“Not a bad job either, girl.”
A compliment? From the wicked witch of the North? Martha uncovered her face and was disturbed to witness Mother Galrey’s smile. It looked…genuine.
Haven’t I had enough shocks for one day?
But the biggest shock of all had rekindled the fire in her heart. Flames of hope burned out of control, despite her attempts to put them out. After all, Ma might be mistaken. Please, God, don’t let her spooky powers be wrong this time.
Martha gave it an hour, then ventured out of Old Mother Galrey’s house, the warnings of the older women echoing in her ears. She crossed the street, dodging a horse and cart that were being driven by one of her former neighbours. The man—she couldn’t remember his name—turned his head away when he saw her and spat in the street.
I’m crossing you off my Christmas card list, pal.
But she let it go. She had bigger things to worry about.
When she reached the Great Hall, she pressed her ear against the door and listened. Nothing. She pushed the door open a fraction, wincing when it creaked. It was quiet. Taking a deep breath, Martha opened the door a little wider.
“Seth?” Her voice sounded timid.
Why am I trembling? Seth wouldn’t harm her. He was a gentle soul.
But she’d misjudged Anselm. Maybe the apple had got his nasty pips from the tree?
Let’s just get it over with.
“Seth?” She pushed the door open and walked inside. “It’s me, Martha. Are you here?”
“Martha?” Seth’s voice drifted through the smoky hall. “It cannot be…she has gone.” His speech wobbled, but he didn’t sound angry or violent.
“It is me. I came back this morning.” Her cautious feet knocked against something solid. She glanced down. A broken pot. Several more lay smashed on the floor nearby. Okay, maybe he was angry. He sounded all right now, though.
“Seth?” Was he crying? It sounded that way. Then, she saw him, sitting by the fire with his head in his hands. A barrel of ale placed at his side kept him company. “Are you all right?” She flinched, annoyed with herself. Of course, he’s not all right. Sylvie’s dead, and you destroyed her shrine.
“She’s gone, Martha. My woman is…”
“I know.” Martha hovered at the other side of the fire, staring at the Chief. He looked up at her, his eyes red and swollen. His head swayed gently, as if he were on his own private boat. “I’m so sorry Sylvie died…” She’d read somewhere it was important to use the word ‘dead’ to a bereaved person—not sleeping, gone, or in heaven. “She was a good friend to me. I’ll miss her very much.”
Seth nodded, gently listing slightly on his bench. “Aye. Thank you, m’lady.”
Martha took another deep breath. “There’s something else I’m sorry for.” She gripped her skirts and prepared to run. Say it. “I’m the one who cleaned this place. I didn’t know you liked it…the way it was.” Seth’s eyes narrowed. “I only wanted to help. Please forgive me.”
Seth closed his eyes and raked his hands through his long red hair. It looked matted and wild. He exhaled like a bull.
Martha’s legs tensed, ready to run.
Suddenly, he smiled. Just a tiny one, but it was something. “Forgive you? For what?” He shrugged. “Your heart meant well. I thought Mother Galrey had done it out of spite.” He spoke carefully, as if trying to disguise his drunken state from her.
Her heart contracted with pity for the poor, dear man. No longer afraid, she walked around the fire and sat down on the bench beside him. “Ma told me what happened. I’m more sorry than I can say.” She extended her hand to him. Hesitating for only a moment, Seth clasped it with his large, rough paw.
“Aye.” He nodded several times, sucking on his lower lip as if he was fighting back tears.
To give him time to regain his composure, Martha directed her gaze to the fire, still holding onto the Chief’s hand.
How soon could she ask him about Vadim without her appearing insensitive?
In the end, she didn’t have to.
“You came back to claim your man, then? I wondered when we might see you again.”
Martha sighed. I’m not lying to this man anymore. He deserves the truth.
“Vadim isn’t my husband, Seth. We’re just friends—and not even that half the time.”
Seth snorted with laughter and let go of her hand, blushing a little. “That is exactly what he said you would say.”
“What?” Martha frowned. “You already know? Sweet baby Jesus! Am I the only one in Darumvale who thought this was secret? Who else knows, for fecksake?”
Seth grinned and poured them both some ale. “Just us. Ma and myself.” He handed Martha a large mug of the frothing, fragrant brew. “Your secret is safe.”
She raised the ale to her lips and chugged half of it down, plucking up her courage to speak. Ask him. Do it now.
“Ma read my hand. She says Vadim’s still alive.” She wiped froth from her lip with the back of her hand. “Is it true?”
Seth studied her for a few moments, as if considering whether to tell her or not. The killer butterflies in her stomach had migrated north, filling her chest and throat with their gentle flutterings.
“Do you want it to be true, Martha?” Seth seemed very sober all of a sudden. His blue eyes were steady now.
What kind of answer is that? “Of course I do.”
“Why?”
“What?” Martha scowled.
“Do you care for him? Is that it?”
Why was he interrogating her like this? “Yes. I care. Okay?” Just tell me. “Please, Seth, stop arsing around and tell me he’s alive, will you?”
Seth smiled. “He lives.”
“Oh, thank you, God!” Martha leapt to her feet and did a little jig, spilling the ale in her tankard. “Ye-es!” The killer butterflies buzzed around in her head. She felt light, dizzy with joy. The ale probably enhanced this effect, though.
Seth’s jaw dropped as Martha bent her arms and proceeded to waggle her butt from side to side. “Whatever are you doing, girl?”
“A happy dance.”
“Ah. Of course.” Seth shook his head and started muttering to himself.
“Okay. I’m done.” Martha sat back down on the bench. The dancing could wait. Before Seth shut down again, there was something else she needed to know. Desperately so. “Where is he now?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Red light and shadows danced over his eyelids. Unfortunately, even with his eyes closed, he could still hear. He yearned for the silence and comfort of the night. The dark was an undemanding companion. It did not speak. Nor did it choke him with unwanted kindness. The night gave him a taste of real peace. The kind only the dead can enjoy.
“How is he today?”
Take your muted concern and be gone!
“He does not improve, Mother.”
He could almost feel her tears. Why does she remain where she is not wanted?
“‘Tis to be expected, child. The wound almost killed him.”
Almost. The merest tremble of his sword hand would have spared me this grief.
“The moon has turned two cycles. He has healed. Why does he still not speak?”
He heard her sniffle. Then the pattering footsteps of the mother hastening to comfort her chick.
“Go outside, Orla. Breathe the air. Feel sunlight on your skin. I will watch him—”
“No.”
Harken to your mother, girl. Leave me in peace.
“He needs me.”
You? I think not.
His mind showed him another face instead. This woman he liked looking at. Chestnut hair blew in a wild tangle around her face, while her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. Her lips glistened; the fullness of the lower one seemed slightly swollen, as if she had just been soundly kissed.
I remember her. It was wintertime…in a snow storm. I held her beneath my cloak.
“Look. He is smiling, child.”
&n
bsp; “Oh, Mother!”
Vadim flinched when he felt a soft hand slide over his, resenting her intrusion.
“Are you awake, m’lord? Will you not sit up and eat? Do you need to…relieve yourself? Or shall I—”
If she attempts that again I shall crawl from this place, on my belly if I must. Insolent maid!
He sat up quickly, startling the two women at his bedside. He glared at them and held his hand out for the walking stick.
“Of course.” Orla raced to do his bidding. “Shall I accompany you, m’lord? You are still so weak.”
He ignored her and swung his legs slowly from the bed, ignoring the hovering concern of both women. The unaccustomed effort formed sweat beads upon his brow.
“Please, m’lord. Take my arm. Let—”
He silenced her with a glare. Orla’s eyes glistened. She stepped back and clung to her mother’s arm.
Muscles burning, he finally swayed to his feet and staggered for the door. They did not follow him outside.
***
“Seth, you’ve got to believe me. I am not one of the Evil Earl’s minions, no matter what Vadim might have said.”
“Yet you admit to a friendship with Anselm? From where I sit, the evidence against you is damning, m’lady.”
Despite Martha’s fears, Seth didn’t return to the dubious comfort of his ale barrel. Instead, he quizzed her about her whereabouts and doings of the past couple of months until her head spun with his questions, and her patience finally frayed.
“Go and see Ma, then.” Finally, Martha stood up, sick of his stalling. “She read my hand. She’ll back me up, I know she will.” Her need to be with Vadim again made her snappish.
At the mention of Ma, Seth looked down at the ground. “How can I face her, m’lady?” He ran his hand across his dirty, unkempt beard. “I have not seen her since the day Sylvie…”
“Was killed?” Martha’s heart softened again. The poor sweet man. She went over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Ma will understand. Anyone would after all you’ve been through. She’s your mother. She’ll—”
“Sylvie died by her own hand, Martha.”
“Say, what?” These words shocked her even more than the news of Sylvie’s death. “But I thought the Evil Earl—”
“She took poison. Rather than betray us any further with her words, she ended her own life.”
“Holy Mother of God!” Martha sank down onto the bench beside him, her legs suddenly weak. Sylvie killed herself? “I can’t believe it.”
Seth buried his chin into his chest, his shoulders shaking with silent grief. Martha took his hand and leaned her head against his arm in a useless display of comfort. No wonder he’s so messed up.
“If I could have only seen her. Spoken to her.” He said between sobs. “But they kept us apart until it was too late. She died…alone.”
Martha felt his arm muscle tense beneath her cheek.
Seth sat up, regarding her with his bloodshot eyes. The wrinkles in his face carried his tears away in tiny, glistening channels.
“Did she believe I would not forgive her?” he asked on a whisper. “Is that why she did it? That thought alone rips me apart.”
Say something. Lie if you have to, Bigalow. Make him believe you, or he’ll follow Sylvie and kill himself too. But his poison of choice will be ale.
She took a deep breath. “Seth. I didn’t know Sylvie long, but I know this much. She loved you with every fiber of her being.” Martha dabbed away his tears with her own handkerchief. “Don’t you see? It wasn’t you she couldn’t face, it was herself. Anselm used her love as a weapon. She couldn’t not love him—her only son. She loved the pair of you, that’s the problem.”
Martha gave a sigh. “It was an impossible situation for her, I see that now.” She held Seth’s prickly face between her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. “But know this,” she said fiercely. “The Earl and Anselm killed her just as surely as if they’d shot her.”
It was true. Between them, they’d mentally tortured Sylvie to her death. Martha shuddered. What if she ran into Anselm again? She didn’t know what she might do. That little fecker played me from the word go.
Seth nodded and drew the sleeve of his dirty shirt over his face. “Aye.” He sniffed hard and managed a shadow of a smile. “You might be right, lass.”
“There’s no might about it.”
“So, what will I do with the rest of my life, hmm?”
Martha shook her head. “I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid. What do you want to do—now, at this moment?”
Seth sniffed again, this time at his own armpit. “Have a bath?”
Martha giggled. “That’d be an excellent start.” He did smell a bit ripe. She stood up. “I’ll go and start boiling the water.”
While Seth went to visit Ma, Martha paced and twitched over at Bren’s house. This was difficult given the small dimensions of the place. Fortunately, her eldest son, Will, was out at work, having taken over the running of the smithy. Her other two children were out working in the fields.
“Ach! Sit down, Martha.” Bren looked up from the dough she was kneading. “You are as bad as the dog.” Forge kept pace with Martha, following her across the house and back. “Eat something.”
“I’m too stuffed with pottage.”
“Then go for a walk. You will not see Vadim any sooner with your mooching.”
“Okay. I’ll be out on the North road.” Martha clicked her fingers at Forge. “You’ll let me know as soon as Seth—”
“Yes. Just go!” Bren flapped her floury fingers, dismissing her with a smile.
Summer still bathed the land in a hot golden glow. Everywhere was green and flourishing. Forge gamboled about reacquainting himself with his favorite places, snuffling and rolling in, goodness knew what.
Martha was glad so many of Darumvale’s inhabitants had chosen to ignore her. She wanted to think, undisturbed. A couple of people raised their hands in greeting as she marched past the fields where they were working. Lifting her own hand in reply, she walked on.
Eventually, tired from aimlessly marching up and down the road, she settled down in the shade of a huge oak tree.
Somewhere out there, Vadim was alive. Bubbles of excitement floated and burst in her stomach at the prospect of seeing him again.
What kind of reception would he give her when she next saw him? The last time they’d been together, he’d accused her of being a traitor. But yelling at one another wasn’t the only thing they’d done.
Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the tree’s rough bark, remembering how he’d held her on that final day. Reliving the kisses they’d shared made her stomach flip. She loved the way he made her feel.
Even though he’d believed she was working for the Earl, there was no denying that he had still wanted her. In what capacity, Martha couldn’t say. Maybe he just fancied having a bed-warmer? But if that were true, why hadn’t he just taken her? Back then, her resistance had been zero at best.
How severe were his injuries? By all accounts, his attacker’s sword had impaled him like a kebab. It must have missed most of his internal organs—God knows how—or he really would be dead right now. Martha hugged herself, shivering as she imagined that strong, vital man cut down. His wounds must have been terrible. Why else would the Earl and Anselm believe he was dead?
She closed her eyes. Her yearning for Vadim was fast becoming a physical ache. Loving him was a kind of painful bliss. A more dreadful and wonderful thing than she’d ever known. Weary though she was, her legs were tense, ready to run to his side at a moment’s notice.
If only Seth would give me the fecking directions! How much longer would he be?
She scrambled to her feet and began pacing the road again, her arms still wrapped around her middle.
When Seth finally made an appearance, she didn’t notice him at first.
“Martha?” There he was standing beside her, all clean and pink-scrubbed, and smiling. “What are
you doing out here, lass?”
“Waiting for you.” She blinked and looked around. To her surprise, the sun sat much lower in the sky. She stopped walking. Her legs throbbed with fatigue. “Have you been with Ma all this time?”
“Aye. And Old Mother Galrey was not pleased to be turned from her hearth for so long, I can tell you.”
“I’ll bet she wasn’t.” Martha slid her hand through the crook of Seth’s arm when he offered it to her. Together, they ambled in the direction of the village. “Come, Forge.”
The dog looked up and yawned at Martha’s summons. He’d fallen asleep beneath the oak tree. Leaping to his feet, he gave himself a little shake, then padded silently after them.
“So, are you going to tell me where Vadim is, or must I beat the truth out of you?” Martha was too impatient to wait for Seth to broach the question that consumed her heart and mind.
Seth snorted with laughter. “I think I shall like this new honesty between us. Little wonder Vadim finds you so…”
“So?” She had no pride remaining where Vadim was concerned.
“Diverting.”
“What?” Like a road sign? Not exactly what she was hoping for.
Seth’s eyes twinkled. “Amusing.”
“Like a clown…I mean, a fool?”
“Ask me no more, lass. Vadim’s heart is his to reveal. I cannot know all of his deepest secrets.”
“Hmm.” Martha scowled. “And I bet you wouldn’t tell me anything even if you did.”
Seth inclined his head in acknowledgement of this fact.
“Then, where is he?” She scanned his face, searching for answers. “If you still don’t trust me just say so. I get the—”
“He is at my hunting lodge.”
Martha stopped walking and exhaled. Finally! “And where exactly is your lodge? Will you take me there?”
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