The two outlaws were openly staring in their direction, obviously riveted to every word.
“Then, they must be…” She gesticulated with her hand, moving it wildly from side to side as she struggled to fit the pieces together. Our fathers. That’s what Vadim had said. “Ex-nobles?” She scrambled to her feet. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“What difference does it make?” As Vadim got up from the step, his scowl matched hers. “I told you, I am nothing but the man you see before you. Husband is my only title now.”
Suddenly she understood. “But that’s not enough for you, is it?” she said softly. The fire in his eyes told her all she needed to know. “You want it back. All of it. And so do they.” She waved her hand in the direction of the outlaws.
“No—”
“Is that why you’re going to fight for this wannabe king—”
“That is not what I said.” Vadim’s glared down at her, his eyes blazing.
“Isn’t it?” Blood thundered in her ears. She was way too furious to back down. “So why are you doing this, huh? What do you stand to gain by—”
“I do it for my honor!” Vadim roared. “To restore the honor of my dead family. Why can you not understand that? It matters to me, Martha. It matters!”
She took a hurried step backward, stunned into silence. Vadim had never raised his voice to her before. Never. Wide eyed and trembling, she stared at him.
His face was white, devoid of color. Rage contorted his beloved face into that of a stranger. His dark eyes flashed a stark warning.
“My lord?”
One of the outlaws appeared at Martha’s side. For once, she didn’t resent his presence. It reassured her. Not that she thought Vadim would ever harm her.
Vadim turned away, panting for breath, his hands clutching at his hair. Martha and her masked companion stood motionless for a few long moments, watching him. What the hell was going on here?
Her anger quickly changed to concern. “Vadim?” She placed a cautious hand on his upper arm. The hot muscles tensed beneath her fingers. “Are you okay, hon?” When he didn’t respond, she stepped closer and ran her hand gently up and down his arm. She felt him trembling. “Oh, love.” She gave a sigh and rested her cheek against his back. “Come on. Let’s not make a big deal over—”
“Leave me,” he growled.
“Wh-what?”
“I said, go!”
Martha’s insides liquefied into sludge. This isn’t my Vadim. Tears stung behind her eyes. What was wrong with him?
One thing was for sure, now wasn’t the time to discuss it. Talk about overreacting. A sudden blast of anger burned away her tender feelings. How dare he speak to her like that? If he wanted her gone, fine.
She turned to the outlaw beside her. I’ll be back later, she mouthed. The man nodded, sympathy shining from his eyes.
Vadim still had his back to her. His body quaked with silent tremors. She wavered, torn between wanting to hit him or hug him. But she dared not do either.
Head held high, she turned away and marched for the trees. Bloody men! She didn’t look back.
“Do not take it to heart, m’lady.” The other outlaw, the older one, fell in step beside her. “Lord Vadim will soon shake off this melancholy. He always does.”
“Melancholy?” She shook her head, smiling bitterly. “Is that what you call it when someone rips your head off for no good reason?” As they walked, she glanced at her companion. “Does he often act this way?”
They took the path back through the trees, and the man held back a branch so it didn’t catch her face.
“Not often, no. The blackness is an infrequent visitor. It affects most of us at one time or another.”
“The blackness?”
“It has many names. Some call it battle fever, the day terror…”
Martha’s footsteps slowed.Was he talking about post-traumatic stress? “How long has he had it?”
The man shrugged. “For as long as I have known him.”
PTSD? That might explain a few things.
There was a fallen log up ahead. Martha sat down, her mind reeling at this fresh insight into the mind of the man she’d married. The outlaw took a seat beside her.
“Can I ask you something personal?” She glanced at him.
The man inclined his head, indicating she could. His gray eyes regarded her with kindness.
You really misjudged them, you bitch.
“Have you had it; the blackness, I mean?”
“Of course.”
Of course, he says. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Battle sickness can fell even the hardiest warrior.” He sighed and looked away, studying the swaying branches overhead. “Some seek solace in ale, but its benefits are short-lived and often perilous. I have lost many a good man to the oblivion of the ale barrel.”
“Do you ever talk about it, amongst yourselves?”
“No, m’lady.” The man chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “The best service we can give our comrades is by pretending not to see.”
Surely that was the worst thing they could do? Not that Martha held herself up as any kind of expert on the subject.
Although it probably wouldn’t help, she had to say something. “I’m going to ask you a huge favor.”
“Anything, m’lady.”
“You don’t know what it is yet,” she said with a smile. There was something about this man she liked. Although his face was always masked, he struck her as older than the other outlaws she’d met. Fatherly, almost. “When Vadim…recovers, will you talk to him? About the battle sickness?”
“M’lady!” His eyes widened as if she’d just asked him to walk naked through the streets of Edgeway. “I cannot.”
“Oh, please.” She touched his gloved hand as it rested upon the log. “I know it’s a big ask, but won’t you at least try?”
The man shook his head rapidly from side to side. “I beg you, do not ask this of me—”
“I’m not asking you to have a group hug or to turn metrosexual or anything—”
“Metro…what?”
“Just talk to him. It might help you both.”
A heavy silence followed. She’d said too much. She kept forgetting that this was a medieval world. Even in her world, men were often reluctant to discuss what they perceived as their weaknesses. Especially in front of a woman.
“I’m sorry.” Martha bowed her head and stared at a line of ants as they marched along in the dust at her feet, each carrying a tiny fragment of leaf. “I shouldn’t have asked—”
“Very well.” The man gave a heavy sigh. “I will try. Though I will hardly know what to say.”
“Really?” She looked up with a smile. “Oh, thank you.” Talking wasn’t much, but it was something at least. She got up, smoothing the skirt of her gown. “I think I’ll keep out of Vadim’s way for a bit. Give him chance to calm down.”
The man rose to his feet. “That might be for the best. Where will you go?”
“I’ll pop back to Darumvale and spend the night with Bren.”
“Would you like me to escort you there, m’lady?”
“No thanks. I need you to take care of Vadim for me. Tell him I’m not angry, huh? That I’ll see him soon?”
“That I will be most happy to do.” The man bowed his head and held his hand over his heart.
Martha didn’t want to go, but there was no point in trying to talk to Vadim. Not yet. Not while he was still so mad at her. A few hours apart might do them both some good. After all, she was still smarting about his decision to fight for the wannabe king.
There was a sudden rustling sound, and Forge lumbered through the shrubbery towards them, his tail wagging like a skinny whip. At least she’d have some company.
With a final smile of farewell to the outlaw, Martha and Forge set off back down the trail toward Darumvale.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The walk back down the hill passed in a blur. Ma
rtha’s mind was full of Vadim. She hated leaving him, but what else could she do? A few hours alone with his buddies might help him down from the ledge he was on. Or so she hoped.
The blackness. How long would it last?
As she entered the village, a warning bell clanged in Martha’s subconscious, focusing her attention back on the present. Her footsteps faltered.
Darumvale looked deserted. Much too quiet for a late afternoon. The place was usually bustling at this time of day. Where was everybody? Where were the workers, returning from the fields? The children? The dogs? The old women sitting outside their homes, gossiping with one another before supper?
Apart from the resident pack of savage geese, there was no sign of life. Only the tumbleweed was lacking. Something was decidedly ‘off’’.
Forge stiffened at Martha’s side and grumbled from deep within his throat.
“Shh.” As she gripped onto his collar, she felt the dog’s hackles rising.
Neither of them moved. They sniffed the air like a pair of wary rabbits, scenting danger but unsure of its direction.
She saw the man too late.
A ray of light from the setting sun bounced off an armored breastplate. A soldier stood outside the Great Hall, leaning against the front wall.
Martha’s heart skipped several beats as she met the man’s unsmiling stare. He called out in surprise and raised his crossbow, training it on her position.
Oh, shit! She dared not move. Her insides liquefied at the same time as her knees.
Other soldiers appeared, answering the summons of their hard-faced comrade.
Martha tightened her grip on his collar as Forge’s growls increased in ferocity. The dog’s neck muscles tensed beneath her fingers. She strained to hold him back.
“Don’t shoot.” She raised her free hand in a gesture of surrender.
The soldier lowered his aim and pointed the crossbow at Forge.
“No!” Without thinking, Martha stepped in front of the dog, shielding him from certain death.
“Go, Forge. Find Vadim,” she hissed. “Go to Vadim. For once in your life, listen to me, sweetheart.” Tears pricked her eyes as she felt the dog moving against her skirt, still grumbling deep within his throat. “Oh, please, baby. Go back.” She loosened her grip on his collar, praying he’d listen. The soldiers were coming closer. She had to let him go. “Go on. Run, damn you!”
With one final disgruntled growl, Forge obeyed. Tears of relief slipped down Martha’s face as she heard the sound of his great paws pattering away at speed. The soldier attempted to track the fleeing animal with his crossbow, but Forge was too fast. With a muttered curse, the man lowered his weapon.
In half a dozen fast clumping strides, he closed the distance between him and Martha. “Move! he grunted, shoving her in the back.
Other soldiers arrived, surrounding her in a walking armored cage. No one spoke. The warm, putrid stench of unwashed flesh and clothing enveloped her, making her want to gag. But the naked appraisal of their hungry eyes sickened her more.
I should have read the signs sooner. Why am I so fecking stupid?
Hindsight, she decided, was about as useful as a chocolate fireguard.
The soldiers escorted her into the Great Hall and pushed her inside.
She gasped.
It looked as if the entire population of Darumvale was already there, crammed in a small section of the room. Young and old sat together, shuffling on the reed-covered floor, their every move watched by several more well-armed guards.
Every head turned to look as Martha stumbled through the doors. Someone groaned. It sounded like Bren, but there wasn’t time to scan the assembly of terrified faces.
“Sit down.” Her captor grinned, displaying an impressive rack of decaying teeth. The stench of his breath made her recoil. “Lord Edgeway will be along soon. Make yourself comfortable.” Giving her a final shove, he turned away to talk to his friends.
Martha gladly sank onto the floor, embracing the protection and anonymity of the herd. Now she knew why sheep behaved the way they did.
The villagers remained silent, except for an occasional chorus of coughs. The reeds rustled constantly as uncomfortable limbs sought respite from sitting in one position for too long. More coughing. It sounded like a child this time.
Martha daren’t look round. Fear bound her too tightly in place. Her eyes fixed on a solitary floor reed, taking in every detail of its structure, never straying from its study for a second.
Oh, Vadim. Why did I pick a fight with you today of all days?
She missed him already. The floor reed shimmered in and out of focus, blurred by unshed tears. A dull ache throbbed deep within her stomach. She found some relief by folding her arms about herself and rocking imperceptibly to and fro.
Will I ever see him again?
Even if Forge returned to the hunting lodge, and if the outlaws suddenly developed a funky ability enabling them to translate his doggy whines, what could they do? There were only two of them. Three, if Vadim was himself again.
She had to face the truth: There was no hope of rescue, not while Darumvale crawled with the Earl’s men.
The floor reed shimmered away in another a glittering haze. Martha held herself tighter and dug her fingers into her ribs. She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t.
At the very moment before she crumbled, a gentle hand rested on her shoulder.
“Hush, now.”
Bren. Martha reached back and clutched the familiar rough fingers, finding comfort in their touch. The presence of her friend gave her the courage to raise her head and look around.
Most of the soldiers stood clustered about a barrel of Seth’s home brew. By the looks of things, they were doing their best to empty it. Their raucous laughter contrasted sharply with the silence of the villagers.
Their merriment came to an abrupt end as the doors of the Great Hall swung open again, and a golden-haired man walked inside, flanked by even more soldiers.
Martha gasped. Oh, shit! Her fingers flew up to cover her mouth. The Evil Earl.
As the Earl’s entourage parted, things got a whole lot worse. Standing amongst the soldiers, talking and smiling, was the ultimate pig himself.
Fecking Anselm.
The Earl swept a look over his captive audience. “I trust my men have kept you entertained?” He cast a brief, glacial glance at the soldiers by the ale barrel. They hurriedly set down their tankards and moved away.
“Excellent,” he continued in the same mock-cheerful tone. “I shall not detain you for much longer. Once my men have completed their search, you will be free to return to your homes.”
“Aye. What’s left of them,” someone muttered. But not quietly enough.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did someone wish to say something?” The Earl raked the villagers with his pale blue gaze. He paced the room, his magnificent purple cloak dragged along the floor, gathering rushes in its wake. “By all means, do speak up.”
The Earl’s pleasant manner didn’t fool anyone. It barely concealed the menace lurking beneath his veneer of civility.
Martha felt sick. Cheeks burning, she bowed her head. Why hadn’t she worn her headscarf today? Without it, she was far too conspicuous.
“Oh, never mind.” The Earl gave a sigh, delicately tossing his long golden hair over his shoulder. “‘Tis probably for the best.”
“Martha?”
Shit! And then Martha’s day hit the very bottom of the cess pit. She cringed. Anselm had spotted her.
“Can it be you?”
She raised her head, reluctantly meeting the eyes of Vadim’s twisted foster brother.
“It is you!” He smiled warmly, as if he were genuinely happy to see her. As if they were old friends meeting unexpectedly. “What happy chance this is. I tried to find you, and suddenly here you are.”
The villagers glared at her. Martha sagged beneath the weight of their accusing eyes. Her back tingled, sensing the invisible daggers pointed her way. Despite
her innocence, she cringed.
Anselm strode through the crowd toward her, carelessly trampling on anyone unfortunate enough to be under his boots, paying no attention to the villagers’ groans of pain.
How the feck do I play this?
Her mind shifted into top gear, racing through her alternatives and the pros and cons of each.
Do I pretend we’re still friends? Have I got the stomach for that? No. He knows I know the whole story by now. What then? Smile? Tell him what I think of him! No. Don’t be an idiot. Remember what happened to poor Sylvie.
Anselm offered her his hand and, because she didn’t know what else to do, Martha took it. What she really wanted was to punch the lying little fecker, but the consequences of doing terrified her.
Anselm helped her off the floor. Her legs had gone to sleep, and the pins and needles in her limbs made her stagger.
“Have a care, m’lady.” He slid his arm about her waist. “Hold onto me if you will.”
Martha recoiled as his warm breath wafted against her cheek. Her flesh crawled, physically itching from his touch. Only Vadim had the right to hold her this way. “No, really. I’m fine.” She stamped her feet to restore her circulation. Anger burned hot in her stomach, but she tried to restrain it. Darting him a nasty look, she wriggled free of his restraining arm. Don’t lose your cool.
She felt the Earl’s eyes on them, watching their reunion with rapt attention. He didn’t speak.
Did he recognise her? She was about to find out.
Anselm frowned as Martha pulled away from him. “What is it? Have I upset you somehow?”
“Upset me?” Her eyes widened. She couldn’t help it. Was he for real? “Whatever makes you think so?”
The Earl saved her from hearing Anselm’s reply.
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