Page 40 of Feathered Thief

“I need to do it myself,” she snapped in frustration, straining her arms and shoulders to no avail.

He didn’t have to say a word.

“All right.” Abandoning pride, she couldn’t help laughing as she spoke. “Pleasedohelp.”

When he moved behind her, reached around, and rested his big hands over hers, she pretty much forgot all about shooting an arrow. His breathing was quick and shallow. So was hers.

Time slowed. When he drew the bow with ridiculous ease, her hands simply followed his, doing none of the work and staying out of his way. She couldn’t help but lean back into him, sensing his strength . . . and she heard him inhale sharply.

She had been here before. With him.

Without a word he relaxed the tension on the bow, but she was still trapped between him and the longbow, with her back to his chest. She felt his gaze on her, and every flaw she’d everseen or imagined in herself seemed magnified. He must see how gawky and awkward she was.

She didn’t dare look at him.

“Do you want to try drawing it again?” His voice was deeper than before, and his warm breath in her ear sent shivers down her spine . . . “Oh, Helena, how I miss you!”

She jolted awake, breathing like she’d just sprinted to escape an angry bull. Shivering on her cot in the chilly darkness, still feeling her dream man’s chest against her back, and . . .Oh! What just happened?Where is he?Whois he?

She knew without doubt that she’d dreamed of an actual young man with a deep voice, thick-lashed brown eyes, and lips that naturally curled into smiles. Someone she knew, or had known, and . . . and loved. He’d flirted with her, no mistake about that.

But who was he?

Her earliest memories were of her apple tree and meeting Papa Hrabik.

No, she knew better. Although details were already fading, her part dream, part memory of leaning on someone strong and trusted was too clear to deny. She knew that he cared for her too. He’d called her Helena. Was that her real name? But who was he? Who was she?

She wanted to cry . . . but she couldn’t move.

Just as darkness faded into dawn, there was a sudden rat-a-tat on the door. Papa must have expected it, because he was already dressed when he admitted Prince Dominik.

Another golden apple was missing.

A short time later, as she followed the men up to the secret garden, Lenka deliberately fell behind while the prince told Papa his story. This stolen-apple adventure was somehow connected with her. There could be no doubt: she and the tree had arrived here together.

Where did that veiled woman she’d seen near her tree fit into this mystery? No one could sneak into the royal gardens.

Papa and the prince slowed their pace once they were inside the garden. The king, looking grim, waited for them at the apple tree.

Lenka listened from a polite distance while Prince Dominik gave the king a succinct summary, ending with, “I tell you; the last thing I heard was beautiful singing—enchanted music. These thefts are due to magic, but whether it is good or evil in nature I cannot say.”

He spoke the truth about the thefts; Lenka knew this without a word from the tree.

The two royal brothers were opposites in character.

Even as the king growled insults at his younger son, Lenka realized the time had come to step up and speak up, yet part of her balked while dozens of possible ways she could fail scrolled through her mind.

A flash of memory. Beautiful brown eyes in a handsome face . . . Eyes that twinkled, then narrowed, challenging her.

Quite shocking herself, she turned to the king and asked, “Sire, may I stand watch tonight?”

“Lenka, no!” Papa Hrabik moaned.

King Gustik stared at her. “You? A woman?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She curtsied respectfully.

King Gustik’s mouth opened and closed twice in perplexity before he scowled again. “If you cannot identify the thief by morning, you will no longer tend my magical trees. Tending hogs will be your duty from that day on.”

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