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

with his alcohol breath. He continued to stare as he turned in a circle and backed away, forgetting the rest of his drink on the counter.

“So,” Touraine said quietly. “You’ve returned.”

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“I seem to be popular this evening.”

His broad shoulders heaved and sighed.

“Yes, you are. You went to Favreau’s farm last night.” It was not a question.

“I might have.”

“You fought five or six large wolves there, killed two of them. They found the bodies this morning.”

“There were about a dozen, actually. They chased me into the –.”

“You’re him, aren’t you?” interrupted a well-dressed man. His large elbow came to rest on the far end of the counter. His voice was smooth, almost mocking. “You’re that red rider. The one who fought all the wolves at that farmhouse.”

I turned slowly toward him, keeping my head down, saying nothing. It seemed prudent to let him think I was a man.

Even more prudent when I took a good look at him out of the corner of my eye. Tall and strong, with a broad black moustache. He held his drink at his side, grinning as if he was somehow challenging me. Not doubting me, but wanting to test my abilities.

“Move along, Brocard,” Touraine said.

“Those are just rumors. How could one man take on a pack of wolves by himself?”

The man ignored Touraine and didn’t budge. He sipped his drink, studying me. “Those wolves. They’re dangerous, you know. You’re lucky to be alive.” His face lit up like the devil, or something worse. As if he could picture the wolves tearing me apart. “I’m Jean Paul Brocard. I farm 242

cattle and do some business in the village. I trade livestock, horses, weapons, tools. Anything a man might need.” He raised his eyebrows with an unconvincing show of friendliness. “Perhaps I could outfit you some day, Monsieur. A man who fights off a whole pack of wolves will surely need help now and again. Extra food for your horse.

Extra bolts for that crossbow.”

Touraine cleared his throat, looking nervous. “I really don’t think the man’s interested, Brocard.”

The smiling man edged closer along the bar counter. “You might discover I’m a good man to have on your side, Monsieur. You need someone you can count on, to help you survive. When the odds are overwhelming.” He slid his drink along ahead of him, stopping it near me. He sat on the stool beside mine and leaned forward, folding his fists as he tried to look beneath my hood. “Because those wolves will come looking for you, you know. All of them. And they’ll find you. And tear you into small pieces. Who will help you then?”

I stood and raised my crossbow to his face.

Every conversation halted again as Brocard lifted his chin. His Adam’s apple swallowed hard. Then he smiled wider, as if to cover his anxiety. I understood, since I had drawn my crossbow in order to keep him from seeing my shoulders trembling. I focused on steadying the weapon, the way Papa had taught me to do when we were hunting, to push aside my fear.

Brocard lifted his palms in gracious surrender. I allowed him to take a step back. “I see 243

it is a ‘No’ for now,” he said. “We’ll talk again another time, Monsieur.”

He continued to back away, hands raised as he grinned. I turned toward the watching crowd.

They all kept silent. A few of them turned away as I met their gaze.

“Yes, you’re popular all right,” Touraine said. “Be glad I’m not telling anyone you’re a girl.

A strange young girl at that, dressing like a man and fighting wolves in the dead of night. They’d never leave you alone.”

I lowered my crossbow, concealing it beneath my cloak. “Am I really that strange?”

He pursed his lips. “Have you seen a mirror lately?”

“But you meet all sorts of people here.

Even women. Am I actually the strangest girl you’ve ever met?”

He considered for a moment. “Ever?”

I nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you are. Just watch yourself. Men like