Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (best books to read for beginners .TXT) 📗

“Henri was one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

He had a slight catch in his throat. “If there’s anything I can do for your family, please let me know and it will be done.”

“That is very kind of you, Monsieur,”

Mama said, sounding frail and numb. She turned tired eyes on me. “Helena. Are you ready to go home?”

I nodded, wrapped my burlap cloak around my shoulders, and put an arm around Suzette as she clutched her blanket. We returned home in silence.

The Leónes stayed with us that afternoon, along with Father Vestille. I know Mama and Suzette needed their company, but apart from Pierre, I was relieved when they all left before dusk. Leaving the house dark and quiet. Mama wanted to talk to me after she put Suzette to bed but I didn’t feel like talking. I didn’t feel like doing anything at all.

I retired early and cried myself to sleep.

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14.

“The beast has returned!”

I looked up to see Jacque Denue and his four cronies beside the stoop of the Leónes’

blacksmith shop as I exited with my new crossbow bolts. They stood between me and Crimson, hitched to the post.

“Told you this was her horse,” Denue said.

He jutted his chin at me. “We told you not to come here anymore, you ugly witch. You deaf or just stupid?”

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“I’ll leave the stupidity to you, Jacque. Step away from my horse.”

“What did you say, you hag? Come here and I’ll beat some sense into you.”

“Leave me alone. For your own well-being.”

Jacque no longer frightened me, and I was in no mood for his nonsense. As a child, I had longed for Papa to rescue me from this brainless bully. Now, six months after Papa’s death, I had learned to take care of myself, along with Mama and Suzette.

I had accompanied them in the forest an hour ago, to provide safe escort to Father Vestille’s hovel in the woods. They wanted me to join them for lunch, but I preferred to hunt. I couldn’t tell them I had no interest in visiting with Father Vestille, despite his frequent invitations over the past several months. Even though Mama said he had made a cake to celebrate my sixteenth birthday. He apparently wished to make up for all the time spent away from us, visiting other provinces the last several years. But I wasn’t interested in his penance. My attention had shifted to more important matters.

I had assumed the role of hunter and provider for our family. Mama urged me to rest, to spend more time with them, insisting we had plenty of meat, especially with Father Vestille sharing meals with us. But I kept hunting, kept working. And I kept secretly searching for signs of the wolves that took Papa. But I never found them.

They seemed to have gone into hiding, as if 136

frightened by the attention that Papa’s death had brought about.

After another fruitless search in the woods, I had driven Crimson into the village of La Rue Sauvage to visit Pierre at his shop. I traded a few kills – a rabbit and three birds – for an order of new crossbow bolts, but lingered a few moments afterward. I had to admit, I found it far easier to make time to visit with Pierre.

But entering the village brought its own share of risk, as Jacque Denue and his cruel friends meant to remind me.

Denue snorted at a fat boy with food stains on his shirt. “Grab her, Port. I’m gonna give this witch a spanking.”

The slob snatched at my arm. I dodged him easily and spun toward him, to hammer my locked fists into his face. He went down hard, but the folds of my skirt bunched around my legs, constricting my