Hemlock

by N. J. Layouni

  That’s it? Seriously? It was positively chaste. Like being kissed by an aged relative. Apart from the sensation of his well-groomed beard tickling her face, she’d felt nothing from him.

  Whatever magic they’d had, it was well and truly gone. For him, at least.

  More people arrived to shake Vadim’s hand. All Martha could do was stare up at him from beneath the shelter of his arm. He hadn’t been the same since the night they’d kissed out in the snowstorm.

  Tony hadn’t liked kissing her, either. He’d said kissing was for teenagers. Funny how he’d forgotten about that on the day she discovered him with his tongue stuck down the back of his boss’s throat.

  Were her kisses really that terrible? She looked at Vadim, who was smiling at something Orla had said. Yes. She supposed they must be.

  The days slipped by, gradually turning into weeks. Despite Martha’s hopes that Darumvale was nothing more than a vivid dream, she never woke up. At last, she was forced to admit that it was real. All of it.

  Somehow, she’d fallen into a medieval world, and there seemed little hope of getting out again.

  Vadim was seldom there. No matter how early she woke, when she opened her eyes, he would already be gone, his bedroll folded and neatly stashed away. It was as if he’d never been in the cottage at all. Although she’d offered to let him have the bed sometimes—without her in it, of course—he always politely refused.

  At first, his morning vanishing act upset her. But now, as with so many other things, she’d grown accustomed to it, accepted it. It was just another cog in her routine. Like knowing she wouldn’t see him again until nightfall.

  She sought solace from her misery in her daily routine. Today, as every other day, once her solitary breakfast was over, she washed and dressed then set out for the Great Hall, Forge snuffling in the snow beside her. She smiled. The dog was the only joy she had.

  Up at the big house, Sylvie and Ma were always pleased to see her, accepting her presence without question. They always had plenty of chores to keep her occupied. Of course, she could have cooked, baked, and darned at her own house, but Martha preferred the company of other women to the alternative of endless hours of solitude.

  “You need a baby in your belly, lass,” Ma commented when Martha asked Sylvie for cloths to deal with her period, which had finally decided to arrive.

  “I don’t think I’m very fertile,” she replied with a shrug, ignoring the fleeting and delicious thought of carrying Vadim’s child within her. “Thanks, Sylvie.” Taking the bundle of rags, she headed for the privy. But in her haste to get outside, she dropped one of the cloths. As the door closed behind her, it snagged the rag beneath it. Cursing beneath her breath, Martha pushed the door a little, attempting to pull it free.

  From where she crouched, she could clearly hear Sylvie and Ma’s conversation. They had their backs to the door and were so engrossed with dipping candles into a pan of melted tallow they didn’t notice she was still there.

  Ma shook her silver head with concern. “There is something not right there, you heed my words, daughter.”

  “Yes,” Sylvie agreed.“She has certainly not been her merry self of late. And even Seth has commented on Vadim’s long absences, and he seldom notices anything of a delicate nature, as you well know.” Sylvie attached her candle to the drying rack. “Could they have quarreled, do you think? But, no. They always appear so united in public.”

  Martha finally yanked the rag free and stood up. They’re talking about me! Her cheeks burned hot. Although eavesdroppers rarely heard anything good about themselves, she listened anyway.

  “As do many a couple trapped in a bad marriage,” Ma remarked grimly. “How long did they know one another before they were joined?”

  “Only a few weeks, I think.” Sylvie took the candle Ma handed her, being careful not to bend it as it was not properly set.

  “Ah, the foolish lad. Whatever was he thinking? The life he leads is unsuitable for any woman, let alone one who is a danger to herself when left unsupervised. Do the Nobles teach their daughters anything of value, I wonder? I have—”

  Unable to listen to anymore, Martha marched away to the privy, anger burning in her stomach. Even Ma and Sylvie thought she was useless. And they were right. In this world she was nothing but a burden. No wonder Vadim couldn’t stand being around her.

  When she returned to the Great Hall, she believed she had her anger back in check.

  Sylvie looked up from her task. “Oh, there you are, my dear. We were beginning to wonder where you were. Come and sit down.”

  The compassionate look in Sylvie’s eyes was more than she could bear. Even Ma’s eyes were glistening. She knew what they were thinking. Poor Martha. She can’t even get pregnant, let alone keep her hot new husband interested.

  Martha forced a smile and approached the fire. No wonder they’d been talking about her. Her fake marriage didn’t even convince her anymore. Everywhere she went these days, she was aware of the sympathetic glances and whispers that followed her. The women thought Vadim had married too soon and was now paying the price: trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman who couldn’t even provide him with a son and heir. It was humiliating. Vadim didn’t have to suffer the gossips as she did. She longed to shout the truth, to be free from this miserable deception. But she couldn’t.

  She was trapped. Caged in on every side. And no one could hear her screaming.

  Enough was enough. A new feeling of strength washed over her. “Actually,” she said with a brightness she certainly didn’t feel, “I think I’ll take Forge for a walk.” She rubbed her stomach. “These cramps are absolute murder. A bit of exercise usually shifts them.”

  Her statement generated more sympathetic glances.

  Martha clenched her fists, her cheeks prickling. If she didn’t get out of this place in the next ten seconds, she really would scream.

  “Of course, dear,” Sylvie smiled. “Do not wander far, though. There will be more snow before the day is out.”

  Martha ground her teeth, Really? More snow. What a bloody surprise. She was sick to the gills of the wretched stuff. And of everything else here, too.

  “I won’t.” She grabbed her shawl and headed for the door. “Come on, Forge.” The dog hauled himself up from beside the fire and trotted outside after her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Several of her neighbors called out to her as she marched from the village. Martha smiled but kept on walking, not being in a suitable mood to exchange more pleasantries. With a sigh of relief, she stepped out of Darumvale and onto the North road. Despite its grand title, it was little more than a mud track, edged on either side by tall, naked hedgerows which protected it from the worst of the snow.

  She found she could get up quite a pace in her new leather boots. Vadim had given them to her one night after returning from one of his mystery jaunts. She thanked him but didn’t ask where he’d got them from.

  More loans from his secret woman, no doubt. It was fortunate they shared the same shoe size.

  Martha walked for miles, seeing nothing and hearing nothing. Rage fueled her pace. The flames of anger within her heart burned out of control, unchecked for once. It was good to be herself again. Angry. Miserable. But free. She was so sick and tired of pretending.

  Martha cursed and swore as she marched—venting her spleen, as Aunt Lulu called it.

  Stupid, gossiping people with their narrow views on life. What the feck did they know? Who were they to feel sorry for her?

  Ever so slowly, her temper burned itself out. Only when her heart fell silent, finally rid of all its fury, did she stop walking. Panting and red-faced, she sat on a snow-covered rock at the side of the road. Her butt was soon wet and cold, but she didn’t care. What did it matter? What did any of it matter when she was stuck in a place that shouldn’t even exist?

  She looked up at the perfect sky. “I just want to go home!” she yelled, startling several sparrows into flight. Forge ambled over and laid
his head upon her lap, regarding her intently with his wise brown eyes.

  “Don’t you start.” Martha laughed bitterly as she stroked his head. “I don’t need anyone else feeling sorry for me today.”

  To her dismay, she couldn’t stop laughing. She laughed until her ribs ached, and tears streamed down her cheeks. And just when she thought she would die from it, the insane laughter ended. Then the sobbing arrived. Quietly at first, it built in violence until her whole body quaked with the force of her misery. The sorrow she’d kept locked away for so long broke free, gushing from her eyes in a hot, bitter torrent that left her weak and trembling in its wake.

  Wake? That was exactly it. She felt…bereaved. As if her home, life, family, and friends had died en masse on one extraordinary day. Even the woman she used to be was gone, leaving nothing but a pale ghost in her place.

  If my world really has gone for good, what am I going to do?

  Obviously, being Vadim’s wife wasn’t the answer. The role only added to her misery.

  The weak winter sun broke through the clouds. Closing her eyes, Martha tilted her face to absorb its gentle rays, welcoming its pale warmth into her body. In her haste to escape the village, she hadn’t bothered to fetch her cloak. At least she’d brought her shawl. But as she reached over her shoulder to find it, she discovered her shawl was gone. Dropped somewhere on the road between here and Darumvale, no doubt.

  “Shit!” She shivered as the sweat cooled upon her skin. Crossing her arms, she gave herself a hug. God knew she needed one.

  For the first time that day, she noticed the scenery. Huge mountains dominated the skyline in every direction. White summits brushing against the fat gray clouds, blocking their way and forcing them to travel in another direction. Martha felt as if she were looking out from the mouth of a gigantic imaginary crocodile.

  And there, stretching out in the distance, lay a thin, dark ribbon of road weaving its way to… Where?

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looked back along the road she’d traveled. Far, far away were the hills where Vadim had found her. Where was he now? Plotting and scheming with his fellow outlaws, no doubt. Poor Vadim. He might be an arse, but he was a well-meaning arse. He didn’t need the added complication of a woman in his life. Especially one who meant nothing to him. But he was a man of honour. She knew that he wouldn’t abandon her now.

  Yeah. That’d probably violate some obscure law of his Outlaw code.

  As a small symbol of rebellion, Martha took off her hated headscarf and let her hair flow free for once. The breeze took hold of the chestnut waves and tossed them playfully into the air, tangling them into a wild mess.

  She didn’t care.

  No matter what it took, she wanted to be herself again. She looked down at the dress she was wearing. Yet another part of her disguise.

  Perhaps out of pity for Martha’s non-existent wardrobe, Orla had finished the burgundy gown in record time. It fit beautifully, flattering her curves. The front lacing was supportive and kept her boobs in such good check beneath the scooped neckline that she no longer needed her tatty old bra. Her figure had never looked so good. Everyone said how well the dress suited her.

  Everyone except Vadim.

  When she’d arrived home, wearing the gown for the first time, he just looked up from the arrow he was fletching and asked how much silver Orla required for her services. When Martha told him, he threw a couple of coins onto the table before returning his attention to his stupid arrows. That was it.

  His lack of interest hurt. The Vadim she’d known was gone, along with everything else that mattered. Apart from Forge—she looked over to where the dog lay sleeping on a patch of dry earth he’d found beneath the hedgerow—she had no real friends. Sylvie and the other women were great, but the need for secrecy prevented her from the honesty true friendship required.

  If they ever discovered how she’d deceived them, they’d hate her.

  She yawned, suddenly weary to her bones. For the past week, she’d slept badly, haunted by dreams of her former life. As the sun vanished behind a dark cloud, she became aware of how bitterly cold it was. Perhaps it was time to head back to the village. She got up and rubbed her numb backside.

  “Come on, Forge. Let’s go home.”

  Home. If only it were that simple.

  Dusk arrived, and the snow Sylvie had predicted came with it, drifting steadily from the leaden sky. Martha chewed her lip. She’d been walking for what seemed like hours, and still Darumvale was nowhere in sight. Fear twisted her stomach. A night out in the open was a death sentence. She stumbled, clutching at Forge’s furry back to steady herself. To his credit, the dog made no protest and continued to pad quietly at her side.

  “Wait a s-second, sweetheart.” Shivering violently, she wrapped the headscarf about her face as a flimsy barrier against the biting cold. It wasn’t much, but it helped a little.

  They kept moving, plodding through the swirling snowflakes as day turned to night. By now, she was beyond cold. She couldn’t feel her fingers and toes anymore. Why the hell had she walked so far? Idiot.

  As darkness fell, Forge came to a sudden stop in the middle of the road, his muscles tensing beneath her fingers. Something was out there. He began barking, a deep booming sound that shattered the night.

  “Shh. What is it?” Martha crouched beside his head. “What have you seen?” Had someone come looking for her? It wouldn’t be Vadim. He seldom came home before bedtime. Squinting through the gloom and the snow, she saw the faint shape of a fast-moving horse. Maybe it was Seth?

  No. It couldn’t be. According to village gossip, Seth wasn’t much of a rider anymore. A new and horrible thought occurred to her. What if the rider was, in fact, the Evil Earl? Unlikely as it seemed, she wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Come on, Forge,” she hissed, trying to drag the dog to the side of the track in the hopes they’d find a hiding place beneath in the hedgerow. But the stubborn animal wouldn’t move. Maintaining his position in the middle of the road, he barked louder than ever.

  She darted a look at the rider. He was getting closer. What should she do now? Hide and abandon Forge to his fate? Never. Loyalty won. Using a combination of brute force and coaxing, she managed to edge the dog to the side of the road as the horse thundered towards them. Martha clutched Forge’s hairy coat with her deadened fingers. With luck, the rider would simply pass them by.

  But he didn’t. The horse reined in, coming to a shuddering halt a little way from where they stood. Clouds like dragon’s smoke puffed from the huge animal’s twitching, snorting nostrils. Martha took a small step backward.

  Shrouded by a cloak and hood, the rider dismounted. He strode towards them, boots crunching through the snow. Forge stopped barking and began whining instead, his long tail wagging like a whip.

  Martha’s knees wobbled, but not through fear. She knew who the rider was.

  “Where in the name of all the Spirits have you been?”

  Vadim! But her relief was short-lived.

  He threw back his hood and ripped off his mask. “Well?” His eyes flashed beneath his dark, scowling brows. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Before she could stop him, he ripped the scarf from her face. “Answer me!”

  “I-I just went for a walk.” She couldn’t look away from him. Beneath his beard, a tic pulsed away in his firm jaw line. A sure sign of his anger.

  “A walk?” Finally, the explosion came. “You are still a league from home, you foolish girl, and you have been gone all day!” He glanced down at what she was wearing. “And without taking so much as a cloak?” His lips curved into a sardonic smile which increased her shivers. “Most rational people would consider that rather more than a simple walk.”

  Her temper flashed back to the ‘on’ position.

  “Don’t you dare shout at me!” she cried, facing him with her hands planted on her hips. “Who the hell do you think you are? I’m not your wife. I’m a free woman, and I’ll do whatever I choose,
whether you approve or not, your lordship!”

  Vadim’s eyes widened. He looked as though she’d slapped him, surprised and a little hurt too. “I was merely concerned about you, Martha,” he said in a softer voice. “We all were.”

  Were they indeed? Good. “Well you know what? You can take your concern and stick it up your—”

  “Martha!” Vadim reached for her, pulling her rigid body toward him. “Have I wronged you somehow?” His eyes searched her face as if they might find the reason for her outburst there.

  He really didn’t get it, did he? At least he wasn’t yelling at her anymore.

  “What is it?” he asked kindly. “Will you not tell me, hmm?”

  “No.” She tried to pull free, but he held her too firmly. His kindness was the last thing she needed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I might.”

  “Please don’t be nice to me. I don’t want to hear it. It’s all too little, too late, Vadim. Just… Oh, leave me alone.” She wanted to scream at him. She really did. But after the trials of the day, her anger was all used up. She bowed her head, too exhausted for an argument. What was the point in fighting anyway? It wouldn’t change anything.

  ***

  Vadim lowered his head, attempting to look into her eyes. “Ma thinks you are disappointed because I failed to plant my son in your womb this cycle,” he said with mock seriousness. “Could she be right, perhaps?”

  Martha’s giggle reassured him immensely.

  “Oh, no!” As she looked up, her mouth curved into a smile. “She really said that?” Her swollen and blotchy eyes were irrefutable evidence of the many tears she must have shed this day.