Page 51 of Arrows and Gems
If she could only convince him that she wasn’t his enemy.
~
“The summer sun has come and gone,
And still I stand here waiting.
Wondering how the world moves on
When all within me’s—”
Helena stopped singing when she noticed a shadow next to her. Holding up the pan she was scrubbing, she said, “There’s something surprisingly satisfying about cleaning a dish. Even if it does freeze my fingers.”
“Then I should leave you to it. Farewell,” a man’s voice replied.
“Capuchon!” She whirled around. “I thought you wereRouge.”
His hand steadied her just before she toppled into the stream. “An interesting mistake. Careful; you’ll be quite cold if you take a bath.”
“A bath,” Helena sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for one of those. With hot water, of course.”
“Which you won’t find here. Unfortunately.” His tone was dry as he helped her up from the bank. “But perhaps this will make up for it.”
He drew something from his pocket. It fit inside his fist, but it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Is that the string for my bow?”
Le Capuchon snorted. “It is. I didn’t realize a bowstring could be so emotional.”
Shooting him a glare, she replied, “A bow is a perfectly good reason to be emotional. Especially after such a long separation as I’ve had.”
“Even for a lady?”
Some of her pleasure evaporated. “As I said before, I don’t really qualify. This is the proof.”
“Your parents don’t approve?”
“Of my skill? Maybe. Of my desire to do little else?” She gave a bitter laugh as she swiped the string from him. “No. My mother wouldn’t mind so much if it didn’t scare off potential suitors, but Papa would still expect me to pursue more useful activities.”
“Is that why you ran away?”
Ignoring his question, she held out a hand and asked, “Do I get some arrows to go with it?”
He rested his hand on the arrows in his quiver, his gloved fingers playing with the fletching. “Let me see you string the bow.”
“I’m sorry?”
Gesturing to her, he repeated, “This is your first test. It’s been a week, but your shoulder might not be ready yet. I want to see you string it.”
He wanted to—
“Seriously? You plan to be that overbearing?” She gaped at him. Should she be outraged or touched?
He shrugged. “You have to string it if you plan to shoot.”
This was true, but it didn’t mean she had to agree with his behavior.
Keeping her eyes locked on his – or on the area she knew they were – she pulled her bow from its sheath and unwound the string. She didn’t even look away to hook the first end or while bending the bow to attach the other.
