Instead of answering him, Blake lifted her skirt past the hem of her wool stocking, revealing another dagger strapped to her leg. He should have been focused on the weapon, but his eyes were on the thigh it was attached to.
He swallowed.
‘Don’t worry,’ Blake said. ‘You’re quite safe.’
He forced his eyes up. ‘I askagain. What are you doing?’
‘Showing you something.’
His patience was wearing thin. ‘You now have one minute.’
A smile spread across her face as she turned to the tree. She positioned her feet, raised the first knife, and threw it with surprising force. He watched it fly through the air and hit the trunk.
And itstuck.
‘Impressive,’ he said, his tone dry.
‘Not done,’ Blake replied, readying the other weapon. She repeated the process, this time striking an inch to the left of the first knife.
He went to speak, but she cut him off before he got a word out.
‘Still not done.’
His gaze fell to her legs. ‘Do I want to know where you’re hiding the third knife?’
Ignoring him, she nodded at Eda, who was standing six feet away. Her sister drew her own weapon and raised it to shoulder height. Harlan doubted she could make the distance, let alone make it stick. A look of concentration settled on Eda’s face. She stilled, then threw the knife.
It hit between Blake’s two knives—and stuck.
Harlan blinked, eyes going to the twiggy girl.
Blake stepped into his vision. ‘Would you care to see it again?’ She sounded rather pleased with herself.
He searched her smug face. ‘Who taught you to do that?’
‘My father. He told us early on that he wouldn’t always be around to protect us, that we needed to take care of ourselves in a world where women were already at a disadvantage.’
‘Sound advice.’ He moved back. ‘Now collect your weapons before I confiscate them.’
‘Aren’t you curious to see what else I can do?’
He looked back at the path. The memory of her bare thigh was affecting his ability to look her in the eye. ‘Get your weapons. We’re going.’
Harlan carried the rolls all the way to the house, ignoring the confused look from the defender at the borough’s entrance.
Lyndal was in the shop when they arrived. She looked from Harlan to the fabric to Blake. ‘Commander.’
He nodded in place of words.
‘Ah, come along, Eda,’ Lyndal said. ‘I need help with something in the house.’
Harlan placed the rolls down on the floor, in the same place he had laid Kingsley’s corpse a few weeks earlier. Blake must have had the same thought, because the pain of that memory was there on her face when he looked at her.
The duckling waddled into the shop and flopped down on Blake’s foot. It had grown since he had seen it last.
‘Still alive,’ Harlan said.
Blake bent to pick it up. It nuzzled her hand and whistled happily. ‘We’re keeping it inside to ensure it stays that way.’
