Hemlock

by N. J. Layouni

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  No one had missed them.

  The great fireside roasting debate raged on. Two long benches were set by the fire, seating for the hunters and their families. Sylvie and Seth’s mother—Martha didn’t know her real name; everyone called her ‘Ma’—roamed amongst them, ladling out steaming bowls of vegetable pottage to their supper guests. Seth, meanwhile, had opened a barrel of ale, ensuring no one went thirsty.

  “Sit down and eat,” Sylvie called as they entered the hall. Hands full, she gestured with her head to the two empty stools by the fire. With his hand in the small of Martha’s back, Vadim escorted her to their place, then immediately fell into conversation with the grizzled-looking man to his right.

  Martha accepted her food with a word of thanks. It smelled delicious, but she wasn’t hungry. How could she eat while her stomach churned so badly?

  When Seth stood up, the room fell silent. Raising his tankard skyward, he gave thanks for the food at his table and for the friends seated about it. The villagers bowed their heads, muttering “We give our thanks”. When the prayer was over, everyone began eating again, resuming their previous conversations.

  Martha could only pick at her pottage, rinsing it down with sweet watery ale whenever her swallow reflex needed help. No one noticed her distraction. Her companions talked loudly as they ate, the glow of the successful hunt still bright in their hearts.

  She glanced at Vadim from beneath her eyelashes. He appeared quite untroubled and cleared his own supper with an ease she envied. Obviously their kiss hadn’t affected him at all. But what had she expected? A kiss, after all, was just a kiss.

  Kissing her was all part of the deception. His body’s response was that of any healthy male animal, nothing more. Just another act in the play they’d written between them. And as she knew to her cost, some men were much better actors than others.

  As a host of Tony-flavored memories flooded her mind, her throat went into lock down, refusing to accept another morsel of food. Fortunately, Forge came to the rescue. Without anyone noticing him, the dog had entered the hall and secured a place at her feet. With speed and discretion, he disposed of the pottage she ‘accidentally’ dropped to him.

  When the meal was over, the men took out their pipes and the conversation took a darker turn. The name of the Earl of Edgeway roused Martha from the deep reverie she’d drifted into, lulled by the heat of the fire and the amount of ale she’d consumed.

  “Curse him and his taxes!” Vadim’s grey-haired companion spat onto the fire, making it sizzle and pop. “We will be lucky to make it ‘til spring after all he has taken this season.”

  Martha sat up a little straighter, absently stroking Forge’s head where it lay on her lap.

  “Aye. There is no reasoning with him.” Seth puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “Only the Spirits know how hard I tried to make him see sense, Jem.”

  “No one blames you, Chief,” the man assured him. “I meant no offense by my words.”

  “And I take none, my friend,” Seth replied. A bitter smile twisted his lips. “I only wish I could negotiate with the man without wanting to tear his heart out. It does not benefit our cause, I am sure.”

  Sylvie laid her hand upon Seth’s thigh. “And I am sure no one could do any better, husband. The Earl cannot be reasoned with,” she said quietly. “He wants us to hate him.”

  “Aye, that and to starve us and our children to death!” Jem’s wife looked tenderly at the baby suckling at her breast. “If this winter is as long as the last one—”

  “Hush now.” Her husband put a brawny arm about her shoulders. “It will not be as bad as that, lass. Thanks to Vadim and the others, we have food the Earl cannot know about. We will outlast him.” He smiled, adding. “At least the snows are a good defense against his visits.”

  One or two people chuckled, their laughter easing the growing tension of the room. Martha looked at Vadim’s impassive face with new eyes. He helps these people. How? And who were ‘the others’ Jem spoke of? Unfortunately, she couldn’t ask without rousing suspicion.

  “I saw him on the road only recently,” Vadim said in a quiet voice. He glanced at Martha then looked away. “Barely five leagues from here. Darumvale may not rest easy quite yet. Even now, the roads are passable.”

  “What?” Seth’s eyes widened and he stroked at his beard. “So close?”

  One of the younger men snorted. “He will not risk being cut off from his castle for three months or more. Our little village cannot compete with the delights of Edgeway.” He grinned at his sniggering friends.

  Edgeway must be the local fleshpot in these parts.

  “Mind your tongue, young Will.” An old, bald-headed man cuffed the lad over the head and glared sternly at him. “There are decent women present, in case you have forgotten it.”

  It seemed she was right.

  “My apologies, ladies.” The lad’s ruddy complexion darkened. He bowed his head to Sylvie and the other women, including Martha, and looked suitably chastened.

  “When I last saw the Earl, he was south of Darumvale, not to the north.” Vadim looked slowly from face to face. “I confess, his closeness to this place makes me uneasy.”

  There was a rumble of agreement followed by a flurry of questions.

  “Then he may come here yet?”

  “Did he have soldiers with him? How many?”

  “Was he dressed in mail, m’lord? Did wagons follow him?”

  Vadim held up his hand. “Peace, friends. He was alone when I saw him, save for his hawk. Too distant to be challenged…”

  Martha blinked at such a blatant untruth, but Vadim avoided her eyes.

  “…He seemed bent upon his own pleasure rather than on ruining what remains of ours. Even so,” he darted a look at Martha, “I will head out on the morrow, weather permitting, to track his movements.”

  At this, there were smiles and words of relief. Everyone was pleased about Vadim’s intention. Everyone except Martha.

  “You are a good man, m’lord.” Jem nodded at Vadim over the lip of his tankard. “And a great friend to this village. The pity is that you cannot take up your true—”

  “Quite.” Vadim cut Jem off, very rudely. “But let us deal with one thing at a time, my friend.”

  His true— What?

  “And so, Seth.” He smiled at the Chief. “I must beg a favor in return. Will you protect my wife in my absence—”

  “Vadim!” Seth cried. “Need you even voice such a request? We will care for her as our own family. Is that not right, Sylvie?”

  “Of course.” Sylvie smiled across at Martha. “She is one of us now, an inhabitant of Darumvale.”

  “Your lady will be fine, m’lord,” Jem added, winking at Martha. “We will all look out for her.”

  “I am much obliged to you.” Vadim resumed his pipe, billowing out plumes of sweet, fragrant smoke.

  “Thank you,” Martha added, thinking she’d better say something too. “You’re all very kind.” Inexplicably, the thought of Vadim leaving made her eyes prick with tears.

  Sylvie waved aside their thanks. “Just as long as you are back for your wedding feast four nights hence,” she told Vadim, her grey eyes twinkling with mischief. “It would not be much of a celebration without you, m’lord.”

  Martha blushed at the good-natured teasing that followed. So she was very glad when one of the younger men took up a long whistle and raised it to his lips. As the first clear note rang out, everyone fell silent and listened to the lad play.

  It was a sweet and melancholy tune. Although Martha was no musician, even she appreciated how gifted the lad was. The music seemed to speak of lost love and sadness. She closed her eyes, fighting to hold back scalding tears. As kind as these people were, they weren’t her own family. They never could be. But what remained of her family now? Aunt Lulu was all she had. The only living person who returned her love.

  Seth’s mother began to accompany the whistle’s song, and her
voice was surprisingly sweet. She sang in the Old Tongue. Although the lilting lyrics were incomprehensible to Martha’s brain, her heart recognised them well enough. When Ma’s voice trembled over the saddest parts of the song, Martha had to bite her lip. She wondered if the old woman’s secret memories were as painful as her own.

  At that moment, Vadim reached over and took her hand. Martha clasped his strong, rough fingers, and found comfort in his touch. It felt natural and right somehow. He seemed to have sensed her sadness when no one else could. Not only did she like him, but she trusted him too.

  Be careful you don’t give him your heart as well.

  The song finally ended, the last note dissolving into the heavy silence of the room. Everyone seemed to exhale at the same moment, a long communal breath, releasing them from the paralysis they’d fallen into. Vadim released her hand, and everyone stood up en masse, chatting loudly to one another again as they gathered their belongings and prepared to return to their own homes and hearths. Only Martha lingered by the fire.

  It must be getting late. She had no concept of time anymore. In Darumvale, her body was discovering its natural inner clock. Sleep when it was dark, wake when it was light.

  The force of her yawn took her by surprise. Belatedly, she covered her mouth and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Predictably, Vadim’s were the only eyes she encountered. He smiled and offered her his hand. Martha was glad to take it.

  “Bed for you, my lady.” He pulled her to her feet.

  “I need the loo…privy first.”

  He sighed. “Very well. Do you wish me to accompany you?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “No thanks.”

  Once the demands of her bladder were met, Martha returned to the hall, shivering and stamping her feet. Vadim was waiting.

  “It’s getting worse out there,” she said, flinging off her cloak and sending a shower of snowflakes into his face. “Oops! Sorry.”

  He smiled and wiped the melting residue from his eyelashes. “Bed. Now.”

  They were staying in the Great Hall again, for Vadim said Hemble had yet to clean the chimney of their house. So, bidding goodnight to their hosts and the last departing guests, he led Martha to the bed by the cow byre. Sylvie had thoughtfully provided a jug of water and a bowl for washing. There was also a chunk of nasty-smelling soap that didn’t lather very well. Martha washed her hands and face then rinsed, gasping as the chilly water hit her face.

  “Finished?” Vadim asked.

  She hadn’t realized he was still there. Didn’t he have anything better to do than stand around watching her wash?

  “Almost.” She dabbed her face with a rough piece of cloth, then began cleaning her teeth with the piece of twig that Sylvie had recommended, sitting on the bed in order to concentrate on the task.

  “Just how long does your toilet take?”

  Martha’s hand stilled. “You don’t need to wait,” she said. “I’d much rather do this without you hovering and twitching over me.”

  “As you wish.” Vadim turned smartly on his heels and walked back towards the fire.

  She shook her head. Men!

  When he returned, she was in bed, wriggling around beneath the mound of furs. Her dress, cloak, and scarf hung from a nail protruding from the wall and her shoes lay neatly together beneath the bed.

  “Are you comfortable?” The foot of the bed sank when Vadim sat on it, creaking horribly beneath his weight.

  “Do I look comfortable?” She kicked him when one of her feet moved too vigorously upon the mattress. “Sorry.”

  “What did I do to earn that?”

  “Nothing. I’m trying to get warm, that’s all.” She glared in the direction of their bovine neighbor. “Must you keep doing that?” Her nose wrinkled as she detected an unpleasant gas emission. “Ugh!”

  Almost as if it understood her words, the cow stopped chewing. Its expression was almost wounded. Martha’s Catholic conscience released a flood of guilt into her heart. “Oh, I know you can’t help it, but would you at least move away before you let rip?”

  Vadim laughed. “You are aware she is a cow, Martha? She does not understand you.”

  He bent over, fiddling with the straps on his boots. “Hemble says the house will be ready tomorrow, though I would be happier if you remained here until I return.” As he kicked off his boots, Forge gave a sudden yelp from the shadows beside the bed. “My apologies… Wait. What are you doing in here?”

  Martha giggled. “What’s that you were saying about talking to animals, hmm?”

  “Dogs are different,” he said, tugging at the lacing of his tunic.

  “Different how?” Then it dawned on her. “What are you doing?” He was undressing.

  “I should have thought that was obvious,” he said, throwing his tunic to the ground. “Move over.” He pulled back the bedcovers.

  Her heart lurched. The cot was narrow for one person, let alone for two. “Move where exactly? There’s hardly enough room for—”

  “Roll onto your side.” Vadim slid into bed and pressed his hand against her hip, pushing at her.

  Beneath the thin fabric of her shift, her skin burned where he touched her. Heart pounding, she had little choice but to obey. They were guests in Seth’s house. She couldn’t argue with him here.

  “Fine. But I won’t be able to sleep, laying on my side.” Huffing in irritation, she rolled over. Vadim immediately spooned up behind her, his warm, hard body much too close for comfort.

  A cold draught was coming from somewhere. She tugged at the cover trying to arrange them, one-handed about her neck.

  “Allow me.” Vadim carefully tucked the furs about her, ensuring she was cozy. Then he held her to him again, his arm resting over her breast. “Better?”

  Martha shivered as his warm breath brushed soft against her ear. “Smashing, thanks.” At least she was warmer now. It was quite impossible to put any distance between their bodies, so she didn’t bother trying.

  One by one, the rush lights around the hall went out until only the red glow of the fire remained. Gradually the hall grew quiet as Seth and his family retired for the night. Only the occasional animal noise, and the distant low murmurings of Seth and Sylvie talking in their own bed, disturbed the peace.

  Vadim entwined his legs with hers. “Your feet are still cold,” he said in a low voice. “I can feel their chill even through my clothes. Give them to me.”

  “They’re fine!” she hissed, pulling her feet away from where he’d trapped them between his long, warm legs. At least he’d kept his trousers on.

  “Relax, Martha.” He stroked her hair with a gentle hand. “Warmth is all I offer you this night. Your virtue is quite safe. I am too weary to pose a threat.”

  That much seemed to be true. Although her backside was pressed firmly against his most intimate region, she detected no response. Exhaling, she forced her bunched-up muscles to relax. This time, when Vadim took her feet between his legs, she didn’t fight him. His heat soon penetrated all of her body, banishing every shiver from their bed.

  He didn’t speak, only held her securely against him. She stared into the darkness, listening to him breathe. Would she ever see him again after tomorrow? What if the Earl caught up with him? The thought distressed her much more than it should. Why did he have to go looking for the Earl anyway? Why couldn’t someone else do it?

  “Vadim?”

  “Hmm?” He snuggled closer against her, his chin resting on top of her head. Already she heard the shadows of sleep in his voice.

  “Are you awake?” Please wake up.

  “What…is it?” He sounded so tired that she felt a pang of guilt, but only the tiniest pang.

  “Do you have to go away tomorrow…I mean, why do you have to go?”

  ***

  The vulnerability of her questions roused him from the lure of sleep. “It is my duty to protect this village. I must do all I can to keep it safe.”

  “Why you, though? The other men ha
ve weapons. Can’t they protect themselves?”

  “They can, to an extent. But they are mainly farmers and tradesmen, Martha. They are not soldiers; not trained to fight and kill.”

  “Not like you, you mean?”

  “No,” he agreed softly. “Not like me.” If she only knew what his life was like she would recoil from him. A woman such as she should not be subjected to the horrors he carried within him. He could not tell her. Not now.

  ***

  Martha took a moment to absorb this information. It was hard to believe that the man holding her so gently was a trained killer. “If that’s so, why didn’t you kill the Earl when you had the chance? Why did you lie to Jem earlier?”

  She felt him tense behind her. She knew he would have moved away from her if he could.

  “Because I made a vow to…someone, long ago,” he said at last. “A vow that forever binds my hands. I cannot kill Edgeway, no matter how much I wish to. If I could undo my foolish vow I would do it in a heartbeat, but I cannot.” He sighed. “Only one person had the power to release me, but she has been in the ground for many years now. My fate is set in stone.”

  As his voice trailed away into the darkness, Martha caught a glimpse of the pain he carried inside him.

  “Who was she, Vadim?” she asked softly. “You must have loved her very much to make such a promise.” She would have turned over to face him, but he would not allow it. His arm over her breast tensed, keeping her where she lay.

  “Of course I loved her,” he replied huskily. “She was my only sister.”

  His sister?

  “Go to sleep now, Martha. Ask me no more tonight.”

  “Just one more question,” she whispered into the darkness, “and I promise I’ll shut up. How long will you be gone? You won’t stay away too long, will you?”

  “That was two questions.”

  “Yes, but they’re related. It’s allowed.”