Wolfsbane

by N. J. Layouni

  Martha scrambled to her feet, stumbling and swearing as the wet folds of her gown snarled about her legs. How was Vadim doing?

  At the far end of the passageway, he was still managing to hold His Evilness at bay though it was difficult to see them. She pushed the outside door, propping it open with a stone to let in more light.

  Now she could see them better. Neither man showed any sign of tiring. The metallic clangs and screeches didn’t let up though they were occasionally punctuated by panting grunts and a few choice curses.

  Chewing at the inside of her lip, Martha edged nearer.

  Suddenly, Vadim swept out one long leg. The earl gave a pained cry and fell, clutching his right knee. His sword clattered to the ground beside him.

  A thick silence replaced the sounds of their dueling blades, in its own way, even more deafening.

  Why didn’t he finish him? But she already knew the answer.

  She hurried to Vadim’s side, her ears still ringing as if she’d just left a heavy-metal gig. Perhaps, in a way, she had.

  She couldn’t read his face. Without acknowledging her presence, he stared down at his vanquished foe. His blank expression was as much a mask as the strips of cloth he’d worn over his face back in his outlaw days.

  From the fingers of his left hand, blood dripped silently to the ground, but Vadim seemed not to notice. His dark eyes never strayed from the earl.

  Martha frowned. “Are you all right?” She moved her hand up and down his back in a gentle stroking motion.

  “Why are you still here?” he asked softly. “I told you to leave, did I not?” He still didn’t look at her.

  What did he think she was, an obedient dog? Martha stopped stroking him and withdrew her hand. He was too prickly to touch. Instead, she followed the line of his gaze to the pathetic tangle of humanity sprawled out on the floor.

  The earl was a mess, a pale shadow of his former self. Gone was the magnificent peacock. In its place lay a rather soggy chick, wrapped in a purple cloak that now resembled a dirty rag. His once-golden mane lay in straddling rat-tails over his glistening scalp.

  Still nursing his knee, the earl smiled up at Martha, displaying his bloody teeth. “You spoke… the truth earlier.” He fought to catch his breath. “What you said about… my beloved Lissy.”

  Vadim’s head snapped round. “What did you tell him?” His whole demeanor bristled as he looked at her.

  Martha’s stomach sank. “A-about the vow—”

  “You had no right to speak of it!”

  She felt herself withering beneath the look in his eyes. Unfortunately, they weren’t devoid of emotion anymore. “I was trying to save Fergus’s life—”

  “By betraying my secrets?” His lips curved into a parody of a smile. “That was very well done indeed, my love.”

  “Oh, feck off!” Her own temper flashed into life. “Perhaps if you’d gotten off your arse and rescued me a bit sooner, I wouldn’t have been put in that position.”

  The earl’s laughter interrupted whatever furious reply Vadim had been about to make. “How diverting. I do so enjoy a good domestic.”

  “And you, Lord Gobshite,” Martha wheeled around, pointing at him with a trembling finger. “You’re nothing but an evil, pathetic, twisted old man. He might have promised not to kill you.” She jerked her head, indicating Vadim. “But I certainly didn’t.” She brandished Anselm’s knife to illustrate her point.

  “And just where did you acquire that?” Vadim demanded. “You did not have it earlier.”

  “Anselm gave it to me.”

  “Of course.” Vadim executed a perfect skyward eye roll. “I should have guessed it.”

  Did he really believe she had some kind of thing for Anselm? Was he really that stupid?

  The earl made a grab for his sword. “Leave it!” Vadim snarled, kicking the gaudy weapon out of his reach. The sword spun away, bouncing and scraping over the rough stone floor. Then Vadim returned his attention to Martha. “What else has my brother given you, I wonder?”

  Yes. Apparently he was that stupid.

  A hot blast of rage raced from Martha’s toes to her fingers, incinerating every loving feeling in its path. She clenched her hands into fists at her side and started counting. With supreme effort, she made it to eight.

  “You know what?” She looked up into Vadim’s smoldering eyes. “I’m done here.” Her voice was steady and calm, just as she wanted it to be. “You two go right ahead and kill one another, okay?” She gestured with the knife between him and the still-snickering earl. “Enjoy yourselves. Have a nice feud.”

  She stomped off down the passageway.

  “Where are you going?” Vadim called after her.

  “Who knows? With a bit of luck, I might find a way home.” She wanted to hit something, and if she stayed here, it’d probably be him. “I’m certainly not bringing a baby into this crazy fecking world—”

  “Y-you are... with child?”

  That stopped her. Martha froze, cringing. She’d said that out loud? Shit! Of all the ways she’d envisioned telling Vadim he was about to become a father, this wasn’t one of them.

  “Answer me.”

  The earl was laughing even harder now.

  Slowly, Martha turned to face Vadim, her cheeks burning. This wasn’t the ideal moment, but he had a right to know. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”

  Vadim exhaled a long, slow breath. Hostility glittered from his eyes. She could feel the tension coming off him in waves. He was hardly a poster child for impending fatherhood.

  His jaw tensed. “And I suppose,” he said quietly, “I have Anselm to thank for this too?”

  Martha gasped. Did he—? For once, her ready supply of insults deserted her. She had no words suitable to counter the pain now tearing at her heart. Burning tears shimmered before her eyes. They faced one another in silence.

  The earl, however, had plenty to say—when he could speak without laughing. “I should have realized it sooner. Anselm’s actions are finally clear to me. Now I know why he betrayed me for this drab little bird you call your wife.”

  At least someone was happy. Without a word, Martha turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Vadim groped for the wall to steady him. Like a trebuchet strike, Martha’s revelation rocked him to his foundations.

  Anselm’s babe was growing within her womb.

  As if phantoms from the frozen North had ridden down on their winged steeds and cursed him, his heart chilled, a case of ice slowly enveloping it.

  Though he hungered for her presence, he did not call her back.

  A lesser woman might have tried to convince him he was the baby’s sire. Not she. Martha had made no attempt to deny the child’s paternity. One day, he might be grateful for her lack of duplicity.

  Perhaps Anselm had taken her against her will? Forced himself upon her? But as he watched her, even this shameful spark of hope died.

  Wiping her eyes, she crouched at Anselm’s side. Was she still assessing the strength of his hold on life? Whatever had gone on before, her affection for his foster brother was apparent.

  From the bitter tomb of his heart, a quiet voice mocked him as every dream he had crumbled into dust. Even now, she lingers by his side, so loathe is she to part from him.

  Vadim clenched the handle of his sword and ground his teeth. For his own sake, Anselm had better be dead, if not—

  “It is not easy, is it?” a soft voice asked.

  “What?” he snapped. He had almost forgotten the serpent beneath his boot.

  Taking advantage of Vadim’s distraction, the earl had shuffled across the floor and reclaimed his sword. Still panting for breath, he sat with his face in shadow, leaning against the damp stone wall.

  Vadim muttered a curse. As old and whipped as the earl appeared to be, he was not y
et beaten. To lose sight of him now would be fatal. A wounded animal was always the most dangerous.

  The earl hawked up a glob of phlegm and spat, narrowly missing Vadim’s boot. “How does it feel, watching the object of your heart being so attentive to another man?”

  Grimacing, Vadim moved his foot away from the froth of bloody spit. The question did not merit an answer.

  As he leaned forward, the earl’s eyes glittered. “You disappoint me, Hemlock. What kind of man have you become? See how tenderly your wife treats her lover, even whilst in your presence, her supposed lord and master.” He pointed toward Martha, a sneer curving his mouth. “How can you stand by and do nothing? Tell me, did you surrender your balls when you spoke your marriage vows?”

  “Be silent!” Vadim growled through gritted teeth. Blood thundered in his ears, urging him to violence. He quickly transferred his sword to the other hand and wiped his clammy palm upon his trousers. One way or another, he would settle the blood-debt between them. “Get up.”

  Using the point of his sword to aid himself, the earl struggled to his feet, gasping with effort. Vadim let him keep the weapon...for now.

  Suddenly, the bell in the castle courtyard set off clanging, but not in warning. Its urgent chimes brought a message of joy to the victors. The reign of a new king had begun.

  Leaning heavily on his sword, the earl tilted his head as he listened. “Rodmar took the crown, then?” He gave a sigh, perhaps in remembrance of his cousin who had worn it for so many bitter years.

  “Outside.” Vadim jerked his head toward the doorway. “Move.” Despite his efforts on the new king’s behalf, he was in no mood to partake in the celebrations. He wanted only to put some distance between this treacherous snake and Martha.

  “And if I choose to remain, what will you do, Lord Hemlock? Kill me?” The earl chuckled at his own jest. “Oh, but you promised not to harm me. How unfortunate. Between them, the ladies have done an excellent job of castrating you.”

  Vadim smiled at this clumsy attempt to bait him. “Be that as it may, at least I had some balls to begin with. You, however—”

  His words died. Further down the passageway, Martha stood up. Their eyes met in a brief glance, loaded with pain and anger on both sides. Without speaking, she turned and headed outside. Vadim exhaled. Had she abandoned her precious Anselm too?

  “I should have killed you when you were a boy,” the earl blustered, raking his hand through his stringy hair. “It would have been an act of mercy on my part.”

  Vadim nodded. “True enough.” At least he would have been spared the misery of losing her. “Now, walk. Or must I kick you first? How is your knee, by the way?”

  The earl sent him a look of pure loathing then set off limping down the passageway. Keeping him at sword’s length, Vadim followed behind.

  It was slow going. Using his own weapon as a walking implement, the earl limp-hopped with the speed and agility of an ailing slug. He stopped frequently, rubbing at his wounded legs and knee, muttering violently beneath his breath as he did so.

  “What will you do with me?” he demanded on one of his rest stops.

  “Nothing. Your fate lies in the king’s hands now. You must trust in his mercy.”

  “Mercy!” The earl glared back at him from over his shoulder. “He will hang me before the sun sets on this accursed day.”

  “That he may.” The prospect of finally being rid of him brought a smile to Vadim’s lips. After so many years, at last the end was in sight. He would finally be able to bury the past. The earl was its final tether.

  “What of your vow?” The earl hopped another step and stopped again. “You swore to do me no harm!”

  “And to that I hold. My hands will not place the noose about your wretched neck.”

  “But nonetheless, they will be forever be stained with my blood.”

  Vadim’s smile broadened. “I will deal with my guilt as best I may. But your concern for my honor does you credit, Lord Edgeway.”

  At that moment, Martha returned with Forge and the three soldiers in her wake. Without sparing a glance for Vadim, she instructed the men to transfer Anselm to the infirmary, threatening to smash their precious wine bottles if they dropped him along the way.

  The men grinned at Vadim but did as she asked, lifting Anselm with exaggerated care and maneuvering him through the narrow doorway.

  Now it was Vadim who halted. While Martha fussed over his foster brother, a tide of hot jealousy consumed him. The urge to walk over there and plunge his sword into Anselm’s black heart almost overwhelmed him. Breathing hard, jaw clenched tight, he struggled to master himself.

  The earl was watching. “I see your mind, boy.” His mouth formed a sly smile. “For all your lordly ways, you are no better than I.”

  Without wanting to, Vadim understood. As he looked into the earl’s eyes, he glimpsed the blackest reaches of his enemy’s soul. All the pain and suffering he had caused lay spread out before him. “You dare to compare us?” he whispered. “I am nothing like you!”

  A cold sweat pricked his brow and upper lip. He dashed it away on the sleeve of his hauberk while his heart set off galloping at a dangerous speed.

  By the Great Spirit. Not now!

  Unable to prevent it, the echoes of a time long gone flooded Vadim’s mind, vivid in color, and terrible to behold. His stomach rolled. Boldly, the ghosts ventured into the light, the stuff of night terrors, no longer confined to the realm of dreams. Breathing quickly, he battled to push them back into the dark and close the door, but the vision was too powerful.

  He was a boy again, alone and helpless, watching his parents die, cut down in the moonlight, their steaming blood glistened on the cobbled courtyard. It was real: the stench of death, the terrified screams of the castle’s women as the earl’s men used then slaughtered them.

  The ruby ring on the little finger of his beloved father’s lifeless right hand. His white night shirt transformed by a blooming patch of red as he lay shielding the corpse of his wife.

  Mother?

  The terror of his boyhood paralyzed him. Vadim was vaguely aware of falling to the ground, but he was helpless, shackled by the past. Panting for breath, he covered his eyes, attempting to block out the tapestry of horror.

  This is not real.

  The earl’s laughter rang in his ears. Whether now or then, he could not tell.

  “It seems a pity to end your suffering, brother-in-law. However—”

  “What the hell have you done to him?”

  The indignant female voice penetrated Vadim’s drifting consciousness as nothing else could. Martha? He heard her light bootsteps, felt the touch of her soft hand on his brow.

  A sword scraped over the stone floor. “Back off. Now!” Her growl matched Forge’s in ferocity.

  “Or what? You will nag me to death?” More laughter—the earl’s. “Put the sword down before you do yourself an injury. Go and tend to Anselm. Vadim is mine.”

  “No. He’s mine!”

  Despite everything, she would still claim him as her own? Her very presence revived him.

  “How many men do you want, you brazen whore?” the earl demanded.

  “Just the two of them, thanks.”

  “M’lady? What are you—” Another voice echoed in the passageway. A man. Harold? Or was it Edric? Through the parting foggy strands of his mind, Vadim felt a surge of gratitude.

  “Stay back, or I will kill her!” the earl warned. “Do not put me to the test, man.”

  Vadim heard the ringing of a sword point as it bounced on the ground. Had Martha taken up his weapon? It was much too heavy for her to wield, even if she did know how to use it. Taking several deep breaths, he clung to the present, to her, willing himself back.

  “How did your wife die, by the way?” Martha’s voice was friendly now, almost conversational. “Vadim never
told me, but I’d like to know, what with us all being related.”

  “I beg your pardon?” The earl’s voice was suddenly devoid of amusement.

  She was deliberately baiting him. Vadim blinked several times, and his vision cleared. He could see the earl again, wild-eyed and snarling, his sword poised to strike.

  “I expect she wasn’t a bundle of laughs to live with after you killed her family, was she?” Martha was saying brightly. “It’s such a shame about the baby, though. Tell me, do you have any more children?”

  “No.” That solitary word oozed with poison.

  Vadim exhaled. Martha was on such perilous ground if she only knew it. No one spoke of the earl’s late wife and lived to tell the tale. Life flowed back into his limbs and left him trembling. His skull threatened to crack open like an egg, but at least he was himself again.

  The past was gone. For better or worse, this woman was his present and future. If only she would accept him.

  He grabbed a fistful of Martha’s sodden skirt and hauled himself to a sitting position. She swayed but stood firm, shielding him from the earl with her own body.

  Foolish bravery. He did not deserve such a wife. But if they managed to escape this awful place, he would spend the rest of his days endeavoring to do so.

  Whatever it took.

  “Ah. Here he is, back with us again.” The earl grinned at Vadim. “How was your trip, m’lord? Your family were much the same as I left them, I trust?”

  ***

  Martha glared at the earl. The evil bastard. Didn’t he possess even the smallest shred of humanity?

  By using her as a living climbing frame, Vadim managed to stand. Thank God he wasn’t wearing armor, for he was no lightweight. He leaned heavily on her, an arm about her shoulders. His rapid breaths felt hot upon the sensitive skin of her ear. Martha shivered.

  “You have timed your arrival perfectly,” the earl said with a shark-like smile. “I was just about to dispatch your slut of a wife to the afterlife. I am so glad you are here to witness it.”

  Slut. The chance would be a fine thing.

  Puffing a wayward lock of hair from her eyes, Martha raised the tip of the sword, grunting with effort. It was too damn heavy. The muscles in her arms burned and wobbled with the strain of keeping it steady. “Just get… on with it,” she panted. Any second now, her feeble courage and her remaining strength were going to go bye-bye.