Page 17 of Heart of Snow
Her gentle concern was an invitation, almost quieting my reluctance to delve into such a painful topic. But I could be brief. “You recall the plague that ravaged our town?”
She nodded. “It took my mother and baby sister too.” The countess rubbed a hand across her nose, hinting at emotion that left me unsure of what to do. Should I continue? Averting my gaze to offer some privacy, I looked across the meadow and caught Hatzfeld staring at us. She instantly lowered her head and picked like mad.
I narrowed my eyes. Something was off about that woman. She always seemed to be... scheming.
“An-and what of your hunting?” the countess stammered, pulling my attention back to herself despite the nervous glance she shot at her companion. “Who taught you that skill? To be able to shoot an animal with just a curved limb bow, you must be very good at killing things.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”
She flushed, ducking her head as she reached for another arrow, but the quiver was empty. She excused herself and started gathering the scattered arrows, not even asking for my help.
I was tempted to stay by my tree and let her work alone, to give her a useful taste of labor and struggle, but she’d already shot through a whole quiver without complaint, despite her obvious discomfort. It was impossible not to admire that kind of resolve.
When she began jumping to reach an arrow lodged in a high branch, I sighed and pushed myself off the tree, easily reaching over her head to pull it down, then raking the bundle of arrows from her arms into mine.
“Are you ready for another round?” I baited her.
She surprised me, answering without hesitation. “Yes.”
“My lady.” I puffed a laugh of disbelief. “I wasn’t serious. You’re obviously tired. You would improve faster if you gave your arms time to recover.”
Looking up at the sky, she swallowed, then lowered her eyes to look directly in mine. “If it pleases you. I only hope to please you.” She fluttered her eyelashes so quickly that, at first, I wondered if she was working a piece of dirt from her eye.
I shifted away. “It doesn’t concern me. Do as you will.”
Her shoulders dropped. Did she want me to insist that she rest?
As we walked together toward the shooting line, the countess reached over and tried pulling an arrow out of my grip, but I held it fast.
“What is it?”
I shook my head. “Do you really believe any of this”—I lifted the bundle of arrows—“will make a difference for your brother? Could learning to hunt really gain you any influence with the queen?”
She kept her gaze on her hands, her thumb massaging her injured palm through her glove. “I’m willing to do anything for Samuel.” Then she murmured what almost sounded like, “And for my soul.”
She glanced up, and the cloud of seriousness lifted. “Even if it means learning to shoot this confounded bow.” She started down the path again, determination in her step.
“Countess,” I called, and she turned toward me. “When you begin your draw, pull your arm back at an upward angle. It puts the work of the draw into your stronger back muscles and gives you time to steady your aim.”
Her cheeks rounded in a smile. “I thank you. I’ll try that.”
Countess Margaretha bounded to the shooting line with a lightness in her step, and I found myself smiling to think that I might be the cause of it.
***
Margaretha
Friedrich deposited his bundle of arrows and moved back a safe distance as I took my place at the shooting line. Drawing the string, I did my best to follow his instructions, pulling it at an angle, and just as he’d said, the strength in my back allowed my weary arms a second more for aiming. The arrow flew, coming closer to the target than any before it.
“Much better.” Friedrich’s voice behind me made me startle. How had he moved so close without me hearing his step?
“Now focus on your anchor,” he said. “Pull the string back until your finger sits at your mouth, then press your hand firmly against the side of your face. Before you release the bow, take a deep breath and tighten the muscles in your back.”
I was only half listening with him standing so near, triggering the memory of when his jaw grazed my cheek on our first day of practice. I recalled Belinda’s suggestion that, with an altered mood, a replay of the scene could be romantic. All my attempts at flirting up to now had only elicited confused looks, but Friedrich was now here beside me, voluntarily helping me. Maybe he was beginning to soften toward me. Maybe this time I would succeed.
Taking a deep breath, I lowered my eyes, then peeked up through my lashes when I turned to face him. “I’m not sure I understand. Could you show me?”
His brows furrowed, but he took a step closer, reaching out his hand. “May I?”
