, but to retreat if needed.

  I urged Crimson into another rush at them.

  The wolves backed away and scattered in a flurry, disappearing into the black woods. I kept up the fast pace, staying rigid and grimacing as we bore down on them.

  They fled into the forest, their howls slowly dissipating. I released the deep breath I had been holding.

  After nearly half a minute, certain the wolves were out of sight and earshot, I clutched my churning stomach. “Turn,” I said. Crimson turned about, slowly this time, and proceeded at a steady trot. I settled myself back into the saddle and slumped forward, hugging his neck.

  I had escaped, barely. I couldn’t handle another encounter like that one. I had to get home quickly and keep myself hidden. Until I could figure out some how to stop this.

  I gasped, trying to suck in more air to soothe my senses. I was fooling myself. Laurent had won. Whatever he had done to me, I could no longer fight. I would be fortunate to disappear into a quiet hole.

  At least I had caused them significant damage. My red hood had given them a taste of their own terror. And with that blazing barn, in a single night, I had nearly cut their ranks in half.

  But Laurent had struck back hard.

  From now on, Helena, I can hurt you as much as I want, as often as I want, and as long as I want. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

  He was ripping me apart, piece by piece. Finishing what he and
the Lycanthru had started six months ago, just before winter crept in.

  The afternoon of the funeral, our cottage had seemed so empty, even with the Leónes there.

  Papa had died on a hunt in the barren woods. Murdered by one of the wolves.

  I had studied Mama across the silent front room, seated in her rocking chair, holding my four-year old sister, Suzette, in her lap. Madame Leóne sat beside them, holding Mama’s hand, speaking so softly that I could only hear gentle murmurs from their corner. Suzette lay still and unmoving, staring at nothing as she held the blanket in her limp hands. She had clung to that blanket ever since Mama made it for her – calling it her “fuzzy woolie” – even when it could bring her no comfort.

  Pierre sat beside me at the sewing table, where Mama’s latest projects lay in disarray. We said nothing. I wanted so desperately to reach for his hand, to find some ounce of comfort for myself, but I kept my place. I didn’t want to seem improper. Or needy.

  It felt as though we were all holding our breath, waiting for someone to say or do something that would make it all right that Papa had died, never to return to us again.

  But nothing happened. And it would never be all right.

  Monsieur Leóne busied himself with cleaning, doing all the tasks that Mama was too distracted to do. I watched him scrubbing pots and pans in the kitchen. Something Papa never would have done. “It’s so strange to see a man washing pots,” I said in a monotone.

  Pierre glanced at his father. “We do what needs to be done,” he said. “When Mama died, he had to take over doing a few things. He’s used to it.”

  I nodded toward Lisette Leóne, as she continued her attempts to comfort Mama. She had become Pierre’s stepmother two summers earlier. “Does Lisette clean?”

  “Of course. But Papa still helps, now and then.” We fell silent again. “He stays pretty busy. Always doing something to fix up the house or meet with clients or tell me what needs to be made.”

  “Doesn’t he still forge his own tools?” I could hear my own halfhearted interest.

  “Some,” Pierre said. “He does the more complicated projects. All the regular jobs – making fireplace pokers or pots or ammunition and so on – he leaves to me.” He smiled, looking a little smug. “It turns out faster that way. I can do a lot of little jobs quick. And he sometimes lets me help on some of the more ornate work.”

  I nodded, wishing I could care more. Or even pretend to care. Wishing I could show Pierre some of the kindness and patience he always showed me. Wishing I could care about anything at all.

  Someone knocked on the door. Mama gradually blinked herself out of her stupor. She and murmured something and Lisette called, “Come in.”

  Monsieur Leóne moved to the door, a rag in his hand, as Father Vestille stepped inside.

  Blood surged to my temples. I expected him to visit us at some point after the funeral but I had hoped he wouldn’t. When I was little, Father Vestille had been like a favorite uncle, coming to our house for dinner every Sunday and letting me sit on his lap and tell him about all the butterflies and cloud shapes I had seen that week. Ever since I was attacked by the wolf, he had busied himself with frequent trips away from La Rue Sauvage, and we rarely saw him anymore. He was running scared, and now Papa had been killed.

  “Father Vestille,” Mama croaked. “Please. Come in.”

  “Thank you, Celeste. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. What can I do?”

  Mama thought for a moment, then shook her head, seeming incapable of much thought. Suzette remained silent in her lap, her lips barely touching the blanket.

  Monsieur Leóne stepped forth and offered the rag. “If it’s not too irreverent, you can help me in the kitchen.”

  “Of course,” Father Vestille said, taking the cloth and rolling up his sleeves. He started after Monsieur Leóne.

  “Abier,” Mama said.

  Father Vestille turned.

  “What we spoke about with you before – still stands.” She glanced sideways at Madame Leóne.

  Father Vestille looked awkward. “If you’re certain, Celeste. Just remember my position. It might be wiser –.”

  “No. Henri and I talked about it many times. There’s no one else.”

  “All right. In any case, I’ll be looking in on you all from time to time.”

  “Between your visits to other provinces?” I asked.

  Mama frowned at me. As if she wanted to scold me but lacked the strength.

  Father Vestille swallowed and met my glare. “No. I’ll be staying closer to home from now on.” He waited another moment, then moved into the kitchen to join Monsieur Leóne.

  “Red. He’s trying to help,” Pierre whispered with irritation.

  “We don’t need his help. We’ll be fine.”

  The day went on, minute by minute and hour by hour, until all the pots were scrubbed and the cupboards dusted and the sewing put away and Madame Leóne had hugged Mama while she went through half a dozen handkerchiefs. Then everyone went home and the house grew even quieter. Papa would have been glad that they left before it got dark. Dark and quiet.

  “I need to put Suzette to bed,” Mama said. “She’ll sleep in our – in my room for tonight. Then you and I can talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk,” I said. “I’m tired.”

  She stood, tottering slightly as she shifted her weight to keep Suzette aloft. Suzette turned and laid against Mama and her blanket. “Helena. There’s something we need to –.”

  “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I went into my room, shut the door and latched it. My dark empty room, where I would sleep alone tonight without Suzette. I lit a candle on our reading table. Then I fell to my knees, laid my forehead on the cot and prayed. I prayed and prayed and shook and cried until I couldn’t cry anymore.

  The wolves had taken Papa. We would never have a home again.

  4.

  I rode alongside Mama’s wagon as Royale pulled her and Suzette through the pine forest. Suzette kept her “fuzzy woolie” blanket over her mouth, keeping silent as she pointed out budding trees and blooming flowers to Mama, who prattled on to fill in the gaps. “Oh, yes, that one’s lovely, isn’t it, darling? Shining so white.” Suzette nodded in reply, her blanket bobbing.

  The mid-morning breeze carried an unusual chill, as drifting clouds threatened a slowly gathering storm. Birds chirped warnings of the shift in weather, while squirrels and rabbits scattered out of our path. I kept Papa’s crossbow ready, watching for any signs of trouble in the forest. I no longer flinched at the scurrying sounds of smaller animals. Instead, I listened for sudden movements that might reveal more dangerous creatures.

  “How come you don’t never come with us, Helena?” Suzette asked from the wagon. She took the fuzzy woolie from her mouth just long enough to speak. She rarely spoke to me anymore, even in our room at night. She was especially quiet any time we traveled through the woods.

  I continued to study the surrounding forest. “I need to hunt.”

  “Haven’t you hunted enough?” Mama asked. “You hunt every morning. And whenever we go out for a visit.”

  “You hunt all the time. Actually,” Suzette accused before sucking on her blanket again. She had learned the word “actually” a few months ago, and now used it whenever she could.

  My eyes kept scanning the trees, the bushes, the dark patches where something might hide. “I need to hunt more, to make sure we have enough.”

  “We have plenty,” Mama said, clearly annoyed. “We don’t need any more wild game. We just need you with us.”

  “I’m with you now.”

  Mama turned aside in her seat, focusing on the path. “You didn’t even come for your birthday.”

  “And Father Vestille made you a cake,” Suzette said. “I had to eat it all up by myself, actually.”

  There was no humor in her voice. Even when she tried to tell a joke, there was no joy in it.

  Not for several months.
r />   Not since last Fall.

  “It’s just another birthday,” I said.

  “It’s not,” Mama burst. “You’re sixteen now. In another year, you’ll be old enough to marry. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Don’t worry, Mama. I’m not planning to marry.”

  “I do worry. And you should marry. But when you do, I wonder if I’ll ever see you again. I hardly see you anymore now.”

  We emerged from the suffocating forest into the tiny clearing where Father Vestille’s hovel sat. “This is as far as I go,” I said. “I’ll see you both when you’re done.”

  Mama tugged on Royale’s reins and he rested there. She heaved a sigh and stared straight ahead as Father Vestille emerged and waved to us from his front door. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I trust you all still like ham and potatoes.”

  “Sounds wonderful, Father,” Mama called to him. “We’ll be with you in a moment.” She grew solemn again as she turned to me. “I wish you’d join us. When did you last spend an afternoon with Father Vestille?”

  I shrugged. “Do I need to?”

  “Helena. I want us to be a family again.”

  “We are a family.”

  She shook her head and bent at the hip, leaning toward me from the wagon. “There are so many things we need to talk about. Life is different now. We know that. But we can still have a wonderful life together, the three of us. And Father Vestille is helping us.”

  “He might have helped us before.”

  “Will it hurt you to visit him for one hour? We won’t be here long today. He has to meet with the Duke later and then we’ll be heading home.”

  “Is he meeting with the Dukes of other provinces after that?”

  “Helena. He was away for a while. We don’t know why. Can’t you forgive him for that? He wants to be part of our lives again.”