Wolfsbane

by N. J. Layouni

  The earl snort-laughed. “What use have I for the promise of such a seasoned liar?”

  He pushed her ahead, shoving her with such force she hit the battlements at speed. Her outstretched hands absorbed most of the impact; the pressure of it vibrated through her wrists. The earl moved behind her, his chest pressed firmly against her back, sandwiching her between himself and the wall.

  Martha looked down and instantly regretted it. It was a very long drop. The ground swirled before her eyes, and she clenched them shut, but the image of the horrible ditch surrounding the castle played on behind her eyelids. Gray chunks of rubble poked up from beneath the frothy green water, breaching the surface like jagged icebergs. The bloated corpse of some unfortunate animal bobbed in the foul water. It might have once been a dog. She couldn’t tell. God only knew what else the ditch contained.

  The stench of decomposition combined unpleasantly with the earl’s sickly scent. Her stomach finally revolted. Warm bile flooded into her mouth. Gagging and coughing she retched the meager contents of her stomach over the wall.

  “Oh, are you feeling unwell, my dear?” The earl pressed his body closer to hers, his words brushing against her ear. “Never mind. You will not suffer for much longer.”

  His breath bore the sweet note of decay. Although unpleasant, the intimacy of their position was far worse.

  Oh, please let that be his sword.

  Still clinging to the wall, she turned her head to wipe her sour mouth at the top of her sleeve. Was he really going to throw her over the wall? Given the choice, she’d prefer a quick, clean stabbing. Her stomach pitched again as another wave of nausea washed over her. She forced her eyes open and tried not to imagine herself smashed on the rocks below, yet another ingredient in the ditch’s vile, rotting sludge.

  Her bladder screamed for release. The pressure of being squished against the wall was more than it could take. She couldn’t hold on any longer.

  So what are you waiting for? Go on. Do it.

  Why not? It might even work to her advantage. Despite everything, the earl was only human. He should react in the same way as anyone else. She might not be able to escape, but she might buy herself her a few seconds of precious freedom.

  While he was occupied—one-handedly flapping a wad of white material into a make-shift flag—Martha shuffled her knees apart and let go of her bladder.

  She sighed as the stream of warm liquid gushed to the ground. Pure bliss. Tears of relief streamed down her cheeks.

  “What the…” With a cry of disgust, the earl leapt back from the fast-pooling liquid. “Urgh. You revolting bitch! Do you know how much these boots cost?”

  With great effort, she managed to stop peeing. Thankfully, her aim was good. Apart from a couple of splashes, she was dry. Not wearing underwear had certain advantages.

  She took a few steps back, quickly distancing herself from the danger of the wall. But all the time, she kept her eyes fixed on the earl, not daring to look away for a second. The fact that he hadn’t reached for any of his own weapons was strangely worrying.

  They circled one another, moving warily, like hunters. Martha slipped her hand into her pocket, closing her fingers around the handle of the knife. As the earl advanced, his pristine square of fabric trailed on the ground behind him.

  “What are you going to do with that?” she asked, jerking her head to indicate his now-grubby flag.

  “That is none of your concern.” He made a sudden lunge for her.

  With a squeal of fright, Martha swerved out of his reach and danced away. The earl was limping heavily. His wounded leg was obviously paining him. Good.

  He gave an exasperated tut. “Come back here.” He made another grab for her—and missed—snarling with fury. “Do you wish to die upon my blade?” He touched the hilt of his sword. “Though it would vex me exceedingly, I will kill you here and now if you force me to it.”

  Martha snorted. “You’d be vexed?” She glanced over her shoulder, backing toward the stairwell. There was no hiding place—nowhere else to go except over the wall.

  The earl kept on coming, advancing steadily, like a murderous, mad-eyed sheepdog, repeatedly blocking her escape route. “You choose death, then, m’lady?”

  Since escape wasn’t currently an option, maybe she could cut a deal?

  “Fine. You win.” She reluctantly let go of the knife and raised her hands. “I’ll do what you want. Just don’t touch me, okay?” She nodded at the makeshift flag in his hand again. “Are you going to parlay with Rodmar’s men?”

  The earl’s pale eyes flashed. Whatever he was thinking, it couldn’t be good because he was smiling again. Even worse, it looked genuine.

  “What gave me away?” He waved the grubby flag at her. “Very well. Shall we return to the wall? I need them to see you.”

  Maintaining the distance between them, Martha walked back to the parapet. The earl matched her pace. She dipped her hand back into her pocket, seeking the comfort of her knife. His Evilness was going to grab her the first chance he got. And when he wasn’t expecting it, that’s when she’d make her move.

  He made her stand between the battlements, then he waved his cloth over the wall. At length, the missile bombardment ceased, and the singing faded. Not long afterward, a group of men on horseback cantered up the hill to the castle, one of them bearing a white flag.

  Martha chewed her lip. Now what?

  To her surprise, two masked riders accompanied the three knights. Her heart skipped a beat. Was Vadim amongst them? No. But they had to be his friends. The riders reined in at the other side of the ditch, just as the first drops of rain tumbled from the swollen clouds.

  The knight with the white flag took off his helmet and tilted his head back in order to look at them. “Greetings, Lord Edgeway!” he called in clear voice. “I trust you have passed a peaceful night?”

  At this, the knight’s companions roared with laughter.

  The earl’s jaw tensed. “Regrettably, I have not yet slept. But do not blame yourself, sir knight. ’Twas the serpents in my own house that kept me from peaceful repose.”

  The rain intensified, pattering on the knights’ armor like pebbles on a tin can. Martha hunched her shoulders, longing for her cloak. When exactly had she lost it? She frowned. The previous hours had blended into a big blur.

  The spokesman’s smile broadened. “I am sorry to hear that, m’lord. I trust you have now dealt with your… infestation?” This drew more laughter from his friends.

  “Not quite.” The earl bared his teeth in a snarl-like smile. “But at least I have the majority of them under interrogation.”

  The men exchanged glances. Their smiles were not quite so bright now.

  “Tell me, my lords.” His Evilness nodded at Martha, gesturing for her to lean over the wall. “Do you recognize this woman?”

  Holding back the sodden weight of her hair with one hand, Martha looked down at the men’s upturned faces. A quick scan of each face left her disappointed. She didn’t know any of them. Her eyes lingered on the two masked riders. Surely if they’d met before, a bell would jingle somewhere in the dark recesses of her brain? But nothing happened—not the tiniest spark of familiarity. Her heart sank. Until that moment, she hadn’t known how much she’d longed to see someone familiar.

  “Well?” The earl had to shout to be heard over the noise of the wind and rain. “Look closely at her now.”

  As the men studied her face, their smiles went out. It wasn’t a trick of her weary mind. Although she didn’t know them, they definitely knew her. She wanted to punch the air and sing.

  But His Evilness was smiling again. Damn him. He’d obviously interpreted the men’s non verbals in the same way she had.

  “So, she is worth something to you,” he muttered. “Excellent.”

  The men exchanged glances. Leaning on their horses’ necks, they be
gan murmuring to one another in low voices. The masked men suddenly became animated, angry. She frowned. Why?

  Rodmar’s spokesman raised his hand to silence them. The masked men stiffened in their saddles and rode off a few paces. They didn’t move far, just enough to indicate some dissention in their ranks.

  The rift between the knights and outlaws was apparent. Something was very wrong. She clutched the wall so hard her fingertips burned as they grated over the rough stone.

  The earl leaned a little further over the parapet. “Oh, do make haste and answer, preferably before I am soaked through to my undergarments. Do you know her or not?”

  The knight looked up with a solemn face. “No, m’lord.” He cleared his throat. “The lady is unknown to us.”

  What the—?

  “Very well,” the earl said brightly. “Then I have no further use for her.” With frightening speed, he sprang at Martha.

  Shit!

  She went for her knife, but as she tried to withdraw it, the point of the blade snagged on the inside of her pocket. There was no time to pull it free. The earl made a grab for her hair, but Martha jerked back and took a quick sideways step to evade him. Then panic set in, and logic flew over the parapet. Heart pounding, she turned and ran.

  The earl stumbled over the thick folds of Martha’s swirling skirt but managed to grab her by the shoulder. Martha squealed and pivoted round, kicking his shin with all of her strength.

  With a bellow of pain, the earl let her go. “Whore!” He lashed out, the back of his right hand connecting viciously with her cheekbone.

  She staggered as a galaxy of stars exploded before her eyes. Her ears buzzed as if she’d just returned from a rock concert. A brutal hand burrowed into her wet hair, and she heard the echo of desperate whimpers. Her own? The earl’s voice became a slow, meaningless rumble. As her legs buckled, a black blanket put out all the stars, simultaneously sapping all the strength from her limbs. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A familiar stench roused Martha from her semi-conscious state. She forced her heavy eyelids open and found herself dangling over the edge of the battlements, looking down into the ditch and its foul green soup.

  “No.” Her voice was almost inaudible. Then a rush of adrenaline flooded her body. “Oh, God. No!” She clung desperately to the wall and kicked out. The earl grabbed her thrashing ankles and secured them against him. Then he lifted her, tilting her over the edge.

  “Last chance,” he yelled to the slack-jawed men staring up at them.

  Martha stopped kicking, afraid her own struggles would send her over the brink.

  Oh, please, let me wake up now.

  The knights remained motionless, watching the scene with expressionless faces. But even with their masks, the outlaws feelings were easier to read. As they muttered to one another, the two men cast frequent glances at Martha as she see-sawed over the battlements. Their horses danced beneath them, probably picking up on their masters’ discomfort. Suddenly, riding side by side, the men pushed their horses forward.

  “Enough!” one of them cried, ignoring the scowls of the knights. “The woman is known to us.”

  The earl stopped lifting and hugged her legs to his chest. “Then, speak her name out loud. Tell me who she is.”

  The pattering rain cooled her tears and washed the blood from her ruined fingertips, turning the stonework a watery pink.

  “She is Martha, wife of Vadim—the true Earl of Edgeway.” The pride in the outlaw’s voice was obvious.

  Great. Another fecking fan boy. That’s all I need.

  The earl chuckled. “Tell me, where is His Lordship while I am abusing his wife so cruelly, hmm?”

  The masked men exchanged another wordless glance.

  Even coming from the earl, that was an excellent question. Would she live long enough to learn the answer? A flame of temper licked through her body.

  It was over. Not just her precarious hold on life, but everything else too. She was done with making excuses for him. Through with trying to convince herself Vadim still cared. His lack of action spoke for itself. He didn’t give a shit about her.

  I’d divorce the handsome gobshite if I wasn’t just about to die.

  The earl raised Martha’s ankles higher again. “Where is he?” he roared. “I will not be deprived of my rightful vengeance.”

  She screamed. Only her shoulders, jammed painfully between the battlements, prevented her from falling over the edge. Eyes clenched shut, she began to pray. She didn’t want to see death as it rushed to claim her.

  Holy Mary Mother of God. Please let it be quick!

  “Put her down.”

  Was that... Anselm? Although she couldn’t see him, her heart soared.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the earl turn to look behind him.

  Over her breathy sobs, she heard the unmistakable smooth glide of a sword being pulled from its sheath.

  “Do not test me, m’lord.” Anselm spoke quietly, but the edge in his voice was as lethal as that of any sword.

  “Anselm!” His name ripped from her throat, half scream, half plea.

  Oh, thank God.

  “As you wish.” The earl set her down. “Let us not fight, my friend. Not over her.”

  Martha’s jelly legs refused to hold her, and she crumpled to the floor in an inelegant heap, resisting the sudden urge to do a “pope.” The ground was much too wet for kissing, no matter how grateful she was.

  “What vexes you, Anselm?” the earl asked with a frown. “Surely you know I do this for you as well as for myself?”

  Anselm stood only a few feet away, sword raised. His hair hung about his face in dark rats’ tails, clinging to the grim line of his jaw. He didn’t meet Martha’s eyes. His attention was too focused on his master.

  She was extremely happy not to be on the receiving end of that particular look. It was way beyond “Bad Anselm.” Even so, she’d never been so glad to see anyone.

  “Come here, sweeting.” He spoke without looking at her, beckoning to her with his free hand.

  The earl’s eyes were wide and wild, darting from side to side. Two pink spots of temper flushed his cheeks. In her opinion, Anselm was wise not to look away from him.

  Hampered by the heavy weight of her saturated gown, Martha scrambled to her feet. But before she’d taken three steps, the earl sprang at her. His arm snaked over her chest, his forearm an immovable weight against her neck.

  Oh, for the love of God!

  “Release her,” Anselm growled. “At once, if you please.”

  “And if it does not please me? What then, my friend?”

  Anselm’s eyes glittered in his pale face. Tightening his grip on his sword, he took a step toward them.

  Bugger this for a game of soldiers.

  While the two men were occupied with staring one another down, Martha slipped her hand into her pocket and took out her knife. Taking a deep breath, she plunged deep it into the earl’s thigh.

  With an agonized scream, he thrust her away. Unfortunately for the earl, she still clung on to the knife’s handle. It exited his leg with a nasty, meaty slurp. She stumbled forward into Anselm’s arms, bracing herself against his metal chest plate, grinning up at him like a blood-crazed lunatic, while the earl hopped around the barbican roof bellowing and cursing.

  “I really enjoyed that,” she said with feeling.

  “So it would seem.” Anselm’s stern countenance cracked into a smile. “And just how long have you owned that particular weapon, m’lady?”

  “Er… how long were we cohabiting?”

  His eyes widened. “As long as that? Then, I should consider myself the luckiest of men.” With that, he pulled her behind him.

  No. It wouldn’t do to neglect the earl. A wounded animal was always t
he most dangerous. Clutching his leg, she watched him limp over where his filthy white flag lay floating in a puddle. Using his teeth to help him, the earl tore off a strip of fabric and quickly bound it about his leg, howling with pain as he tied it.

  On the plus side, he now had a matching set of thigh wounds—a bandage on either leg. Very battle chic.

  Outside the castle walls, the sound of battle resumed, but Martha didn’t care. She pressed her cheek against the damp wool of Anselm’s cloak. “Thank you,” she murmured. If not for him, she’d be dead now.

  “You are most welcome.”

  “Come on. Let’s go.” She tugged at his arm. “You can tell me how you escaped as we walk.”

  But Anselm remained immobile. “I cannot leave him, sweeting. Not like this.”

  “What?” Her eyes bugged. “Are you insane?” She swept back her sodden hair as she stepped in front of him.

  Anselm continued to stare at the earl. “He is my liege lord, Martha.”

  “He’s a fecking fruit-and-nut job. That’s what he is.” She watched the earl grimace as he stood upright again. Fresh blood had already soaked through the dressings of both legs. Good. “Please, Anselm?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot. I do not expect you to understand.”

  No, she bloody well didn’t. His Evilness would kill the pair of them, given the opportunity to do so.

  “Long has he been my closest companion.” Anselm’s voice was almost tender. “I owe him a great deal.”

  The earl glared at them. “How good of you to finally remember it.” He began hobbling toward them, but after only a couple of paces, he stopped, groaning feebly as he pressed his hands to his thighs.

  Martha exhaled. Bloody men. “You’ve picked a hell of a time to develop a conscience, Anselm.”

  Anselm lowered his sword and smiled. “It is a matter of honor. Even I have some remaining.”

  That word. Again. She ground her teeth.

  The earl directed a look of undiluted hatred her way. “I gave him everything,” he snarled. “When the world turned against him, I gave him a home, employment, and more wealth than his barn rat of a father ever dreamed of.”