“Is this her? Have you found your friend at last, Anselm? How wonderful.”
That’s it. I’m probably going to die very soon.
Martha tiptoed her way through the villagers, apologizing as she went, swatting away Anselm’s hand as he tried to steady her. “I said, I’m fine.”
Once free of the crowd, she headed straight for the Earl. Let’s just get this over with.
The Earl smiled as she approached, with Anselm trailing behind her.
“Hello again, Martha. You never made it to Mrs. Wilkes’ after all? You’re looking…” He looked her up and down, wrinkling his nose slightly. “Healthy.”
Her heart plummeted. Feck. So he does remember me. Damn it. She made a small non-committal noise, followed up by a tepid smile.
“Anselm has been most devoted in his hunt for you.” Taking her elbow in his gloved hand, the Earl led her to a bench beside the fire. The wall of soldiers scooted as they approached, armor clanking like cooking pans.
The walls of the Great Hall seemed to close in around her until she was breathless. The room went horribly quiet. Even the coughing stopped. Every pair of eyes watched them. Perching on the bench beside the Earl, Martha absently pleated the skirt of her gown with her restless fingers. She was lost. Terrified.
Oh, Vadim.
She glanced at the man with golden hair, sitting there so calmly, all nicely packaged in a disguise of civility. But the glacial depths of his serial-killer eyes revealed the truth. This man was an instrument of pain and death. Strangely, it was his friendliness that unsettled her most of all.
He was older than she remembered. From her previous encounter, and from Vadim’s tales, she’d placed the Earl somewhere in his late forties. Now, seeing him close up, Martha mentally added another ten years to her guesstimate. Lines etched his clean-shaven face, and his mane of golden hair showed definite signs of thinning on top.
What had Vadim’s sister seen that was worth loving in this man? He was nothing but a well-dressed monster. A murderer. A coward who shot small boys in the back as they ran for their lives. Sick bastard.
Anselm took a seat at Martha’s other side. Although he didn’t speak, she was uncomfortably aware of his eyes burning into the back of her head.
“Tell me,” the Earl said at last, twirling the golden tie of his cloak fastening between his fingers as he spoke. “Where is your mate?”
“M…my mate?” Her heart fluttered. Did he know Vadim was alive? Or was he just fishing?
“Lord Hemlock?” The Earl flashed her a brief shark smile, giving her a glimpse of his clean and even teeth. “Vadim? Surely you remember him? Tall fellow. Rather scruffy-looking, from what I recall.”
Anger bolstered her flagging spirits, giving her the courage to speak. “Of course I remember him.” She fixed the Earl with unwavering eyes. He wouldn’t get to Vadim through her. Never.
“And?” The Earl circled his hand, prompting her to go on.
Lie, Bigalow. And make it good. “He’s dead.”
The icy depths of the Earl’s eyes made her skin prickle.
“Come now, my sweet.” His voice was gentle. Coaxing. “You can do better than that.”
A switch flicked inside her head, and an icy rage took hold of her. She felt calm. Unafraid. The Earl had almost killed Vadim on two occasions. Did he honestly think she’d help him do it a third time?
But he’ll torture you. Probably rape you. She ignored her inner mouse. Chances were he’d do those things anyway, whether she cooperated or not. No way was he getting Vadim as well.
The cold rage radiated throughout her body, banishing every tremble. There was still a way out of this mess. Vadim might be lost to her now, but she could still keep him safe.
Death was the ultimate escape route.
Suddenly, she understood why Sylvie had killed herself. Given the same opportunity now, Martha would happily ingest the same poison if doing so meant her beautiful man survived.
Although poison was off the current menu, there were other ways. All she had to do was get the Evil Earl good and angry. With my mouth? Not a problem.
She stopped fiddling with her skirt and sat up straighter. “Let’s cut the crap, huh? Vadim’s dead. You killed him. End of story.”
The Earl lashed out with his hand, striking her so hard she almost toppled off the bench. The villagers let out a collective gasp of shock.
Clutching her stinging cheek, Martha regarded the Earl with unveiled loathing.
“Never lie to me.” The Earl snarled through clenched teeth. “Where. Is. Vadim?”
Undaunted, Martha gave him a mocking little smile. “In. Heaven.”
More shocked gasps rose up from the villagers.
The Earl’s face paled. He raised his hand again, slowly this time so she could see the blow coming.
She braced herself, never looking away from his eyes. Just do it, you bastard!
“My lord.” Anselm intervened. “Perhaps I might speak with her? She might open up better to a friend.”
“A friend?” Martha spun on the bench to look at him, adrenaline thundering through her veins. “Is that what you call yourself? Sorry, Anselm, but you certainly don’t qualify for that title. You’re as bad as he is.” She jerked her head to indicate the Earl. “Worse, in fact. At least he is what he is: the Evil Earl.”
She heard more rapid intakes of breath.
“What are you, really?” she continued. “That’s what I’d like to know. A lying, scheming killer? A twisted psychopath? A man who drove his own mother to her death?” Her bitter smile faded. “Whatever you are, you’re no friend of mine.”
“Martha, be sensible—”
She scrambled to her feet, pointing her finger in Anselm’s face. “You played me from the start, you devious little fecker!” she cried. “You make me sick.”
A smooth voice sounded from behind her. “Perhaps I might— ”
“No!” Martha turned her head and glared at the Earl. “When I’ve finished with him, you can do what you want with me.” With great satisfaction, she saw the Earl’s jaw drop. She’d apparently stunned him into silence.
Good. I have a lot to say before I die.
“Please, Martha.” Anselm’s blue eyes certainly looked innocent, fearful even. “Stop talking. Let me help you.”
“Help me?” Martha almost laughed, too far gone to care. “Like you helped your mother? Where are Seth and Ma, by the way? Have you helped them too?”
“Of course not. They are confined to Mother Galrey’s hovel.”
“Unharmed?”
“Yes. What do you take me for?”
“A mother-killer.”
Anselm was a good actor. She almost believed she’d wounded him. Almost.
He stood up too. “This is me, Martha. Remember? We were good friends.” He opened his arms as if to display his innocence. Trying to convince her to believe in him again.
Too late, you little weasel.
“I remember all right.” She prodded his chest, her finger jabbing out each syllable on his leather hauberk. “You betrayed your own mother—”
“She was sheltering outlaws—”
“Don’t give me that crap. This has nothing to do with outlaws. You’ve despised Vadim ever since your parents took him in, back when he was a child. Don’t tell me this is about sheltering anyone. Credit me with a little sense.” She planted her hands on her hips, looking at his handsome face with disgust. “This is all about Vadim and your insane jealousy of him.” She became aware of just how loud her voice had become. With effort, she turned the volume down. “Let’s at least be honest with one another now. It’s over, Anselm. Done with. You got what you wanted. Vadim’s dead. I loved him, and you took him from me. What more do you want?”
Anselm opened his mouth, then he shut it again. It seemed he had no more to say.
Martha heard the sound of slow applause. She turned her head. The Earl was up on his feet, grinning broadly, whilst the villagers just stared, disbelief
etched on their faces.
“Well said, m’lady. Do you know, I think I am beginning to understand what Lord Hemlock saw in you.”
Saw? Past tense. That’s good.
“His name,” she snarled through gritted teeth, “is Vadim.”
The Earl ignored her. “I admit, my first instinct was to strangle you—”
“Really? Then you should go with that thought.” She didn’t want to imagine the alternatives he might have to offer.
The Earl chuckled. “But I think I might actually prefer to keep you alive, my dear. Your candor appeals to me.”
Oh, no. This isn’t happening. Insult him again.
“That’s because I was talking to your boy wonder here.” She glanced back at Anselm. “As for you, sire, you’re nothing but a walking, talking cliché. Do you have a cat back at home in your evil lair, hmm? Do you sit stroking it while you think up your plans for world domination?”
The Earl’s smile faltered. He walked slowly towards her. “Or perhaps I might give you to my men as a plaything?”
God, no! Just kill me already. The thought of them sweating and grunting over her was intolerable.
Despite her terror, Martha rolled her eyes, attempting to look bored. “Oh, how very predictable. I thought better of you than that.” Her mouth went into overdrive. “Still, the old ones are the best, or so I’m told. But I might not be such a fun ride for your men, though. I seem to have picked up a dreadful dose of cock-rot somewhere along the way.” She forced herself to laugh. “Now that’s a gift that certainly keeps on giving.”
She heard several snickers, some from the soldiers themselves.
Martha bowed her head in their direction. “Why, thank you.”
The Earl looked over at Anselm. “Has she always been so…”
“No, sire. I fear the news of Hemlock’s death has unhinged her.” He sighed. “This aspect of her character is new to me.”
“Is it indeed?”
The Earl was wavering. Martha sensed it. Who’d given him the idea Vadim was still alive, anyway? The only people who knew about him were people she trusted. All except for… Orla.
That little bitch! Where is she?
She scanned the crowd of villagers, and her eyes homed in on the girl. As their eyes met, Orla’s cheeks flushed scarlet. She looked down at the ground, unable to hold Martha’s gaze.
A large gold brooch on Orla’s cloak caught Martha’s attention. It looked new. She didn’t remember seeing her wear it before. The penny finally dropped.
You’d better start praying Lord Evil kills me soon, missy!
The Earl and Anselm stood close together, whispering and muttering furiously to one another.
What was that all about? Martha felt her adrenaline rush fading, taking her courage along with it. Suddenly, she felt weak and wobbly. Her cheekbone throbbed where the Earl had struck her.
Fortunately, there was more than one kind of courage. Dutch, for one. She wandered over to the beer keg and helped herself to a generous tankard of Seth’s home brew. No one attempted to stop her. A couple of the soldiers even smiled at her.
It was difficult to swallow the ale. Her throat was constricted with holding back her tears. The thought of never seeing Vadim again hurt worse than a physical blow. With no warning, she’d somehow managed to lose him again.
If only I’d said goodbye. That was the sharpest cut of all. Her courage died as effectively as if someone had pulled out her plug.
If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there’d be no work for tinkers’ hands. Aunt Lulu’s voice echoed in her mind, another of her nonsense sayings from a time long gone.
There was no pointing in wishing for anything. A quick, painless death was the best she could hope for now.
“Martha?” Anselm was back, standing beside her and looking like a kicked dog.
“Will you come with me?” He gently prized the empty tankard from her fingers.
Martha shrugged and let him take her arm. Her snark tank was flashing empty. Without objection, she allowed him to lead her from the Great Hall. Behind her, she heard the Earl dismissing the villagers, issuing several bloody threats as a parting shot.
As the doors closed behind them, she heard the muffled babble of many voices, but she felt too wretched to wonder what they were saying.
Looking up into the clear inky sky, she saw the first stars twinkling in the dark. They seemed to mock her captivity. Could Vadim see them too? Had he recovered a little by now? Did he know what had happened yet?
Martha shivered. Someone—Anselm presumably—draped a cloak about her shoulders, enveloping her in its heavy folds. The garment still retained his body heat, which repulsed and comforted her at the same time.
Anselm led her to a horse. “Step up onto my hand, Martha.” He linked his fingers, forming a hand stirrup. She silently obeyed him. “Good girl. Up you go.”
He swung himself up behind her and gathered up the reins. Moments later, their thundering cavalcade moved off, cantering into the night.
Martha sat rigid within the circle of Anselm’s arms, riding into the hell of separation. She had only one consolation. Vadim’s love. It was locked up tight inside of her, safe in the shelter of her heart. She closed her eyes and heard his voice again.
I am yours now. Whatever may follow, never doubt it.
And she never would. Not in all the empty days she had remaining.
###
(Coming soon. Summer 2014. Tales of a Traveler Book Two: Wolfsbane.)
A NOTE TO THE READER
I hope you enjoyed Tales of a Traveler:Hemlock. Please take a moment to leave a review on Amazon.
The next book in the series will be Tales of a Traveler Book two: Wolfsbane.
Life in a medieval castle isn’t easy, especially as the captive guest of Anselm, Vadim’s twisted foster-brother. While twenty-first century Martha attempts to adapt to life in a medieval castle, war comes to Edgeway. As the castle faces siege, Martha’s love for Vadim is stretched to its limit, and may prove to be yet another casualty.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
So many people have helped me to get to where I am today. Here are just a few:
To my husband and kids, my home crew, thank you for your constant love, support, and encouragement. I couldn’t do what I do without you. Love you.
To all my fabulous family, thank you for believing in me when I finally came out of my writer’s closet.
To my friends, Krissie, Andrea, and Caroline, thank you for letting me inflict various dodgy stories on you over the years. You girls were my very first readers. Whatever happens from now on, I’m blaming you!
Thank you to all the people over at Critique Circle who critiqued ‘Hemlock’ in its various forms. Special thanks to all the friends I made there. In no particular order: Jamie ‘petal’ Salsbury, Belfast Larry, Yorkshire(Gina G)Chris, Claudia, Cristin, Rox, Shex, ‘Highlander’ Jill, Shaneen, Brona, Stacey, and Kimberly. You’re all amazing writers, and your friendship and support have gotten me through the roughest days.
To Glendon and Tabatha at Streetlight Graphics, thank you for translating the images in my head into such a fabulous book cover and formatting.
And finally, to you, my readers, thank you for giving me a chance. I hope you enjoyed the read.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NJ Layouni lives in Lancashire, England with her husband and two kids. When she’s not busy being a wife and mum, she likes scribbling down stories, giving voices to the many characters living inside her head.
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Website:
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