Valiant (The Blood Trail Chronicles Book 3)

by AE Watson

  “Perhaps that’s the problem,” Lenny chided.

  “Listen to us. Someone might mistake us for proper fishwives if we were heard.” Hilde sat back, staring up at the sun, speaking with a deep and contented sigh, “It’s warm today. Thankfully. I have grown tired of the rain.” She changed the subject smoothly.

  “Then I suppose it’s lucky it rains much less in the city,” Lenny purposely pried.

  “I suppose it is,” she answered Lenny but sounded as though she wished to avoid the topic.

  “Will you miss the rains once you’re there?” Lenny asked, pushing her, wondering if Mother had told her anything else. Hilde loved having knowledge her sisters didn't; however, keeping secrets in a group of triplets was difficult.

  “You’re not staying there in the city, though,” Amaya said as she danced a piece of string for the orange kitten. He clawed at it as Amaya’s eyes lifted to Hilde. “Mother said you would be married in the city but could choose to live wherever you want. She said his family has homes all over the kingdom. You’ll want to come back to Blockley or visit frequently or live close by, of course.”

  “I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest,” Hilde lied and frowned at Amaya. “If you’re not careful, that cat’s going to claw you.” Hilde changed the subject again, masterfully, once more using her eldest-sister voice. She was three whole minutes older than Amaya and somehow that translated into years of knowledge and authority. Which made the fifteen minutes she was older than Lenny, decades.

  “That might be her objective, Hilde.” Lenny winked at Amaya. “If she has a clawed-up hand perhaps Mother might let her off without doing any sewing or needlepoint later.”

  “Lenny!” the middle sister sounded affronted. “I would never.”

  Lenny laughed but unfortunately it was the truth. Amaya would never shirk womanly duties, just the yard work. She wasn’t as bad as Hilde at being their mother’s perfect daughter, but she was close enough. The other two sisters were dutiful daughters. “Perfect examples of ladies” was how they were often described, in spite of Amaya being a bit too headstrong.

  “Besides, how could I arrive at my engagement party tomorrow night with a scratched hand? Displaying the ring next to my cuts like a savage?” Amaya sniffed with a hint of mockery.

  “Yes, how indeed,” Hilde agreed, her eyes lingering on the cuts and calluses all over Lenny’s hands. “One might mistake you for a pauper, as Lenny frequently is.” She teased her youngest sister but there was truth in her words. She didn't like that Lenny was often mistaken for a member of the working class, which didn't bother Lenny one lick. Mostly because she was one. Lenny had worked for their uncle for some time and had no intentions of quitting anytime soon.

  She followed Hilde’s judgmental gaze to the hounds, the reason Lenny was a member of the working class. Not that working had changed much. Their huge appetites kept her close to the poor house. But she didn’t care. She loved them.

  When they’d been offered to Lenny as payment, everyone had an opinion on how she should’ve turned down the strange man from the northern kingdoms. But the tiny pups were hers the moment they made eye contact. It was love at first sight.

  “I still can’t believe Father let you keep them,” Hilde said with a heavy sigh. The deal bothered her more than it had their mother. The hounds were only ten months old and already the size of the family donkey.

  “He didn’t let me do anything. I did the work,” Lenny reminded her. “I chose to keep them and all he said was that I had to feed them myself. And they’ve turned out all right, haven’t they? Last week Ollie chased off what looked to be a wolf that got near the spring lambs and Scar wasn’t far behind him. We don’t have a single dog on the farm that could handle a wolf alone, but that devil ran when he saw Ollie’s scruffy face coming.” Lenny chuckled and scratched the wolfhound’s bearded chin. It was wet with drool, making Hilde and Amaya both shudder. “Didn't he, boy? He was terrified of this damned handsome muzzle.”

  “Don’t cuss, Lenny. You might work as a man, but you aren’t one,” Hilde scolded.

  “And you might sound like my mother, but you aren’t,” she retorted sharply as Ollie leaned into her embrace, his amber eyes closed and his content smile widened. They were expressive dogs, that was for certain. If they were happy, you’d never see a more peaceful-looking animal. But if they became worked up over something, run. Though that wouldn't save you. They could move faster than anything Lenny had ever seen.

  Hilde parted her lips to give her a solid piece of her mind but was interrupted by a man’s voice.

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” Wendell Knightly, Lenny’s dearest friend waved as he crossed the expanse of field to where they had the blanket laid out. “What you doing all the way over here?”

  “Well, Wen, I’d say we followed the sun, but truly Aunt Mildred is visiting Mother so we chose a site well away from the house.” Lenny didn’t bother lying to him.

  “Lenny!” Hilde whispered.

  “Of course you did. Is that Sir Kitty?” Wen seemed shocked when he saw the ball of fluff chasing the string Amaya was playing with. “Lords, but he’s huge now, isn’t he? Twice the size since I last saw him.” The question drew the wolfhounds up, as if being ignored meant they must remind Wen they needed affection and notice as well.

  “Indeed, he has grown considerably in the fortnight since he left his mother.” Amaya was fond of him the most of all the barn cats their female had given birth to. “I’ve been feeding him cream.”

  “And Father complains about my hounds.” Lenny scoffed.

  “Well, he’ll be a fine barn cat in no time with that size.” Wen ignored her complaining, scratching the needy hounds. He didn’t have to bend, both dogs’ faces were at his waist height already. Lenny had been warned they would grow to weigh the same as an adult man and would stand on four legs with their heads reaching a man’s chest. They were well on their way.

  “Shouldn't you be at work?” Lenny asked Wen, eyeing him up suspiciously.

  “Aye, but my mum’s been at the grover’s wine again, and she’s off on her tall tales of life in the courts, telling every soul who enters the haberdashery.” He chuckled but there was sadness to his tone. “Decided it might be a good time to take a lunch break.”

  “Well, you best come and sit and play with the kitten and forget your troubles.” Lenny moved over so he could have a spot next to her. “Perhaps you brought some of the grover’s best brew?”

  “Lenny!” Hilde gasped again.

  “I do tire of you saying my name, Hilde.”

  “I don't suppose you all heard about the body that washed ashore this afternoon?” Wen asked, changing the subject as he often did before the girls got into another fight.

  “Body?” Lenny questioned him, yet it wasn't unusual for a body to turn up on Blockley’s shores.

  “Indeed. A girl, maybe our age. Blue fingers like she’d been baking with berries before she died. Strange.” Wen shrugged.

  “That is strange. Poor thing. The sea claims another life. Perhaps her death will keep the storm that’s building at bay. I swear I’ve seen pinkish-colored clouds a couple of mornings now.”

  “Lenny!” Hilde hushed her. “Wen, are you enjoying the warm weather now that summer has finally arrived?” Hilde moved to a more respectable conversation.

  “Indeed, Miss Hilde. And are you enjoying the afternoon?”

  “I am, thank you.” Her formality was soft and sweet, the only tone a lady ought to have with a gentleman. It made Lenny want to roll her eyes at them both. They’d been friends since they were infants, and Wen was no gentleman. The last name Knightly was the bastard’s surname for any sons born without a father in Waterly City.

  But Hilde was insistent they maintain proper decorum, always trying to be a lady. Lenny wished they could be who they were, plain folk from a small fishing town. But her mother had been highborn in the city and comfortably reached well above their father’s station, dragging Lenny’s
sisters with her. A journey Lenny refused to join them on.

  “And are you, Miss Amaya, enjoying the warm weather?” Wen’s voice changed just slightly, enough that Amaya’s cheeks flushed with color.

  “I am, thank you, Wen.”

  “And I am as well, your lordship,” Lenny mocked them all. “This glorious afternoon spent out of doors, avoiding our dreaded Aunt Mildre—”

  “Lenny!” the very aunt’s shrill voice bellowed from across the small acreage dotted with hay bales.

  “Gods, save me.” Lenny cringed.

  “Lenny,” she shouted again.

  “Oh, for the sake of us all, answer her Lenny,” Amaya half pleaded.

  “What?” Lenny hollered back but she didn't answer. It was a particularly annoying trait of hers, to shout but not tell you what she shouted for, meaning you needed to come to her.

  “You’d better hurry. The gods know she isn’t a patient woman,” Wen offered lightly, hiding a smirk.

  “The gods know better that I’m not her favorite,” Lenny added the bit he had meant with a heavy sigh. “So it doesn’t matter if I hurry. She’ll find fault in something else.”

  “You’re not her least favorite either. You sit somewhere in the middle perhaps,” he chided.

  “Middle, ha! Not likely,” Lenny grumbled as she got up lazily from the blanket.

  “Sir Kitty, you are the silliest kitten that ever worked this farm,” Amaya cooed at the small orange animal.

  “Sir Kitty might be the silliest name I’ve ever heard,” Lenny lamented for the poor animal. Amaya had sucked the masculinity from him before he stood a chance at growing at all. “One day he’ll be a grown male answering to that.”

  “Look at him. He adores his name, don't you, Sir Kitty?” Her words gave him pause.

  He stopped attacking the string he was wrestling with, letting it lie on his fluffy belly, entwined in his claws. Then he jumped up as though offended by the ridiculous name and ran sideways at her, still tangled in the yarn as he pounced at her twitching foot. She shrieked half in terror and then giggled as the little orange monster attacked her.

  It was obvious none of them were about to accompany Lenny back to the house.

  “You coming then?” she asked Wen.

  “Perhaps I’ll see you later,” he said without lifting his gaze from the kitten.

  “Fine,” she offered dryly and turned, walking toward the small farmhouse with a barn of equal size next to it. Ollie and Scar joined her without needing to be called. A trick she’d taught them. She had convinced herself they were well trained, considering she spent a decent amount of time on it, but her father laughed and told her the dogs were meant to keep farm animals safe and saw her as a weak lamb. They stayed close to protect her. Lenny chose not to see it that way.

  “I’ll meet you after, Lenny,” Wen called after a delay, the distraction in his voice was obvious.

  Amaya and even Hilde giggled loudly, forcing a smile to her lips regardless of not being able to see what shenanigans the kitten was up to. Though Lenny supposed it could have been Wen making them laugh. No one made her sisters giggle the way he did. Not that it had helped in stealing Amaya’s heart.

  Lenny didn't understand why he continued to try when it was hopeless. Amaya had agreed to the engagement their mother planned and was to marry, meaning all Wen’s efforts had gone unnoticed. She saw him as nothing but a friend. Or worse, a brother.

  But that hadn’t dissuaded his heart, not a little. If fact, it might have furthered his efforts, as if her heart was something of a challenge.

  Picking up the pace, Lenny pushed the sound of her friend and sisters tormenting the kitten aside. Whatever her aunt wanted, she hoped it wouldn't take long. She wasn't in a mood for her orders and disdain.

  When she neared the house, she noticed a dark silhouette in the window of the second floor, staring down on her. Her mother, Elsie Ailling, watched as she rushed over, offering nothing but a small wave. The dreaded aunt, Mildred Ailling, was in the lower window, giving Lenny her disapproving stare. “Your uncle needs you at the shop,” she called through the gap of the open window and motioned her head to tell her to get on.

  Wen was wrong. She was her aunt’s least favorite.

  Lenny wished she could say it wasn't with good reason, but that would be a lie. She’d tormented the life from the poor woman every chance she had, and always managing not to get caught. Which made Mildred hate Lenny even more. But as Lenny’s father always said, Mildred rose to the occasion far too easy for her to ignore it.

  The cool forest air hit as she passed the barn and entered the woods.

  A small dense emerald forest sat between the Ailling family farm and town. It was normally filled with the noise of birds at this point in the afternoon, but today it sat silent, suggesting the usual inhabitants had chosen elsewhere to lodge. Was there truly a storm looming? The sky had been pink this morning again, not red but a hue bright enough to hint something was brewing at sea. Which was unusual for this time of year. True summer storms were recalled by the years they hit and the last one was half a decade ago.

  Not that there was a moment to linger on it; if Uncle Alek was waiting, Lenny had to hurry. He wasn’t an impatient man but some of his customers could be. They were generally eager to get back to sea in the summer. Lenny’s lack of urgency was costing them money.

  Summer had taken its time, but it had finally arrived in Blockley, a town of no remarkable size on the southern shores of the kingdom of Dahleigh. A spot famous with fishermen and captains alike who noted it as a place of importance. Not only were the builders in Blockley Harbor known to mend a ship faster than any within a thousand leagues, the pub was notorious for its fine stout beer, a home brew served by the beautiful Esmeralda or one of her lovely sisters.

  It also helped that the townsfolk of Blockley were uncommonly kind for a village, as far as strangers were regarded. They were even considered welcoming. To them the rule had always been and always would be, the more the merrier. A lucky motto since the sheltered bay, where the village happened to be, was massive and shaped like a spoon. Good and deep to accommodate the many shapes and sizes of ships.

  It was a pretty town, lining a rustic hillside that rose from the ocean with houses and shops. The picturesque sandy shores with the dramatic cliffs on either side created a stunning frame for the cozy spot. And at the top of the hill and all around Blockley, sat a dense forest full of splendidly tall trees with wild mushrooms beneath them. The breeze that blew up the hill from the docks and across town was soft and sweet with the scent of summer grass and the sounds of gulls.

  And summer was the favorite month for the town as the weather was consistently good for fishing. The harbor filled with ships, the inns were bursting at the seams with guests, and the shops sold out of their finest products.

  Blockley bustled from early spring when the seas calmed until the fall harvest with ships in and out of port, unloading fish and hurrying back to sea to get more. Once the fall rains came and the snow threatened, no one sailed for anything beyond travel. And even then, it was risky. Lenny’s gran always said the sea allowed them their season, and anyone who sailed after the harvest risked her temper for their trespass.

  As the sun vanished in the canopy of the tall trees, Ollie and Scar took a side, walking next to Lenny so her arms could rest on their backs. They usually did this in the woods, their eyes widening as they scanned the area around them.

  The man who gave them to Lenny told her they were sight hounds. They could see as a hawk did, far off in the distance with their eyesight improving in the expanse. In the woods this close to town, she liked having them with her, protecting her. She hoped they would see a threat with enough time for her to react.

  The ocean air hit her nose as they cleared the forest and the path became a road, Seaswept Lane. The lane led to the docks, her destination.

  An uneasy feeling crept over her as they passed the first house on the right, her uncle Cyril’s ho
use. The empty windows didn't trick her. He could be there, lurking, watching. The thought made her skin crawl, despite the warm summer air. Hilde was correct, he was their worst relative.

  Lenny quickened her pace until the smithy shack came into view and changed that cold shiver to a bit of excitement. She rushed up until the moment she saw the yard. Master Barnes lifted his hammer at her from where he was banging it at the forge in the coal-stained yard. “Afternoon, Lenny.”

  “Afternoon, Master Barnes.” She waved back, slowing her pace a touch more. “Hiya, James.” She beamed at the apprentice, James Enderby, who was her age but twice the size of any of the other boys in town.

  “Lenny,” he grunted but his eyes didn't avert from whatever he was hitting. Something about the way he wasn’t impressed by anything intrigued Lenny. Even as small kids she’d wondered if there was anything that made him smile, truly. As they’d aged, she learned his hardships had created that stern face, which of course only intrigued her further. He was a gentle giant who kept to himself, working with his head down most of the time.

  Hilde said Lenny enjoyed the challenge of the one boy in town who didn't chase the girls. She said Lenny always set herself up for disappointment. Which of course meant Lenny tried harder to be his friend.

  But his constant indifference to her, regardless of how she treated him or acted, proved Hilde to be correct in this. A frustrating loss, for certain. Lenny hated when Hilde was right, which was nearly always.

  Ollie drifted toward the smithy, prancing more the further they got from the woods. He was a social butterfly. In town he visited the shops, receiving treats and pats from anyone who didn't fear him.

  “Hello there, lad. You’ll be wanting a treat, I s’pose.” Master Barnes turned, digging a massive coal-stained hand into a dusty brown sack. Ollie sat, his tail swishing back and forth on the dirt. Scar paused, giving Lenny a look.

  “Go on,” she told her. Scar launched into a run, skidding to a stop and sitting as her brother was, her tail wagging less eagerly.