He sheathed his knife, stepped to Renna, and pulled her close.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder, trembling but not crying. “I stabbed him. I’ve never stabbed anyone before. I swiped at Vane once, but never stabbed anyone.” Another shudder coursed down her back.
Leith rubbed her back and held her tighter. “You barely scratched him. The knife only went in about an inch. Hardly life-threatening.”
“I didn’t want to hit the bone. Or the blood vessel. He would’ve bled out.” Her cold fingers gripped his shirt collar and brushed the back of his neck.
He forced himself to concentrate on her rather than on the tingles running down his spine. “He won’t even have a limp. Too bad you couldn’t see his face. He was shocked you dared draw a knife on him.”
“That makes two of us.” Renna straightened and stepped back. “What a mess.”
The doors and logs they had been using as tables lay overturned. Corncobs scattered over the ground. Spots of blood marred a few patches of earth.
Jamie and Brandi were already working to clean up their table while Ranson helped the sheriff’s daughter. A few of the townsfolk began to bustle about to set things to right, but most stared at Leith.
The same young man who’d questioned him at the river earlier stepped forward. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
Leith closed his eyes. Did he tell the whole truth now? Part of it?
“He spent a lot of the war at Walden.” Renna’s voice was firm, as if she hadn’t been shaking a moment earlier.
Leith glanced at Sheriff Allen. The sheriff crossed his arms, his bow and arrow resting on a log next to him, but he didn’t contradict Renna.
“I heard a Blade trained some of the guards there. Is that true?” The young man cocked his head.
“Yes.” No need to tell him Leith had been the Blade doing the training.
Some of the townsfolk nodded, but others still eyed him, as if they realized Leith couldn’t learn what he’d just done in a few weeks’ time. With a few shrugs, they shuffled off to see to cleaning up.
Leith retrieved and cleaned his knives and the knife he’d given Renna. He handed it back to her. “Best keep this handy.”
She slid it into her pocket, her arm disappearing past her wrist.
Leith motioned to Jamie and Ranson. They strode over, Brandi following. Leith focused on Renna. “I’m going to track the Rovers to make sure they get out of the area for good. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
With a deep breath, she nodded. “All right.”
“Jamie, Ranson. Keep an eye on things here.” He searched their faces until he saw their mouths tighten. Good. They understood that they’d have to watch for more than just Rovers. If the Blades were out there, they would most likely head south down the Spires Canyon since they’d been banished to the north of the Sheered Rock Hills. Leith would come across them first, if they were out there.
But Jamie and Ranson needed to be wary, just in case.
Brandi crossed her arms. The wild spikes of her hair matched her fierce scowl.
Leith managed a smile. “And you too, Brandi. Keep Blizzard close. He’ll alert you of trouble.”
“Of course. I’ll take care of him.” Brandi trotted forward and hugged him. “Take care of Valor.”
“I will.”
As Brandi stepped back, Jamie nudged her arm. “Let’s saddle Valor.” The two of them took off toward the corral.
“I’ll gather your pack for you.” Ranson slipped into the darkness after them.
When they were once again alone at the side of the town square, Leith gripped Renna’s hands. “I’ll try not to be gone too long.”
“I understand.” Renna squeezed his fingers. “If you get a chance, could you swing by Walden? I probably should send someone there to negotiate a trade of our corn for their timber, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather send.”
“You do realize my only experience with negotiations involves threats and knives?” Leith leaned his forehead against hers.
“I think Lord Alistair can handle it.” A smile lit Renna’s face, though it didn’t sparkle in her eyes. “Stay safe.”
“Of course.” Leith kissed her, turned, and strode away. He collected the rest of his knives from Ranson and strapped them across his chest.
Jamie led Valor over, Leith’s saddlebags and bedroll already strapped behind the saddle. Leith checked the girth, patted Valor’s neck, and swung into the saddle. With a wave at Ranson, Jamie, and Brandi, Leith pointed Valor’s nose in the direction the Rovers had ridden and nudged him.
Valor jumped into a trot, tugging at the reins. He was a Blade’s horse, no more used to staying cooped up in one place than Leith was.
The night breeze brushed Leith’s face in a cool, familiar touch. He drew in a deep breath that smelled of sun-heated prairie grass cooling as night fell.
Why did that feel like the first decent breath he’d had in weeks? The tension in his chest finally eased. He’d gotten exactly what he’d fought for. He was free of the Blades. Renna and Brandi were safe and home at Stetterly. King Respen was defeated.
So why wasn’t it enough?
13
Was that meat frying? Martyn tried to scramble out of the bed, but his ankles tangled in the blanket. He fell, managing to roll and land on his back with a thump. Swearing, Martyn ripped his feet free and reached for his boots. Annoying fancy bed. Give him a bedroll on the ground or a simple cot like he’d had at Nalgar.
After straightening his clothes and buckling on the rest of his knives, Martyn stumbled from the room.
Kayleigh balanced on one leg by the table, dressed in a tan blouse and a divided skirt. Two plates rested on the table, and she dished onto them what looked like strips of his dried beef, now boiled and fried.
Martyn bit his tongue to stifle a curse. She’d rummaged through his pack while he’d slept. Not that there was anything personal for her to find.
He couldn’t be angry at her when he’d done the same thing to her the night before. And she’d made breakfast. That made up for a lot.
As Martyn stepped farther into the kitchen, Kayleigh’s head shot up. Her shoulders straightened, and she released a slow breath. “I realize last night didn’t end so well. I should’ve kept a rein on my temper. Even if I do question your lack of…civil behavior, I realize I’m stuck with you.”
Considering what she’d been through, he had been a touch prickly. Martyn eyed her white-knuckled grip on the frying pan’s handle. Either she was thinking about using it on him or her leg hurt worse today. Probably a combination of the two. “Glad to see you came to your senses.”
He started for the table, but she held up her hand and thrust the frying pan at him. “Wait. I’m not finished.”
He crossed his arms. His stomach pinched against his ribs. He wasn’t about to stand patiently through a lecture about propriety or some other nonsense. Propriety was just another name for stuffed up, self-righteous hypocrisy.
“Let me make one thing clear. You aren’t staying here another night. Old Man Bendwick’s cabin is empty and only a mile away. It’s deeper into the Hills and would make a better base for your scouting excursions.” She kept the frying pan leveled at his chest like a dagger. “In exchange for your help checking my snares and fetching supplies, I’d be willing to cook your meals and clean your cabin. Is that an acceptable deal?”
“Sounds reasonable enough.” Martyn brushed past the frying pan, slid onto a bench, and dug into the beef on one of the plates.
Kayleigh set down the frying pan and took a seat across from him. After she did her whole praying thing, she cut into her breakfast. “Would you be willing to help me check my snares this morning? It would give you a chance to scout the Hills for whatever you’re looking for, and this is the last of the food.”
In other words, if he wanted lunch, he’d have to agree. Martyn swallowed and picked a sliver of meat from between
his teeth. “Not a problem.”
“Good. That’ll take all morning, and we’ll clean Old Man Bendwick’s cabin in the afternoon.” Kayleigh bobbed her head and jabbed at another bite.
She was getting all bossy again. Martyn squelched his retort. She’d made him breakfast. He could at least try to be civil, even if she didn’t seem to think he could. “Fine. But I’m checking that leg before we go anywhere. Can’t have you collapsing on me.”
She sighed and nodded.
After they’d finished eating, Kayleigh rolled up on the leg of her divided skirt to her knee and swiveled in her seat so she could rest her injured leg on the bench. Martyn fetched the bandages and salve and knelt on the floor.
He began to unwrap the bandage, but she flinched and sucked in a breath.
Martyn sat back on his heels. He was being too cold, too efficient. She wasn’t a fellow Blade who was supposed to tough out the pain. She was a young woman, alone, and, for some insane reason, trusting him. The least she deserved was some sort of gentleness on his part.
Except that Martyn didn’t know how to be gentle.
He eased his grip on the bandages and tried to peel them away gently. His fingers were too thick. Too clumsy.
Finally, the last bandage tugged off her wounds. The wounds oozed wet and clear, the skin around them pink and warm with her body’s efforts to heal. The deepest gash, the one in her calf, puckered around the jagged stitches he’d put in her leg.
His efforts to help her were pitiful. Raw wounds. Ugly stitches. Most likely, her muscles would heal in a deformed lump, her leg forever marred. A healer like Renna would’ve been able to minimize the damage. But Martyn didn’t have that skill.
Kayleigh’s scar was the price she’d pay for being turned away by Flayin Falls’ healer. A heat filled Martyn’s chest as he remembered that healer, so smug as he denied Kayleigh care. She could’ve died or lost her leg.
Was what she’d done or not done worth that?
He shook himself and met her gaze. She was staring back, as if trying to see past the mask he so carefully wore around everyone.
Something in her gaze crumbled a bit of that mask. Enough that he found himself saying, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. It looks pretty rough.”
She bit her lip and turned away, a glisten at the corner of her eyes. “You’re helping me. That’s more than anyone else has offered to do in a long time.”
“Why?” Martyn reached for the jar of salve. He shouldn’t ask. He shouldn’t care. Caring just left scars worse than the ragged wound on Kayleigh’s leg, and those wounds were a lot harder to stitch and heal.
She stiffened, and her face grew blank, a false smile painted across her mouth. “I’ll only tell if you come clean about your own background. All I know about you is your first name and your job. For all I know, neither of those is correct.”
Too close to the truth. The name he’d given her, Owen, wasn’t his, and scouting for King Keevan made it sound like he was someone loyal and trusted by the king. Not a former Blade.
“All right, don’t tell me.” Martyn slathered salve over her wounds and wrapped a new bandage around her leg.
While she cleaned the breakfast dishes, Martyn went outside and saddled Wanderer. By the time he finished, Kayleigh stood on the cabin’s front step, balanced on her good leg.
Why did he always have to get stuck with temporarily crippled females? Martyn strode toward her, placed his hands on her waist, and slung her over his shoulder.
She shrieked and flailed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He balanced her on his shoulder as he scooped up her leather pack of supplies. “Carrying you to my horse.”
“And you didn’t think to bring the horse to me instead of carting me off like a sack of corn?”
Something dug into his back. It took him a few strides to figure out she’d propped herself up on the sharp points of her elbows. “I couldn’t hold the horse still and help you mount. This way, Wanderer is still tied to the paddock fence.”
“Or maybe I could’ve gotten on without your help.” She huffed and squirmed. “Sometimes I really wonder where you learned your manners. Certainly not from your mother.”
His mother. Not a topic he wanted to talk about. Besides, practicality trumped manners any day.
Somehow, he didn’t think Kayleigh would agree with him.
He reached Wanderer and lifted her from his shoulder onto the horse’s back behind the saddle. She swung her good leg over the saddle to sit astride.
Martyn tied her pack to one of the saddle rings and stepped into the stirrup. Kayleigh leaned backward as he swung his leg over, but he still managed to kick her in the stomach. He didn’t apologize. She didn’t ask him to. Perhaps they were getting somewhere.
He settled into the saddle. This was home. His horse. His saddle. The wild land of the Sheered Rock Hills rising above him farther than he could see.
Kayleigh’s arms wormed around his waist and clasped in front of his stomach. He stiffened. “What are you doing?”
“Hanging on. Believe me, I’m no more pleased about it than you.” Her voice was sharp against his ear, her breath whispering against the back of his neck.
He should’ve expected it. After all, it was the most practical option. But there was something about her arms around his waist. Like she trusted him.
She didn’t. Not really. This was just a part of their deal, nothing more.
He should’ve listened to his gut and got out of here when he’d had a chance. Now he was stuck in this deal. He’d made a promise, and he kept his promises.
Even if Leith didn’t. Even if his parents hadn’t.
Martyn nudged Wanderer, and they set out north into the Hills. Kayleigh directed him to each of her snares. Most were empty, though she’d caught a small rabbit in one and a squirrel in another. The meat would barely last the two of them a day, but at least the snares weren’t empty.
Sitting on Wanderer at the fifteenth snare they’d checked, Martyn studied the way she reset each snare, the deft working of her fingers as she handled the rawhide laces, the careful placement. He had enough practice setting his own snares to know she was an expert.
“Who taught you?”
She cocked her head, her short, brown hair tumbling across her forehead and around her ears. “I thought we were going to leave prying, personal questions alone?”
He shrugged. “Just curious, since your skill with snares will in part be feeding me for the next few weeks.”
She stood, brushed off her knees, and hop-limped toward Wanderer. After she’d placed her foot in the stirrup, Martyn reached down and tugged her up. As she settled in behind him, he wiggled his toes into the stirrup once more.
“The next one’s that way.” She pointed past his shoulder. One of her arms looped around his waist. “Old Man Bendwick taught me. I spent a lot of time with him the past five years when Papa was on duty. People tolerated Papa for Lord Westin’s sake, but not me.”
What was he missing? Martyn frowned and ducked a tree branch. Five years implied that the trouble had begun when Respen took over, yet her father was a loyal guard to Lord Westin and she claimed to be Christian. So why did the townsfolk of Flayin Falls seem to hate her so much when all the facts suggested they shouldn’t?
“I’ve given you a bit of my background. It’s only fair you say something about yourself.”
“That wasn’t a part of the deal.”
“Which you broke first.”
He gripped the reins tighter and stared at the slope ahead of them. What could he tell her? He was a Blade, like the one who’d killed her father. He was a man who’d tortured his best friend in the name of loyalty. He was a boy whose parents had chosen his brother over him.
She tightened her grip around his waist as they both leaned backward, shifting their weight on Wanderer’s back to help him pick his way down the steep slope. “Start easy. What about your parents? Any family?”
Nothing about h
is past was easy.
But perhaps he could tell her some of it, enough that she’d stop asking. “My parents and brother are dead. They froze in a blizzard.”
“And you survived. That must’ve been awful.”
He didn’t want her sympathy, especially not for his parents. “I wasn’t there. They abandoned me at the church in Blathe. They chose to keep my brother and left me behind.”
“That’s horrible. Maybe they didn’t mean to abandon you.” Her arms remained tight around his waist even when they reached the gully at the bottom of the hill.
He gritted his teeth. Why was he telling her this? He’d known her less than two days. Not long enough to start having heart-to-heart conversations.
But she was listening. Why did it matter what he told her? Eventually, he’d leave and never see her again.
Maybe telling her would ease some of the ache in his chest. Enough that he could get in a decent breath past the pain and guilt and betrayal and years of blood filling him.
Martyn eyed the scraggly pine trees around them. Nothing but sky and mountains. No one to hear but her. “My father was…he was the type of man who couldn’t get ahead no matter how he tried. If he bought his own field, his crop was wiped out with blight or drought. If he tried to open his own shop, it failed. We moved a lot, trying to find somewhere he could earn enough money to put food on the table. That winter was especially bad. One morning, after we’d gone hungry for three nights in a row and we’d barely begged a spot to sleep in the back room of Blathe’s church, I woke up to find they’d left.”
“I’m sorry.” She leaned against his back, as if trying to comfort him.
He didn’t want comfort. This was the past. It was hard. Done. No amount of sympathy could undo it. “Don’t be. If I’d been with them, I would’ve died too.”
Perhaps it would’ve been better if he had died. Was he any less of a failure than his father had been?
“So you were raised at the church in Blathe?”
He heard the skeptical lilt to her question. His reaction to her prayers didn’t give the impression of a particularly religious person. He snorted. “No. The minister wasted no time in turning me out on the streets and telling me exactly what he thought of me and my vagabond family.”
Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4) Page 12
