She nodded. “Yes.” Hot tears blurred her vision and slid down her cheeks when she blinked. “I understand.”
Their whispered conversation ended with Vadim’s arrival.
“Have you been reading Martha’s future, Ma?” he asked, looking from one woman to the other.
Martha hurriedly swiped a hand over her face in a useless attempt to disguise her tears. He knew. She saw it in his smile; it looked unnatural, forced.
“So? What awaits us down the road, my love?” The lightness of his voice was unconvincing. Extending his hand to Martha, Vadim pulled her to her feet. “Are our children going to be troublesome? It cannot be good news, for you look so unhappy.”
“N-not at all.” Martha switched on her own fake smile. “Ma was just…suggesting a treatment for my chapped hands.” They were a little rougher these days, true enough.
“Indeed.”
As feeble as her lie had been, Vadim didn’t challenge it. There followed a brief, uncomfortable silence. He studied her face as if he’d find the truth there, if he looked hard enough. Afraid that he would, Martha looked away.
“I shall have something ready for you tomorrow,” Ma muttered, rising stiffly from her seat. She picked up the cauldron full of clean utensils and hooked it over her arm. “Now, I must put these away.”
As soon as Ma was gone, Vadim drew Martha toward him until she was within the warm circle of his arms. To the casual observer, it must’ve looked as though the newly weds were having a cuddle. The truth was much less pleasant.
“What did she see?” He murmured against her ear. She shivered as his warm breath brushed over her skin. “We have no secrets between us now, remember?”
How can I ever forget?
“It’s nothing.” Martha looked into his eyes and attempted another fake smile. “Just a bit of nonsense, that’s all. I certainly don’t believe in such rubbish.”
Vadim stroked the back of his hand over her cheek. “Ma’s ability is not nonsense. Her visions have saved me many times. What did she tell you?”
“I can’t.” She looked down at her hands, palms resting on his leather jerkin. “Please don’t ask me.”
“But I must.” He raised her chin with his index finger, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me, m’lady.”
Unable to resist his will, she caved and whispered the prophecy to him. As she spoke, Martha played with his hair where it rested on the breast of his jerkin. Vadim listened without interruption.
“Is that all?” he asked when she fell silent.
“That’s not enough for you?” She accidentally tugged at his hair, making him flinch. “Sorry.” Disentangling her fingers from his hair, she continued her whispered rant. “Oh, why did I ever let her read my hand in the first place? What am I talking about? It’s a hand, not a book. No one can really predict the future.”
“Ma can,” Vadim replied. He took her hands, holding them within the warmth of his. “It is fortunate we have warning of what lies ahead.”
She envied his calmness. “Forgive me if I don’t see it in quite the same way.” Did nothing ever ruffle his feathers?
“The future is not fixed, Martha. It shifts and changes like pebbles in a river.”
“Really?” She didn’t believe him, however nice he made it sound. “So, why couldn’t Ma see me? Have I gone home or—”
“You will not die, my lady,” he assured her, demonstrating some funky mind-reading skills of his own. He clasped her hands tighter. “That will never happen. Not while I am here to protect you.” The way he looked at her made her heart flutter. “When spring comes, I will find Madoc, the seer, and attempt to find a way to send you home.” He raised her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss upon each one in turn. “Believe in that.”
Believe in me, his eyes seemed to say.
I already do. Was that why the prospect of returning home didn’t thrill her anymore?
What am I thinking? She gave herself a mental slap. His tenderness was all for show. She’d do well to remember that. With a smile, she stepped away, reluctantly sliding her hands from his. Oh, he was fond of her. How could she doubt it? But his affection was that of a kindly brother, not of a lover.
“I know you’ll do your best for me, Vadim,” she said softly. “You always have.”
“Then do not vex yourself any further on this subject.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we rejoin the others?”
The short winter days gradually lengthened, and the snow retreated for another year. As the temperature climbed, the tips of fresh green shoots poked up shyly from beneath the soil, and swollen tree buds began to unfurl. Bird song resonated across the clear blue sky. Spring had finally come.
As life returned to the land, Darumvale woke from its long winter slumber. Suddenly, there were dozens of jobs to be done. On this particular day, Martha had been commandeered for field duties, and it was backbreaking work. The villagers hoed the earth by hand, preparing it for planting.
During the phase of the full moon—Sylvie told Martha it was important every crop be sown and reaped at its proper time—every man, woman, and child capable of work set to, planting the fields with, what would be, the first harvest of the year.
Martha straightened up from her stooping position, groaning as the little kinks in her back popped and cracked, and drew her sleeve over her damp brow. She was glad she’d worn her second-best dress. Her sturdy boots and the hem of her grey gown were already heavy with thick, cloying mud.
Taking a deep breath, she looked around. She was in the middle of a long line of villagers, each person allocated with a furrow to sow. A bag containing the precious seeds hung from the waist of every worker.
It was slow work. The human chain inched forward, stooping, scattering, and re-covering, before moving on to the next patch of bare furrow.
The sun felt hot on her head. For once, she was glad of her scarf’s protection. Shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare, she squinted into the blue sky. Sparse clouds like wisps of gossamer drifted overhead. It was so peaceful. She closed her eyes and listened to the bleats and moos of the livestock as they grazed themselves sick on the plump green grass in the top meadow.
A breeze tickled her face, chilling the sweat on her skin and giving her goose bumps. She smiled. It was impossible not to when she felt so good.
“What are you thinking about, milady?”
A voice to her left roused Martha from her waking dream. She turned to see Bren, a couple of paces ahead, grinning at her from an almost upside-down position.
“Have you heard news from your man today?”
“Actually, I have,” Martha replied with a smile. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
But her words were meant as a joke, and the smith’s wife knew it. Over the course of the winter, the two women had become close, their initial liking growing into friendship. While Martha loved Bren’s bluntness, Bren seemed to appreciate having someone around who never took offense at her words—and who frequently gave as good as she got.
“A tinker called at the hall this morning, asking for me.” Martha bent over and continued planting, hurrying until she drew level with Bren.
“And do you intend telling me what this tinker had to say?” Bren pushed a piece of grizzled hair back under her scarf with a filthy hand. “Or perhaps it is too depraved to be repeated in polite company?”
Martha snorted. “Polite company—you? Hah!” She reached into the bag at her waist and withdrew a fistful of seeds. “If you must know, Vadim sent word that I should expect him by the end of the week. Satisfied?”
Even repeating the words was enough to set her blood racing. The killer butterflies in her stomach went wild. Vadim had been gone for three weeks this time, his longest absence yet. At first, it was difficult without him, especially at night, but she’d adapted. Eventually. But it disturbed her to learn just how much she’d come to depend on him.
Living with Vadim was easier than she’d ever imagined it would be. They’d while
d away the long winter nights in conversation, frequently shunning the bright lights of the Great Hall in favor of their own fireside. While Vadim educated her about Erde, Martha, in turn, described life back in her world. The hours were too brief for all they had to say.
In all that time, Vadim behaved like a true gentleman, not once stepping over the invisible line of friendship—much to Martha’s disappointment. It was like living with her best friend.
This time, he’d been gone too long. She missed his companionship, his voice, his smile, and even his snoring. In short, she missed…him. Standing there, in the middle of the field, sweating and ankle deep in mud, Martha finally accepted what her heart had known for some time. There was no point denying it to herself anymore.
I just love him.
She smiled. The words made her fizz with happiness from head to toe.
It wasn’t a sudden revelation, borne on the wings of thunderclaps and accompanied by the trumpets of an angelic host. For her, love had come slowly, dripping into her heart, bit by bit, day after day. Now, it was full of Vadim. How had he managed to become so very dear without her knowing it?
“I am heartily glad to hear it,” Bren said, dragging Martha back to the present. “You have been as dour as Old Mother Galrey since he went away.”
“I have not.” Mother Galrey was renowned for her gloomy disposition. “I’ve just been a bit tired, that’s all. Some of us aren’t accustomed to rooting about in mud all day long.” That was true enough. On some nights, she was asleep before the birds had sought their beds. This new life made her body ache, unaccustomed as it was to the demands of such regular physical toil.
“Is that so?” Bren straightened up and stretched her back. “Then, perhaps you ought to return to your former life, milady,” she sneered. “Let us hope your noble family do not object too strongly to having an outlaw for a son-in-law, hmm?”
“God, you’re an evil woman, Bren.” But Martha laughed. She felt so happy she would have laughed at anything. “I don’t know how poor Jared puts up with you.”
“He has no choice.” Bren gave a horsy-looking grin. “We are bound until death. He cannot escape me now.”
As Bren stared off into the distant mountain range and took a well-earned breather, Martha returned to her planting, nursing her new-found love within her heart.
One of the women began to sing. Other voices, male and female, joined in. Soon the field was awash with song. Although some of the singers weren’t particularly tuneful, taken as a whole, it was a fairly harmonious sound. Martha found her rhythm again, humming along as she worked.
Life as a glorified farm laborer was hard, but it was strangely satisfying. There was something about physical labor, the kind that left a person bone-weary and sore at the end of the day. She’d never slept better nor felt so at peace. Even thinking about Tony didn’t bother her anymore. His betrayal no longer caused her pain. Aunt Lulu was her only regret. A fleeting thought crossed her mind.
What if I stay? With the exception of Lulu, what did home have that was worth going back to? Not the material stuff, but the things that really mattered.
She instantly pushed the thought aside, dismissing it as rubbish. She didn’t belong in this primitive place. It wasn’t her home. Was it?
Could you leave him now, even if there was a way?
Before she could give the matter any more thought, Bren called to her again. “It seems he could not wait until the end of the week, after all.”
“Huh?” Martha straightened up and looked in the direction Bren was pointing.
“Is that your lord and master?”
A fast-moving horse and rider hurtled down the road towards them, kicking up dust behind it. Martha shielded her eyes and squinted—long-distance vision wasn’t her thing. Her heart skipped. It looked like Vadim. The man’s face was covered, his cloak billowing behind him in a dancing grey banner. But as he drew nearer, she realized her mistake. It wasn’t him. The rider was too short, his build was too broad, and his hair wasn’t black but a golden-brown.
From its glorious expectant heights, her heart crashed back down to earth. “It isn’t him.”
Bren put a clumsy arm about Martha’s shoulders. “I am sorry, lass. Curse my weak eyesight.”
The sound of approaching hooves had roused the other villagers. Rising as one, they stood up from their sowing and watched the rider’s progress.
When he reached the boundary of the field, the man reined his horse to a swift halt. Swinging one leg over the horse’s neck, he leapt to the ground, and marched across the field to where Sylvie stood waiting, hoe in hand.
The rider stopped before her, briefly bowing his head. “I must speak with the Chief on a matter of urgency,” he said.
“Seth is out with a hunting party.” Sylvie wiped her dirty hands on her work apron. “Perhaps I might serve in his stead?”
The rider seemed to consider her offer.
Why hadn’t he removed his mask? Except for a pair of intense blue eyes, the man’s face remained hidden. Was he another outlaw? One of Vadim’s merry men?
He watched warily as the villagers gravitated to Sylvie’s side. They were protecting Sylvie. The village had closed ranks against an outsider. Flock mentality or not, Martha drew closer to Sylvie too. Although the rider was the only one wearing a sword, he was vastly outnumbered. Simple farmers though most of the villagers were, Martha wouldn’t fancy getting a clout from one of their hoes.
“Very well,” he said at last. “Then perhaps we might speak in private?”
Sylvie nodded. Dispersing her human shield with a glance, she accompanied the stranger from the field.
They spoke together for several minutes.
During that time, no one returned to work. Instead, the villagers leaned motionless on their tools, fixing the rider with the considerable weight of their combined stare.
“Who do you think he is?” Martha whispered to Bren, unwilling to disturb the silence which had fallen on the field.
Bren shrugged. “Looks like one of Vadim’s outlaw friends to me. They do visit us occasionally, although we never see their faces. This fellow must be new, though. I do not recognize him or his horse.”
When Sylvie came back, she looked pale. For once, her ready smile was absent. “Grim tidings, my friends. The Earl and his company are on the road as we speak. They will be with us within a few hours. It is likely they will spend the night here in Darumvale.”
At this, there were many groans of dismay.
Sylvie scanned the assembled faces until her eyes rested on Martha. “Martha, my dear,” she said gently. “You cannot remain here, not whilst the Earl and his men are in residence. You understand why.”
Oh, shit. Her stomach plummeted. Not only was she supposed to be Vadim’s wife, but a runaway noblewoman too.
“Go home and prepare. You may be gone for several days, but pack lightly…”
Several days?
“…you are ready, come to the Hall.” Sylvie picked her way through the furrows towards her. She took Martha’s hand, her grey eyes glistening. “I must ask you to go away with this man—”
“Him? No way!” The protest flew from her lips before she could stop it. “I don’t know him from Adam. For all we know, he could work for the Evil Earl. Does anyone here recognize him?” She glanced at the other villagers for support. There were several murmurs in her favor. “See?”
“Please, m’lady.” Sylvie grasped her shoulders. “We are wasting time. Harken to me, Martha. Do you believe I would send you away with someone I did not trust? This is one of Vadim’s men. We have passwords for such occasions as these, and since the gentleman has provided me with the correct answers to my questions, I am assured he is who he claims to be.”
Martha chewed her lower lip. She didn’t want to leave the village in the company of a complete stranger. Like it or not, Darumvale was her home now, albeit temporarily. It was familiar…safe. Her blood ran cold at the prospect of leaving, but it seemed sh
e had little choice in the matter. If the Earl recognised her as Vadim’s companion, the villagers would pay the price for sheltering them. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll go and grab my things.”
Bren accompanied her back to the house, helping her cram her few belongings into one of Vadim’s spare back packs. Martha attached a small knife to her belt then pulled on her cloak, Ma’s warning still ringing in her head: ‘Trust no one.’ She had no intention of doing otherwise.
As they approached the Great Hall, Forge lolloped up, barking and whining, sensing an adventure in the offing. The rider stood waiting, surrounded by a crowd of villagers, holding the reins of his huge black horse. The large animal pawed at the ground, obviously eager to be gone. A bundle of food hung from its saddle, courtesy of Sylvie and Ma, no doubt.
When Martha arrived, the rider bowed his head. “We will have to share the horse,” he said. “I hope you have no objection.”
“None at all,” she replied. “Just as long as I get to ride at the back.” The last thing she wanted was him breathing down her neck. No, she wanted him right where she could see him.
The stranger seemed as impatient as his horse, stamping his feet and fiddling with his gloves while the women hugged and said their goodbyes. Eventually, he swung up into the saddle of his restless steed, and extended his hand down to Martha. “Come,” he said.
With great reluctance, she gave him her hand, and with the help of two old men, boosting her up from behind, Martha was finally seated behind the rider.
“Return to your work,” he told the assembled crowd as his horse skittered beneath him. “The Earl must suspect nothing.”
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