Hugh’s smile wavered. “Not even my Beatrice?”
“Not even her. The last thing I want is to have people constantly badgering me for information day and night. Whatever you may think, Hugh, I’m nothing like Ma.”
Hugh nodded, his usually merry eyes clouded with worry. “Makes sense, I suppose. I don’t want Beatrice worrying about me before she must, especially as I suspect you must have seen something truly grim in my future. Why else would you not want me to tell her about it? Thank you, Anselm. I’m grateful to you. At least you’ve given me time to set my affairs in order.”
“Did I say I had bad news?” Anselm snorted and shook his head. “I wonder why you even went to the trouble of seeking me out when you seem so intent on fabricating your own reading.”
Hope brightened Hugh’s expression. “Then I won’t—?”
“Die? Most definitely not. No.”
“Truly?”
“I just said so, didn’t I? Believe me, Hugh, a man with a reputation as terrible as mine has no reason to conceal the truth, be it good or bad. No, stay right there. No hugs, I implore you,” he begged, backing away, for old Hugh looked happy enough to burst—or even worse, to embrace him. “Oh, very well, if you must celebrate, you have my permission to share the news with Beatrice.” I must be going soft in the head. “Perhaps then I might be allowed to enjoy the remainder of my bath in peace.”
Then he could go back to thinking about the girl.
Chapter Twelve
The day Martha had dreaded for so long had finally arrived.
Dark and sullen, the heavy sky perfectly matched her inner mood, although outwardly she was all tits, teeth, and jazz hands.
She was doing so well. She’d kept the dazzlingly bright smile plastered on her face all morning as the men made their final preparations for departure.
Not much longer to wait and she could finally sob in private.
But just then Agatha and Edric appeared in the courtyard carrying the babies so that Vadim could say a last goodbye to them. Suddenly it was game-over, for in that instant, Martha’s fake smile shattered just like her heart. Muttering a hasty excuse, she turned and fled for cover. She couldn’t let Vadim see her like this. His last memory of home shouldn’t be one of her weeping and wailing.
From her hiding place beside Anselm’s new bay palfrey which happened to be tethered nearby, concealed by the horse’s massive rump, she watched as Vadim cuddled his children and pressed a tender kiss to each chubby face in turn.
Oh god! Martha’s throat constricted, and her vision melted into a stinging blur of ever-shifting color. What the feck was she going to do without him?
“Sweeting? Whatever are you doing down there, cowering beside my horse?” Hastily blinking back her tears, Martha turned to find Anselm regarding her curiously. “Have you been cutting through my girth or something?”
“Don’t be daft. Of course I haven’t.” Wiping her eyes with her hands, Martha flicked her smile back to the on position, its beam more dazzling than ever. “Why the hell would I want you dead when I’ve spent so much of my time and energy keeping you alive, eh?”
“Ah. You have a point there.” Looking for all the world like a golden prince wrapped up in his thick sumptuous traveling cloak, Anselm took a step closer, the hem of his cloak trailing the damp cobbles behind him. “Tell me, why aren’t you with your husband? Surely you haven’t had a last minute tiff?”
Martha’s lower lip wobbled. She felt her perma-smile begin distorting horribly.
“Dearest?” Anselm frowned and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
His concern was more than she could take. “Of c-course I’m n-not, you fuckwit!” A rush, a flood of hot tears burst their banks and streamed in a scalding torrent down her cheeks. “He’s… he’s… ” She couldn’t go on. In fact, she could hardly breathe.
“Oh, sweeting!” Placing a clumsy arm about her shoulders, Anselm gave her a comforting squidge. “Please don’t vex yourself so. It quite puts me about to see you like this. Take heart. Your man won’t be gone forever, you know.”
Martha clutched the front of his tunic. “Promise you’ll look out for him, Anselm.”
“Upon my honor—tarnished and battered as it is—I swear that I will.”
“Thank you.” Releasing him, Martha grabbed her hanky from where she’d stashed it up her sleeve and swiped it over her sodden face. “And be sure to take good care of yourself too.” She tried out her smile again. It wibbled a bit, but somehow stayed put. “Edgeway wouldn’t be the same without you—either of you.”
“Oh, we’ll be back. Have no fear about that,” Anselm assured her with a hint of his customary arrogance, which was most reassuring. “Perhaps even sooner than you think. Now stop your fretting and go and farewell your man properly, you silly goose.”
Planting a quick kiss on Anselm’s smooth cheek, Martha stepped from beneath the comfort of his arm. “Thanks, hon.” Taking a deep breath, she stashed her hanky up her sleeve and drew back her shoulders. “There. How do I look?”
Head tilted to one side, Anselm considered for a moment. “Do you prefer the truth, or would a lie serve you better, dearest?”
“That good, eh? Cheers.” Pinching her cheeks several times, Martha carefully adjusted the beam of her smile. “Whatever. It’s the best I can do right now.”
“Hansel? Hansel!” Aunt Lulu appeared, pushing her way through the throng of men and horses with a bulging basket hooked over one arm. “Ah, there you are, dear. I’m so glad I caught you before you left.”
“Oh, Erde!” Anselm muttered through a fixed smile of his own. “What can she possibly want with me now?”
Martha giggled. For some reason, Lulu had taken quite a shine to Anselm—or Hansel, as she always insisted on calling him. Despite his loud and frequent objections, the old lady treated Edgeway’s resident black sheep like a long-lost grandson. She’d even knitted him several pairs of thick socks to take with him on his journey, even though he’d repeatedly told her they were probably headed somewhere warm.
Ah well. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Martha said with a grin. Not her circus, not her monkeys.
“Please don’t go!” Anselm made a grab for her arm but he missed.
“Have fun, you two crazy kids,” Martha said, dancing out of reach.
Stepping out from the cover of Anselm’s horse’s swinging butt, she wove her way through the crowd on an intercept course for her handsome hubby.
Almost as if he sensed her approaching, Vadim glanced up, reeling her in with a look. Handing the babies back to Agatha and Edric, Vadim opened his arms wide and, like a homing pigeon, Martha ran to him. Snuggling up against him with her arms about his waist she pressed her face to his leather hauberk.
“Hello, wife,” Vadim murmured against her hair.
“Hello, husband.” She inhaled his familiar scent of warm leather and hot man.
“Come along, children,” Agatha said to the babies. “I believe your parents need a moment of privacy. Let’s go and say farewell to that disreputable uncle of yours, shall we? And if either of you happens to vomit down that fancy cloak he’s wearing then so much the better.”
Vadim chuckled. “I still can’t be sure whether she likes Anselm or not,” he said softly with his forehead pressed to Martha’s, the tips of their noses almost touching.
“Oh, forget about him. Just shut up and kiss me, m’lord—and you’d better make it a good one. Good enough to last me until you come home again.”
Cupping her face between his hands, Vadim tilted her slightly backward until she could see the love glowing in his eyes. “Gladly,” he murmured, his warm breath caressing her lips.
How would he do without her, this woman of his, Vadim wondered. Truly, they were two pieces carved from the same whole. A perfect fit, despite their many differences.
Although they’d said their most private farewell while locked away in the snug seclusion of their bedchamber that morning, his body responded as it always did whenever she was near. No matter how frequently they made love, Vadim could always summon the urge to love her all over again.
Burying his hand in the wild waves of her hair—for Martha still refused to wear the head-coverings of a married woman—Vadim answered the demands of his countess, kissing her back like a man who knew this was to be his final feast before a long fast. Despite the rowdy, good-humored catcalls of the men, Vadim couldn’t think of letting her go, not yet. Not until the last possible moment.
“Ahem. M’lord?” From beside him, someone spoke politely.
Regrettably their time together was up.
“Yes? What is it?” Vadim growled, reluctantly pulling himself away from the seduction of Martha’s kiss.
Keeping his eyes discreetly fixed on a point somewhere in the middle distance, Tucker, his captain inquired, “Shall I, er, begin readying the men for departure, m’lord?”
“Yes, indeed. Carry on, Captain.”
Still breathing hard, Vadim stared down at his beloved woman as she pressed urgent kisses into the palms of both his hands, her warm lips wreaking havoc upon his sensitive flesh. He longed to make up some pretext or other to get her back inside the keep, away from the many prying eyes that now surrounded them. But, no. The sands of time were against him. His foot soldiers were almost ready to depart, his knights were already mounted, and their squires were hurrying off to claim their own horses. If they didn’t leave soon they would be late for their rendezvous with Reynard.
Vadim placed his index finger beneath Martha’s chin and tilted it gently upward, taking one last look at his wife’s beloved face, her lips still glistening with their kiss. A thousand tender words buzzed about inside his head, but he felt too wretched to give voice to any of them.
When a heart loved so completely, what use were mere words? How could they possibly hope to convey the contents of his heart? Nothing he said would do proper justice to his feelings.
Fortunately, Martha seemed to understand.
“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”
Her eyes sparkled like deep-blue pools, swimming with unshed tears. As she spoke, Martha pressed her hand to his chest, touching the locket Vadim wore beneath his shirt, the parting gift she’d given him yester-eve, a locket containing a strand of her own chestnut hair, and a dark baby curl from each of the twins.
Part as they now must, at least he had something of home to keep him company on the long road ahead. Until they were reunited once more.
There came the long, low blast of a horn, the note echoing about the bailey making the horses dance and the dogs howl. ’Twas time.
“I must go,” Vadim murmured.
“Yes.” But still Martha clung to the fastenings on his hauberk just as Vadim kept hold of her. Tightly clasping her hand, he raised it to his lips, kissing her fingers one last time. The look of raw sorrow within her eyes almost finished him.
“Courage, my love. I will send word as and when I may. Take good care of yourself and our babes whilst I am gone. Seth will protect you in my stead.”
Martha sucked in her lower lip and nodded, her self-control crumbling almost as rapidly as his own. ’Twas a good thing they weren’t alone for Vadim might have wept too.
His greatest comfort was the fact that Seth had agreed to stay behind, once again assuming his role as Edgeway’s steward. At least Martha would always have someone to depend on. Well, two people if he counted Edric. It had come as no great surprise to anyone when, at the last possible moment, the little man announced his intention to remain in Edgeway. Although his decision was undoubtedly due to his unrequited love for Agatha, Vadim knew that Edric would find ample time to watch over Martha and the babies too.
Yes. His dear ones would be well cared for in his stead.
“Come along now, lass,” Lulu said, gently tugging at her niece’s sleeve. “Let him get aboard his horse. The sooner he’s gone, the sooner he’ll be back again. Off you go, son. Have a safe journey, d’you hear?” Lulu’s lips looked suspiciously red. Was she wearing her face paint again despite of all Martha’s warnings not to? “Partings are always the worst bit, aren’t they? But don’t you go fretting about our Martha. She’ll be just fine, I promise you.”
By exerting persistent yet gentle force, Lulu somehow managed to disentangle her niece from Vadim. “Godspeed, lad.” Standing on her tiptoes, the old woman planted a light kiss upon Vadim’s cheek, dismissing him with a quavering, “Go on now. Get on with you.”
Unable to speak, with a last lingering look of regret, Vadim turned and walked away in search of his horse.
Chapter Thirteen
Of all the men riding away from Edgeway that morning, Anselm’s heart was probably amongst the lightest. Riding alongside Sir Hugh, he and the rest of their troop jogged along in a relaxed and leisurely formation.
Anselm laughed as Arion—his new horse—made an utter fool of himself. Sensing a grand adventure afoot, the bay horse played up accordingly. If he wasn’t skittering sideways, he was jumping at shadows, or prancing on the spot, and generally being an annoyance to everyone else in the column.
“If you cannot control that wretched beast of yours, ride at the back!” an irritated fellow snapped when Arion took it into his head to suddenly dance backward, reversing into the other man’s horse with all the force of his considerable rump.
“Sorry,” Anselm said with a grin. “I fear my lad’s rather drunk on high spirits this morning. Forgive us. It won’t happen again.” He received naught but a dour grunt in reply.
Miserable beggar. What was wrong with everyone today? There wasn’t a jest or a jape to be had anywhere. Not so much as the merest hint of a song. Since leaving the castle that morning, they’d ridden along with all the cheer of a party bound for a funeral.
Anselm glanced over at Hugh. For once, the old knight had nothing to say for himself. Hunched in his saddle, his eyes cast downward, Hugh remained determinedly silent. Poor chap. The parting from his wife and small son had apparently been particularly tearful.
Usually a lady of great composure, at the last moment, the fair Beatrice had clung to her gnarly warrior, her sobs almost as loud as those of young Toby.
Or was their boy named Hubert? Or Hector? Anselm frowned. Really, with all the children that had been popping out lately it was impossible for anyone to keep a proper account of them all, let alone remember their wretched names. On some occasions Anselm had even forgotten the names of Vadim’s two brats.
“Maudie and George,” he muttered aloud, just to convince himself that he could still recall the names of the two squalling siblings, and that he wasn’t losing his mind as he so often feared.
Hugh glanced over, momentarily roused from his sorrowful stupor. “I beg your pardon?”
“The twins. Maudie and George.”
“What of them?”
“Well… nothing really.” A lame answer, but what else he could say without looking a half-wit? “Just thinking out loud, that’s all. Anyway,” he added with a grin, “It’s nice to have you back again, Hugh.”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve been almost as sour as Lord Edgeway since setting out.” Almost, but not quite. Vadim’s mood had dropped like a stone down a well, plummeting ever deeper with the passing of each furlong. “You must admit, you’ve hardly been the best of company thus far. Come now. Rally yourself, my friend. Let us make the most of our freedom.”
“You make the most of it if you want to,” Hugh grumbled, drawing the hood of his cloak up over his head to protect him from the light mizzle that had begun d
rifting down from the heavy sky. “I’d rather be alone with my thoughts for a while, if it’s all the same to you.”
There was no coming back from that remark.
“Oh, for the love of Erde!” Anselm cried in frustration. “Will no-one give us a song?”
Surprisingly, one of the younger knights rose to the challenge. In a voice both true and clear he began to sing, treating their miserable party to the over-long, and rather dismal, dirge of a knight who’d recently lost the love of his maiden fair—or some other such twaddle. It really was the most depressing song. Doubtless the young lovers would wind up dead in the end. ’Twas hardly a tune to inspire joy and laughter.
This sad lament roused some of the others from their silence. One by one, humming or singing, the other men gradually joined in—all the while wearing the most disgusting wistful looks on their faces. From the shelter of his deep hood, even Sir Hugh rallied himself enough to emit a couple of heartfelt sighs.
Anselm soon wished that he’d kept quiet, for the honey-sweet sentiments of this particular song were too nauseating for words. He had half a mind to impale himself upon the point of his own sword, thus sparing himself from having to endure such suffering.
Love had made fools of them all. Imbeciles. They had forfeited their wits at the very same moment that they’d surrendered their hearts.
Gracious. How many more verses did this miserable dirge have?
Anselm shook his head as he looked about him. It saddened him to see such fearsome warriors so downcast, as willing prisoners of love’s powerful thrall. Once upon a time, Anselm had been in the same position as Vadim, Hugh, and the rest of the sorry tribe. He too had drunk too deeply from the chalice of love’s sweet poison, but in doing so the act had almost finished him.
No matter how devoted a couple might be, love always ended badly. Well, unless the lovers had the very great fortune of dying together, of having their hearts stop beating at the exact same moment. Other than that, someone would always be left behind.
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