Page 46 of Heart of Snow
I doubted him ignorant of anything when it came to ladies.
He wound the cranequin, pulling the bow to its full draw, then loaded the bolt and shot it off at nothing in particular. The wasted bolt disappeared into a thicket.
Carrera tugged Margaretha to her feet, then put the crossbow in her hands. “You see? Easy enough for a woman.” He walked behind her, dwarfing her tiny frame beneath him as he reachedhis arms around to slide the cranequin onto the bow. Her cheeks flushed a lovely scarlet.
“Turn the cranequin like this,” he instructed, covering her hand with his and moving their arms in circular unison to wind the crank.
“Now raise the bow. Keep your hands steady.” His arms lay under hers, supporting her aim as she looked down the deck of the crossbow.
“What am I aiming for?” Her voice was tense. Nervous.
“Don’t worry about aiming yet. Simply feel the weight of the bow in your hands. Take note of the change in the winds. Breathe deeply.”
What an obvious bid for more time with Margaretha in his arms. Did I need to step in? Did I have any right to?
I looked around for Hatzfeld, but she was too consumed in her conversation with the count to give any notice to her lady’s predicament.
Carrera lowered his mouth to Margaretha’s ear, his lips brushing the rim of it as he whispered something that made her shiver. My blood churned.
The sudden thwack of the crossbow sounded, and Margaretha’s bolt sank deep in the bark of a tree. “I think I’ve got the idea of it.” She extracted herself from his cage of arms.
“You’re a quick study, but there’s more I could teach you if we have time.”
She returned the crossbow to him. “I know all I want to know. Thank you.”
“Then perhaps I might educate you in other subjects.”
Though he was subtle, I still noticed him run his fingers along her back. But I was robbed the pleasure of landing a solid punch against his temple when “The Game’s Afoot”trumpeted from somewhere through the trees. The hunting party jumped to action. Carrera dropped the crossbow and mounted his horse.Drawing his sword, he urged his horse beside the count’s, seeming to forget Margaretha entirely in his excitement.
With Carrera gone, Margaretha’s gaze moved to me. Horses and servants and dogs scurried every which way, but the chaos disappeared the moment we locked eyes. She watched me approach, letting out a small gasp when I settled my hands on her waist. I’d intended to lift her onto her horse, but that gasp... I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even blink as we watched each other, my hands burning with the heat of her. She was feeling this too, just as she’d been feeling something in the library before Hatzfeld burst in upon us. But would she confess it?
“Friedrich, the dogs!” Ulrich shouted, reminding me of my task. As if reading my thoughts, Margaretha leapt upward at the very moment I strained to lift her, the two of us moving in fluid synchrony like we’d rehearsed it a thousand times. Seeing her safely settled on her mount, I left to untie the leashes from the tree, pulling the anxious dogs to heel. I hovered over them, ready to unhook their collars.
After a few tense moments, a ten-pointed stag jumped through the camp, and I released the raches, sending the volley of dogs racing after the hart with near-deafening barks. Carrera was quick to join the chase as he reached his long sword out to slash the hind leg of the deer darting past. Blood spilled from the gash, leaving a trail of red scent for the dogs who herded the stag toward the next volley of waiting hounds. Dogs, hunters, and horses—all clamor and frenzy—melted into the green of the forest, leaving the houndmen in sudden silence to collect and tie up the first round of spent and sweaty raches.
Looping the leashes through their collars, we led them along the trail of crushed plants to the inevitable kill site. It was hot, dirty work pulling them over fallen trees, down hills, and through streams, but when “The Mort”sounded, we knew wewere close to finding the hunters. Even the tired raches lifted their heads and picked up their pace, drool dripping from their mouths in anticipation.
We arrived at the kill site just as Carrera dug his knife into the deer’s throat for the breaking, slicing through the hide down to the tail while blood bubbled out over Carrera’s hands. Having had the honor of the first cut, he passed his knife to the count kneeling beside him, and the count continued the grisly work of unmaking the hart. Carrera stood, mopping his brow with his sleeve before settling his fists against his waist. He looked around with a smile, his gaze landing on Margaretha atop her horse. Her eyes were as wide and innocent as a doe’s as she witnessed the ritualistic disemboweling of the game her father served at suppers. Shaking his head, Carrera came to stand beside her horse, resting his arm over his jennet’s mane.
“I think you’ve never seen a breaking before.” He likely thought his words safely covered by the noise of chatting huntsmen, but I’d moved close enough to hear.
She shook her head, her eyes still focused on the dead hart.
“It’s a beautiful game,” he said. “Tracking down the hart, the relays of hounds being slipped as they sprint after the prey. The hart’s pulse beating faster as the fear of capture intensifies. It may perform its ruse, doubling back on its trail to confuse the dogs, or running through the water to cover its scent. It may even seek out and cross the path of another deer to distract its predators, but I wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less.”
Margaretha looked down at him with a dark glare as he toyed with the ribbon of her shoe.
“I expect the cleverest and fittest hart and the finest pursuit. I expect the prey to run hard and the chase to last long. I’m confident I’ll last longer.” His hand slid from her shoe to her ankle, leaving traces of blood as it slipped higher up her hose.
Sucking in a shocked breath, Margaretha kicked out her leg until Carrera released her with a laugh.
The burn in my blood returned in an overwhelming flash, and I dropped the leashes of the dogs to march directly toward the filthy blackguard. I’d taken all of three steps before Ulrich moved in front of me, his hands up to block my way.
“It’s not worth it,” he whispered.
From behind Ulrich’s shoulder, Margaretha noticed me, and her face turned bright crimson.
Ulrich pushed a handful of leashes into my fist. “These dogs’ve had their reward. Get ’em back to the kennels and clean ’em off. I’ll take over your lot.”
