Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(10)

“Thank the Father for thick walls and a soft bed. He sleeps like he’s in his mother’s arms,” the second man said. Based on the outline of his large, misshapen head, Jasminda thought this was the one called Fahl. He’d eaten the last of the boiled eggs earlier, before she’d even had one.

Fahl squatted down and ran his hand across Jack’s body. The action took an impossibly long time, and Jasminda’s stomach hollowed. When he moved to loosen his own belt, she fought back a gasp. They were going to whip Jack.

“The bitch is upstairs. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather . . .” Ginko said.

“I’m thinking the sergeant has her in his sights. Besides, she looks like she’s got a mean scratch. No. I’ll make sure this one won’t make a peep, and who’s to care what state he’s left in? What Tensyn don’t know won’t hurt him.”

The two snickered, and Ginko scratched his meaty head, looking back toward the house.

Understanding dawned on Jasminda like a blow to the face. She had worried for herself, expected trouble from these men seeking her out in the middle of the night, but she’d never considered Jack’s vulnerability. Never considered how depraved these men might actually be. She could not sit by and allow him to be violated, though she was not sure what could be done to stop it.

They’d said the sergeant wouldn’t approve. Maybe if she woke him, he would stop this. But she couldn’t be sure, and going into his room at night could put her in the same predicament. She gripped her shaking hands and prayed to the Queen Who Sleeps for a solution.

The soft bleat of a doe rang out from the barn. The storm on the mountains was still making the goats uneasy. An idea took hold. What she needed was a distraction, and quickly.

Jasminda crouched, setting her shotgun down at the base of the tree, and felt around for a stone or branch. After finding a good-sized rock, she threw it with all her might. It sailed across the yard to hit the chicken coop. Once the men turned toward the sound, she raced around the front of the house, taking the long way to the barn.

The first distraction bought her a minute, but now she needed something larger to really draw the men away. She slid open the well-oiled barn door. Instead of nestling on the floor sleeping, many of the goats were awake and stumbling around, agitated. She hoped that, for once, the stubborn animals wouldn’t need much cajoling. Luckily for her, the buck was eager to be out of doors and the does were of a mind to follow him. Grabbing the shovel, she nudged the herd along, increasing the pressure on their backsides until they bleated in disapproval.

The goats operated almost as a hive mind—when one was upset, they all were—so Jasminda continued poking and prodding at them, pushing them from the barn. Their discontent grew louder. Whines and cries pierced the night air. She’d often cursed the herd’s fickle temperament, but tonight it was a blessing.

She couldn’t see the back porch from where she stood, but an oil lamp flickered on inside the house. The goats’ racket would keep the soldiers awake, and Ginko and Fahl wouldn’t have the opportunity to hurt Jack.

She slipped into the garden shadows as the front door opened and the smallest soldier, Wargi, stumbled out. The sergeant’s voice carried over the yowls of the animals as he barked orders. The remaining two soldiers, Pymsyn and Unar, followed Wargi out to investigate what had spooked the goats.

She stifled a laugh at the way the men floundered, chasing after the scattering herd. They wouldn’t get much sleep trying to track down each animal. If they asked her in the morning, she’d say she slept through it. She’d been listening to them her whole life, after all.

When she returned to the backyard, she retrieved her shotgun and found Jack as she’d left him. He opened his eyes and the moonlight made them sparkle. She knelt and pulled the blanket down from his chin to check him out, not sure what she was even looking for.

“Are you all right?”

“What did you do?”

She shrugged. “A distraction. Have they . . . harmed you?” She grimaced at the foolishness of her question. “Further, I mean.”

He shook his head, his face a mask. Warrior Jack was back.

“But they will . . . when they can,” she admitted aloud, the braying cries still echoing in the distance.

She gathered up the hem of her robe and nightgown, and reached for the band holding the knife in place around her thigh. His eyes widened, and her face grew hot as she hurried to remove the blade and put her gown back in place. After prying open the same loose floorboard as before, she hid the knife beside the tin of food.

As she laid the board back in place, his hand covered hers. “Thank you.”

She flexed her fingers under his palm, ignoring the tingles sparking on her skin again. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you yesterday.”

“You thought I was mad.” His mouth quirked. He must have been in a great deal of pain, but it hardly showed. Perhaps he was a warrior jester—fierce one moment, jovial the next.

“I still might.”

He snorted a laugh, then winced.

Guilt tightened her chest. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t laugh.”

“I’d rather laugh than cry. Wouldn’t you?”

She couldn’t even remember the last time she had something to laugh about.

Jasminda sat back on her heels. “Is this a new breach?”