“Aye, well that explains a lot then.” He rests one hand casually on the blanket’s edge, the other on his knee, amusement lingering in his impish eyes. “Can’t say it doesn’t surprise me though, Frost Flea. Any other settlement and you’d have your choice of suitors, likely married off with plenty of tiny rug rats by now. Not many options in Rondo though it seems.”
“I—” The warmth continues to wash across my face as I hurriedly wipe the back of my hand across my lips, trying in vain to steel my nerves and offer a stern glare in his direction. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Hey now.” His gaze softens and I find myself unable to look away as he runs a hand through his ginger hair. “It isn’t anything to be ashamed of. So you’ve clearly never been kissed before now.” He shrugs. “Not the worst thing in the world and had I known that beforehand, I would have at least asked first. I honestly didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable and I figured that since you’re probably going to end up dead when Rondo is purified soon anyway, why not at least show you that we at least have some soul to us and are indeed human.”
“I . . .” This time I do look away, every part of me wanting to scream and shout at him for assuming we’re all going to die to the Kingdom.
He sighs and reaches forward, guiding the knife back to my side. “You’re not fooling me, Frost Flea. Lionel keeps you on a tight leash because you’re a rustler and he cares about you. I get that. Believe me, I really do, but you don’t need me to tell you it’s not fair and you can’t deny that you don’t at least sometimes think that there’s something more out there for you.”
“How dare you think you know anything about me,” I growl despite the fact that I know it’s a lie and clutch the knife’s handle harder in warning.
He’s far from intimidated, though, and shakes his head. “I know you’re too stubborn to admit what you really want, Frost Flea. Look, I know you’re upset with me right now, and rightfully so, seeing as Lionel raised you well enough to know when to draw a knife on me. But right now, I’d really like to salvage whatever chance we still have to save your family here, so I would appreciate you putting down that knife and at least trusting me. I mean you no harm.”
With a sigh, I return the knife to the scabbard, keeping both eyes on him. His eyes harbor truth in them and a stern honesty that he really does mean the words. Trusting him is risky, but I know if I don’t, escaping Rondo might be impossible without his help. I need him right now and can’t afford to lose him.
“I am going to hold you to that promise, but do not think for one moment that I won’t stab you or shoot you if you dare try something like that again without asking first.”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “For what it’s worth, Frost Flea, the fact that you still have some sense of humanity left in a savage place like Rondo is worth the effort of asking next time. There’s hope for a future for you yet.”
I feel my face flush with embarrassment.
The door rattles under a series of loud knocks, making us both jump.
I offer a silent look that warns him against moving from his spot. Struggling to compose myself and pretend that an Edmondan Irishman didn’t kiss me, I grab the rifle and stalk to the kitchen.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I grab the doorknob. What’s wrong with me? Why did I let him get that close in the first place? I should know better.
The door creeps open, spilling harsh lantern light across the kitchen.
“Good heavens.” A snow-covered Sadie stands with a basket hanging from her arm beside a worried-looking Frank. “It’s so dark in here.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
It takes every ounce of discipline to keep from lunging forward and hugging her and Frank. They’re here. Snow-covered and out in a storm they shouldn’t be out in. But they’re here. In our kitchen. And never have I been happier to see them given the events of the day.
“Not even a candle for her.” Sadie bustles around the kitchen. She sets the oil lantern on the countertop and basket on the table, shaking her head. “If you’re not going to be home all night, at least leave a candle or something where she can find one, especially in a snowstorm.”
A heavy layer of hostility lingers in her tone. She must still be angry at Tracker.
Frank grunts and eyes the flickering woodstove. Mercifully, he doesn’t say it, but he sees Colton’s shadow. His dark eyes narrow and he plants a gloved hand on the countertop.
Sadie shuffles uncomfortably and pulls a few small items wrapped in cloth from the little wicker basket, neatly setting them on the table. “I’m sorry, sweetie. How long have you been in the dark?”
“Um, not too long. Just got home honestly.” It’s not a complete lie.
She stops and looks at me. “He sent you out today with a storm coming?”
“Tuesday, honey.” Frank brushes snow from her shawl. “She was down at Addison’s farm with the animals.”
He knows I wasn’t at the farm all day. There are things rustlers do that we don’t tell Sadie about and right now in her condition she doesn’t need to know I wasn’t anywhere near Rondo for most of the day.
“Bless your little heart.” Her dark-brown eyes briefly lose their hostility. “Settlement’s under siege and you still go down there to do your chores.”
“Yeah. Sure is snowing hard out there though. Why are you two out in it?”
Sadie smiles despite the fact that she looks miserably cold. “Tracker asked us to check on you. And since you two can barely feed a starving dormouse let alone yourselves, I figured I’d at least bring you something to eat.”
She strips away her fleece-lined gloves and sets them on the table. Her trembling fingers pinch the soft cloth’s protective corners and peel them back. A small wedge of creamy white goat cheese sits under the first. Slices of wood-smoked venison are under another. Pieces of lightly toasted flatbread topped with a few fresh hothouse orchard apple slices round out the meal.
“It’s not much,” she says. “But it’s something.”
My stomach rumbles at the thought of something to eat. This morning’s breakfast was small at best and nowhere near as generous as what she’s brought. Rustlers may provide for and protect the settlement but we’re usually the last to eat.
“It’s more than enough, Sadie, Frank. Thank you.”
The rifle leans against the curio cabinet as I retrieve a few plates and chipped cups. They click against the tabletop. I motion to Sadie and Frank to sit down and wait until they both do before taking my usual chair.
Frank begins dividing what little we have amongst three plates. Soft guilt gnaws at me, stronger than hunger. I glance at the fourth chair and back to the food.
You know you can’t exactly let him starve, right? My inner rustler taunts as I think about Colton and try hard not to blush. Damn it all to hell and back.
“Hang on a second.” I stand up, move to the cabinet and grab another plate.
The burly man raises an eyebrow and watches me retreat for the living room.
Colton sits on the floor staring at the woodstove. Firelight crosses his grass-green eyes casting him in a warm, inviting light. His bare hands limply hang over his folded knees, the K. C. hare menacing and a stern reminder that he is one of them. For a moment, I stare at him, feeling my heart flutter and face flush. His ruffled, unkempt ginger hair falls around his boyish face making him look like a lost and lonely drifting stray. From this angle, it looks like he almost belongs in a place like Rondo.
Focus, damn it. I shake my head. Whether I like it or not, he’s under our roof and Jericho always preaches that whether you want to or not, you feed your enemies regardless, as an act of mercy, if they’re in your presence.
No one deserves to go hungry. Food is scarce in Rondo. Here, in this house though, we share what little we have—even if you are the enemy.
“We don’t have much but you’re welcome to join us for dinner.”
He looks up in surprise, the blanket still draped over his shoulders. For a few
seconds, he hesitates halfway to his feet and pulls the blanket away, folding it and resting it over a couch arm. A smile crosses his lips.
I step back into the kitchen and set the plate by an empty chair before taking my place at the table. After all, he did somewhat help me with information on Henny today.
Colton doesn’t look at Frank as he passes. The wooden chair creaks back as he takes his seat.
“Thank you,” he whispers and glances at the door as if Tracker will storm through and beat him up again.
Frank measures out a helping for the stranger’s plate. When he’s finished dividing everything, he takes his place in Tracker’s spot and bows his head.
Sadie and I bow ours as well.
“Lord, we thank you for this feast that you have bestowed upon us and for the comfort of family—” As the burly man says the prayer, I sneak a peek over at the young man struggling to figure out what exactly he should be doing. He fidgets and tries to mimic us but looks uncomfortable and confused.
“Amen,” Frank finishes the prayer.
“Amen,” my whisper joins Sadie’s.
Colton’s voice doesn’t join ours but he nods. No doubt yesterday’s events in the hothouse still play on his mind when he glances at Frank and immediately shrinks back in the same way he fears Tracker.
“You’re from Edmonda, aren’t you?” Sadie breaks a piece of flatbread apart.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with the same politeness Matthew always used.
I nibble on some of the smoked venison and try to ignore his gentle accent.
She nods. “I thought so. Laborer’s District?”
His left hand rearranges the cheese and venison on his plate. “Trade District, ma’am. Haskin’s Vineyard, Ranch, and Forge, mostly forge.” Bitterness spills into his accent.
Sadie stops breaking pieces and tenses.
“Honey?” Frank glances over at her with concern.
“I’m fine, just the baby kicking.” Her eyes soften and she tilts her head like she does when she wants to ask a question but isn’t exactly sure just how to word it. “You must be a hard worker then.”
Colton nods. “It comes with the territory.”
“I know.” She smiles, sadness in her voice. “I knew someone from Edmonda. Nice, polite young man. The kind of person who always did the right thing.”
Her eyes narrow at the young redheaded man with the same intensity Tracker suffered yesterday afternoon.
He squirms under the look and turns his attention to the goat cheese a little too quickly for my liking.
I try not to think about the conversation this morning. Colton brought Matthew into the fight. His own brother . . . Hell, even Henny was friends with him. Our Matthew. Their Matthew. One’s a gentle farmer, my friend—the other is K. C., a traitor.
My body slouches in the wooden chair and I struggle to focus on the food.
Dinner ends some time later. No more talk of Edmonda, just suspicious looks to the stranger from a woman who considers me her own daughter and a gentle-hearted man who nearly helped my “father” kill the foreigner yesterday.
Colton draws a long breath and collects his cleared plate, carrying it over to the sink. The lantern flickers. Sadie stands up and collects her and Frank’s plates. I follow suit with my own, take them from her and set them in the sink.
No extra water either. Reaching under the sink’s crawlspace for a metal bucket, I swipe a large saucepan hanging on the wall.
“Gotta melt snow for water to get these cleaned up.” Gloves. Where are my gloves? “Would you take this to the woodstove, please?”
She takes the bucket from me. “Of course.”
The woman waddles from the kitchen, flanked by an overprotective Frank.
Damn. My brow furrows. Peeking at the woodstove, my gloves lay on the floor where I left them.
Tucking the saucepan under my right arm, I retrieve them, slip them on, and head for the door, grabbing the doorknob and pulling it open toward me.
Hellish force drives the wood into my shoulder and hip stronger than any wind, pushing me back and into the cabinets. My lower back strikes the counter’s edge, and the soft hide of my boots hit the puddles of melting snow, sliding every way but under me. My left elbow slams against the ground, hip crashing against the tile.
Pain shoots through my wounded left arm where Henny struck. I roll onto my back. Fingers wrapped around the saucepan’s handle, I sweep it upward and into an axe blade, stopping it mere inches from my face.
Chapter Thirty-Five
He plants his filthy snow-covered boots firmly on my long mahogany hair. I look up at menacing, cat-like gray eyes, aflame by the lantern light behind Matthew’s aged, ash-handled splitting axe and a more than familiar pine-green jacket with a bronze embroidered hare.
The blade glints, held back only by split metal. I grit my teeth, thin arms trembling under the axe’s force.
“You traitorous son of a bitch.” At the farmhouse none-the-less.
Hunter’s eyes narrow. The axe blade presses closer, bending my arms and hunting my blood. “What’s the matter, little witch? Scared to face judgment long overdue?”
“Go to Hell.”
A roaring shout fills the kitchen as Frank barrels into the kitchen and slams into Colton’s flat palm, raised in a silent, soldier-like attempt to keep the big man in the living room.
“Lawrence.” Frank’s voice turns venomous. “You hurt her and I swear to God I’ll take that head right off your shoulders.”
Hunter turns one gray eye on the big man, his newer-looking K. C. jacket rustling. “Really, Williams? You and I both know you don’t have it in you.”
“I hope you made peace because you’re gonna need it.” He shoulders toward the mousy man. “Jericho warned you.”
My arms shake. When did he get to be this strong?
“Stay back.” Colton blocks the big man’s path. “Aye, Lawrence.” His green eyes flash as if he’s looking at a pesky animal. “It’s not nice to swing an axe at a lady.”
“This doesn’t involve you, field rat.”
“I’d think twice about that.” Colton’s eyes turn lethally frigid and he slips his right hand up, K. C. hare almost glowing in the lantern light. “Get that axe away from her.”
His foot slams against the floor in the first step closer like an animal preparing to defend its territory from a rival.
Hunter smirks. “I wouldn’t do that.”
A snap, followed by the sickening metal clack of a bullet being slipped into a gun’s chamber fills the air. Gun? My eyes dart to the doorway where at least ten strong Rondonian men hold .22s and carbines. Behind them stand at least twenty K. C. soldiers, all with their weapons raised. Blazing torch flames flicker back and forth in the wind, dancing across their faceless helmets and rimming Hunter in crimson light.
This could be a problem.
“You see, we’ve been thinking and we think it’s time for some change here in Rondo.” He curls his lip into a wry smirk. “Starting with the little wanted witch-child going straight back to Hell where she belongs and a severe change of leadership. Hail Hyperion.”
God, it looks like the whole town is out there. Where’s Jericho? I shiver at the soldiers pressing closer. Where’s Tracker?
“Oh, you’re good.” Colton hisses and reaches for the Damascus leaning against the curio cabinet. “Here I thought you’d at least grow a pair and face us like a man. But then again, Matty, Henny, and I always knew you were a coward.”
Hunter scowls. His arms don’t tremble and he nudges my cheek with his boot toe.
My eyes harbor feral rage.
“Not like he’s here to help you, field rat.” Hunter’s gray eyes lift from me to mock the young man.
All or nothing; I’m making good on putting this asshole in his place once and for all. This time no one is going to stop me from finishing it either. I drive my heels against the cabinet and rock my knees back. In one swift motion, they slam against my chest and my s
hins drive upward between his legs with three years’ worth of raiding and mule riding behind them.
Hunter screams and buckles forward. I heave the saucepan backward, away from my face. He hits the wall, axe and saucepan pinned under his wriggling body.
I throw my knees forward, rocking into a sitting position and brace both shoulders against the wooden door. A .22 discharges as the force knocks its barrel sideways.
The curio cabinet glass shatters and pours across the ground.
Sadie screams. Frank shields her and retreats deeper into the living room.
The door shudders and shakes under the force of a mobs’ angry hands battering it. I drive my feet against the floor, my boots slipping and sliding, giving up inches to the increasing force.
I can’t hold them back. Tracker. Where are you? I need help!
“You handle Lawrence.” Colton holds the Damascus off-center with the door. A dark look crosses his face. “I’ll try to buy you some time. Go, now, Frost Flea.”
Hunter shakes his head and struggles to gain his bearings, tears dripping down his flushed cheeks. His boot forces the saucepan away from the axe and he gathers it to him. Those terrible gray eyes highlight his sweat-drenched brow and flushed face.
Not in this house. My icy-blue eyes flare and I don’t even bother to brush the long mahogany hair hanging loose and wild around my face away. My chapped lips curl into a feral snarl and I launch myself at him like an angry stag defending its territory.
A deep-seated, haunted look crosses his eyes. He swings the axe upward. The blade skims wide in clumsy hands as my entire nimble frame tackles his ribs. We roll into the table legs as the door caves and the K. C. rushes our kitchen.
I claw his thick forest-green jacket. The tabletop crashes down around us and chairs overturn. We roll through the curio cabinet glass. Both hands grasp his jacket, everything I have forcing him into the shards. His sharp elbow cracks into my ribcage, driving the breath from my lungs and knocking me away before I can grab his throat.
The Bone Roses Page 21
