If she couldn’t live out her life with the one she loved, did it really matter who she married? Next to Anselm, all men had an equal—albeit minuscule—appeal.
Edgeway.
The days trundled slowly by. Gradually, one week became two, then three.
Since parting from Miriam, the passage of time meant little to Anselm. Keeping count of the interminable days would only cause him pain so, instead, he devoted himself to regaining his strength and condition. Fortunately, there was never a shortage of combatants wanting to train with him, for the chance to deliver a little payback with cold, hard steel.
The other men of the garrison weren’t gentle, and Anselm didn’t want them to be. Full strength, just like steel, required a careful combination of brute force and heat. By concentrating on his body, he could set aside matters that were too painful to remember. For a little while, at least.
By the time Vadim and the rest of his household returned home to Edgeway, they brought with them the first snowflakes of winter. Anselm was heartily glad to be reunited with everyone again. After the camaraderie forged on their overseas quest, he had grown accustomed to being in company, to being included in everyday conversation and jests.
Since returning home to Edgeway, to his shame, Anselm found he’d rather missed his family and friends. Even dotty Aunt Lulu was a most welcome sight as she clambered from her carriage.
Curiously enough, so was Seth.
As his father stood in the bailey waiting to hand off his mount to a groom, Anselm found himself pushing through the merry crowd toward him.
“Well met, Father,” he said with a smile of greeting. “I fear grooms are in short supply at the moment. May I help you stable your horse?”
Unaccustomed to such civility from his son, Seth visibly floundered. “Oh… yes. That would be most kind. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”
“Not at all,” Anselm assured him. Together, they set out for the stable-block, Seth leading his weary horse. “So, how was your journey?”
“Tediously slow, but otherwise blessedly uneventful. Well, apart from when the ladies’ carriage threw a wheel. Other than that… ” Seth shrugged. “And you? What have you been doing with yourself, hmm?”
“Oh, you know. The usual.”
Seth glanced at him. “Such as?”
“Training, hunting, trying to avoid folk who’d like me better with a misericorde stuck through my heart. That sort of thing.”
Seth chuckled. “You haven’t got any better at making new friends, then?”
“Apparently not.”
On finding a free stall, Anselm helped Seth untack the horse. After the weary animal had drunk its fill it proceeded to tug clumps of hay from the bulging wall rack. Anselm and Seth, meanwhile, rubbed the gelding’s sweaty flanks with handfuls of clean, sweet-smelling straw.
Although they didn’t exchange much in the way of chit-chat, the silence was companionable enough. Indeed, Anselm had always found the routine of tending horses rather soothing; the rustle of straw, the scent of hay and leather, and the rhythmic sweep-sweeping of one’s arm brushing over the animal’s body. ’Twas a peaceful time and a calming one, for man and beast alike.
Or rather it was until…
“There you are, you bloody rapscallion!” Sir Hugh cried, sticking his bearded face over the door of their stall. “Disappearing like that without a word. I thought you’d been kidnapped or murdered. Or both.”
“You wish.” Anselm leaned over the door and clasped Hugh’s forearm in greeting. “It’s good to see you again, Hugh.” Lady Beatrice stood beside her man, snugly tucked beneath his other arm, and very happy she looked to be there, too. “M’lady,” Anselm said with a polite bow of his head. Beatrice smiled and responded in kind.
“Why did you and Percy disappear so suddenly?” she asked.
“The king was quite put out about it, I can tell you that,” Hugh added with a grin.
“He was?” Now there was a surprise. “I would have thought he’d be glad to be shot of me.”
“You didn’t take the gifts he offered you, either,” Hugh continued with a grin. “Most impolite of you, m’lord.”
Anselm shrugged and returned to his grooming. “I need no reward for simply doing my duty.”
Seth laughed loudly, spooking his horse a little. “Oh? In that case, I demand to know who you are and what you have done with my son.”
Anselm looked into Seth’s merry eyes. A jest, from Father? Mercy. What fresh devilry was this?
“I regret to tell you that the old Anselm died some months ago, along with his old master so I believe.”
“Did he indeed?” Seth looked thoughtful. “Well… I can’t say I’m sorry.” His smile widened. “I much prefer his replacement, what say you, Hugh?”
Sir Hugh harrumphed in an affirmative manner.
Anselm smiled. “The new Seth is quite an improvement too.”
“Oh, I agree with you there,” Seth replied. “The old one was a terrible, boorish drunk, was he not?”
As Anselm looked into his father’s twinkling eyes, his heart suddenly softened. In a rush, the years and the many wounds that had kept them apart, both real and imaginary, suddenly vanished.
“Then let us hope the new versions of ourselves do better by each other, eh?”
To his amazement, Seth clapped his hand on Anselm’s shoulder, his eyes glistening. “Aye, lad. Let us hope they do.”
It was over.
At long last Miriam could breathe properly again.
Hodges was dead, along with the two crewmen who’d accompanied him back to Stanrocc.
Of Fabien, the ship, and the rest of the pirate crew there was no sign. Rumor had it that Hodges and his companions had been cast off in a violent act of mutiny, and so, penniless and desperate, they’d traveled North with the foolish notion of blackmailing their way to wealth via the purse of the newly crowned king.
Needless to say, they failed. Mortally so.
Hodges and his friends had been discovered that morning, dead and stiff on the street, each man with a sword wound through his guts.
Their damning secrets had, hopefully, died along with them.
Miriam and Catherine received the news in silence as they broke their fast in the great hall. For once, the family was quite alone. The knights and squires were already at their morning training, and the courtiers and servants had been dismissed, allowing the king to speak privately with his sisters.
On hearing these most welcome tidings, Catherine closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath. “At last. We are free to marry who we will.”
Rodmar smiled. “I suspect you will not be unhappy to learn that Lord Radleigh has already approached me and made an offer for your hand.”
“He has?” Catherine’s eyes sparkled, her joy plain to see. “What did you tell him, brother?”
“That I would consider his proposal along with those of your other petitioners.”
“What other petitioners? Oh, Rodmar, please say you didn’t.”
The king tried to maintain a stern countenance, but the queen would have none of it.
“Now, my dear,” she said touching his arm. “You must not tease her. Their love is new and much too tender for jesting.” Hortensia smiled at Catherine. “I understand Lord Radleigh hopes to seek a private audience with you later this morning.”
“Accept him or reject him as you see fit,” Rodmar said with a grin. “I care not either way, only put the poor fellow out of his misery as quickly as possible. I do not like seeing him living on his nerves.”
“Oh, brother!” With a squeal of delight, Catherine leaped up from her seat and embraced him and then his queen, deafening them with her loud effusions of gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”
Miriam could not help but laugh to see Catherine so high spirited. Lov
e had transformed her into a much nicer sister. As for Lord Radleigh, he a was pleasant enough fellow. Miriam liked him a good deal already. To be sure, he was a little older than the other men who’d tried to woo Catherine, but Radleigh’s easy nature was a better fit all around. Even Stanrocc’s gossips had no ill tidings to tell of the man.
Yes. He would make Catherine a fine husband.
“Wait.” Suddenly Catherine sobered. “Did you say he intended to seek me out this morning? Heavens! That leaves me no time at all to prepare. How can I receive my darling Radleigh’s proposal whilst I am dressed in these awful rags,” she declared, plucking at the fabric of her perfectly respectable gown of lilac silk. “Miriam? Hortensia? Please, will you help me?”
How could they refuse such a heartfelt plea? But just as Miriam was about to follow her sisters from the hall, Rodmar detained her.
“Wait, Miriam. I would speak with you alone for a few moments. Don’t worry, Catherine. I shall not keep her long,” he added with an indulgent smile as the impatient bride-to-be turned around and glared at him. “Go, now. Make yourself more beautiful, if such a thing is even possible.”
Settling back in her chair, Miriam forced herself to relax. There was nothing left to fear. Hodges was dead. Let Rodmar say what he would.
“I was wondering if you’d given any thought to your own marriage.”
Anselm!
Ignoring the screaming of her heart, she answered calmly, “No, not yet.” But she felt a rising tide of color staining her neck and her cheeks, betraying her.
“Oh?” Rodmar observed her flushed face with interest. Her body’s traitorous response had certainly not escaped his notice. “No dashing knight or baron has caught your eye or piqued your interest, then?”
“No, m’lord.” She should have simply shaken her head instead of speaking. Rodmar was too shrewd. He could detect an untruth at a hundred paces.
“In that case, would you have any objection if I were to introduce you to several suitable young men who have expressed a desire to know you better?”
What else could she say but, “None at all, sire.”
Rodmar raised his eyebrows. “What’s this? My forthright sister meekly consenting to my wishes with not so much as a scowl?”
Miriam shrugged, willing herself to remain composed. “Well, since I must marry sooner or later, I may as well get on with the task of finding a suitable husband.”
“And you have no curiosity at all, no desire to learn anything about the would-be suitors who have approached me?”
Mustering every grain of composure she possessed, Miriam replied; “I expect I shall know them all well enough in due course.
Rodmar propped his elbow on the table, his chin resting on his upturned hand. “Old or young? Well favored or not? Stout or lithe? You really expect me to believe you have not the slightest curiosity?”
Miriam shrugged again. “I trust you and Hortensia. I know you will have chosen wisely on my behalf.”
Rodmar observing her with mock horror. “Who is this imposter before me? Although she wears the face and garb of my sister, I recognize her not. Declare yourself at once, changeling!”
Miriam smiled. “Now you will tease me for being a dutiful sister? How unfair of you, brother.”
“Hmm.” Rodmar drummed his long, elegant fingers on the polished oak table and stared at Miriam intently as though he might glean the truth from her carefully neutral expression. “I’m not sure what you’re up to, but make no mistake, I shall uncover the truth, Miriam.”
Once upon a time, theirs had been the most volatile of relationships, with Miriam railing against him at every turn. Poor Rodmar. No wonder he was now so puzzled.
“The best of luck with that, brother dear. In the meantime,” she said rising smoothly from the table, “I will endeavor to make myself useful to my sister.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Edgeway. Early spring.
Late one morning—yet another morning not involving coffee, worst luck—Martha entered the great hall to find Vadim sitting beside the fire engrossed in the contents of the official-looking scroll in his hand, a red ribbon dangling from its broken seal.
Her heart plummeted. “Go on, then. Tell me the worst.”
Vadim glanced up. “Hmm?”
“Your letter?” Martha said, indicating the parchment. “Good news or bad?”
“It’s an invitation.” Vadim beckoned her over and patted his lap, issuing Martha with an invitation of his own. One she had no intention of refusing.
“Ooh, how exciting.” Not that Vadim was looking too thrilled about it. “Let me see.”
Once she was comfortably seated on her husband’s lap, Martha picked up the scroll and squinted at the tiny, tightly-packed ink characters covering the surface of the parchment hoping to make sense of it. However, despite Beatrice’s best efforts at educating her, it was a waste of time. Except for the very basics, Erde’s written language remained a mystery to her. Even after all this time, she could barely make out a word.
“Okay, I give up,” she said, at last, looking up into Vadim’s amused eyes. “Who’s it from?”
“The King.”
“The King?” Martha’s heart plummeted even further, down into the toes of her neat blue slippers. “Oh shit. He’s not sending you off on another errand, is he?”
Before Vadim could answer, Percy and Anselm strolled in, following the line of maids bearing platters heaped with food for the noonday meal.
“Good day to you both,” Anselm said brightly, snatching a couple of fresh bread rolls from the long table as he passed by. “Was that the king’s messenger we saw riding in earlier?” He tossed one of the pilfered bread rolls to Percy who caught it deftly with one hand and proceeded to devour it as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. “So, what tidings from Stanrocc?”
As they came closer, Martha caught the distinct odor of warm sweat. Clearly, they’d come straight from training, for their flowing shirts clung to their torsos, damp with their morning exertions. “Ugh. Couldn’t you have washed at least?”
Anselm only laughed. “What’s wrong with you, woman? ’Tis a fine manly scent. Breathe it in and enjoy.”
Wrinkling her nose, Martha leaned back against Vadim, vainly attempting to put some
distance between her and her disgusting brother-in-law. “God, Anselm, you’re absolutely vile at times.”
Quite unrepentant, Anselm flung himself down on the bench at the other side of the fire and grinned, his face glowing with good health. At least Percy had the decency to stand back a bit. Honestly, Anselm was a terrible role model for the poor boy.
“Come, Vadim. Pray tell. What does the royal windbag want this time?” As Anselm munched on his bread, he strained to read the tail end of the scroll as it flapped in the rising heat of the fire.
Vadim was too engrossed with the scroll’s contents to correct Anselm’s rudeness. “We’ve been invited to a wedding.”
“Oh? Whose?”
Was it Martha’s imagination, or did Anselm’s glowing face suddenly look rather pale?
“Princess Catherine and Lord Radleigh.”
Anselm exhaled. Now that she definitely hadn’t imagined.
“Well, Radleigh’s a fine enough fellow,” Anselm said, visibly relaxing. “No doubt they’ll do very well together.” He made a sudden grab for the letter.
“Excuse me. Do you mind?” Vadim held the parchment above his head. “Actually, Martha’s right,” he said wrinkling his nose. “You absolutely reek.”
“So might you if you ever bothered turning up to training anymore. Domestic contentment sits far too comfortably upon you, Lord Edgeway. I do believe you’re becoming as plump as a partridge.”
“Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” Martha said, instantly diving to Vadim’s defense. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Vadim raised her hand and kissed it. “Thank you, my love.” The hungry look in his dark eyes made her stomach flutter. “At least I can always rely upon your support.”
“When’s the wedding to be, then?” Quite undeterred, Anselm tried again to snatch the parchment from Vadim. “How soon must you be off? I’m quite happy to act as steward while you’re gone.”
“You?” Vadim’s eyes bulged. “I’d as soon leave our children in the care of a pack of wolves,” he muttered in Martha’s ear, making her giggle.
Anselm’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”
“I said, with deep regret, I’m afraid I must decline your most generous offer, brother.”
“Why?” Anselm demanded. “Surely you’re not going to ask Seth to do it… not when he’s only just settled himself back in Darumvale?”
It was true. After his extended stay in Edgeway, Seth had finally resumed his duties as Chieftain of Darumvale. His return home, however, was mainly due to his growing concern for Ma. While she wasn’t ill, exactly, Ma was getting frailer by the day, which was only to be expected for a lady of her impressive age.
A few weeks ago, just as the last snows were thawing, Bren’s youngest son had ridden to Edgeway at his mother’s request asking Seth to return home. Of course, on receiving such worrying news, a whole party of them had instantly ridden back to Darumvale—Vadim and Martha included—worried to death about dear old Ma.
Much to their relief, they’d found Ma quite hale and whole, happily residing in the Great Hall, not knocking on death’s door as they’d half expected. Content and extremely comfortable, the old lady wanted for nothing and was being waited on hand and foot by Bren and her daughters. Under their care, Seth’s hall had been restored to order, just as it had been back when Sylvie was alive.
In the end, they’d stayed a few days, their visit turning into something of an impromptu party. Martha particularly enjoyed the chance for a good catch-up and a long girly gossip with Bren. Although they hadn’t seen each other in ages, it was exactly like the old days when she’d lived in Darumvale as Vadim’s wife.
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