Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4)

by Tricia Mingerink

  Leith slipped his hand into hers. His grip was strength and comfort, and it didn’t matter that Sheriff Allen’s face turned gray at the sight of it. The whole town would find out soon enough. Their courtship wasn’t going to be a secret, even if Leith’s past would be.

  Sheriff Allen’s shoulders slumped. “Lady Faythe, you’re set on this?”

  “Yes.” Renna squeezed Leith’s hand. He tipped his head toward her, and one corner of his mouth tilted upward. A flurry skittered through her chest. If he kept smiling at her like that, she’d turn into a dripping pile of March snow.

  “Fine.” Sheriff Allen’s jaw worked. “But I’m keeping an eye on you. Any funny business will be promptly dealt with.”

  “You won’t get any trouble from me.” Leith pointed toward Ranson and Jamie. “Or them either. As far as anyone knows, we’re peasant farmers who were uprooted in the war, and we’ve decided to settle in Stetterly. Ranson and Jamie are keeping their real names. They weren’t Blades long enough for their names to be recognizable, but I’m going by the name Daniel Grayce.”

  Renna straightened her spine back into her Lady Faythe posture. Best to move things along. “Sheriff Allen, why don’t you show us the progress you’ve made in the rebuilding efforts?”

  Sheriff Allen coughed, straightened his jerkin, and strode to what had once been the center of Stetterly. “Right now, we’re mostly scavenging what we can from the wreckage of the town and manor. We’ve been piling all the useful timber over here. There’s still a lot to be done in salvaging the manor. Most of the stones can be reused for something, even if most of the woodwork didn’t survive.”

  “Will we be able to build enough shelters for everyone before winter?” Renna studied the charred remains of what had once been her town. That pile of ash had once been the bakery. There the mercantile lay in a heap of black wood. The stench of smoke still clung to the air even after all this time, as if the town was a dead body still festering on the prairie.

  “That’s the real question.” Sheriff Allen halted at the edge of town. The clusters of makeshift shelters dotted the grass in front of them. “We don’t have enough wood to make houses for everyone. Even if we chop down every tree in the Canyon, the wood needs at least a year to dry before we could build cabins with it. Whatever dry wood we can find in the Canyon will be needed for firewood, not building.”

  Renna bit her lip. The wood provided by the Spires Canyon was too precious to waste all at once. They’d have to cut trees sparingly, as they’d always done, to preserve trees for the years to come. “So we’re going to have to build sod dugouts then?”

  “That’s our only option. They’ll be cozy enough this winter, if a little dark and dirty. Better than freezing.” Sheriff Allen pointed toward a far valley. “We managed to round up some of the cattle herds, and most of the farm fields survived all right. That army didn’t stick around here long enough to pick it clean like they did some towns.”

  Renna nodded. The townsfolk would’ve had a few lean months right after the army attacked, when all their food stores were confiscated or burned and the corn wasn’t yet ripe. But now with fields ripe with corn meant for a town of over a thousand people instead of three hundred, they would have more than enough this winter, even if a few more people straggled in over the coming months. “Perhaps we can trade some of our excess corn to Walden for lumber and fabric. The fields around Walden were stripped bare from the long siege.”

  “Still won’t be enough to build everyone cabins before winter, but we might be able to get in one trading trip before the snows lock us in.” Sheriff Allen swept his gaze over the town. “But it would give us enough beams to reinforce the roofs of the dugouts and build proper doors. Most of what is left here is only good for firewood.”

  “What do you think, Leith?” Renna turned to him, but his eyes remained focused on the remains of Stetterly Manor. “I mean, Daniel?”

  “We should build a church first.” His gaze never wavered from the skeletal walls.

  “While I understand the sentiment, shouldn’t we work on more practical buildings?” Sheriff Allen frowned. “Stetterly’s been without a church for five years. It can go a few more months.”

  “Perhaps. But it can double as a school building and a place for those who don’t have homes to live through the winter if we don’t get enough dugouts built in time.”

  “Where would we get enough wood for it?” Sheriff Allen shook his head. “It’s a good idea, but not practical.”

  Leith’s eyes glinted, and a smile tugged at his mouth. He pointed at the wreckage of Stetterly Manor. “We build it from stone.”

  Renna studied the tumbled stones. More than enough to build a large church, with extra stones to spare for foundations of the log cabins to be built next spring and summer.

  And Stetterly Manor’s stones would mean something. Would rise from the ashes as something new and better.

  “That could work.” This time, Sheriff Allen’s gaze appraised Leith. “We’ll need a communal building during the winter. Something not damp and dirty to store the things that have to stay dry.”

  Leith waved toward the hill that currently separated the ruins of Stetterly and the manor. “We’ll build it there. It’ll have a good view of the approaches, and our sod huts can be spaced so barricades can be thrown up between them if needed.”

  Barricades? Renna turned to Leith. It didn’t sound like he was designing a church. It sounded like… “You’re designing a fort.”

  His eyes remained locked on the hill before them. “Tragedy has struck this town twice in the last five years. I’m going to do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  His voice was so warm, his tone low, Renna nearly leaned forward to kiss him. She might have, if Sheriff Allen hadn’t been standing there. Leith didn’t know this town. Didn’t have any memories here besides those few weeks in a blizzard, yet he was protective of this town for her.

  If she thought about it too long, she was going to lose all sense of her composure. She straightened her spine and locked the warmth into her heart to cherish it later. “Very well, we’ll start work on the church along with the work on the sod dugouts. Daniel, you’ll be in charge of the design. Sheriff Allen can assist you in figuring out the architectural part of it.”

  By the glance Sheriff Allen and Leith shot at each other, neither of them was entirely happy with this arrangement. But, it was the best they had.

  As long as they didn’t kill each other first.

  Renna curled her fingers in her skirts. She mustn’t worry about that. She had to trust that Sheriff Allen and Leith would work it out themselves.

  “Sheriff, if you could please put together a list of the division of jobs that must be done and who you think should be assigned to each job and crew? I’d like to get started first thing tomorrow morning.”

  He gave her a half bow. “Yes, milady.” With a final glare at Leith, he turned and strode toward the cluster of tents.

  Renna sagged. Even clutched in her skirts, her fingers shook. A tremor started at her knees and wobbled into her back. She closed her eyes. She’d managed to sound like the lady of Stetterly, but now the toll of keeping her composure together for so long poured through her muscles.

  Warm hands closed around her fingers and tugged them free of her skirts. When she looked, up, Leith had both of her hands cradled in his.

  He smiled, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead. “That’s my Lady Faythe. Well done.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder. Her breath choked in her chest, a warmth curled in her stomach.

  After a moment, he pulled back, his eyebrows tilted upward. “You do realize you just put me in charge of rebuilding the church I burned down almost five years ago?”

  She tilted her head back and laughed. “There is a justice to it, isn’t there? I did notice your design ideas are rather inflammable.”

  Leith grinned and leaned his forehead against hers.

  She might just mel
t into his gaze. This is what she’d wanted all along. To return home. To rebuild Stetterly’s church.

  Respen had tried to use that against her. She tried to shove back the memory. Respen didn’t belong in this moment.

  But he was all over it. In the ashes of the town his army had burned. In the graves behind what had once been Renna’s home. In the past that shadowed all of them.

  Leith’s eyes narrowed, and he pulled away, his hand going to her jaw.

  He was going to ask what was wrong. She couldn’t have that. Not yet. How could she admit she’d thought of Respen moments ago when all she should’ve been thinking about was Leith?

  She forced herself to smile as she had so often seen Brandi do, light and wide. She gripped Leith’s hand. “Let’s introduce you to the rest of the town.”

  And hopefully distract him.

  Dawn broke warm and gray over Stetterly’s graveyard. Leith dropped to the damp ground in front of a gravestone inscribed with Laurence and Annita Faythe.

  What would it have been like to have met Renna’s parents? Would her father have approved of him?

  A year ago, no. But now? With his healing burns showing he was worthy to suffer for his faith? Renna seemed to think so. And Brandi. Even Lord Alistair, and he was the closest thing to a parent Renna and Brandi had left.

  Leith rested his arms on his knees. What would it have been like to gain a father-in-law? A mother-in-law? Thanks to his own actions, he’d never know.

  Was it wrong that he still ached for a father? He knew God was his Father. Sort of. But how could he experience God as a father when he had no idea what that relationship felt like? Not the way it should feel, anyway. His relationship with his father was pounding fists and breaking bones.

  The morning air wrapped around him with the promise of heat. Not even a breeze stirred his hair.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Renna’s parents were beyond hearing him now. But saying the words, asking their forgiveness, seemed like the right thing to do. If they were anything like Renna, they would’ve forgiven him if they’d had the chance.

  Leith remained sitting by the graves for half an hour, long enough for the sun to peek through the trees of the Spires Canyon and a few people to venture from their tents and bedrolls in the makeshift town.

  As Ranson strode toward him, Leith stood and dusted himself off.

  Ranson glanced back over his shoulder at the town. “Any orders?”

  “Orders? I’m not your First Blade anymore. You don’t have to come to me for orders.” Leith tried to meet Ranson’s gaze, but he ducked his head before Leith could.

  “I guess. I just…I don’t know what to do.”

  “Me either.” Leith gazed up the hill to the milling people. They seemed to know exactly where they should be and what was expected of them. Did Renna want Leith to organize them for the building of the church? Where did he even begin?

  Jamie strolled down the hill toward him and Ranson, a similar look on his face. When he reached them, he shrugged. “Feels strange not to wake up to practice first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes.” Ranson bobbed his head, as if Jamie had captured exactly what he’d been trying to say. “Like I’m trying to get on the horse on the wrong side or something.”

  Years of habit were hard to break. Leith fingered the hilt of his knife. He wore only one strapped to his waist along with a sword and two boot knives. He’d left his other three knives in his pack.

  Was it a habit they should break? That group of Rovers was still out there somewhere, and not many citizens of Stetterly were fighters. If trouble came, Leith would have to deal with it. Along with Sheriff Allen probably.

  Maybe he, Ranson, and Jamie would be wise to keep up their skills. Not as Blades, but as protectors.

  Leith would have to talk to Sheriff Allen and Renna. The rest of the town should practice too. Sheriff Allen and a few of the other men knew a little of archery. Enough to put an arrow into Leith months ago. It wouldn’t hurt to drill anyone who was willing to learn.

  If Leith was going to build a fort, he would need people to defend it.

  “Perhaps practice isn’t a bad idea.” Leith turned to Jamie. “Did you learn enough about swordplay at Walden that you could teach Ranson and me the basics? If we practice with swords as well as knives, no one will think we’re former Blades.”

  Jamie rubbed the hilt of his sword. “I think so. I got a lot of practice in the army. Brandi would probably like to join us, if we can get her up this early.”

  Leith nodded. It wouldn’t hurt for Brandi to hone her skills. Not that Leith planned to let her near an army ever again. But she should have the skills to defend herself if the need came. “We’ll practice without her this morning. Let her get her rest.”

  That’s what they all needed. Rest, and a little practice at living a life other than that of a Blade.

  10

  Martyn halted in a dense stand of pines, scanning the ground. The tracks he followed had wandered east nearly to Walden before they abruptly turned west once again. He couldn’t even be sure he tracked the banished Blades. These could just be aimless travelers.

  Except that so far, they hadn’t gone into a town to look for work or a robbery target. They’d simply wandered, like men without a home.

  Like Blades without a king.

  In this part of the Sheered Rock Hills, the cliffs and rocks gave away to mountains covered in dense thickets of trees and interspersed with vast grassy meadows. Elk, bison, and wild horses roamed the Hills, along with packs of wolves, mountain lions, and the occasional bear.

  Perhaps he should just give up and ride deeper and deeper until he lost his past and himself.

  Wanderer pricked his ears and swiveled his head. Martyn tensed and followed the horse’s gaze. Animal or human? Friend or foe?

  He drew his knife. Most likely foe.

  He cocked his ear, listening to the wind sighing through the pine needles. There it came again. A cry of pain. Definitely human.

  Just his luck. Someone in trouble. If only he could ignore the sound and go on his way. It wasn’t his problem, after all.

  But King Keevan would probably consider it Martyn’s duty to stop and give aid. Help the helpless and all that nonsense.

  Swearing under his breath, Martyn dropped Wanderer’s reins on the ground and eased through the shadows under the trees. Whatever he found, he wanted to be the one doing the surprising.

  He crept over a ridge. The thick pines prevented undergrowth and lower branches from growing. Despite the late summer sun pouring from the sky, the shadows under the trees remained dank and cool.

  A figure, dressed in buckskin, sprawled on the ground a few yards down the slope near the roots of a fallen tree, chest heaving. A boy in his teens, slim, with short brown hair plastered to his forehead and around his ears.

  The boy hauled himself upright, grasped something around his right leg and appeared to be pouring all his strength into yanking on it. A cry, both of pain and exertion, groaned from the boy’s chest a moment before he flopped back to the ground.

  Martyn scanned the area. No one in sight besides the boy. As Martyn drew closer, he spotted the jaws of a bear trap clamped around the boy’s leg.

  Well at least this should be simple. Rescue the boy, patch him up, return him to his family, and let them deal with the problem from there.

  The boy’s eyes popped open. He scrambled, pushed himself onto an elbow, and brandished a knife. “Don’t come any closer.”

  Martyn halted. Something about the voice didn’t seem right. And why would the boy fear a man stumbling on him? Wouldn’t he beg for help first? Dressed in a brown shirt and trousers, Martyn didn’t look like a Blade.

  “I mean it.” The boy tried to push himself straighter without moving his trapped leg. The movement stretched his shirt taut across his chest.

  Not a boy. A girl.

  This just turned into a whole new mountain of trouble.

  Based on her bo
y’s clothing and short-cropped hair, she’d probably joined the army like Renna’s sister had. Which army, Martyn didn’t know. Not that it mattered to him.

  “Look, miss,” Martyn ignored her intake of breath, “I have stuff I’d rather be doing, but you’re obviously not getting out of that bear trap on your own. So unless you want to bleed to death or get eaten by the first wolf pack that comes along, I suggest you put that knife away.”

  Her jaw tightened into a decidedly mulish look. She stuck the knife into her belt, though her teeth remained gritted. “Fine. You can help me get it open.”

  Martyn knelt next to her leg. She gripped the jaws of the bear trap on one side, and Martyn grabbed the other. With a grunt, he pulled the two iron jaws apart. She yanked along with him, probably pretending to help to satisfy her pride.

  Then she let go to maneuver her leg free, and the full force of the jaws strained against Martyn’s hands. He grimaced. She’d been doing more than he’d thought.

  She eased her leg free, blood staining the trap’s iron teeth and blossoming on her trouser leg. As soon as her toes cleared the trap, Martyn let go and jerked his fingers out of the way. The iron jaws snapped shut with such force the whole trap bounced against the orange pine needles.

  Martyn flexed his fingers. Pink grooves throbbed along his skin.

  The girl gripped her leg, blood welling between her fingers. A gray cast washed over her face.

  Martyn sighed. If only he could ride off and pretend she wasn’t his problem. He wasn’t a hero. Certainly not the self-sacrificing, ride up and save the day type Leith had turned out to be.

  Why did Martyn always get stuck with the injured girls? He’d already dragged Renna, unable to walk due to a broken leg, through the Sheered Rock Hills. Now this girl, whoever she was.

  Though, in Renna’s case, she broke her leg trying to escape him. This girl’s leg wasn’t his fault. That made her even less Martyn’s responsibility.

  He dragged a hand through his hair. He couldn’t abandon her. He didn’t have any orders to justify the action. He’d just have to grit his teeth and get this dealt with as quickly as possible. Then he could return to his mind-numbing solitude.