“Oh, thank the Great Spirit!” Anselm’s relief at seeing her revived was apparent. He looked pale, his eyes glittering with emotion. This was a very different man from the one who’d almost strangled her. Bad Anselm was gone. For now, at least.
He leaned over and pressed his warm lips to her forehead. “Forgive me. I did not mean to...” Shaking his head, he turned away, muttering fiercely beneath his breath.
When her breathing leveled out, Martha swiped her sleeve across her eyes and tried to sit up. Anselm was there at once, lifting and guiding her with gentle hands, helping her back into her chair. She was too wobbly to object.
“Drink this.” He held a tankard to her lips. “Just a little, mind.”
Her airway felt swollen, constricted to the diameter of a drinking straw. She took a tiny sip of ale and forced it down her raw throat. She gagged. Gradually, her heart stopped hammering, and her breathing slowed.
“W-what are… you going to do with me now?” she asked in a ragged whisper.
Anselm crouched beside her chair and traced the line of her shoulder with his fingers. “Do not ask me that, I beg of you.”
Martha circled her shoulder to escape his touch. To hell with him. She wasn’t scared anymore.
The trembling man before her seemed incapable of doing her further harm. Not by his own hand, anyway. “Will you tell the earl about Vadim… about me?”
“Should I, m’lady?” The warmth in his eyes cooled a degree. “Shall I tell him how you have lied and deceived us? Can you imagine my lord’s reaction?” He leaned closer, his breath brushing her cold lips. “By the time he finally slit your throat, you would consider it an act of mercy.”
Martha’s scalp prickled. She knew he spoke the truth.
He stood up, looking about the room as if he’d never seen it before. “I am shackled on all sides,” he muttered, raking both hands through his tangled hair. He winced, probably encountering the wound to his head he’d received earlier. “For the love of Erde, what am I to do? No matter which path I walk, I am damned.” He kicked over a small table, sending it crashing into the wall.
Martha flinched. Why was he so upset? It was her life on the line, not his.
He paced the room, muttering to himself like a madman.
Watching him made her dizzy. He reminded her of a tiger penned up in a too-small enclosure. She tried to speak but couldn’t make a sound. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Anselm?” Not exactly a shout, but at least he heard.
“Hush, sweeting. Let me think.”
She massaged her throat and coughed a couple of times before speaking. “What about? You’ve… won. King Erik… will probably give you a reward when he learns—”
“Can you truly be so blind?” Anselm crouched beside her chair again, his eyes wild and desperate. “I do not wish to see you dead, Martha.”
She arched her eyebrows. So, strangulation is just an enthusiastic form of affection, is it?
He accurately interpreted her expression. “I was half insane before. My passion momentarily overcame me.” He touched her hand as it rested on the arm of the chair, scowling when she moved it away. “I vow to you, sweeting, I will never hurt you again.”
He got up and resumed his pacing, indulging in another weird muttered conversation with himself. “I could remain silent. Ah, but what if I do not speak up, and my masters learn of her treachery? My life will be forfeit too. No.” He shook his head. “I cannot take that risk.”
Martha listened in disbelief. Why would he even consider keeping quiet? That could only mean that he really did... Her heart sank. Oh, surely not? He’d just tried to kill her.
She coughed to get his attention. “You… care about me?” she whispered. One of them was crazy, and she had a sneaking suspicion it might be her.
Anselm’s smile was grim. “Why else would I consider courting the wrath of my powerful masters?”
“Oh.” She was too shocked to say anything more.
He knelt beside her chair. This time when he took her hand, she didn’t pull away.
He raised her hand to his lips. “I must get you to safety.” His urgent words warmed her icy fingers. “But how?”
She sat up a little straighter. Perhaps there was already a way. “Didn’t you discuss terms with Rodmar? Are the women and children going to be set free?”
“Unfortunately not,” he said with a brief shake of his golden head. “The king insists on the immediate withdrawal of Rodmar’s camp, nothing less.”
This was a blow. A lot of people had been banking on some kind of agreement being hammered out, herself included.
Anselm must have read her disappointment. “Perhaps when the barrage recommences, he might have a change of heart.”
Despite his smile, she knew he didn’t believe it.
“So, don’t say anything,” she said. “Did anyone else hear what you said to Vadim?”
Anselm released her hand and began stalking the room again. “The other knights were with me when I called out to... him. Sir Hugh made some mention of it on the ride back.” He froze in his tracks and stood a little taller. “Oh, but I am a fool! I must go to my masters now. If anyone mentions it, I shall say I was mistaken. Lord Hemlock is still dead.”
Unexpected tears blurred her vision. He knew the truth, and he still wanted to protect her. Unbelievable. “Thank you.” She held out her hand to him. “Even if everything goes to hell, I won’t forget this, Anselm.”
“I would rather see you with him than have you dead.” He kissed her hand then held it against his cheek, his silvery eyes boring into hers. “But make no mistake, sweeting. I do this for you alone.”
She nodded. Whatever happened, there seemed little chance of Anselm and Vadim would be sharing an emotional happily-ever-after reunion anytime soon. “I understand.”
Rodmar’s war machines resumed their attack, bombarding the castle with stone missiles well into the night. Anselm didn’t return to his chambers.
Martha paced the room. Sleep was impossible. Since Anselm had left, she’d been wired and twitchy. But the noise of war wasn’t to blame. The trebuchets’ deadly song no longer bothered her. Time and repetition had somehow lowered the volume of the destructive forces beyond the window. Besides, the crashes and rumblings weren’t yet close enough to be a cause for concern.
She knew the reason for her hyper-alert state. The end was coming. In her heart, she was certain of it. What kind of end remained to be seen.
With Effie’s help, Martha changed into her warmest woolen gown and exchanged her flimsy slippers for a pair of sturdy boots. Her cloak hung over the back of the chair by the door, in readiness for when the summons to leave came.
Effie was kneeling on the floor packing some of Martha’s things into a small linen bundle. When she looked up, her hazel eyes were serious. “You are leaving us.” The statement contained no hint of a question.
Martha sighed. “Yes.” She couldn’t lie to her. Not now.
Sucking in her bottom lip, Effie lowered her head, suddenly intent on the task before her.
“I’m sorry.” Guilt twisted Martha’s heart. “I have to go. Please don’t make me feel bad.”
“Then take me with you.” Hope glittered in Effie’s eyes. “Do not abandon me to this awful place, I beg you.”
“But I thought you liked it here?” Martha crouched down beside her. “This is your home.”
“No.” Effie shook her head. “Not without you. I wish only to serve you, m’lady.”
Will she ever call me by my name?
“But I don’t understand. Why would you choose service over freedom, Effie? There’s a whole world out there, beyond this castle,” she said, gesturing toward the window. “There is more to life than these four walls.”
“True enough. But I am only a woman.” Effie clasped Martha’s hand. “Where would I go,
all alone in this world of men? I have no husband to protect me. No. Service is the best I can hope for.” She gave a smile that pricked Martha’s heart. “And in serving you, I am most content with my lot.”
It was the longest speech Martha had ever heard from the girl. What she said made sense. In this world, a lone woman was undeniably vulnerable. The liberation of women didn’t exist here. Perhaps it never would. “What about your mother—your brothers?” Martha asked. “You aren’t alone. You have a family back in Edgeway.”
Effie shook her head. “My brothers are both wed, and with families of their own. My mother turned her back on me on the day I exchanged her roof for this castle; there is no going back now, she made that quite clear.” Sadness radiated from the girl. “I saw Mother on the street in town only recently. I waved, but she turned away.”
Oh, for fecksake. Effie was a grown woman, not a stray dog needing adoption. She decided to try another angle. Maybe the truth would work?
“What if I told you I’m about to do something Lord Edgeway won’t like?” She lowered her voice. “What if I said that my friends are his enemies?”
Effie’s eyes widened. “Really?” To Martha’s surprise, the girl laughed, clapping her hands in apparent delight. “Oh, I hoped you would say so.”
“But I thought you liked Anselm?” Martha said with a frown. “Just the sound of his name was enough to make you blush.”
“Aye.” Right on cue, the girl’s cheeks reddened, but she seemed more embarrassed than besotted. “In the beginning, perhaps. But my infatuation lessened each time he locked the door. How could I continue to admire the man who holds my beloved mistress against her will?”
“The door’s not locked now, is it?” Damn. That sounded like she was defending him.
“And what about these?” The maid lightly brushed her fingertips over the ripening bruises on Martha’s neck. Her young eyes were suddenly so serious. “Do you imagine because I say nothing I do not see?”
Hot blood flushed Martha’s cheeks. She adjusted her thin shawl, pulling it a little higher up her neck. Hang on. Why the hell am I embarrassed?
“How could I love any man capable of such cruelty?” Effie asked with a sad little smile.
“I-it’s complicated...” What am I saying? Martha gave herself a much-needed mental shake.
Anselm had almost killed her. End of story. Why was she suddenly making excuses for him? She smiled, and shook her head. What will I say next? That I pushed him to do it? I trapped my neck in a door? Fell down a flight of stairs? Wake up to yourself, woman.
Pulling off her shawl, she threw it over a chair. “Actually, it’s not complicated at all.” She held her head up and met Effie’s sympathetic eyes. So what if Anselm was now trying to protect her? After what he’d done, it was the very least he could do.
A series of light, hurried taps sounded at the outer door. Martha knew who it was, even as Effie reached for the latch.
Fergus.
The lad’s eyes widened when Effie answered the door. He raked one hand through his wild thatch of red hair, staring at Martha over the maid’s shoulder. “Good evening, m’lady.”
Martha’s stomach flipped. The moment had finally come. “Is it time?” She sounded slightly breathless.
Fergus nodded, darting a suspicious look at Effie as she stepped away to gather Martha’s belongings.
“Your maid,” Fergus said in a low voice. “Can she be trusted?”
Martha retrieved her cloak from the chair by the door and swung it about her shoulders. “Fergus, meet Effie. Effie? Meet Fergus. I think you’ve met before?” She performed the introductions with the ease of a birthday-party hostess. “There. Now we’re all properly acquainted—”
“She is not coming with us,” Fergus protested. “I cannot allow it. My lord will be—”
“End of discussion, Fergus.” Screw Vadim and what he wanted. “Don’t worry, hon. When the time comes, I’ll deal with my lord.”
A frisson of excitement tingled up Martha’s spine. Even the thought of dealing with Vadim was enough to make her blood flow faster. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much life in the castle had ground her down. The siege wasn’t wholly to blame. The process had begun long before that.
Effie hovered uncertainly beside Martha, hugging the linen bundle tight to her chest.
“It seems I am outnumbered.” Fergus glanced at the maid. “So be it.”
However, he remained in the doorway, blocking it with his gangling body. Occasionally, he looked out into the corridor, head tilted, as though he was listening for something. The rest of the time, he studied Effie from beneath his eyelashes.
Martha enjoyed a budding romance as much as anyone, but the delay was getting unbearable. “Er, what exactly is it we’re waiting for?”
A huge boom sounded from somewhere close by. The force of it caused one of Anselm’s shields to fall from where it had been mounted on the wall. It hit the floor with a deafening clatter that made them jump.
Effie gave a squeak of fright and sidled closer to Martha.
“What the fecking hell was that?” Martha demanded, pressing a hand to her pounding chest.
“The signal.” Fergus gave a gap-toothed grin. “Shall we go?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A range of emotions washed over Martha as she left Anselm’s rooms. Relief, guilt, sorrow, and joy competed within her heart. She watched Fergus close the door on a place that was now so familiar. It had been her prison, but it had been a home of sorts too. Whatever happened, she hoped she’d never see it again.
The explosion brought people running from their rooms and out into the corridor. Ladies in long nightdresses called to one another in fright. Sleepy-eyed servants hovered close to their mistresses, some attempting to console numerous bawling children. Most of the men were already outside defending the castle. The few that remained ran along the corridor, pulling on their clothes as they went, seemingly deaf to the pleas of their womenfolk to “be careful”.
Another explosion. The corridor seemed to rock. Shit! Martha stumbled against Fergus. Several women screamed and clutched one another in alarm. Fergus set Martha back on her feet, then he strode away. Effie and Martha had to trot to keep up with his long-legged gait.
Mortar dust drifted in a thick and silent cloud, coating everything. Martha placed her hand over her mouth, but she was already crunching tiny particles of mortar between her teeth.
As they hurried along, pushing through the crowd, she caught fragments of panicked conversations:
“…there are many secret tunnels beneath the—”
“…and Robert says the devils must have undermined the walls!”
Fergus wove a swift path through the bystanders, heading for the servants’ staircase at the far end of the corridor. Pausing beside the nondescript door, he waited for Martha and Effie to catch up. Without speaking, he grabbed a wall torch from its sconce then stepped inside the doorway.
The servants’ staircase was much less grand than the main staircase used by the castle’s noble guests. This dark and narrow passageway traveled to every floor of the castle, from basement to penthouse, transporting the servants to the rooms of the people they served.
Martha followed Effie through the doorway and closed the door behind them. The sounds of their rapid breaths echoed in the silence.
Fergus held the flickering torch aloft and looked back at them. “Take your time going down. These narrow treads can be perilous.”
Martha and Effie arched their eyebrows at one another. They used this staircase every day. Had Fergus forgotten that Effie was a servant? Martha used the stairs almost as frequently, to minimize the risk of encountering His Evilness and Anselm on her jaunts around the castle. It did look different lit by torchlight. Servants usually carried candles to light the way.
Using the wall to guide her,
Martha followed behind the others, carefully picking her way down the winding staircase. Fergus’s torch bobbed as she walked, sinking lower in the spiraling darkness. Each breath sounded harsh and unnatural, amplified by the narrow space. They tip-tapped down the stone steps in silence. Strange shadows danced on the walls—weird, elongated figures that swayed with every step.
Effie gasped and slipped, stumbling into Fergus’s back, almost knocking him over.
“Have a care!” Fortunately, he managed to steady them both before they tumbled down the remaining steps. Despite his irritated outburst, he rested a hand on Effie’s shoulder, his eyes searching hers. “Are you injured?” he asked in a gentler tone.
Effie shook her head. “I f-felt a little dizzy for a moment, nothing more.”
The torchlight’s hypnotic effect was probably to blame. Looking directly at it made Martha’s head feel strange, like a bunny in the headlights, unable to look away.
“Then take my hand, if you will,” Fergus said. “I will not let you fall.”
Without hesitating, Effie took his hand. Martha smiled to herself. Someone more suspicious might think Effie’s “accident” was a little too well-timed, especially after Fergus’s warning. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see the girl’s face, just the back of her head.
You’ll keep until later, miss. She hadn’t missed Effie’s blushes back in Anselm’s chambers when Fergus had been furtively checking her out.
A deep rumbling rose from the depths of the earth. From far away, distant cries and screams penetrated the tomb-like silence of the stairwell.
“What the hell is going on out there?” Martha whispered. Why am I whispering? I haven’t done anything wrong yet.
“Rodmar’s forces are undermining the wall beneath the postern gate,” Fergus replied with a smile in his voice. “With any luck, it should have fallen.”
“Undermining?” A memory jangled in the back of Martha’s mind but she couldn’t access it.
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