“Thank you, Father,” Monsieur Laurent said as he entered the room. As he stepped across the wood that separated me and my dressing gown from him. I tried to still my rapid heart beat.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Father Vestille asked. He sounded more cordial than pleased.
“No pleasure at all, I’m afraid,” Laurent said. “I came to ask you for some direction on a troubling matter. It’s about Helena Basque.”
My shoulders tensed, my lip trembling. I glanced at my clothes beside the bed and my crossbow beside them. How quickly could I retrieve them if Laurent threw open the trap door?
“What about her?” Father Vestille asked with all calm.
Laurent paced across the floor, keeping his distance from Father Vestille. “You have no doubt heard of her recent activities. Dressing strangely, keeping odd hours. They say she prowls the woods at night, looking for large wolves.”
The room fell silent as Laurent seemed to wait for a response.
“I have heard these rumors,” Father Vestille answered. “I cannot tell you for certain whether they are true, in regard to the stories of her hunting wolves at night.”
“But you are familiar with the rest.”
“Sadly, yes,” Father Vestille said.
“I am quite concerned for her,” Laurent went on. “You know they suspect her of causing the disappearances of several men in the village?”
“I have heard those rumors as well. Hard to believe that, of course.”
“Of course,” Laurent replied. I could almost see his patient, condescending smile. “You know I have always tried to help the Basques, and she is the last surviving member of their family. I want to ensure that she gets the help she needs, before she does any harm to herself or others.”
Father Vestille took a long while before answering in a dull tone. “What sort of help do you wish to offer her?”
“Whatever is necessary. As of yet, she has broken no laws that I know of. She is in no danger of being arrested, unless someone proves she had something to do with those disappearances. But her wanton and violent behavior, her rejection of everything feminine, her hysteria about hunting wolves in the night – Quite frankly, it’s frightening. If she proves too disturbed for anyone to reason with, we may be forced to commit her to an asylum.”
Tension seized the back of my neck. My fingers ached from their grip on the ladder.
Laurent stepped a few paces closer. As if he sensed me hiding directly beneath his boots. “Have you seen her?” he asked, sounding coy. “Some people reported seeing her ride in this direction.”
Father Vestille sighed heavily. He cleared his throat. “Like you, I have been a good friend to both Henri and Celeste Basque, and even their youngest, Suzette, God rest their souls.” I could almost see Father Vestille crossing himself. “But their eldest daughter – I am afraid she is a lost soul. I still pray for her, but I have not seen her.”
Laurent waited, perhaps skeptical. “Not at all?”
“Monsieur Laurent. Why would I have anything to do with a young girl who dresses like a harlot?”
I felt a new sort of chill, this one deep inside my heart. As if something had reached into my very being and hollowed everything out.
The room fell silent, as Laurent lingered a moment. He finally relented. “Very well, then. If you do hear anything, please notify me at once. You can send word to Chateau de Laurent, or find someone to report it to me.”
“Of course. And you can always find me on Sunday mornings at la Chapelle de Saint Matthieu. Perhaps I can assist you there as well.”
Laurent paused again, much longer. Surely unnerved at the idea of entering Father Vestille’s chapel. “Yes, perhaps. Thank you, Father.”
“You’re welcome, Monsieur. Take care.”
Father Vestille saw him to the door, then closed and latched it. I stood, clutching the ladder, still trembling. It had grown cold in the cellar, and cold in my soul. What was I becoming?
I grabbed my robe – the robe Father Vestille had provided me – and pulled it on. I felt a sudden need to cover myself, in addition to warding off the chill. I drew the robe tight, as if it was hugging me. As if Mama was there to warm and comfort me.
I stepped up the ladder, pushed up the trap door, and let it slam to the floor.
Father Vestille flinched and spun toward me, startled. “Helena! You’re awake.”
I stared at him from the ladder steps, not knowing what to say, my head peeping out of the hole. I was like a protected rodent living beneath his home. He would care for me and keep me safe, but I would never be truly welcome.
“Did you mean what you said?”
Father Vestille blinked, looking confused. Then he lifted his chin in recognition. “You heard just now?”
I waited. “Did you mean it?”
His gentle eyes met mine. “I had to be convincing.”
“None of it?”
“Helena. I don’t agree with what you are doing. But you are always welcome here.”
My heart swelled a little, but I couldn’t fully believe it. He knew how to comfort people with his words, just as he knew how to persuade Duke Laurent to leave.
I stepped up into his home and closed the trap door gently. I folded my arms across my chest and walked toward the window, to make certain Laurent was long gone. I peered through the gaps in the wooden shutters where strips of light broke through. “Even if I dress like a harlot?”
He had not moved. As if he knew that any effort to approach me or give false comfort would be wasted. Not after he had confessed what he truly thought of me.
“Helena, I had to be harsh. I had to make him believe I would never let you stay here. So that he won’t come looking again.”
“Because a harlot would never be allowed in a priest’s home.”
“You are no harlot.”
“But I dress like one.”
“You dress the way you must. I understand that. Frankly, your manner of dress is the least of my concerns.”
I whirled at him. How else did he plan to insult me?
“Yes?” I asked.
He sighed and hung his head, then stepped closer to face me. “Helena, I am concerned for what you are becoming. You come from an innocent family, and they raised you to be innocent. Not a murderer.”
I glared at him. In his eyes, I had become a murderer and a harlot, all in one day. Unless he had thought this about me all along. “I never meant to become a murderer.”
“I know,” he said. He turned and sat at the breakfast table, wiping weary hands across his face. “I know you are doing what you feel is right. I just – I just don’t know if it’s what God wishes you to do.”
“You believe God wants this to continue?” I pressed. “You believe he wants more innocent children to suffer?”
“You know that I don’t. But it is not for us to become judge or executioner.”
I spun away from him, trembling with anger the way I had trembled with fear at Laurent’s visit. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to stay with you,” I said through clenched teeth. “I knew you would do nothing, and encourage me to do the same.”
He made no response. The moment the words came out, I realized how badly I had hurt him. He wanted to protect and care for me, the way my parents had, and I wanted none of it. But I was only returning his insults in kind.
I kept my back to him, too angry to face him. I wanted to apologize, but when would he apologize to me? When would he accept me for what I was, whatever that might be? When would he stand up for me, rather than just hide me away to keep me alive? Some of the villagers despised me and I accepted that. But some of them applauded me for doing what no one else had. Why couldn’t Father Vestille recognize that, even in part?
“I must go,” I said, giving no further explanation as I marched to the trap door to hoist it open. I descended the ladder without meeting his eyes.
“Take care, Helena,” he said as I lowered myself and pulled the heavy doo
r shut.
I retreated into my underground sanctuary, to cool my emotions and prepare for another day and night of fighting the wolves. Crimson stood in the corner, snorting his readiness.
Whether I had chosen this life or it had chosen me, there was no going back. Only forward.
Whatever it cost me.
15.
I crouched behind the woodpile next to the Leóne family’s shed, trying to avoid a pair of bees that hovered around it. Another few weeks and summer would begin. The time Papa would normally have finished shearing the sheep and be ready to relax a little, letting Suzette and I play outside longer into the warm evening. I stifled the memory, swallowing it deep.
I continued to watch the rear of their house, on the opposite end of their blacksmith shop. Just after two o’clock, Pierre came out the back door as usual, to gather extra wood for their furnace. He swiped at his unkempt hair as he approached, looking focused and diligent about his task. I let him collect a few heavy pieces while I made certain no one else was nearby. I also let myself admire his rugged features and the amount of weight his arms could carry. “Pierre,” I whispered.
He nearly dropped the whole pile on his toes, stepping aside as three large pieces fell. He held the last thick stump by its branch as he stared down at me. “Red!” He glanced over his shoulder for any witnesses, then set the stump back on the woodpile and crouched beside me. He looked like he wanted to grab me by my shoulders but he rested his hands on his knees instead. “How are you? Do you need anything?”
“As many silver bolts as you can make.”
“I’ve made plenty and set them aside. Papa doesn’t know. I keep telling him I’m making mistakes and we need more smelting iron. How are the blades working?”
“Fine.”
We knelt there a moment, staring into one another’s eyes. I had to keep hidden, so I was hesitant to move. Yet Pierre hesitated, too.
“Uh – wait inside the shed,” he said at last, glancing behind himself once more. “I’ll bring them out to you.”
“All right.” I waited, watching him look this way and that as he returned to the house. After he closed the door, I peered around the corner of the shed to survey the area, then hurried inside it.
Crimson snorted as I entered the dusty room, piled high with wood. I had already thought to use the shed as a hiding place, but I wanted to meet Pierre where I knew I could whisper. I held up a hand to silence Crimson. He stamped an eager hoof once, then remained still.
A few moments later, Pierre entered the shed with a large satchel. He set it atop a woodpile and spread it partway open. There must have been at least fifty bolts piled within.
I gaped, stunned. “Pierre. That’s incredible. Thank you.”
He shrugged. “I do a few each day. I did some late at night, but Papa noticed the lamp and woke up, so I had to pretend I had gotten hungry and needed some food. He noticed me yawning the next day and seemed suspicious, so I haven’t tried that again. But I still get enough done during the day. I also found about a dozen of these in the woods, where you said you shot them.” He looked sheepish. “Sorry they’re not fresh ones.”
I smiled at him. As if I should care that they weren’t brand new bolts. But he was a master craftsman and took pride in all his work. “They’re magnificent, Pierre. You found the ones I missed.” I glanced down, feeling my cheeks flush. “You do so much for me.”
He shrugged again. “I’d do more if I could, Red. It’s the least you deserve.” He swallowed and took a step closer in the dusty shadows. “I’d do anything for you.”
We stood barely an inch apart, and I saw his face. His handsome boyish loving face. Like I had just noticed it for the first time.
Then he seemed to notice me, too. He stopped and stared into my eyes, his own brown eyes revealing all the passion and nobility of his soul. He leaned toward me, his hand reaching up to stroke my face …
I whirled and stepped away. “I can’t stay. I have work to do.”
I kept my back to him as I grabbed the satchel from atop the woodpile and tied it to Crimson’s saddle. Pierre shuffled about suddenly to face the door. “Why do you pull away like that?”
I took extra time tying the satchel, as if I had difficulty securing the knot. I pretended to make one attempt after another, again and again. Finally I turned. “Why do you bother with me, Pierre? Why do you have such a low estimation of yourself? Plenty of girls would be happy to have your attention. Girls who don’t wear pants.”
He turned with an expression that was partly wounded, partly annoyed. “I don’t want any other girls.”
“Why not? Are you so afraid of them that you shun every pretty girl and choose an ugly one instead?”
He glared at me, not at all pleased. “You’re not ugly.”
“I’m scarred, Pierre. And these scars won’t go away. Ever.”
“I don’t care. You’re still the most …” He broke off.
“The most what? The most unusual? Most disturbed? Most frightening?”
“… The most beautiful girl in all of La Rue Sauvage.”
I started to respond, then stopped. Could he honestly believe that?
I swallowed. “I’m not a fool, Pierre. And I’m not a child. You don’t need to coddle me by lying.”
“I’m not. You’ve always been beautiful.” He straightened his shoulders to stand even taller, as if summoning his courage. “I’ve never wanted to be with anyone else. And I never will.”
I fell silent. I was thankful the hood shrouded my misting eyes. This was the boy my mother had told me about. The one she promised would come. Who would accept me for who I was, no matter how I looked or what I did.
“In fact, I’m glad you came by,” he said. “Because I wanted to ask you something.” He took my gloved hand, and bent on one knee.
“Uhhh … Pierre? What on earth are you doing?”
“Red,” he said, still serious. “Would you go with me to the masquerade ball?”
I blinked hard. “The – To the what?”
“It’s tomorrow evening,” he said. “I would have asked you sooner, but you haven’t been around. I just hoped –.”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “Who’s hosting this masquerade ball?”
He narrowed his eyes, as if it should be obvious. “Duke Laurent.”
I felt hollow inside. I swallowed. “Pierre … Duke Laurent is the one leading the Lycanthru.”
“What?” He jumped to his feet.
“I couldn’t tell you,” I said. “I didn’t want you to know too much, in case anything happened. But whatever they’re planning, the masquerade must be part of it.”
“Then we have to go,” he said, taking both my hands. “We have to get in there and stop it.”
“No!” I said. “I don’t want you anywhere near them. I won’t have you risking your life.”
“That’s not up to you,” he said.
“Well, you can’t take me,” I said.
“Why not?”
“They’ll never let me in. And no mask will cover my scars, Pierre.”
“All right. Then we’ll need to find some other way.”
“No. I’ll need to find some other way,” I said, taking Crimson’s reins. “If I need any more bolts or weapons, I’ll let you know.”
“I’m going to help you, whether you like it or not,” he argued as I led Crimson to the door. “And when we’ve gotten rid of these wolves, I want to ask you something else.”
I stopped and met his gaze, feeling my neck tense up. “What?”
“I want you to sit and watch the stars with me.”
I tightened my lips. He would never give up. And I could never give in, as much as I wanted to. I couldn’t let him ruin his life on a romantic whim that could never be satisfied.
I cleared my throat and steadied my voice. “Pierre, don’t waste your efforts on me. I’m not fit for that kind of life. Not anymore.”
“But –.”
“No. We could never
be together. Not when I am what I am.”
“What you are is who I love. Who I’ve always –.”
I put my fingers to his lips, wishing things could be different. Wishing I could do more than silence him. Wishing I could hold him in my arms and let him hold me. “We’ll never speak about this again,” I said.
He stared at me as though I had stabbed him. “Why not?”
I curled my lip, determined to bridle my emotions. “Because,” I said. “Because I care for you, Pierre.” I moved to the door, crossbow in hand. “And that’s something I cannot allow.”
The door jerked open before I reached the handle. I raised the crossbow to the intruder’s chest as a reflex.
Monsieur Leóne frowned down at me from the doorway. I lowered the weapon slowly. Neither of us spoke as he studied the large satchel hanging from Crimson’s saddle, its bulges clearly outlining the pile of bolts within.
Monsieur Leóne’s focus shifted to his son, then back to me. “I thought as much,” he grumbled. His eyes blazed at Pierre. “These are the ‘mistakes’ you’ve been making? Supplying her with weapons for her crusade? Didn’t I tell you to keep away from her?”
I stood quietly, feeling the sting of Frayne Leóne’s disdain.
Pierre hung his head. “Papa. She’s keeping the village safe.”
“Safe?” Monsieur Leóne demanded as he marched toward us and shut the door quietly behind him. “Is this safe? Hiding in the woodshed and hoping no one hears? Hoping no one followed her here to our home? To our shop? To our beds?”
Pierre struggled for words. I wanted to help him, but I felt even less equipped to answer. Pierre shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets. “We’ve got to take some risks now and then. She’s made a difference. She stopped some of them.”
“Then let her, if that is what she wishes to do. It’s nothing to do with us.” He glared down at me, quaking with rage. “Helena. I loved your parents and your sister dearly. I’m sorry you’ve chosen this sort of life, but I won’t have it anywhere near my home. You are never to visit my son again. Do you understand?”
Red Rider Redemption (The Red Rider Saga Book 3) Page 9