Page 63 of Arrows and Gems
Cap’s hand drifted to the arrows in his quiver. His fingers stroked the fletching as his mind raced. “But what would she—”
He froze, remembering their last encounter. Dropping his eyes to the quiver, he swiftly counted the arrows.
“Jean!” he called, dashing away from Rouge. The forester quickly appeared. “Jean, did you ever give Margit a token?”
Jean-haut’s eyes widened. “No, she never went far, and we always knew when she left camp. I didn’t think about it.”
She had slipped away to practice her archery in secret. And without one of Jean-haut’s magic-laced tokens, they couldn’t even find her.
Not quickly, anyway. Cap could track her if he started from her last known position.
Sprinting for the horses, he swung himself into Farrell’s saddle almost before he thought about it. The longer he waited, the less likely it was that he found her before the scout did. Or the more likely that she wandered someplace to which he couldn’t track her.
“Cap?” Jean-haut exclaimed, trailing behind him. “What are you doing?”
“Finding our lost lamb,” he answered briefly.
Then he was off, guiding Farrell around his tired people. Rouge called questions after him, and he was dimly aware of Jean-haut scrambling to maintain order, but all Cap could hear was Margit asking him why no one wanted her. Talking about her brother’s visits when she was a child as if she had been set off to the side and forgotten.
What thoughts would have passed through her mind when she returned to camp and found them gone? Or when the scout stumbled across her while her single arrow was buried in a tree?
It took Farrell less time than it had taken Cap, but the journey back was still too long.
He was about a mile out when he heard a faint scream echo through the trees, but he resisted the impulse to rush headlong into the old campsite. He would do Margit no good if he was captured playing the dashing but foolish hero.
Dismounting, he tied Farrell’s reins to a tree a stone’s throw from the clearing. He crept forward slowly, bow at the ready, but he didn’t hear anything. Had they already taken her away? Or was there a guard lying in wait to ambush him?
Once he’d confirmed the clearing was empty, Cap cautiously entered it. Looking for Margit’s footsteps within the camp was pointless; too many people had been too many places in the past week and a half. He made a quick search for any sign of her presence but found nothing.
Widening his search, he scoured the ground past the clearing. He found two possible trails: one to the northeast, one to the south.
Turning in a slow circle, Cap examined each direction. He didn’t know if Margit had taken her belongings with her, but she probably didn’t have food. Nor would she have a tent.
He faced south. Margit was smart. She would have headedfor the most likely source of aid.
Jogging back to Farrell, Cap quickly untied the horse and rode toward the southern trail. He hadn’t gone far when he found the faint outline of a hoofprint. All signs of Margit’s cane disappeared after that, but he didn’t find his missing arrow or any blood.
If she’d been captured…
He’d never lost one of his people. But a distant awareness whispered that trailing Laurent or Tucker wouldn’t bring the same tightness to his chest.
Cap watched the faint marks on the ground as he rode swiftly along the trail. His prey wandered closer to the creek, and Cap reined Farrell in. If the scout had stopped for a drink, it would be an ideal time for an ambush. If he was still there.
A faint voice drifted through the trees. Male. “—show—in the right direction—searching tomorrow. Le Capuchon—”
Cap dismounted as quietly as he could and looped Farrell’s reins over a tree branch. Pulling his bow free, he crept toward the voice.
“—more than he deserves—the way he’s treated you.”
The trees ahead parted, and Cap saw a young guard kneeling on the ground next to a cloaked figure with a bow on its back. He felt a moment of confusion. Why would she still have her bow if she was a captive?
His heart sank. Unless she wasn’t.
“—can’t do that.”
“Margit—”
Cap crept closer, stepping carefully so he wouldn’t reveal himself. He needed to hear their conversation. Needed to know if he’d been wrong about her after all.
