Hemlock

by N. J. Layouni

  He chuckled, banishing his ghosts for the present.

  “Then here is a single answer for you. I will return by the eve of our wedding feast.”

  “Good enough.” Martha closed her eyes and relaxed against him, ignoring the final morbid question flitting about her mind. But he must have heard it anyway.

  “If I have not returned by then,” he murmured against her ear, “you must go to Seth— and only Seth, mind—and tell him everything. Ask him to find Madoc the Seer. Do you understand?” She nodded. “Good girl.”

  He spoke no more. Not long afterwards, Martha detected a change in his breathing. It became slower and deeper. The arm resting across her chest suddenly felt very heavy. She knew he was asleep.

  For her, sleep proved more elusive. How could she possibly sleep now?

  Vadim’s final words played in her mind on a constant loop. If I have not returned by then… The thought of ‘then’ made her feel sick.

  What if he never came back?

  Yes, Seth would look after her. Of that she had no doubt. But it was Vadim’s fate that concerned her more than her own.

  In such a short time she’d become very attached to him. And it wasn’t all to do with the kissing either. Yes, he was easy on the eyes, but that wasn’t it. Somehow, he’d managed to change from a stranger into a friend without her noticing. It was as if he’d always been in her life, that she’d always known him.

  Closing her eyes, Martha smiled. Whatever tomorrow brought, for tonight at least, she was in the safest place imaginable.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Martha? Martha, open your eyes.”

  “Huh?” Her heavy eyelids refused to obey the gentle summons. She was just too comfortable. “Just five more minutes…”

  Something tickled at her nose. She swatted it away.

  “Wake up, little sluggard.”

  Another tickle. Martha scrubbed at her nose with her hand.

  “Go away!” As her eyes flickered open, Vadim’s face swam in and out of focus.

  “At last.” He smiled. “I had begun to think you would never wake.” He brandished a piece of her own hair and moved it towards her nose again.

  “Stop it!”

  She tried to move her head away. Then, in a flood of wakefulness, she noticed their sleeping position was different from how they’d started off the previous night. Now they lay face to face. Very close together, in fact. Their noses were almost touching.

  “May I get up now?”

  He glanced down, and Martha followed the direction of his eyes. To her horror, she discovered her arm was hidden beneath his shirt, wrapped around his naked waist. And if that wasn’t bad enough, her hand splayed across the firm warmth of his back, holding him.

  Oh. My. Lord!

  Vadim looked amused. His smile broadened even more when she blushed.

  “I am so sorry.” She hastily retracted her arm and attempted to dive out of bed. But Vadim slid his arm about her waist and prevented her escape.

  “You need not apologise, Martha.” He stroked the hair back from her burning face. “I liked it. And had I not plans for today, wife, I would be more than content to spend it within your arms.” He glanced down at her lips. “Alas. Duty calls me away.”

  Excitement churned in her stomach as she watched his eyes darken. He’s going to kiss me! The prospect didn’t dismay her as it should have. She so wanted him to kiss her again. But to her disappointment, he didn’t.

  With a rueful smile, Vadim set her away from him, threw back the covers, and swung his long legs out of bed. “This shall be gone when I return.” He rubbed his hand over the scratchy-sounding stubble on his face. “Little wonder your poor face is so raw.” He touched her chin with his thumb.

  Did that mean he planned on kissing her again, sometime in the future? She shivered. Vadim’s kisses were a lot more exciting than Tony’s infrequent, slightly soggy offerings. Maybe she shouldn’t get her hopes up too high in case she was disappointed.

  She sat up. “What time is it, anyway?” she asked on a yawn.

  The hall was still thick with shadows. Only the glowing embers of the fire penetrated the darkness. Seth’s deep resonant snores drifted from the other side of the hall. It looked like the middle of the night. Even the cow and the goats weren’t awake yet.

  “‘Tis almost cock-crow.” Vadim bent to strap on his boots. “I wanted to make an early start.”

  Hugging the bedcovers about her, Martha watched him dress. She suddenly felt very cold.

  Once his boots were in place, Vadim stood up and grabbed his sword belt from where it lay on a hay bale. It clanked noisily as he strapped it about his waist. The sight of the weapon gave Martha the shivers. Finally, he adjusted the position of his dagger and reached for his cloak. He was almost ready to go. She had to say something. Anything. But what?

  “Aren’t you going to have any breakfast? It is supposed to be the most important meal of the day, after all.”

  Really? That’s the best you could come up with? Why couldn’t she ever say what she wanted to say? She frowned. What did she want to say?

  “Is it indeed?” Vadim smiled and stroked her cheek. “I must remember that.”

  He lifted his pack from the floor, making Forge grumble, for the dog had been using it as a pillow.

  “Hush, beast,” Vadim scolded, but his voice was kind. “Take care of your new mistress until I return, hmm?” He ruffled the dog’s shaggy head, and the action elicited a slow tail-thumping response. Then he looked at Martha again. “Farewell for the present, m’lady. Keep out of trouble if you can.”

  “Wait.” She scrambled out of bed and crammed her bare feet into her shoes. “I’ll see you off.”

  “There is no need,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

  She took no notice. Vadim smiled as he watched her take her cloak from its peg. He looked almost pleased.

  “I’m awake now anyway,” she said, swinging the cloak over her shoulders. “Besides, I need the privy.”

  Tiptoeing over the floor rushes, Martha followed him outside. Quick. Fling yourself around his legs and beg him to stay. Perhaps not. Maybe she should have stayed in bed after all.

  The village lay blanketed beneath a thick fall of snow and glowed unnaturally in the pre-dawn light. A bitter wind sliced through her clothing as she stood on the stone threshold of the Great Hall. Heavy snow clouds hung low in the sky, blotting out the mountain tops.

  Martha frowned. “It’s not really the best weather to go traipsing about in the mountains, Vadim.”

  “I am used to it,” he said, tapping a gloved finger against the tip of her nose. “These hills have been my friends in all weathers. I shall not come to harm in them now. Stop fretting and go back to bed.”

  When he opened his arms, she gravitated helplessly to him, burying her face into leather tunic. “Be careful.” Her voice wobbled a little. “Hurry back.”

  Vadim hugged her and planted a brief kiss on the top of her head. “I shall.” Without another word, he pulled free, striding through the virgin snow and out of the village. He didn’t look back.

  Martha watched until he was out of sight. Even after he’d gone, she lingered. Leaning her head against the doorpost, she stared at his departing tracks in the snow, wishing him back. Suddenly, she felt more miserable than she had at any point since arriving in this strange new world.

  “There you are.”

  Martha turned. Sylvie stood in the doorway with a shawl draped about her thin shoulders, her hair hanging free in a long silver sheet.

  “I was concerned, you have been out here so long.”

  It was true. The numbness of her hands and feet was a testament to how long she’d been blindly staring at the mountains.

  A cockerel crowed, shattering the peace of the village with his lusty call.

  Sylvie slipped her arm about Martha’s shoulders and guided her back indoors. “I feared you might have gone with him.”

  “He wouldn’t have taken me, ev
en if I’d wanted to go.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew they were true.

  Sylvie made her sit on a bench beside the long hearth while she busied herself with coaxing life back into the fire.

  In silence, Martha stared at the growing flames. She felt like a balloon with a slow leak, weak and floppy. The numbness of her extremities had spread to her heart, but she was grateful for it. Only cold rational thought could stop her from losing the plot now. Emotions would hinder her survival. Vadim’s departure had unleashed all the concerns and fears she’d buried within herself; Aunt Lulu, Tony, home, her real life. Would she ever see them again?

  If this world really was a dream, why wasn’t she waking? It couldn’t be real. It wasn’t possible.

  “Here you are, my dear.” Sylvie pushed a steaming tankard into Martha’s hand. “Drink up. ‘Tis fresh from the cow, and old Mab was not happy about being woken so early, I must say.”

  She’d milked the cow? Martha hadn’t even noticed she’d left.

  Pull yourself together, Bigalow. Don’t lose it now. Or do you want to end your days in whatever qualifies as a medieval mental asylum?

  She sensed vultures of madness circling her mind. If she weakened, she would become their next meal. So she drank the milk, obediently swallowing the warm creaminess, though it made her want to gag. Then she made appropriate responses to Sylvie’s chatter, and forced herself to smile.

  Sylvie, however, wasn’t fooled. “It is never easy being parted, especially when you are newly wed.” She sat beside Martha and squeezed her hand. “Vadim will return, my dear. Never doubt it.”

  Taking a deep breath, Martha looked into Sylvie’s compassionate eyes. “And until he does, I want to work, Sylvie. I need to work.”

  “Yes, I know you do,” Sylvie replied. “And in Darumvale, there is always plenty of work to be had.”

  Over the following days, Martha embraced each new daily chore with the fervor of a convert. Nothing was beneath her. No job was too unpleasant to be tackled. Along with the other women, she helped butcher one of the deer, preparing joints of meat for drying in the conical-roofed smokehouse.

  It was cold outside, but the task was too messy for indoors, so they worked quickly. The packed snow beneath their feet soon turned red with blossoming blood droplets. Their butchery attracted a devoted audience; the village dogs watched with hungry eyes, pacing and whining in the hope of snatching a stray piece of meat.

  To begin with, she had little skill with her blade, but there was always someone on hand to help when she struggled.

  During a break, Martha flexed her stiffening back and looked around. There was another small hut at the other side of the road. The wooden door lay open, and the carcass of the other deer hung suspended from the roof, already skinned and gutted. Hanging by its hind legs, it swung gently in the bitter breeze.

  “Aren’t we going to butcher that one as well?” she asked Bren, the blacksmith’s wife, who happened to be taking a break at the same time.

  Bren grinned. “No, lass.” Still holding her blood-smeared knife, she wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “That one is for your wedding feast. It will need to hang for another two days yet.”

  Martha was appalled. “Won’t it go bad?”

  At this, Bren guffawed, her hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. “In this weather? How could it go bad?” She shook her head, causing a lock of wild red hair to pop from beneath her scarf. “Even my youngest grandson could tell you that fresh meat needs to hang a while before it’s cooked. Your education lacks much, my lady.”

  Martha blushed. Everyone must think she was really stupid.

  “I know,” she said quietly. “But I’m willing to learn if you’ll help me.”

  Bren’s haggard features relaxed into another smile. “That I will,” she replied. “We shall make a proper wife of you yet.”

  If the gaps in Martha’s education surprised anyone else, unlike the blunt-speaking Bren, they were too polite to mention it. Under the patient tutelage of the village wives, she gradually became acquainted with the everyday tasks of their lives.

  She learned how to transform wheat into flour using a small circular grinding stone. It was hard work. It took forever to make even a little bit of flour. Later, she helped to turn this flour into the unleavened bread that was so popular in Seth’s house. Sylvie was such a good teacher that even Martha’s efforts were edible.

  In another lesson, Sylvie taught her how to milk the cows and the goats. Martha redeemed herself a little in this task at least.

  “You are a natural, my dear,” Sylvie declared. “So quick and gentle, and not one drop spilt.”

  At least I’m good at something. Martha was fast coming to the conclusion that she just wasn’t cut out to be a medieval wife.

  On the third afternoon after Vadim’s departure, during a prolonged break in the snowfalls, she tried her hand at soap-making.

  They built a fire outside the Great Hall and suspended a cauldron over it. Soap alchemy, she discovered, was a very smelly business indeed. While Sylvie and Ma threw handfuls of rendered animal fat into the cauldron, constantly bickering over the recipe, she stirred the disgusting, simmering soup with a long-handled wooden spoon. Once the soap mixture had cooled, it was poured into a large wooden mold which was then taken into one of the outhouses for curing.

  By the end of the day, Martha felt filthy. The smell of fat clung to her clothes and hair, making her feel slightly sick. “I really need a bath,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she discarded her grim apron. “I stink like a dog otter.”

  Sylvie laughed. “Well, you are welcome to bathe in front of our fire. Or you could do so in the privacy of your own home, now that Hemble has cleaned the chimney. I believe Vadim has a tub stored somewhere in his outbuilding.”

  “Does he?” She was thrilled to hear it. Maybe she could wash her clothes at the same time. One set of clothing was proving to be a bit of a challenge. She hoped Orla would finish making that new gown for her in record time.

  “Take these for your fire.” Sylvie reached into her apron pocket and handed Martha a flint and steel. “Keep them if you will, I have another set.”

  “Thanks, Sylvie.” It was funny. Only a week ago, she wouldn’t have known what these items were, let alone how to use them. Now she could light a fire almost as quickly as anyone in Darumvale. “Er…would you mind if I didn’t come back to the Hall tonight? I have so much laundry to do.”

  The older woman frowned. “But we promised Vadim—”

  “I’ll be fine,” Martha assured her. “After all, what can happen to me in the village?”

  “Very well,” Sylvie said at last. “But take the dog with you.” She nodded, indicating Forge who was sniffing at an interesting stain on the hem of Martha’s gown. “We will visit you later though, to make sure all is well.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Martha couldn’t remember enjoying any bath as much as this one.

  The wooden tub was small, barely wide enough to accommodate her hips, but the steaming hot water felt like heaven on her skin. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the tub’s high wooden back, listening to the crackles and pops of the fire in the hearth.

  She fumbled under the water for the chunk of the scented soap Sylvie had given her and lathered her hair until it was stiff with lavender-scented bubbles.

  Forge lay in a prime spot by the fire. Raising his head, he grumbled in protest when she splashed him during her rinse cycle. With one last sour look, he put his head back between his paws and went to sleep.

  When the water grew too cool to sit in, Martha stood up and gave herself a final rinse using another bucket of water that sat warming on the hearth. Then, wringing out her hair—now sweetly fragrant and squeaky clean—she stepped from the tub and wrapped herself in the linen sheet Sylvie had given her.

  The older woman had packed many other things into the small wicker hand basket she’d thrust on her, back at the Great Hall. As wel
l as the cleaning supplies, there was also bread, cheese, milk, and a bladder of ale.

  Martha had laughed. “Anyone would think I was going away for a week.” But she appreciated Sylvie’s kindness. Without her, the last few days would have been very bleak indeed.

  Vadim’s absence gnawed at her insides, niggling away, no matter what she did or how tired she was. And the sorrow of losing her aunt along with the rest of the twenty-first century wasn’t getting any easier to handle, either, no matter how hard she tried to block them from her mind. Not thinking too much was the only way she knew to hang onto her sanity. If she was actually sane to begin with.

  One thing was for sure. As each day passed, it grew harder to cling to her dream theory. This world felt very real indeed.

  She rummaged in one of the chests and found one of Vadim’s old shirts. She dared not wear her modern clothes, just in case anyone decided to pay her a visit, so Vadim’s stuff would have to do. The shirt was a little threadbare and much too big. The hem stopped just above her knees, and the neckline was positively indecent. But it was clean and bore only the faintest trace of man-scent. She resisted the urge to sniff it, determined to get her silly crush back under control.

  Braving the cold and the snow, Martha hauled the tub outside, water sloshing everywhere. With difficulty, she managed to empty the water into the pit without seeing any of their neighbours. Then she dragged the tub back indoors and filled it with more hot water, this time for her stinking clothes.

  She reached for another chunk of soap, this piece designed specifically for laundry purposes, and began scrubbing at her dress. Her mind began to drift as it usually did when occupied with simple tasks.

  Of all the things she missed from her old world, excluding her aunt and indoor plumbing, it was communication she missed most. If Vadim lay dead or injured upon the mountain, how would she learn of it? In Darumvale, mobile phones weren’t even a distant dream, especially since he’d thrown hers into the fire.