Better get that bleeding stopped. Martyn drew a knife and yanked the ends of his shirt free of his belt and trousers. The girl flinched, releasing her grip on her leg to fumble for her own knife with trembling, bloodstained fingers.
Martyn huffed and sawed at the end of his shirt. “Relax. Just getting fabric to staunch the bleeding. Unless you’d rather use your shirt.”
Her cheeks turned yet another shade of gray. “No. Your shirt’s fine.”
That’s what he’d thought. If he’d been with one of his fellow Blades, he would’ve stripped off his shirt and not bothered with hacking a chunk off the bottom. But he couldn’t take off his shirt in front of her, not without her seeing the marks on his shoulders.
When his knife parted the last thread, he tossed the fabric to her. “Try to staunch the bleeding while I fetch my horse.”
He strode up the hill the way he’d come. Wanderer remained where he’d left him, cropping at pine needles. Snagging the horse’s reins, Martyn led him down the embankment to where the girl huddled.
Since she seemed stable enough, if a bit pale and shaky, he set to work building a fire and filled his pot with water from his canteen. At least when he’d dragged Renna through the Hills, she’d taken care of her own leg. All he’d had to do was dose her with willow bark tea occasionally.
He remembered her soft touch on his back after his whipping almost two months ago. She talked then, and she’d kept talking a month later when she’d tended Leith during his torture. Her words and questions soothed and distracted.
Martyn couldn’t manage the soothing part, but he supposed he could try the distraction. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure what to tell him. Probably wondering if he’d buy whatever fake boy’s name she’d been using. “Kayleigh.” The name was barely legible past the girl’s tightly clenched teeth. “Yours?”
What name should he give? His real name probably wouldn’t cause a stir, but how much would she have heard? Best to stick with his fake name. “Owen.”
She nodded, and her teeth made a chattering noise. He fetched his blanket from his bedroll. He nearly tossed it to her but stopped. She couldn’t catch it with both hands pressed over her wounds.
Suppressing a sigh, he draped it around her shoulders and stepped back as quickly as possible. There. He’d at least made some effort to make her comfortable. Renna and Brandi would count it an improvement, right?
Kayleigh shivered harder, her face gray as an overcast sky.
He probably should give her some kind of painkiller. He dug into his saddlebag. Where had his medical supplies gotten to? “In case you pass out, where would you like me to take you? Do you have family nearby?”
Kayleigh eyed him, both hands still pressed to her wounded leg.
Telling her she might pass out and leave herself at the mercy of a male stranger probably wasn’t the best way to go about reassuring her. How much more worried would she be if she knew the stranger tending her was a Blade?
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll take you to the healer in Flayin Falls, how’s that?” At least then she wouldn’t have to tell him where her family lived, and Flayin Falls wasn’t that far to the south.
“No, don’t take me there.” Kayleigh straightened and one hand closed around the boot knife still strapped to her injured leg.
“Why not?” Surely her family would want to take her straight to the healer. Martyn would stitch the wound, of course, but they’d want a professional to look at the gash and restitch it into something neater.
“Just please don’t take me to Flayin Falls. Please.” She shivered harder, her eyes round and glassy.
“All right, I won’t.” Not unless it was necessary, anyways. Martyn found his medical supplies at the bottom of his saddlebag and dumped them out.
She rocked back and forth, shaking. “My…my family lives in the foothills north of Flayin Falls. There’s a glade partway up a peak. They might be gone when you get there. Just leave me. They’ll find me when they come back.”
The directions weren’t much to go on, but if worse came to worst, he could do his best to track her trail home. It’d slow him down since a girl on foot didn’t leave much of a trail to find. But he’d manage, somehow.
“Just don’t…not Flayin Falls…don’t…” Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped to the ground as if boneless.
He probably should’ve given her that painkiller. Oh well. Too late now.
At least she was out, and he could get to work. The sooner he tended her leg, hauled her through the Hills, and dumped her off at her family’s cabin, the sooner he could return to tracking the five mysterious riders and pretending his life had a purpose.
He tugged off her boot and removed her boot knife and sheath. He cut her trouser leg off at the knee and eased the soaked fabric off her wound.
Her boot knife had saved the bone from snapping, but the jaws of the bear trap still chewed up her leg badly. A nasty gash bit several inches into the muscle of her calf, the wound gaping like a red, oozing mouth.
Pouring some of the boiling water into a bowl, he washed his hands and cleaned the wound and the skin around it. Locating his bottle of alcohol, he dumped it over the wound.
Her leg jerked, and even in her sleep, she gave a tiny moan.
After cleaning a needle and thread with the alcohol, he did his best to sew the two lips of the gash closed. His stitches criss-crossed, both large and small, the thread slick and the needle tiny in his fingers. Renna would’ve been appalled by the job he’d done, but at least the stitches held. That was the main thing, right?
After he spread salve over the gash and the other, smaller scrapes and slashes on her calf, he wrapped her leg in a bandage. There. That was the best job he could do. At least she wouldn’t bleed out on him. Digging a grave would be even more of a hassle than swinging miles out of the way to return her to her family.
He packed up his stuff, put out the fire, and buried the coals beneath a layer of dirt. After locating the rope holding the bear trap to a large log, he freed the trap and tied it to the back of his saddle with the rest of his things.
The trapper who set it should be tossed off a cliff. He should’ve left a marking nearby to give warning. Bad enough the girl stepped in it and got herself hurt. What if Martyn had ridden into it with his horse? It would’ve broken Wanderer’s leg, and he would’ve had to put the horse down and hike to Flayin Falls carrying all his gear.
Martyn wrapped the blanket tighter around the girl and picked her up, staggering under her weight. She wasn’t a petite thing like Renna had been. If she’d been standing, she probably would’ve been nearly as tall as he was. Huffing, he heaved her onto the front of his saddle. She flopped like a dead body, but at least she’d remain limp, not stiffen up in a few hours. Stiff, dead bodies were annoying to lug on his saddle.
Climbing into the saddle, he rearranged her across his knees and pointed Wanderer south.
The underbrush and rocky terrain made for tough going. He had to constantly watch that he didn’t bash her head or feet against trees. Thankfully, her short hair prevented it from getting caught in tree branches as they passed.
It took several hours to meander into the foothills above Flayin Falls and another hour to find her family’s cabin. He stumbled across another cabin first, its door cracked open and signs of invading wildlife telling him it was abandoned. The next cabin he found had a faint wisp of smoke curling from the chimney.
He slung the girl over his shoulder and tromped to the front door. No answer greeted his knock, nor could he see any horses in the small paddock. When he tried the latch, the door swung open.
A dark, small room greeted him. He strode through it into one of the two bedrooms in the back. The bedroom had an empty bed, washstand, and men’s clothes hanging from the pegs.
He tried the other room. A dress hung from the peg.
He dropped the unconscious girl onto the bed. Her arms flopped wide, and
her body twisted. Sighing, he straightened her out into a somewhat natural-looking position. The short strands of her red-brown hair splayed across her pillow.
There. He’d done his duty. He’d tended her and got her home.
At least, he thought this was her home. What if he’d guessed wrong? What if this was some other trapper’s cabin?
Surely the trapper would know this girl Kayleigh and help her get home.
Martyn shoved a hand through his hair. The tug on his scalp helped him focus past the storm heating his chest. He couldn’t just dump her off and abandon her. He should at least stay until her family returned.
Especially since Kayleigh was still unconscious. Should she still be out? Or should she have woken up by now? He pressed a hand to her forehead. Did she feel a little warm, or was that normal?
If Renna was here, she’d have the girl fixed up in no time. Even Leith had more experience with wounds. He’d usually taken it upon himself to help the younger Blades when they got hurt. Martyn had always been happy to stay out of it and watch Leith’s back instead.
Martyn could at least rekindle the fire. Maybe scrounge some food from the cupboards in case the girl was hungry when she woke up. His stomach growled. Surely her family wouldn’t mind if he helped himself. After all, he’d skipped lunch because he was busy helping their daughter.
He coaxed the coals in the fireplace back to life, lit a lamp to brighten the room, and dug through the cupboards. Most of them were empty. Surprisingly empty for a family, especially with Flayin Falls so close. Maybe their cabin had been raided during the war and the army took all their supplies?
He took stock of the cabin for the first time. A few shingles on the roof needed repairing. A porcupine had gnawed on one part of the porch railing. On the inside, it was clean enough, though not the ultra-clean look he’d expect.
He trudged into the room with the man’s clothing hanging from pegs. A fine layer of dust coated the clothes and the bed. This room hadn’t been used in weeks, perhaps months.
A weight settled into Martyn’s stomach. Kayleigh didn’t have family. Of course she hadn’t wanted to tell a stranger she lived alone. Instead, she’d ordered him to leave her to prevent him from discovering her lie. It explained why she was still dressed as a boy this many weeks after the war ended.
Now what should he do? He leaned against the doorjamb and tugged at his hair. He could leave. That’s what she’d told him to do.
But what if she got worse? Or never woke up? Who would take her to the healer then? Who would even know? She’d be some long-dead corpse he’d stumble across next time he came through this area.
Did he really want her death on his conscience because he couldn’t be bothered to stick around?
No. That wasn’t the type of person he wanted to be. He didn’t want to be like his parents.
As the evening lengthened, Martyn changed into his spare shirt, lit another lamp, and paced the cabin’s tiny kitchen. Kayleigh didn’t wake. When darkness fell, she began to toss, her skin hot and damp against his palm.
She needed a healer. She’d ordered him not to take her to Flayin Falls, but then again, what had following orders ever gotten Martyn? A cold stain of duty and a broken friendship.
Resaddling Wanderer, he wrapped Kayleigh in a blanket and slung her back over her saddle. The ride into Flayin Falls didn’t take long. A few lamps burned in windows and on the lamppost to one side of the main square.
Martyn wandered down the main street until he spotted a pristine, white-painted signboard with Healer in black lettering, along with a man’s name. Swinging down from Wanderer, he picked up Kayleigh. He nearly slung her over his shoulder again, but that might not be the image he wanted to project to the healer. Instead, he propped Kayleigh’s head against his shoulder.
He pounded the healer’s door with a foot. “Open up.”
After a few minutes of pounding, the door creaked open. A tall man, a little plump around the middle, stood in the doorway, holding a lantern. “What can I do for you?”
“This girl is hurt.” Martyn shrugged his shoulder. Kayleigh’s head flopped to face the light.
The healer stiffened and backed away, his face contorted. “She isn’t welcome here.” He slammed the door.
Of all the…Martyn swore. What healer turned a hurt person away?
If his guess was correct about her fighting in an army, which army? Was it perhaps Respen’s? It would explain some of the healer’s reaction.
But not all. At Nalgar, Renna and the other healers had tended the wounded of both sides. Then again, not everyone was as kind and forgiving as Renna.
Martyn kicked the door again. “What am I supposed to do with her?”
The door cracked open. The healer shoved a bundle of medical supplies on top of Kayleigh’s unconscious body. “Take her back to her cabin, tend her, leave her to die, I don’t care. Just don’t take her back here.” The door slammed in Martyn’s face a second time.
Martyn glanced from the door to the medical supplies and swore. This was why he didn’t rescue people. All too often, they became more trouble than they were worth.
He should storm in there and hold the healer at knifepoint until the man tended her. All it would take would be a few jabs, a hint of the Blade he still was, and the healer would dissolve into stuttering and shaking.
But threatening healers probably wasn’t what King Keevan had had in mind when he’d asked Martyn to scout for him, and Martyn couldn’t lose this mission. It was all he had.
He marched back to his horse, juggled the girl while he stuffed the medical supplies in a saddlebag, and dumped her across his saddle once again.
Wanderer turned his head and sniffed at Kayleigh’s head. Martyn patted the horse’s neck. “Guess we’re stuck with her a while longer. We’re all she’s got.”
Somehow, knowing she was scorned by her town warmed a tiny corner of Martyn’s chest. She was someone like him. Abandoned. Whatever she’d done to earn that scorn, it couldn’t be worse than what he’d done.
He kept his head high as he rode from Flayin Falls. This town had fought on the side of the Resistance, attacked by King Respen because most of them were Christians. Martyn should’ve expected the derision. Until Renna, he’d never met a Christian who actually lived like one.
But one person hardly made up for the hypocrisy of the rest. Only King Respen managed to be exactly who he said he was, and for that, Martyn had given his loyalty.
Martyn glanced at the girl flopped across his saddle. It had always been easier to live by duty. It was logical. Hard.
But at least no one could claim he was a hypocrite.
11
Martyn slumped in a chair next to Kayleigh’s bed. Orange, dying sunlight winked through the tiny window. When he’d returned from Flayin Falls, he’d sorted through the supplies the healer had given him. Most of it was the same as the supplies he already had, but a few of the herbs were new, though he didn’t know what they were for.
He’d remembered something about willow bark tea being good for fevers, so he’d brewed some of that and forced as much as he could down Kayleigh’s throat. If it helped, he couldn’t be sure.
He didn’t dare sleep. What if she got worse? Or died while he slept? Somewhere in the past few hours, it had become his sole duty to keep her alive.
Shifting in the chair, he leaned his head against the back and stretched out his legs. What would King Respen think of him now? Playing nursemaid for a stranger.
It didn’t matter what King Respen would think. He was dead. The Blades were dead or scattered.
Kayleigh moaned. Her eyes fluttered open and squinted. When she turned her head, she stiffened and gripped the blanket. “What are you still doing here?”
“You were unconscious. I couldn’t just leave you.” Martyn crossed his arms. He could’ve done that. Probably should’ve. Shouldn’t he get some credit for doing the right thing once in a while? “Someone had to be here in case your leg had to be amp
utated.”
She scowled and moved her foot beneath the blanket as if checking it was still attached. “Well, I’m fine now. Feel free to go.”
Somehow, the more she tried to make him leave, the more Martyn planned to stay right where he was. It made no sense. Leaving all this hassle behind would’ve been the smart thing. She wasn’t his problem.
If he was going to leave, he should’ve done it right away. Now, he had to see this through to the end.
“Not yet.” He stood. “Go back to sleep.”
She probably wouldn’t sleep with him there. Fine by him. He was bored with sitting in the chair beside her bed anyway.
He strode into the next room, shutting the door behind him. He’d stay a few more hours. Long enough to make sure she woke up again and didn’t fall back into a fever.
Just a few more hours.
With a lamp banishing the darkness to the corners, Martyn coaxed the fire back to life. He scavenged through the limited supplies in the cabin and his pack and set a pot to boiling with dried meat and a few assorted vegetables.
Noises came from Kayleigh’s room. He straightened, but before he could move, her door creaked open. She tottered on her good leg and braced herself against the doorjamb.
At least she was up. That was a good sign. Maybe he wouldn’t be stuck here much longer.
She limped forward, wincing as she put weight on her injured leg. When she reached the table, she gripped it with both hands, her face white. “Aren’t you going to tell me I shouldn’t be up? I should go back and rest?”
Martyn shrugged. “No. But if you pass out, don’t expect me to catch you.”
Grimacing, she slid onto the bench by the table.
He turned back to the pot. The smell of boiling meat wafted with the heat of the fire.
“What’re you cooking?” Kayleigh’s voice sounded like her nose was wrinkled.
“Boiled meat. A few vegetables.” Martyn stirred the contents of the pot. She should be grateful he was even taking the time to cook something. He could’ve just fed her the dried beef and been done with it.
Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4) Page 9