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

closer. Then I gently curved my hand around to stroke its jaw, and it relaxed. It took a half-step closer and bent its head to let me pet it. I laid my head against the colt and hugged it with both arms. “She likes me.”

“Would you look at that?” Francois said, sounding surprised. “But ‘she’ is a ‘he’.”

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“How do you know?”

“Just trust me, all right? So. Now you’ve got him settled, what do you think we should name him?”

My eyes lit up. “Crimson. His whole flank is crimson like fire.” It was my favorite word for red.

Papa’s face wrinkled at that as he held my burlap cloak. Though he looked more pained than offended.

“Then ‘Crimson’ it is,” Francois said, petting the colt as he grew calmer. “And you can help me take care of him.”

I looked up at him. “I can? You mean it?”

“You come out as often as you like, Helena. When you’re older, I’ll teach you to ride him.”

My heart raced. Women rode in carriages, not on horses, and I had never heard of a girl learning how to ride.I leaned against him and threw my arms around his belly, squeezing him tight. “Thank you. Thank you, Francois.”

He turned toward Papa, licking his lips. “If it’s all right with your father, that is.”

I looked back. “Can I, Papa?”

Papa looked pale. He wrung the burlap cloak in his hands. “We’ll see. When you’re a little older.”

I hobbled to Papa and fell onto him in a tight hug. I limped back to Crimson, who continued to study my awkward movements, and petted him again. He leaned his head down and 29

stared at me as though we could see into one another’s souls.

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4.

Crimson lifted his head and snorted. I released him as another horse whinnied in the distance. I hobbled toward Papa to peer around the corner of Francois’ stable. A beautiful black coach was rolling across the muddy path to the cabin.

Papa’s voice rose. “Were you expecting Duke Laurent?”

Francois arrived behind us. “Last person I’d be expecting out here. ‘Course, I didn’t expect to see you today, either.”

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Duke Laurent ruled the province, but he and Papa had become good friends. He always gave me the most delicious apples and pears whenever he visited Papa. He made me feel almost as safe as Francois.

As the adorned coach drew closer, I spotted a gray Palomino trotting behind it amidst the falling leaves. I smiled, recognizing the black cloak and hat of its rider.

“Or Father Vestille?” Papa asked.

Francois craned his neck forward and gaped. “Next to last person I’d expect. Unless he’s short on confessions. I’m sure I could fill his plate, if he’s feeling lonely.”

Papa lowered his chin. “Show respect, Francois.”

Francois raised his hands. “Sorry.”

Father Vestille didn’t always make me feel safe, but he always smiled and bent down to listen to me after the Sunday Mass. When I was little, he let me sit on his lap whenever he came to visit us.

Every time I talked with him, I completely forgot about my scars.

The royal coach arrived first. I watched closely as the driver stepped down from his perch to open the rear door. I always felt proud knowing Papa was friends with the Duke of La Rue Sauvage himself. Duke Laurent jumped down and nodded his thanks to the driver, then gaped at us with wide eyes.

He ran to Papa, ignoring the mud that splattered on the fine wool-lined coat Mama had made for him. “Henri, are you both all right? I 32

heard there was some trouble in the village. Doctor Renoire said you went home, but we saw the tracks leading here.”

Papa shook his hand. “She’s all right.

Doctor Renoire said she just needs to rest.”

Duke Laurent regarded me with pitiful golden-brown eyes, which made him look even more handsome. He knelt before me, kissing both my hands as if I was a princess. “Helena. I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“I am. It still hurts, though.”

“I’m sure it does. But you’ll get well. Just rest, like your father says, and you’ll be up and about in no time.”

“Monsieur,” Papa said. “May I introduce Francois Revelier?”

The Duke stood as Papa