Seth nodded. “In the morning—”
“Oh, can’t we go now?” Martha clutched his arm and gave him her best puppy eyes. “The light will hold for ages yet. Besides, there’s a full moon.”
“Tomorrow, my lady.”
Seth wouldn’t be swayed, not now that he’d got his mojo back. Frustrating as this was, it was a good thing really.
They set off walking again, passing the last of the workers as they left the fields for the day. On seeing Martha on such apparently friendly terms with their Chief, one or two people who’d previously ignored her now offered her a smile. She returned the greeting in kind, much too happy to bear grudges. But her thoughts were elsewhere.
Tomorrow.
Her heart felt as if it were suspended on a length of elastic, boing-ing like crazy about her ribcage. At least if they went in the morning, she could spend the rest of the day doing a little self-improvement. Seth smelled better than she did right now, which was a rather sobering thought.
They walked on. The dust kicked up by the person on the path in front of them crunched unpleasantly between Martha’s teeth.
Something just occurred to her. “Who’s taking care of him? Surely he can’t be alone up there?”
“Orla and her mother are looking after him.” Seth darted a glance at her, suddenly looking suspiciously red in the face. “Though it seems Orla is the most devoted to his care.”
“Oh?” The hairs on the back of Martha’s neck all stood up, and heat tingled in her toes. “Is that so?” Pretty Orla with her lovely auburn hair. She’s single, isn’t she?
“Really?” A hissing, spitting green-eyed monster took up residence inside Martha’s heart. “How very…kind of her.”
Seth’s crimson flush spread to his ear-tips. He said nothing more, but a hint of a smile played upon his lips.
I’d say that qualifies as a warning. Fine. If that’s how it’s going to be, I’d better get myself weaponed up.
Martha spent the rest of the day preening at Bren’s house. The older woman proved to be a great ally to the cause. She sent her offspring to spend the night at the Great Hall while she helped prepare Martha’s bath.
Darumvale was no place for the prudish, and Martha was too wired to care. She sat in the tub, scrubbing herself in front of Bren’s fire, and all the while bitching about Orla.
Bren listened as she prepared supper, making the occasional sympathetic noise.
“He’s a married man, for fecksake.” Martha rubbed at her hair, whipping it up into a beehive of fragrant bubbles. “I thought morality mattered here.”
“But he is not married, is he, lass? They are both as free as the air.”
Perhaps rashly—because she considered Bren her best friend now—Martha had confessed the truth about her marriage. Sort of. But she omitted the part about being from another world. That would keep for some other time. Probably forever.
Martha scowled. “Yes. But unless Vadim told her, Orla doesn’t know that.”
“And let us, for the moment, suppose he has.” Bren picked up a bucket of water that hung warming beside the fire. “As far as anyone here is concerned, you left Vadim when he needed you the most. You went away with his outlaw friend, and you stayed away, long after the Earl had gone.” Bren dipped her fingers into the water to check its temperature. “Hold your breath.” She poured the water slowly over Martha’s head, rinsing the soap from her hair as she talked. “Can you not see how bad it looks, Martha? Caution is one thing, but you abandoned your wounded husband for weeks, and without good reason.” Bren sighed. “Can Orla be blamed for wanting to——
“Replace me?” Bren was right. It did look bad.
The older woman shrugged. “I was going to say, offer him solace. But perhaps you are right. Orla may well wish to replace you. And depending on how vulnerable Vadim is feeling, he may well have reconsidered your arrangement, yes.” A sudden look of sorrow clouded Bren’s hazel eyes.
Martha felt immediately guilty. “I’m sorry, Bren. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.” Not now, anyway. Was it fair that poor Jared was dead while Martha’s own fake husband still breathed? If Bren felt bitter, who would blame her. Not very tactful of you, Bigalow.
But Bren only smiled, and the clouds in her eyes faded. “Talk away, child. It does me good. It stops me dwelling on the things I cannot change. Hold your breath again.” She sloshed the remaining water over Martha’s head. “Just prepare yourself. Battle alters a man, as you must surely know.” With another heavy sigh, she placed the empty bucket on the hearth. “You may never get your Vadim back. Not as he was.” She handed Martha a sheet then turned away. “I would not have you go there tomorrow so unprepared.”
Wrapped herself in a bath sheet, Martha stepped from the tub, water pattering like rain onto the flagstone floor. Then she leaned over the bath and squeezed out her hair.
Had Vadim changed? Thank goodness for Bren. Without her, she might have been completely blown out of the water tomorrow. At least now she was prepared for the worst. If Vadim looked at her with hatred, or if he looked at Orla with affection, she was ready for it. No matter how much it hurt, Martha knew she could act her way out of any situation now.
Please, God. I know. I already owe you big-time, but please don’t let Vadim be in love with Orla.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Perhaps drinking mead into the small hours wasn’t the best way to prepare for what lay ahead. Nursing the mother of all hangovers, Martha trudged up the hillside following Seth and Forge. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of sunglasses!
Each footstep sent her brain crashing against the inside of her skull. She took another swig from her water-bladder. It was already half-empty, and her mouth still tasted like something from the bottom of a cage.
Good work, Bigalow. How will he ever be able to resist you? I bet Orla’s eyes aren’t bloodshot.
At least her gown looked good. That was some consolation. She glanced down at her moss-green skirt, swinging elegantly as she walked. It was made from the finest, softest wool— yet another purchase from the proceeds of poor Guy’s jewelery stash. To earn the price of the garment herself, she would’ve had to work for two months at the laundry back in Edgeway.
It was just as well she’d got herself a decent wardrobe. After today, she foresaw that a certain young seamstress wouldn’t be accepting any more of her orders.
“We are almost there,” Seth called over his shoulder.
Martha hadn’t the breath to reply. The sun beat down from a cloudless blue sky. She took off her headscarf and used it to wipe her face while the wind played havoc with her hair. She hoped Seth would give her a few minutes to prepare before they reached the lodge. Facing Vadim was going to be hard enough without looking like a total wreck when she got there.
The hill finally leveled off. Panting a little, Martha looked about her. They were on the edge of a wood. Birds twittered, hidden in the thick green canopy of leaves. It was such a peaceful place. The uppermost branches of the trees swayed and swooshed almost playfully in the breeze.
She followed Seth into the shadows at the edge of the clearing. The cool darkness was a relief after the brutal heat of the sun.
“Shall we sit for a while?” Seth led her to a fallen log. “Catch your breath. The lodge lies a little way along the path.” He pointed to a narrow trail, winding through the trees.
Forge was already snuffling there, nose pressed to the earth—reading his doggy mail, as Martha called it.
She dabbed her face and neck with her headscarf then smoothed back her hair before turning to Seth. “How do I look?”
“Hot,” he answered with a smile.
And Martha just knew he didn’t mean hot as in attractive. She made room for him to sit beside her on the log.
“I love it here.” Seth gazed up at the trees with wistful eyes. “Before Anselm was born, Sylvie and I used to come here often.”
“Do you have any other children?” Martha asked, wondering why she
’d never thought to ask this question before.
“No.” Seth closed his eyes and raised his face to the sun. Shadows of dappled sunlight played across his skin, filtering through the gently swaying trees. “His was a difficult birth, and I almost lost my Sylvie because of it. But good fortune was with me that day.” He sighed. “I know I should be grateful for all the happy years we shared, but I am not. The days were much too brief. A thousand years would not be enough to spend with such a woman.”
Martha patted his hand, her heart contracting with sympathy. What could she possibly say to that?
While Seth wandered in his memories, Martha reached into her backpack and retrieved a small phial of lavender water. She sprinkled the fragrant perfume liberally over her hair then patted some on her neck and face. It wasn’t deodorant, but it would have to do. The fresh, clean scent raised her spirits, quietening the snakes that twisted and writhed in her stomach. Every so often, her heart gave a little flutter of anticipation. The sensation made her feel slightly sick.
As much as she longed to see Vadim, she dreaded it too, fearing his rejection more than anything. Her anxiety reminded her of back when she was a child, and of the night before school commenced after the long summer break.
After a few minutes, Seth roused himself from his waking dream. He turned to look at her. “Are you ready then, m’lady?”
No. Martha stood up. “As I’ll ever be.”
In single-file, they followed the trail as it wound through the ever-deepening shadows of the trees. Finally, the path broke free of the forest and entered another clearing. There, standing before them was a small log cabin, its timbers bleached by many summers. But it looked sturdy and cosy. Several hens pecked and scratched in the dirt at the foot of the steps.
“Shall I go on ahead?” Seth asked.
Martha nodded. “If you don’t mind?” She laced her fingers together, trying to stop her hands from shaking.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Seth strode toward the house and clomped up the wooden steps. After rapping twice on the door, he walked inside.
Interminable moments passed. At last, the door swung open again. But it wasn’t Seth coming out. It was Orla.
The girl’s pretty face was twisted in an unpleasant expression. She slammed the door behind her and stomped down the steps. When she saw Martha, Orla’s eyes narrowed and she hurried towards her.
A block of ice formed in Martha’s stomach.She wasn’t going to be intimidated by a child. She set off to meet her rival.
“You finally came back, then?” Orla sneered.
They stood close, confronting one another like fighters at a pre-match press conference.
“As you see.” Martha smiled into Orla’s glacial blue eyes. The challenge she saw in them was unmistakable. And it was exactly what she needed to reboot herself. Heat tingled up from her toes, warming her blood as it swiftly rose up through her body, banishing her trembling nerves.
“Why did you bother?” Orla planted her hands on her hips, glaring at Martha with unveiled dislike. “Vadim does not want you now, and who can blame him? What kind of wife are you?”
At these words, hope flared in Martha’s heart. So he hasn’t told you? “Keep out of this, Orla. It’s none of your business.”
“I have been caring for him for the past two months.” Orla swung her lovely auburn tresses like a spirited horse. “That makes it my business, milady.”
“Wrong.” Martha smiled coldly. “That makes you his nurse, nothing more. But I’m sure we’re both very grateful for your diligence.”
It was childish, but when she saw the two pink spots of temper flushing Orla’s cheeks, she wanted to punch the air and shout, Yes!
The girl opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Without another word, she stormed away toward the trees.
Round one to me.
Forge ambled over and Martha bent down to pat him, still grinning to herself. The door swung open again. This time, Orla’s mother came down the steps.
Martha straightened up and nodded at the older woman as she approached. “Elsbeth.” What would her reception be this time?
To her great surprise, Orla’s mother smiled.
“Greetings, m’lady. It gladdens my heart to see you again.”
Really?
But Martha returned her smile. “Thank you for taking such good care of Vadim. Orla tells me you’ve been doing so for quite some time.”
“Aye.” Elsbeth’s smile faded. “And I can imagine her tone too. Forgive her, m’lady. The hearts of the young are quick in their wild imaginings. It is good you have come to break her attachment to my lord Vadim before it grows too strong.” Despite the heat of the day, Elsbeth swung a black shawl over her shoulders and tied the ends about her waist. “Not that your man is responsible for encouraging my daughter’s tenderness, you understand. Indeed, he has not spoken at all. Not since…”
Martha’s heart lurched. Good God. What’s wrong with him?
“I-I understood he received only the one sword wound?” Only!
“That he did, m’lady. No, this is some other affliction.” She gave a sigh. “I fear his spirit fled when death came too near.” She reached out and squeezed Martha’s hand. “Surely it will return to him now that you have come.” With a comforting smile, Elsbeth waddled off, following the trail her daughter had so recently taken.
Taking a deep breath, Martha walked towards the lodge. But as she approached the steps, her feet slowed. What should she do? Walk in? Knock?
In the end she didn’t have to decide. Seth opened the door and beckoned her inside.
“His eyes are closed,” Seth murmured as Martha walked by, “but I believe he heard my words.”
Martha nodded. She caught hold the Seth’s sleeve as he made to go outside. “D-did you tell him I was here?”
“Aye. I hoped the news might get a reaction but…” He shrugged. “Just do what you can, lass. If you need me, call out. I will be close by.” With these words, Seth left.
As the door closed behind him, it robbed the room of light. The gloom was oppressive. I can’t see a sodding thing. Heart hammering, and hardly daring to breathe, Martha tiptoed toward the tiny window and the faint light filtering through its blanket covering.
She stumbled over what she suspected was a low stool. Stooping to rub her aching shin, she limped to the window and folded the blanket back a fraction. Better.
A broad strip of daylight illuminated a path across the floor planks to a narrow bed in the far corner of the cabin.
Martha gasped. Holy Mother of God! Her hands flew up to her mouth. Vadim.
She hardly recognised him. Boots tip-tapping over the wooden floor, she hurried over to the bed and knelt beside it.
“Vadim?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He lay on his back, motionless, his face turned towards the wall. In the dim light, the deep hollows of his face were clear, despite his untidy beard.
He did not respond. His eyes stayed closed, sleeping within their sunken sockets.
Martha’s lower lip wobbled. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her. All of her previous joy withered at finding him in such a terrible state. His hand lay outside the cover, resting on his stomach. The sight of those long, beautiful fingers, so still and helpless, moved her to tears. She bit her lip, attempting to halt their silent flow.
My poor love. What have they done to you?
With quaking fingers, she touched his hand, half expecting to find it cold. But it was warm. Alive.
She curled her fingers around his. Still no reaction. “Oh, Vadim.”
Clinging tightly to his hand, she rested her cheek against his arm and closed her eyes. He smelled just as she remembered: leather, smoke, and his own clean man-scent. She inhaled deeply, reacquainting her lungs with him. Each breath transported her back in time, to a moment within his arms. She could almost hear his voice again—taste his kiss.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should’ve
never left you.” His shirt sleeve was already damp with her tears. She turned her head and pressed her nose against him, breathing in his heat and scent as it seeped through the thin linen.
He breathed so low she had to strain to hear it.
Maybe he really was dying? Oh, God, no.
***
He found her again in his dream. Martha? She was the scent of summertime, of lavender and wild mountain air.
Is it her? The woman who always waited for him in his sleep smiled and nodded. The waves of her hair shone like a chestnut fresh from its casing. Her lips moved soundlessly.
Martha.
How had he forgotten her? Consciousness beckoned, but he fought to stay within his dream. The scent of skin-warmed lavender roused him. It was real. His eyelids flickered.
Let me dream a while longer.
He knew that when he opened his eyes, his delusion of joy would fade, becoming the reality of that wretched girl, Orla.
As he recalled Martha’s name, the black wall within his mind crumbled. The bad memories were restored along with all of his most precious ones.
Martha.
A dream was all she could ever be. The last time he saw her, he had accused her of falsehood. Then he had almost ruined them both. Of course she would not return to him now.
“Vadim? Can you hear me?”
The ice encasing his heart fractured, splintering into a million tiny shards. Hot blood flowed in, each beat restoring him to life. Still he hesitated. His eyelids remained closed. He needed to be certain she was not Orla. His mind could not be trusted with the truth anymore.
“Please wake up.” He heard a sniff. “They say you can’t talk.”
A gentle hand stroked his hair. Vadim shivered.
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