There seemed to be no one else about apart from a few wandering hens and a gang of nasty-looking geese that hissed at them as they passed. But Forge’s rumbling growl soon sent them waddling in another direction.
Martha looked back down the hill, inhaling the cold, smoky air. Darumvale. A proper medieval village. And here she was, living the history. For real. Well, if a vivid dream counted as real.
The Great Hall sat at the heart of the village, dwarfing the other houses beside with its imposing rectangular shape. Smoke drifted from other chimneys, or roof holes, of other homes. A dozen or so. All much smaller than their lordly neighbor, but equally unique in their own ways. Some houses were round with sweeping turf roofs that almost touched the ground, while others were square, stone-built, and topped with thatch. A couple of houses were even whitewashed, and were much more familiar looking. Beside every home was a garden of sorts—now an empty plot of earth, probably waiting for spring planting.
There were no lawns or garden gnomes in Darumvale. Well, that was one good thing about it, she supposed.
The most obvious difference between these houses and the ones back home—excluding the lack of satellite dishes—was the absence of glass windows. One or two homes had window-like holes cut into their thick walls, but none of them were glazed. Most were covered with a piece of bright fabric.
As she walked, she heard voices coming from every home: male and female, the old and the young. Voices singing unfamiliar songs. People talking. Phlegmy coughs. Frequent bursts of laughter. She sighed, and paused to adjust her wayward headscarf for the hundredth time that day, suddenly feeling very alone.
Vadim’s house was just off the main street, set back against the hill in its own little plot. His closest neighbors were some distance away. No surprises there. She got the impression he was a man who valued his privacy. Anyone who lived alone in a cave for long periods of time couldn’t be classed as sociable.
She limped up the slight incline, her fingers buried into the warmth of Forge’s shaggy fur, and found Vadim talking to a man up on a step ladder, which was leaned against the roof. As she moved closer, the breeze brought her the old man’s words.
“…just needs a bit of patching, m’lord, no more than that.” He patted the thatch almost affectionately. “She will keep you dry enough until spring.”
“Good news indeed.” Vadim glanced over his shoulder at Martha. “My lady wife is most anxious to have her own roof.”
“Wife?” The man visibly wobbled on his ladder.
“Hemble, meet Martha. My wife.”
Here we go again. Taking a deep breath, Martha plastered a bright smile on her face.
“Hello.” She waved at the old man and came to stand at Vadim’s side. “Is this your house, then?”
“It is.” He slipped his arm about her waist, making her jump, and pulled her close to his side. “Does it suit you, my love?”
“Well, it’s certainly better than a cave,” she answered with a grin, trying to pretend the feel of his warm, hard body didn’t affect her at all. Unfortunately, her hot cheeks betrayed her. As usual.
Vadim’s house was similar to others she’d seen in the village. Sturdy, stone-built, and single-storied. But his had something the other houses didn’t. “You have glass!” What was the matter with her? Since when was glass a cause for excitement?
Arching their eyebrows at one another, Vadim and the elderly thatcher exchanged a brief look—silent man-code for women!
“‘Tis cow horn,” Vadim corrected her, “but it works well enough in its stead.”
“Oh.” Pulling free from the shelter of his arm, Martha went to take a closer look. The old man on the ladder openly stared at her, his bushy silver eyebrows knitted together in a frown.
Now what? Had she said something wrong? Hadn’t glass been invented or something? Being a medieval wife was harder than she thought. Then, something else caught her attention. “It has a proper door too.” Some of the village houses only had a blanket tacked over the doorway. She rapped her knuckles several times against the solid wood. “This is great.” She grinned at Vadim over her shoulder. “I love it.”
“You have not seen inside yet, my love,” he replied.
Although his tender smile was solely for the old man’s benefit, it set off the butterflies in her stomach. She ignored them. In fact, she was getting quite used to them living there by now.
“Well, I shall be getting along for my pie and ale.” The ladder wobbled as Hemble slowly made his way back to the ground. “I will return in an hour.” He glanced at Vadim, his smile emphasising the deep wrinkles around his eyes. “If that will be long enough, m’lord?”
“Quite long enough,” Vadim assured him, slightly inclining his head. “Thank you, Hemble.”
Long enough for what? Had that dirty old man just implied they’d soon be doing…the marital jig? Swallowing hard, her eyes flicked to Vadim. How could he be so composed? When Hemble paused in front of her to wish her joy, even her ears glowed hot with embarrassment.
Mumbling something appropriate, she turned away to stroke Forge, refusing to look up until the thatcher was gone.
“Very virginal,” Vadim remarked, once they were alone. “Your blushes are quite appropriate for the occasion. Hemble will make it his business to advise the entire village of my wife’s modesty.”
His tall shadow loomed over her. Was he laughing at her again? Martha looked up. Yes, definitely. “Most amusing, I’m sure.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Here’s an idea. Since the opinion of the village matters so much to you, maybe you could stop taking the piss long enough for us to discuss the details of our courtship and marriage? I still have no idea what I’m supposed to say to people.”
“Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this matter in private.” Vadim’s crooked little smile made her toes tingle. “It is customary, I believe, for the bride to be carried into her new home. No doubt we are being watched as we speak.”
Before Martha could object, he swept her up into his arms.
“You’ll break your back if you keep doing this,” she said, sliding her arm about his neck. It was difficult to sound nonchalant when her heart was thundering so. “Don’t come moaning to me when your back goes into lockdown.” His hair felt soft beneath her fingers. She inhaled, unable to resist the temptation of breathing in his warm scent.
Oh God. Warm leather, plus man-scent, equaled too hot.
“Nonsense.” His eyes darkened. “You weigh nothing at all. Excuse us, Forge,” he said to the dog, “but we have needs that cannot wait.” With that, he kicked open the door of the house and carried her inside.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The cottage was small. Just a single room with a low roof and roughly plastered walls. Even so, it felt welcoming. The moment the door was closed, Vadim set her down so she could explore.
The house had obviously been uninhabited for quite some time. A thin layer of dust covered every surface, and dust bunnies roamed wild on the wooden floor. Beneath the eaves was a bed—a long, low cot piled high with furs and several brightly colored blankets. Three large chests stood pushed up against the back wall, the tops of the two flattest serving as further storage space. Amongst the small collection of knives and mismatched pieces of bridlery, she spotted a pair of substantial-looking books.
Books! Her slippers tapped over the floor, scattering dust bunnies in her haste to check out Vadim’s reading material. She was a firm believer that the titles on a book-shelf were a good indication of someone’s character.
The plain, leather-bound cover of the first book creaked as she opened it. “Oh, my God.” Brilliantly colored lettering and details leapt out at her, shining and glittering in the sunlight. She gasped. “This is just…beautiful.”
Even though she couldn’t understand the lines of small, even calligraphy, this was clearly a book of great value. Impossibly complex borders of band-work ran the length of each page, linking several exquisite mini
ature works of art. Vivid representations of people and animals sat side by side with terrifying demons. The book reminded her of Lindisfarne’s famous illuminated gospels, but this book was newer, its colours fresher. Illuminated was certainly a great word for it.
A quick peep at the other book revealed the same dazzling quality of expression, written in the same unfamiliar language. The people at the British Museum would go nuts for these things. And rightly so. It felt like an act of sacrilege to be touching such incredible objects without the barrier of white cotton gloves. As she looked up, she caught Vadim watching her with a guarded expression on his face. “Wherever did you get these?”
He shrugged and turned away. That answered that. Outlaw. He’d stolen them. Why else would he be looking so shifty? She reluctantly closed the precious books and went to look around the rest of the cottage.
To her delight, there was a proper stone fireplace, equipped with all the hooks and gadgets essential for the medieval domestic goddess. And if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a functioning chimney too, which was a definite bonus. Apart from a small table and two chairs sitting beneath the window, there wasn’t much else to see. A peculiar light shone through the cow-horn window, giving the bleached wood of the furniture a faintly orange glow.
“The privy is out back,” Vadim said as he took off his cloak. “But there is a pot beneath the bed for night-time use. When you empty it, might I ask that you use the pit outside and not the stream? Unlike other settlements, in Darumvale we prefer not to pollute our drinking water with excrement.” He turned to hang his cloak behind the door, missing the look Martha sent him.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Apparently, Darumvale wasn’t as backward as she’d thought. Even so, the prospect of life without indoor plumbing didn’t fill her with joy. What she wouldn’t give for the luxury of a flushing loo and hot, running water.
Vadim took off his sword and dagger and laid them on top of one of the chests with a clatter. “We have an hour at our disposal,” he said. “Let us put it to good use.” He went over to the bed and sat down, the wood frame creaking as it settled beneath his weight.
“I beg your pardon?” Martha pulled her cloak tighter around her body as Vadim began unlacing the ties of his leather tunic. Surely he didn’t mean—
“Our marriage and courtship.” He arched one black eyebrow at her, regarding the glow of her cheeks with amusement. “Their details?”
“Oh. Yes.” Of course that’s what he meant. What was she thinking? Pointedly ignoring the space beside him on the bed, she hurried to the table by the window and dragged out a chair to sit on. “What did you tell Seth and Sylvie last night?”
He’d told their hosts Martha came from a noble family based in the far south west, and that she’d run away because of a long-running family dispute—namely an arranged marriage to a man she despised. Cherchez l’homme? That made sense. In her experience, men were usually at the root of any trouble. But if they stuck to this story, no one would dare mention Martha’s family or background within her earshot for fear of offending her. And, no one would be surprised if she went into hiding if a nobleman happened to pass through the village.
“The nobles do love to gossip amongst themselves. Imagine if word of your unsuitable match ever reached the ears of your loving mother and father?” Vadim said with a smile.
“But why would I need to hide?” No one was looking for her. Not in this world, anyway.
“The Earl saw you in my company.” Vadim’s smile faded. “For that, you are forever cursed. He will not easily forget you, Martha.”
She didn’t get it. “So?”
Vadim exhaled a long breath. “If you fell into his hands, he would use you to try and get to me.” A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “In the end, you would be begging him for the death’s sweet release.”
Torture? Martha shuddered. “But I don’t know anything.”
“That will not protect you.” A bleak smile curved his lips. “Many an innocent man has died screaming those very words. Ignorance is an ineffectual shield against Lord Edgeway’s brutality.”
Okay. It was definitely time to lighten the mood. She could feel a thick cloud of depression descending on the cottage. “So, tell me, husband, how exactly did we meet?”
The details of their courtship weren’t a million miles from the truth. To begin with, they stuck to the real story, of how he’d found her unconscious in the hills and had taken her back to the cave to nurse her injuries. At this point, they embellished the tale a little, adding the character of a Traveler—a kind of wise, spiritual man— who had happened across their cave after they’d been alone together for several weeks. As repayment for sharing their fire and shelter, the kindly soul had offered to join them in marriage.
Martha exhaled. “Well, it’s simple enough. But won’t people think it’s strange I know so little about you?” She was sure to betray herself sooner or later.
Vadim shrugged and leaned back upon the bed, making it squeak. “Why should they? We have not known one another for very long.”
“But I don’t know anything about you, Vadim.” She raised her hands to her mouth and blew on her icy fingers. Did he have to lie there like that, tunic off, shirt open almost to his navel? Dark hair covered his well-defined chest. Not too much. Just enough to make him look manly. Swallowing hard, she averted her eyes from his nipples. “Wh-what about your home and family? Shouldn’t your wife know something about them?”
A glacial look entered into his eyes. “That past is dead to me. Do not speak of it again, Martha. Be assured, no one else will.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and stood up, going to look through the other window. At least she couldn’t see him from here. Not that it was easy to avoid him in a house of this size. “Oh look.” She squinted through the cow-horn windowpane. The thatcher was hobbling up the hill. “The dirty old man is back.”
“So soon?”
The bed creaked, and suddenly Vadim joined her at the window, peering over her shoulder, much too close for comfort. From the corner of her eye, Martha saw black tendrils of his hair resting on her shoulder as the heat of his silent breath brushed against her cheek.
“Then I suppose I had better get ready.”
Martha shivered, resolutely keeping her eyes fixed on the old man, pretending Vadim’s closeness didn’t bother her one way or the other.
When he finally moved away she didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed. At least she dared breathe again, but she didn’t look away from the window. As the thatcher approached the house, Forge raced to meet him, barking and snarling at their visitor. She clearly heard the old man’s curses as he swiped at the dog with his stick, attempting to get by without being bitten.
A sudden rustling sound made Martha turn. Her jaw actually dropped. Vadim had removed his shirt and was now naked from the waist up.
“What the hell are you doing?” she squeaked, her eyes wide as saucers. Her mouth went very dry, and her knees actually wobbled, forcing her to clutch at the back of her chair for support. His perfect musculature seemed somehow graphically obscene.
Don’t look at him! Turn away now.
Too late. His body was lean, without a trace of excess fat. Each muscle looked as if it’d been lovingly crafted from stone, carved by the hands of a master mason. Real beauty. The result of the life he lived, not courtesy of a gym. Her fingers tingled, suddenly aching to touch where her eyes lingered, and her long-dead libido suddenly roared back to life.
Several interesting scars adorned his abdomen, faint accents of silver enhancing the gold. But it was the intricate runic band tattoo at the top of his left arm that finished her off completely.
Unable to help herself, she simply stared, allowing her eyes to openly and quite brazenly roam his body. Propriety be damned. Taking her time, she followed the light covering of dark hair over his well-defined pectorals and down over his washboard abdomen to where it tapered away into a ‘vee’ just above his belly butto
n.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus!
She gulped and forced her eyes back up. Vadim smiled, apparently enjoying her discomposure. Damn him! The image of that dark hair peeping just above the waistband of his trousers was now burnt onto her retinas.
“We were meant to have passed this hour within my bed, Martha.” A slow, and quite wicked, smile curved his lips. “Old Hemble must be convinced that our marriage is normal and healthy in every way.” He swept his hair back from his face with one careless hand.
“That old pervert has ideas enough of his own,” she muttered, desperately battling to maintain eye contact. “Why encourage him?”
Vadim chuckled and opened the door, making a show of pulling on his shirt as he went to rescue Hemble from the dog. Martha shamelessly checked him out as he left, unable to resist the urge of doing so, and discovered the back of him was almost as good as the front.
What was wrong with her? Okay, so it’s been a while, but must you drool over the first semi-naked man you see? It’s not as if you were ever that into the whole sex thing anyway. No wonder Tony—
“Just shut up,” she muttered to herself, rubbing her burning face.
From outside came the low rumbling exchange of male voices. Rather than be idle and fall victim to her own wayward thoughts, she went to straighten the rumpled bed covers. Vadim’s discarded tunic lay where he’d left it. She sat down. The mattress still held the warmth of his body. An urge too powerful to ignore possessed her. With trembling fingers, she picked up the leather garment and raised it to her face. Then she inhaled—hard—filling her lungs with his scent. As she exhaled, an animal-like growl escaped from her throat.
What the feck was that, woman? That’s a noise you’ve never made before. Not even when—
The door clicked, alerting her of Vadim’s return.
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