Page 61 of Sabre’s Guard

“Sabre taught me that strong men protect women and children. That’s the whole point of being strong.” He holds his grandfather’s gaze before adding, “Sabre is more of a man than you’ll ever be.”

I move between them because I know what happens when someone humiliates him.

“He’s nine years old. If you need to beat someone, leave my son alone and hit me instead.”

Instead of taking me up on that offer, my father comes to his feet and smooths the front of his shirt. “The word you’re looking for is discipline, not beat. Supper is on the tray. Say grace before you eat.”

Three seconds later, he’s gone and the lock on the door snicks shut behind him.

I turn and take Noah by both shoulders. “Noah, I know you’re used to speaking your mind, but that’s going to get you hurt in this house. Let’s try to stay quiet and get through this, okay?”

Noah glances away and his expression shows a hint of anger, but he doesn’t fight me about this. “I understand.”

The guards work in pairs, and I quickly learn there are two types. The older man is lean and weathered. I can’t recall his name, but I vaguely remember his face from church when I was growing up.

The young man from the van is different. The older guard calls him Caleb. He brings our food, speaks in a soft voice and gives odd little smiles whenever he talks to me. The way he watches me makes it clear he considers any fear I might have an advantage because it makes me easier to control.

Later that night, I put Noah on the shabby cot in the corner of the room to rest. Caleb takes the opportunity to lean against the doorway and explain how my future is going to go.

“You don’t need to worry about Dylan. He never had a proper claim because you weren’t legally married. And he can’t seem to keep himself out of prison long enough to be a good husband and father. The elders have already ruled on it. You’ll return to the family clean.”

I just shake my head. It’s been so long that I can barely remember their convoluted reasoning for different things. “I don’t want to be here. Can’t you just let us go?”

“You’re confused right now.” His smile never reaches his eyes. “Your father plans to correct the mistake he made before. Several unmarried men came with us. They’re good men who have been deemed marriageable by the elders. When you’re ready, we’ll draw lots.”

“Excuse me?”

“All the marriageable men are going to draw lots to determine who gets to marry you. That way, there won’t be any quarreling over you or hard feelings later.”

The words are so absurd that it takes me a moment to understand them. My family intends to draw a husband’s name out of a hat and marry me off to whoever wins.

“I don’t want to get married, though. Forcing me to anyway is really messed up. You get that, don’t you?”

“The Bible is full of people casting lots,” Caleb says, looking pleased to teach me something. “It’s the only truly fair way to decide things.”

“Again, I don’t want to marry any of you. I want to go back to my old life, the one I chose for myself.”

“You only want that because you’re a spiritual widow right now. Once you have a man of God at your side, you’ll see that your father was right about this. You won’t like what your father has in store for you if you continue to rebel.”

“I already know what he has in store for me. He plans to beat me until I obey,” I state. Caleb doesn’t bother to deny it.

“Discipline sounds ugly when you describe it that way. In reality, it’s medicine for a damaged spirit.” He tilts his head and gives me another reassuring smile. “Only a man who truly loves you will properly discipline you. It’s because he’s more worried about your immortal soul than pleasing you.”

Caleb reaches for the loose strand of hair resting against my cheek. I move back quickly and tell him sternly, “Don’t touch me.”

After that, everything happens too quickly for me to intervene. He stubbornly reaches for me again, the cot creaks, and Noah bolts between us. The next thing I know, a red line appears across the back of Caleb’s hand and he’s dripping blood all over the place. Noah has a blue throwing knife in his hand, edged with a bright red ribbon of blood. I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing. He was obviously just pretending to sleep.

Caleb yells and staggers back through the doorway. Meanwhile, Noah plants himself between us in some kind of little fighting stance. He holds the bloodied knife exactly the way Sabre taught him, although his hand is shaking.

“Don’t touch my mom!” he states in a guttural tone I’ve never heard him use before.

Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening. I grab for Noah as boots pound on the stairs. This is the moment I feared, and I have no idea how to protect him.

My father appears in the doorway holding that godforsaken lamp. He takes in Caleb’s bleeding hand, the knife in Noah’s hand, and me with my arms wrapped around his small body from behind.

Noah flicks the knife in his hand, explaining, “He tried to touch my mom and I’m not gonna stand for that.”

I hold him tighter, tugging him back a step.