“Did you add any spices?” She sighed. The bench scraped against the wood floor. “Of course you didn’t.”
Her limping stride shuffled against the floor. She gave a tiny cry of pain.
Martyn shot to his feet and whirled. She swayed next to a cupboard, her face gray. He bounded two strides and gripped her upper arms as her knees buckled.
She blinked up at him, her teeth gritted. “I thought you weren’t going to catch me.”
“I decided I didn’t want to patch up yet another gaping wound.” That was mostly the truth. Actually, he hadn’t thought before he’d acted. Rare that his instincts pushed him into something that could be misconstrued as heroic.
She straightened, braced herself against his arms, and reached into the cupboard. Pulling out a dried bundle of what looked like some kind of weed, she held it out to him. “Add a few leaves of this. And this one here.” She shoved another bundle at him.
Martyn juggled the two bunches of suspicious-looking plants and Kayleigh. Somehow, he ended up with plants in each hand and her propped against his chest. Not what he’d intended. He juggled things again, got both bunches into one hand, and gripped her upper arm. He stepped back to put some space between them. “Got it. Sit.”
After he steered her back to the table, he crumbled a few of the herbs into the pot. Was that enough? Probably not. He crumbled a few more.
Once he’d given the herbs time to simmer into the vegetables and meat, he retrieved two bowls and spoons from one of the cupboards. Kayleigh frowned. He probably could’ve been less obvious about the fact he’d rummaged through her house while she was unconscious. Though, why bother? It wasn’t like he cared what she thought of him.
He scooped his improvised soup into the bowls, plunked one down in front of Kayleigh, and sat across the table from her.
How long had it been since he’d sat at a table in a cabin like this? Certainly not since…
He fisted his hands below the table. If he closed his eyes, he could see his mother placing a pot of stew on the table, his father already seated at the one end, his brother grinning across from him.
No. No memories. Not now.
He plunged his spoon into his bowl, blew, and popped the bite into his mouth. He was on his third bite by the time he realized Kayleigh was staring at him, eyes wide, as if she were scared. “What?”
“I…” She heaved a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Without another glance in his direction, she folded her hands and bowed her head.
Martyn choked back a string of curses. Of all the low-down, flea-bitten, five-day-dead-body luck! He was stuck with another one. A Christian. Just like Renna and Leith and Shadrach Alistair and all their bunch. He’d ridden into the Sheered Rock Hills to get away from all that nonsense. But it seemed it had caught up with him anyway.
Kayleigh raised her head and peeked at him, a sheen covering her brown eyes in the lamplight. When she reached for her spoon, her fingers trembled. “I take it you don’t…aren’t…”
Martyn stirred the potatoes and beef around in his bowl. How much anger had shown on his face? No wonder she’d been scared. Not that long ago, she would’ve risked her life praying before a stranger when she didn’t know what side he was on. As a Blade, he would’ve taken her straight to King Respen for execution.
Even now, she was alone and hurt, and she couldn’t depend on anyone helping her if he turned out to be trouble. And he’d just made it abundantly clear where he stood.
Why shouldn’t he? He wasn’t going to hide his lack of faith any more than she hid her trust in it. “No, I’m not. Faith is an illogical trust in superstitions and myth.”
She cocked her head and chewed a bite of meat. “Or perhaps it’s a confidence in solid knowledge.”
He shoved another bite into his mouth. He wasn’t going to have this conversation. He’d already swallowed too much from Leith and Renna and Brandi over the past few months. “I’m surprised you think so, after how the supposedly good people of Flayin Falls treated you.”
Her face whitened and the trembling returned to her fingers. “You went to Flayin Falls?”
“You had a fever and needed a healer. But the good healer tossed me out the moment he caught sight of you.” Martyn eyed her. “Why does the healer hate you so much? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.” She spat the words at her bowl.
“Is it because of…” He waved his spoon at her shorn hair, shirt, and trousers.
“No. They already hated me long before all this.” She grimaced and stirred her soup first one way, then the other.
Martyn waited her out. He’d gone through all the trouble of helping her. The least he deserved was a few answers.
She sighed and glanced up at him. “I thought if I joined the Resistance army I could prove…it doesn’t matter. It only made things worse. But you don’t seem too shocked.”
Renna’s little sister had run off to join the war. Why not Kayleigh? If a girl wanted to fight, she didn’t have any other option but to cut her hair and play a role. “You’re not the first girl I’ve met who joined the army. You came out unscathed at least.”
She scowled. “I got through the war all right, but then I blundered into a bear trap my first few weeks home. I should’ve realized Old Man Bendwick would’ve left a few traps out there when he died. Respen’s army killed him when he refused to let them take his supplies.”
“What happened to your family?” The question burst out before he could stop it. Did he really want to know? Then again, better she kept talking about herself and didn’t ask too many questions about him.
She stilled, her spoon frozen part way through a stir. When she spoke, her voice was hard and flat, like all her emotions were walled away behind a layer of ice. “My mother died when I was born. My father was devastated, but he poured everything he had into raising me. He was killed a few months ago trying to defend Lord Westin from a Blade.”
What would she think if she learned the man sitting across from her was a Blade? Not the Blade that killed her father, but she’d still throw him out.
Tempting. If she was the one who ordered him to leave, he could do it without guilt, right?
Something still held him back. He was here now. He wasn’t the type to abandon someone. He knew how that felt all too well.
Besides, something in her story didn’t add up. From all appearances, the townsfolk of Flayin Falls had no reason to scorn her. Her father had been a hero and had died defending his lord. She was a Christian, and she’d fought for the Resistance. She claimed she’d done nothing to cause their hatred.
So why did the townsfolk hate her so much that the healer would turn her away?
Kayleigh set down her spoon and shoved her bowl away. “Why did you stay? Who are you anyway? All you’ve told me is your name.”
That was all he was going to tell her, at least where his past was concerned, and even that was a lie. But his current job? As far as he knew, it wasn’t a huge secret.
“I’m scouting for King Keevan. Looking for Rovers.” And Blades, but he’d rather keep that part to himself. The less she connected him with Blades, the better.
“And stopping to rescue helpless girls while you’re at it. How heroic.” She blew a lock of hair out of her face.
“You’re a minor nuisance.” Martyn shrugged. He wasn’t going to tiptoe around the truth. “Besides, I could use a base of operations.”
Until he’d said it, he hadn’t put much thought into how he’d go about watching the Hills now that he’d lost the one trail he’d been following. Leith would’ve approached this with a plan in mind. He’d always been good like that, planning missions and leading others.
Of course, it was Leith’s planning ability that made him such a good traitor.
“I’m not…wait, you mean to stay here?” Kayleigh gaped at him.
“Well, why not? You’re obviously going to need help. You can’t walk all the way to Flayin Falls on that leg, and you
’re not going to last another two days without more supplies.” The more Martyn thought about it, the more he liked the idea. A place to restock. A base for his scouting missions.
“But you can’t stay here! It isn’t proper.”
He snorted. “You care about proper? You’re dressed in trousers.”
“Trousers are more practical for hiking through the woods and checking traps.” She clenched her fists and glared. “I’m in enough trouble with the townsfolk without having a strange man living in the same house.”
“Who cares what they think? It’s the most practical solution.”
“But not wise. I don’t know you, and you might…there are temptations…” Her face reddened in the orange glow of the lamp.
He swept his gaze from her shorn hair to her baggy shirt. “You think I’m tempted?” He snorted and grabbed the dishes. “Hobble back to bed. I’m not going anywhere at this time of night.”
Dumping the dishes into the bucket on the countertop, he stalked into the second bedroom and closed the door.
He should just let her take care of herself. Why did he care if she tromped through the forest and tore all his stitches? She could get an infection and lose the leg for all he cared.
He didn’t care. But he did. Somewhat. After all, it would be a waste of time if he’d gone through all the trouble of helping her and losing the trail only to have her die on him.
That was the only reason he was doing this.
12
Leith yanked the ear of corn from the stalk, adding the twist at the end Brandi showed him after he’d struggled for several minutes to get the first ear off that morning. Adding the ear to the bushel basket, he straightened. His healing burns throbbed with the heat beating down on him. Sweat soaked through the front of his shirt, and probably his back as well.
To the west, the sun inched toward the horizon, slanting orange shafts between the rows of cornstalks. Every few rows, men and a few women filled their own bushel baskets, harvesting the long field of late-ripening sweet corn. Technically, the field belonged to Renna, as lady of Stetterly, and the townsfolk rented a portion of it by giving some of their produce to the manor. Renna still hadn’t decided how much restructuring of the lands around Stetterly she planned to do.
Ranson stumbled down the row and claimed the basket. “Is that the last of it?”
Leith swiped his forehead against his shoulder. It only smeared the sweat around. “Think so. For today at least.”
The men and women in the other rows began weaving their way through the field toward the town. Ranson heaved the basket to his shoulder, dirt from the bottom rubbing off on his shirt.
Leith checked that the rolled end of his right sleeve covered his marks. In the heat of the late summer day, most of the men had stripped off their shirts completely or wore only open vests. Even Jamie wore a sleeveless vest, his single mark passed off as a sword-scar from the war. Leith and Ranson were the only ones with sleeves to their elbows.
It wasn’t a big deal. So he sweated through a shirt or two to hide his marks. But it was yet another reminder that Leith wasn’t normal. He still had secrets.
When they reached the center of the encampment, Ranson set the bushel next to the pile of corn Leith, Ranson, Jamie, and Brandi had picked. Jamie and Brandi hunched over the firepit, discussing the best way to coax the fire into life.
Leith grimaced. The buffalo chip and cow pie fire had an unpleasant odor as it burned, like a grass fire mixed with something sour. But for the most part, they were saving their wood for winter when they’d rather have the smell of log instead of dung filling their dugouts.
The men clustered around the water trough, splashing water onto their chests and scrubbing away layers of dirt and sweat.
Leith headed for his lean-to. After digging out his spare shirt, he hiked down the path to the bottom of the Spires Canyon. The Ondieda River wound through the bottom, gurgling over rocks and churning around the bends in the canyon.
After hiking around the bend and checking that no one else was around, Leith peeled off his shirt. He splashed handfuls of water onto his chest and scrubbed away as much of the sweat and grime as he could. He dunked his head and scrubbed at his hair. When he straightened, rivulets of cold water trickled down his back.
Something crunched on gravel.
Blades.
Leith spun on his heel, rolled, and drew two of his knives.
One of the young men of Stetterly stood a few feet away, eyes wide, mouth open.
Leith tried to steady his breathing. Not Blades. Sheathing his knives, he yanked on his clean shirt.
Had he seen Leith’s marks? Did he know what they meant?
Leith cleared his throat. “Did you need something?”
The young man held up a bucket. “My mama sent me for water, and I didn’t want to wait in line at the well.” He lowered the bucket, but his eyes remained focused on Leith. “You have a lot of scars.”
The tight muscles in Leith’s back relaxed. The young man hadn’t seen his marks. Only the scars from his whipping and the almost healed burns across his chest. “Torture.”
That was all Leith would tell him. Explaining anything more would get complicated.
The young man continued to stare. Leith shifted. Best to end this conversation as quickly as possible. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You might want to head farther up stream to fetch your water.”
The young man nodded and brushed past him. Once he was out of sight, Leith rinsed his soiled shirt, wrung it out, and hiked up the trail to the rim.
At the top, Leith hung his shirt outside his lean-to to dry. As he straightened, he spotted movement by the corral.
Brandi gripped a rope halter she’d slipped over Blizzard’s head. She jogged next to him as she led him in circles around the paddock.
Leith leaned against one of the posts, watching Blizzard’s stride. The horse still favored his injured leg, but it didn’t hamper his stride like it had before. “He’s looking good, Brandi. You’re doing a good job with him.”
She halted and led Blizzard over to him. Leith rubbed a hand over Blizzard’s nose. When he stopped, the horse bumped him until he scratched his neck.
Brandi grinned and scratched the other side of Blizzard’s neck. Her short hair frizzed around her head and mostly covered the scab along her scalp. “Won’t be too much longer before he’ll be galloping again.”
“I’m sure.” Leith waited while she slipped the halter off. “So what should I expect from this Festival?”
“You’ve never been to a Corn Festival before?” Brandi cocked her head. “No, of course not. Not the sort of thing someone like you attends.”
Leith frowned. He had sort of attended one. Once. He’d used the Festival’s distraction to kill his target. Not something he wanted to tell Brandi. Especially not in a place where someone might overhear. “No.”
“Well, you shuck a lot of corn, then you eat a lot of corn.” Brandi’s eyes wrinkled with her smirk. “If you find a red ear while you’re shucking, you give it to the girl you’d like to kiss. If she accepts, you get to kiss her. Same thing if a girl finds a red ear of corn and gives it to a guy.”
“So basically everyone shucks as many ears as possible looking for a red one?” Leith raised his eyebrows.
“Exactly, though only if you’re over sixteen. I just get to have fun without that hassle.” Brandi skipped ahead. “We’d better check if Renna needs any help.”
By the time they reached what now was the town square, men were already busy setting up tables and dumping the corn they’d picked into piles in front of their spot. Leith helped Jamie set up a few more tables made of a few doors they’d scrounged from the burned houses and shops balanced on logs.
Ranson heaved a bushel basket onto the table. Leith poured out a second one while Jamie hauled a third basket onto the table.
Renna slipped into the space next to Leith. “You look a bit cleaner.”
“Ready for your speec
h?”
She scowled and sighed. “No.”
After a few more minutes, the last of the tables had been set up and the corn dumped onto them. The townsfolk quieted and stared toward Renna and Leith.
Renna sucked in a deep breath and stepped into the center of the tables. She held her shoulders back, her hair frizzing from its braid. “Welcome to this year’s Corn Festival. There are a lot of missing faces. Fields we picked today were planted by family and friends we lost. It is all right to mourn, but tonight, we celebrate life. Stetterly might have been burned to the ground, but we still survive and we will rebuild. Starting now. Let the Festival begin.”
A few cheers broke out. As the others dove into shucking their piles of corn, Renna leaned her forehead against Leith’s shoulder. “I hate speeches.”
He wrapped an arm around her. “I thought you did great.”
“I’m getting better at faking it. I still fall apart afterwards.” Her fingers shook as she slipped her hand into his.
Brandi rolled her eyes. “You won’t get any corn shucked at that rate.”
Leith reached for an ear. “Any tricks for shucking corn?”
Jamie leaned closer as Brandi demonstrated the best way to strip the husk from the cob. She tossed the husk into a pile and dumped the cob into a basket.
Leith set to work. The rough husk squeaked against the kernels. A green, sweet smell filled the air. The yellow silk of the tassel stuck to Leith’s fingers.
At a table a few yards away, a man held up an ear of corn. Instead of pale yellow, this ear’s kernels were tinged a deep burgundy. “Red ear!”
A few of the other men hooted. The hoots got louder as the man handed the ear to his wife, then kissed her soundly. When the kiss went a little too long, his wife pulled away and smacked his shoulder with her half-shucked ear of corn. That caused even more chuckles around the tables.
The sounds of creaking cobs and rustling husks filled the air once again, joined by the crackle of the fires. A few more red ears were found and exchanged.
Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4) Page 10
