Red Rider Redemption (The Red Rider Saga Book 3)

by D. A. Randall

  I stood slowly, brushed off the knees of my trousers, and turned to leave. I gave a shrill whistle for Crimson. The woman in the bright yellow dress gasped and clutched at her throat as Crimson bounded from his hiding place in the forest. I climbed up onto his back and urged him to gallop off down the street, hoping Touraine would have some ideas for me.

  We were running out of time.

  21.

  I galloped toward La Maison de Touraine, hoping beyond hope that Gerard Touraine would have heard something more from the Lycanthru in the last day, despite their recent reticence. There had to be some way into the palace to stop Duke Laurent’s attack on the Queen during his royal masquerade ball. The doors of Chateau de Laurent would close in less than eight hours, sealing all of our fates.

  The fates of innocent fools like Celia Verdante, striding down a walkway ahead of me with her redheaded friend, Marie Beauchamp, and Jean Paul Brocard, the charming Lycanthru.

  I tugged Crimson to a halt, watching them from afar. Brocard had joined those girls in mocking me last week, while I watched them from a roof. He had been inviting Celia to the ball that night, but I didn’t know it was being held at the palace, or that the Queen would be present.

  They didn’t notice me, as they continued down the path, away from the center of town. I wanted to hurry to Touraine, in the hope that he would have ideas for sneaking into Chateau de Laurent.

  But seeing Celia and her friend with the seductive Jean Paul Brocard, being led away like sheep to a slaughter –.

  I had to stop him, whatever he was up to. Especially after Monsieur Verdante had helped bail me out of prison.

  As arrogant and cruel as she was, I had to rescue Celia Verdante.

  From the cover of bushes and fir trees, I watched Celia and her well-coiffed friend, Marie, stroll along the broad dirt path leading out of town. Brocard, the Lycanthru whose barn I destroyed, accompanied them the whole way, smiling broadly as they hung on his every word.

  I watched the two of them as they giggled, flashed their pearly teeth, and folded their hands to look demure and fetching. All the things I could never even attempt to do. All the things a normal girl would be expected to do, as Pierre pointed out.

  To get into that party, one would have to be a girl. Any pretty girl in the village can just put on a fancy dress and walk straight through the front door …

  A selfish part of me wanted to leave these superficial wenches to their ignorant fate. But I couldn’t do that. Not even to Celia.

  Besides, I had about seven hours left before Duke Laurent’s royal ball began. Before he lured the Queen and nearly every villager to their deaths, as his Lycanthru men transformed into ravenous wolves. I had no chance of passing myself off as a beautiful maiden from the village, or of forging a royal invitation. But if I could follow Celia or Marie, I might find another way in.

  “I simply couldn’t wait until tonight to see you,” Brocard said. His voice rose and fell like low music. “I know I’m being impetuous, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I ask to escort you home? I recall you saying these streets can be dangerous.”

  Celia smiled and dropped her gaze as though blushing. Marie Beauchamp tittered at Brocard’s compliments. “Oh, I can certainly forgive a slight indiscretion, Monsieur Brocard,” Celia said. She spoke in the same fluid motion as her dress, drifting gracefully along the smooth path. “When it comes from such a distinguished gentleman.”

  Brocard bowed. “You honor me, Mademoiselle.”

  She curtsied in response.

  “As do you,” Brocard said, bowing again to Marie, who also curtsied. “I would never forgive myself if something dreadful happened to you lovely young ladies, and I was not there to assist.”

  My heart felt hollow. Brocard was making another of those sick jokes the Lycanthru loved to make. He meant to kill them both at Celia’s own home.

  I found myself moving faster, sidestepping between trees and bushes to keep up, my crossbow raised. A confusing rush of emotions filled me, over how much I hated Celia, and how desperate I now was to save her.

  Crimson followed from about twenty yards back, just close enough to keep me in view. A twig snapped beneath his hoof as he passed behind a cluster of thick trees. Brocard turned sharply at the sound as I whirled to press my back against a broad oak.

  “What is it?” I heard Marie ask.

  Celia’s own voice rose with concern. “Did you see something? Was it one of those wolves?”

  Silence.

  Dead silence.

  “… No. Probably just a rabbit or some other animal. Come along.”

  They resumed their pace. I kept my back to the trunk, releasing a heavy breath. I peered carefully around it to make sure they had moved along. Once they were further down the path, I glanced back at Crimson, whose head drooped slightly. I waited another moment, then hurried on as quietly as I could.

  They soon came to Celia’s country house, which sprawled over her estate lawn like a miniature fortress. Shingled rooftops covered tuffeau stone walls, while brightly colored roses and peonies adorned the lawn and the cobbled areas beneath the curtained windows. Circular stones formed a path to an ornate frame that surrounded double doors.

  Brocard had stolen glances up and down Celia’s slim figure during the entire walk to her home. Now he stood at the edge of the stone pathway, clearly agitated. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief as the girls turned back from Celia’s porch.

  “Are you coming no further?” Celia asked in a playful tone.

  Brocard bowed politely, then straightened and spread his hands wide. “I could not impose on your discretion by entering your home uninvited.”

  Celia exchanged a wily glance with Marie. “Then, Monsieur, I’ll have to invite you. Please. Come in.”

  Clever, Brocard. If only I could steal inside the front door so easily.

  But no one else was about. And Celia’s parents must have been away, for her to invite a gentleman caller inside without even mentioning them. I doubted her father would approve.

  Once the door shut behind them, I scrambled across the lawn. As I neared the house, I slowed my pace to creep onto their stoop. I peered through the corner of the front window, feeling wholly perverse. I had no interest in Celia and Marie’s immoral escapades, but I couldn’t be discreet if I meant to save them.

  I saw their hazy figures through the lace curtains of the parlor window. Celia extended her hand, inviting Brocard to sit with them. She fanned herself as they spoke, smiling and laughing. A minute later, Brocard leaned forward and said something that seized both girls’ attention. Celia fanned herself more slowly as he drew something from his waistcoat pocket.

  The fanning stopped. Celia and Marie edged back on the sofa as Brocard leaned toward them. Celia started shaking her head. Brocard stood abruptly to his feet.

  The fan dropped.

  Before I could blink, he leaped across the room and seized Marie. He tugged her to her feet as I stepped back and prepared to fire through the window. He turned with Marie and her body blocked my shot. I hurried to yank the front door open, then darted into the foyer. I entered just in time to hear Marie’s neck snap, her body falling limp in Brocard’s single-handed grip. He let her slump to the floor like a marionette with broken strings while Celia sprang to her feet and screamed.

  “Brocard!” I shouted. I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the body lying at his feet.

  He jerked toward me with feral eyes, then leaped backward and tugged Celia in front of him. He crouched low and held her close. “Stay back, Rider. I’ll swallow her whole.”

  He held the nape of her neck with one hand, pinning her arms with the other. Tears streamed from her eyes.

  I steadied my grip. “You can’t eat her until you become a wolf,” I reminded him. “And if you eat your shield, what stops me from shooting you? Seems like a poor plan.”

  Brocard hesitated a moment. Clearly, strategy was not his greatest strength. “I can still break her into pieces.”r />
  “Again. Broken shield, bolt in your head. Not wise.”

  Brocard reconsidered, wrinkling his brow.

  I pressed my advantage. “I’ll offer you a chance. Let her go and you can leave with your life.”

  Brocard hesitated as Celia’s chest stopped heaving. She glared at me, her face a silent plea, while Brocard debated his options.

  “I don’t trust you!” he growled. Celia’s eyes bulged as his hand moved around to seize her chin.

  As he gazed at her, I fired into his right temple. He fell away from Celia with a grunt and collapsed to the floor as she shrieked.

  My shoulders relaxed. “I feel the same.”

  Brocard twitched a moment, then lay limp beside Marie’s corpse. Celia’s hands flew to her cheeks, then pulled at her hair as she shook her head.

  I looked behind me, hoping no servants were close enough to hear her screams. “Celia, calm down. He’s gone now.”

  She kept screaming and crying and shaking her head.

  “I need you to be still. Celia, stop!”

  She waved me off.

  “Celia. Stop screaming. Celia!” I slapped her. She covered her cheek as she fell backward onto the sofa.

  “You hit me,” she sniffled.

  “I know. Now calm down.”

  She said nothing, but gave a weak nod.

  I knew Celia would consider me a brute, but she left me little choice. I moved back to the foyer and glanced outside. None of her servants were moving about. I shut the door and locked it, then returned to the parlor. “Celia. I’m very sorry about Marie, but I need to know what happened. What did Brocard say to you?”

  She sniffed again, collecting herself. “He – He said he meant to wait – until tonight. But then he – he said he couldn’t wait any longer.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

  I resisted the urge to slap her again. “Celia, calm down. It’s all right,” I said in a soothing tone. “What did he want from you?”

  “He wanted us to drink – some potion. He said it would make us his.”

  I looked at the flask Brocard had dropped. The same one that all the Lycanthru carried, containing their Lycanum potion. But if it transformed them into their wolf form …

  “He wanted you,” I muttered aloud. “He invited you to the masquerade ball, didn’t he?”

  Celia nodded, her eyes glassy.

  “He wanted you both to drink this?”

  “Yes.”

  I knelt before the flask. It was still corked. I picked it up and shook it. It was full. The Lycanthru only drank a little of it to transform themselves, so Brocard had plenty to share with Celia and Marie, and any other woman that struck his fancy.

  This proved my suspicions. The Lycanthru wanted brides.

  After they strung me up in Brocard’s barn, Jacquard had told me that the Lycanthru have cravings, like anyone else, and the means to satisfy them. Now they were about to lay claim to all of France, and they planned to secure brides for themselves. Brocard had chosen Celia, but he killed Marie to show what would happen to her if she refused to join him. This was why they invited all the young maidens to the ball, luring them with the promise to meet royalty. The Lycanthru would have their pick of the finest women of La Rue Sauvage. And anyone who refused them would die.

  I glanced at Marie’s body. A pretty young girl, so full of life only moments ago. Now dead on the floor with her dreams of tonight’s ball, the first of many Lycanthru victims.

  An insane thought struck me. The idea was ludicrous, but I had run out of options. The ball would start in a few hours. “Was Marie invited to the ball as well?”

  “Yes,” Celia sobbed. “He – Monsieur Brocard – arranged for her to accompany a friend of his, Monsieur Cézanne.”

  “Did you meet him, this Monsieur Cézanne?”

  She shook her head. “Neither of us did. Only Monsieur Brocard.”

  I stood over her. “I need your help.

  She lifted her tear-streaked face and regarded me with horror and outrage. “My – Mine? What possible assistance could you need from me? I’ve nothing to do with you or – or any of your nonsense.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Except that I just saved your life.”

  She swallowed hard. “Very well, yes. You’ve saved me and I’m most grateful. Now – Now be on your way.”

  I took a step toward her, my patience thinning. “I need your help. And I’m not leaving.”

  She half-laughed. “You honestly expect me to help you in your filthy escapades? You dress like a man and fire weapons at people, tramping through dirt and blood and every other vile thing. You. You’re an insult to womanhood.”

  I held my tongue. Her words rang true. I had given up being a girl – even being a human – the night I put on this hood.

  Her face suddenly softened. She shook her head. “But – you’re the only one who can stop these men, whatever sort of beasts they are.” She began to weep again, losing all control. “I know I owe you my life. I do. But I cannot help you. What could I do? I’m nothing like you. How could I possibly help?”

  I swallowed and straightened, shoving my wounded emotions aside. “I’m well aware of your limitations. But you can do everything I need you to do tonight.”

  She wrinkled her brow, perplexed. “What do you wish me to do?”

  I felt a wave of relief. “That which you do best.”

  22.

  I dragged the bodies of Marie and Brocard to the Verdantes’ woodshed and covered them with a thick wool blanket. Celia understood that I meant no disrespect. A proper funeral for Marie would have to wait until after tonight’s ball. It was difficult enough to enlist Celia’s help. I could not expect her parents to also ignore two corpses in their parlor until morning.

  Thankfully, the servants had been allowed to retire early for the day, in celebration of the Queen’s visit, so there were no witnesses. Celia’s driver and porter were scheduled to return for her that evening, giving us all afternoon to work.

  The sun remained high with no clouds in sight. It was about two o’clock, and Laurent’s masquerade would start at eight. We should have plenty of time to prepare, but I had no way of knowing how long it might take. I had to depend on Celia to help me stop Laurent and rescue the Queen. Relying on anyone other than Pierre was difficult enough, but relying on Celia Verdante? I tried not to think about it.

  I found Crimson and led him to Celia’s rear stable, where she promised I would find plenty of oats. As he nuzzled in her feed bag, I recalled a mass in which Father Vestille preached that the Scriptures say a good man is even kind to his animals. Perhaps Celia was not entirely selfish, after all.

  Back in the house, she had already set to work, laying out the gown she had selected for Marie to wear. She spread it out over her lap, holding her spindle and thread. But as I entered, I saw her pause to stare at the golden dress and she started to cry again. I prepared to march into the room and make her collect herself. But then she seized up, biting her lip and making her spine rigid. She closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath and released it. Then she opened her eyes and continued spreading out the dress. I watched her from the foyer, surprised. Not so selfish and not so weak as I had presumed.

  I entered. “So. Can you do it?”

  She took another breath, forcing herself to focus. “Yes. I can. I’ve never altered a dress like this before, but what I have in mind should work for you. Though I don’t know if –.” She met my eyes. Stared at my marred face. “Well, we’ll just do the best we can. All right?”

  I nodded, saying nothing more.

  I stood on a pedestal in the center of Celia’s parlor like a mindless toy doll, while she pinched and poked and prodded me with pins. None of it intentional, but all of it exasperating, as I waited for her to finish. To perfect my disguise.

  I had not been so impatient since I first persuaded Papa to take me hunting. Never felt so helpless since the Lycanthru tied me between
the pillars of their barn. Celia had spent most of the afternoon altering the dress with her special design and tailoring it to fit my figure, slightly shorter and slimmer than Marie’s.

  I glanced aside at the fading sunlight filtering through the lace curtains on the windows. It was nearly time for all the village shops to close.

  “There, now,” she said at last. “That part is perfect.”

  Perfect, I echoed in my mind. I stared down at myself in the golden gown, the one intended for Marie. It fit snugly, a little too snug in some places, though I knew the dress was designed that way. The sort of fancy dress I could never wear myself, to impress others attending the sort of party to which I could never be invited. I couldn’t help marveling at the irony. I was sixteen years old and I was attending a royal ball.

  To kill some large wolves.

  “And this will be easy to take off, when I need to move?”

  She nodded. “I slit it in sections. I’ll show you where to tug to break the threads.” She stood back to cock her head at the gown. She seemed satisfied, at last. “Now for the hair and the – the face.”

  I stiffened. I held out my satin-gloved hand and let Celia guide me down from the pedestal. Like I was a glass figurine that might break at the slightest misstep. She led me to a chair in front of a three-paneled mirror. I felt like royalty.

  Royalty that bore a triple-scar across her face from some bloody battle.

  My eyes were lined with dark circles. My hair was muddy. And my face …

  What in heaven’s name was I thinking? This would never work.

  “Now I’m just going to add some powder and rouge and blend them in slowly, to see if –.”

  “I don’t care how you do it, so long as it’s done.”