Page 53 of Arrows and Gems
His right hand crept up to his quiver, playing with thearrow fletching. “You’re very confident.”
“Naturally.” She held out her hand expectantly. “Shall I show you another?”
“No.” Flipping the top over the quiver, he trekked toward her target. “That’s enough for today.”
“Why?” Helena grabbed her cane and tried to follow, but a thick shrub stood between them. Was this payback? Stabbing the ground with her cane in frustration, she growled, “Who are you to decide that?”
Le Capuchon pulled the arrows out of the tree and returned them to his quiver. “You’ll hurt yourself if you push too hard too fast.”
“And what makes you think I am?” she demanded as he fought his way back through the shrub. “It’s my shoulder. I can—”
“You winced.”
She followed him toward camp, but her eyebrows pulled together. “What?”
“On the last shot,” he clarified. “I saw your face when you drew. It hurt, so it was time to stop.”
“I—”
It was sweet that he was looking out for her. But it felt condescending.
“Who said you can appoint yourself as my caretaker?” she groused. “I don’t need to be rescued.”
Le Capuchon offered a hand to help her over a fallen tree, but she ignored it. Instead, she balanced on her left foot, set her cane on the other side, and hopped over.
“You seem like the type to need one,” he answered calmly, extending his arms when her foot caught on a branch.
“How would you know?” Helena shot back. “Do you recognize yourself in me?” A grin spread across her face. “Capuchon, you aren’t a poor patient, are you?”
“The worst,” a cheerful voice replied over her head. Looking up, Helena saw Tucker standing on a branch about eight feet in the air. He held a bow in one hand, but the other rested on the tree trunk. “That’s why we all work hard to ensure he’s never injured.”
“Tucker.” Le Capuchon sounded unimpressed. “What are you doing?”
Helena grinned up at the teenager. “Good afternoon, Tucker. How is guard duty today?”
“Boring until you came along,” he replied. Dropping to a seated position, he stuffed his bow into his back sheath, grabbed the branch with his hands, and tipped back.
Helena’s free hand shot out, not that she could do much with her hurt ankle. To her surprise, Le Capuchon didn’t move as his young friend’s head swung toward the ground…
And then Tucker flipped over, landing lightly on his feet.
Her jaw dropped as her eyes brightened. Turning to Le Capuchon, she pointed at Tucker and gushed, “I want to learn that.”
The teenager laughed. “I think your caretaker will make you wait until your ankle is healed.”
“He’s not my caretaker,” Helena huffed. The bandit crossed his arms and looked at her, tilting his head. She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re not. And I don’t plan to try until I can walk on my own.”
“Good.”
“How was archery?” Tucker walked backward ahead of them. “Did Margit prove that she only wanted your hood the day we met?”
Le Capuchon’s right hand reached for his quiver, but it hit the cover and slid back to his side. “She doesn’t take direction well, but she performed better than I expected. Her form is decent and her aim consistent.”
“Decent?” Helena protested. She poked him in the arm. “That was more thandecent.”
“Wow, you must be really good.” Tucker looked at her in wide-eyed astonishment. “He’s never called my form better than ‘barely adequate.’”
“Because your form needs work,” Le Capuchon calmly stated. “If you improved it, your aim would improve as well.”
