Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (ebook e reader .txt) 📕

I didn’t answer or make any promise. I just stared back at him, tired and weak. He nodded, as if we had agreed on something, and stepped away.

He left the candle burning for me, to give off a dim light. Finally safe, finally free for a few hours, I shut my eyes and descended into heavy sleep.

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24.

I awoke with a start as something pounded in the darkness. I sat up in bed and blinked, trying to distinguish shapes and remember where I was.

Had I returned to Pierre’s loft? My head ached as if something was hammering my skull.

The pounding continued from above. I squinted in the hazy light. The candle had burned down to a fuming spark, but dusty rays of light shone through cracks and holes in the ceiling.

“Helena, are you awake?” Father Vestille’s voice was muffled.

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“I’m –,” I started, hearing the harsh rasp of my voice. I cleared my throat and called louder.

“I’m awake. You can come down.”

One of the long shaft doors creaked open, shedding more light on the tiered ramp. Something surged inside me, a strange sense of hope and freedom that I couldn’t understand. Then Father Vestille’s boots descended the thin boards of the ramp, carrying a tray of food. He wore plain tan trousers and suspenders with a linen shirt. I wrinkled my brow, feeling even more like an intruder. I had rarely seen him without his priestly robe, not since I was a child. He looked tired and worried.

“Good morning,” he said. He moved past Crimson, who was rousing himself from the floor, as I sat up in bed.

He set the tray on a small table beside the cot. Warm bread and cheese and smoked sausage.

The welcome smells nearly overcame the cellar’s musty odor. My stomach rumbled as I closed my dry mouth. Why did I suddenly feel so safe here?

Not just in this secret hideaway, but under Father Vestille’s care?

He pulled up a stool beside the bed, sliding it past the rocking chair. “Go ahead, Helena. I’m sure you must be famished.”

I swallowed. “Thank you.”

I started in, seizing the bread with a ferocity that startled me. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. How tired and sore. I felt like a wounded stray puppy Father Vestille had rescued from the forest.

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He watched me, saying nothing. As though he wanted to make certain I ate. “Do you mind if I join you?”

I chewed on one side of my mouth to answer. “Of course. It’s your food.”

He smiled. Then he closed his eyes and crossed himself, mouthing a silent prayer.

I stopped chewing, feeling ashamed. It never occurred to me to give thanks for the meal, as I normally would. I was too hungry.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t pray.”

He shrugged. “The Lord understands. I expect you’ve had quite an ordeal.”

I chewed quietly on the bread.

He glanced at my legs, covered only by trousers, then looked away, embarrassed. He met my eyes. “Can you tell me what happened?”

I kept chewing. He waited for me to swallow. “… It’s more than I can explain.”

He frowned, studying my face. “Very well.” He took a piece of bread and sliced off an end of sausage. “I’ll bring down a wash basin for you to bathe, whenever you’re ready. Or you can bathe upstairs and I’ll wait outside.”

I sat up at the thought of leaving the dingy cellar to clean up. “If – you don’t mind – yes, I would rather go upstairs.”

He gave a curt nod. “I’ll show you where the sponges are. And I’ll start cleaning down here.

Or I can wait outside, if you wish, and watch for any uninvited guests.”

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I lowered my gaze, eyeing the plate of warm food. I never expected him to accommodate me so much after I ran off last night. Especially with the way I now looked. He had no idea what I had done or what monsters were chasing me. Yet he welcomed me into his home without demanding any explanation.