Vadim had his own plans. Reclaiming his rightful home and restoring his precious family honor was all he cared about. The question was, where did she fit into his grand designs? What was she, part of the fixtures and fittings?
She stumbled over Forge’s outstretched paws, making the dog yelp in surprise. He looked up, regarding her with an accusing stare.
Martha stroked his shaggy gray head. “Sorry, boy.” She needed to get out of here, to walk off her anger somewhere. But until the castle was properly secured, Vadim had forbidden her to go anywhere unescorted. “Come on, Forge. Let’s go.” She wasn’t breaking her word. Forge could be classed as an escort, couldn’t he?
Four-legged company was the only kind Martha wanted right now. She’d had enough of people. But as they left Anselm’s chambers, she grabbed one of Vadim’s spare daggers and attached it to her belt. Just in case.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
She stepped into the corridor and closed the outer door quietly so Edric wouldn’t hear. She didn’t need him on her case. A pack of armored soldiers clanked by, talking loudly as they passed. Martha gripped onto Forge’s collar a little tighter. Although none of the men had so much as glanced at her, she felt a ball of unease forming in her chest.
She hurried down the stone steps of the servant’s staircase and encountered no one apart from two maidservants running errands for their mistresses. She hoped to escape outside through the kitchen, but she was out of luck. Dozens of men sat around the long kitchen table, noisily harassing the cook and her young assistants to bring them more food and drink.
Great. No way was she going in there. There was nothing else for it, she’d have to chance the main door. “Come on, boy,” she whispered and led Forge back up the steps.
Eyes cast down to avoid making any unwelcome eye contact, she wove through the clusters of loitering soldiers in the entrance hall of the keep. No one stopped her though she suspected she had Forge to thank for that. The big dog dragged her through the crowd at trot, rumbling a warning if anyone came too near. He did look scary though, with his hackles raised like a huge gray wolf.
Although the bodies were gone, their stench remained. The foul reek of death and decay lingering in the vaulted entrance hall. Martha covered her nose with her hand as the smell of un-refrigerated meat assaulted her nostrils.
Squadrons of meat flies buzzed everywhere, filling the air with their constant, heavy drone, and dive-bombing the poor servants who were scrubbing at the stained woodwork and floors.
Vadim expected her to live here? No thank you.
She let go of Forge’s collar in order to wipe her sweaty hand on the skirt of her gown. The moment she did so, the dog pricked up his ears and bolted for the open doorway.
“Forge! Wait.” Without his protection, Martha felt far too conspicuous. Alarmed, she hurried after him.
A group of men stood laughing together at the foot of the great staircase. None of them wore armor, each one dressed in everyday clothes: tight-fitting trousers, shirts and tunics. But they exuded a air of machismo and arrogance that put every other soldier in the shade.
Martha grimaced. Ugh. Knights. She could smell their egos from here.
As she attempted to scuttle past them, one of the men broke free of the group and stepped in front of her. “Are you looking for someone, m’lady?” He smiled down at her from his superior height.
With a huff of annoyance, Martha looked up at him. Tall, dark, and far too full of himself for her liking. Yep. Definitely a knight. “I’m in a hurry.”
“That much is apparent.” The man blocked her as she tried to sidestep round, darting a grin at his group of cronies who were obviously egging him on. “Come. Tarry with us a while, fair lady.”
She circled her shoulder when he tried to touch her. “Don’t!”
The man’s smile faded a degree. “What? You fear I would do you harm?”
The rational part of her mind instinctively knew that this man wasn’t a sexual predator, unlike Jacob and Ferret, even so, she couldn’t fight the rising panic that robbed her of breath and stabbed fear through her heart.
Her breaths became shallow rasps, laboring in her constricted throat. Breathe, damn it. Not all flirtations were a prelude to rape, for goodness sake. But it was no good. Cold sweat pricked her brow and upper lip, and blackness swirled in a fog around the periphery of her vision. And underlying everything was that awful cloying stench of death, suffocating her.
Neither the knight nor his friends were smiling now. The young man’s eyes softened with concern. “You look most ill, m’lady. If I cannot aid you, perhaps I might fetch some—”
“No need, son.” A familiar, and oh-so-welcome male voice cut in. “I have her now.”
Tears of relief pricked Martha’s eyes as Seth’s strong arm slid about her trembling shoulders. If she hadn’t been gasping like a landed trout, she might have kissed him.
“Come away, lass,” he said gently, half carrying her toward the door. “Let us take a turn together out of doors.”
It was bliss to be outside. Clinging to Seth’s arm, she took heaving lungfuls of fresh, sweet air, gorging on it, banishing the scent of decay from her lungs. Little by little, her heart rate slowed and her vision returned. Martha exhaled a long slow breath.
“Th−thank you.” Although her voice quavered, she felt much better.
“Think nothing of it.” Seth guided her to a step and helped her sit down. “Hugo is a dolt but a harmless one.”
“I know.” She managed a weak smile as Seth sat on the step beside her. “I don’t know what came over me back there.”
“I think I have an idea.” There was no mistaking the pity in his bloodshot eyes.
Seth looked terrible. The stains of battle still smeared his face, but beneath the blood spatter, his skin was pale, drawn too tight over the bone beneath. His hair and beard had always had a tendency to run wild, but now he looked utterly unkempt: a red, woolly tangle, held together with dried gore.
She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. The heady combination of sweat, blood, and alcohol made her sensitive stomach churn. “Did you hear they managed to fix up the bath house yesterday?”
Seth snorted in amusement. “I am glad to see Edgeway has not robbed you of your delicate manner, m’lady.” His smile faded. “Unfortunately, soap and water cannot help me.”
A surge of pity welled up in her breast for what Seth had become. Without Sylvie, he was lost, as directionless as a boat without a rudder, helpless and drifting in life’s turbulent sea. Despite the fact that he’d punched Vadim yesterday, she couldn’t stay angry with him. Besides, at that moment, she felt like giving Vadim a slap herself.
The stonemasons were already hard at work making repairs to the battered keep. Balanced high up on a perilous web of wooden scaffolding, they labored in the sunshine. The constant tink-tink of their tools accompanied the men’s talk and laughter.
Far below them, the courtyard lay in ruins. The inner curtain wall had been reduced to a heap of pulverized rubble. An army of shirt-sleeved workers cleared a track through the carnage, carelessly throwing tangled corpses onto horse-drawn carts. Once full, the cart turned about, rumbling over the cleared cobble track. Instantly, another empty cart took its place, the bored horse scraping at the cobbles with its hoof as it waited.
“Where are they taking them?” Martha asked Seth. “The bodies, I mean.”
“To a great pit beyond the castle walls,” he replied. “’Tis unwholesome for the dead to dwell with the living.”
She watched a loaded cart crawl toward the main gate. A hand hung over the side of the cart, bloody and motionless.
So many lives lost. Each mangled corpse had once been someone’s son or daughter, a baby. Martha placed a protective hand over her stomach. Closing her eyes, she blocked out the awful images and tilted her face toward the sun, enjoying its warm caress
. She wouldn’t think about it. Not now.
“I expect he hates me now.”
Seth’s voice drew Martha from her reverie.
“Still,” he continued, “’tis no more than I deserve. Not after what I did.”
Martha opened her eyes and fixed them on Seth’s bowed head. “So why did you hit him? We are talking about Vadim here, aren’t we?”
Seth nodded, but he didn’t look up. “The fault is all mine. I drank too deeply from the earl’s cellar. Wine has never agreed with me, you see.” He darted a glance at her. “Sylvie warned me off it often enough.” He scrubbed a filthy hand over his matted beard. “I shall regret striking Vadim until the day I draw my final breath.”
“He’ll forgive you.” Martha watched three small boys cross the courtyard, laden with armfuls of glittering armor. They laughed together as if untouched by the death all around them.
“Aye.” Seth looked up, his eyes glittering suspiciously. “And that will be the worst punishment of all. I would much rather he knocked me down and paid me back in kind.”
“Okay, enough.” If she didn’t stop him, he’d be back at the ale barrel, wallowing in his misery. Sometimes, Martha thought he enjoyed it. Maybe it was time Seth experienced a little tough love. It might not help, but she owed it to Sylvie to at least try. “If you want punishing, then hear me out. There are things you need to—”
“Not Anselm. No!” Seth held up his hands to ward her off, his head turned away. “I will not listen to—”
“Yes. Anselm. Your son.” Martha scrambled to her feet and glared down at him, hands on her hips. “God damn it, Seth. If you don’t listen to me, I swear I’ll follow you about this castle until you do!” She would too. This had gone on long enough. “You don’t have to say anything, just listen. If you want to keep on hating Anselm afterward, that’s your business. I promise I’ll never mention his name to you again. Deal?”
Seth got up too, his eyes bugging from his crimson face. He was livid. Hostility pulsed off him in waves, but Martha wasn’t fazed.
“Well?” She arched her eyebrows. “Do we have a deal?” Unblinking, she met his angry stare. She wouldn’t back down. Not this time. She sensed him crumbling, wilting beneath her determined gaze.
“So be it,” he said at last. “Say your piece and have done with it.” He sank back down onto the step like an old man and folded his arms about his knees. “Speak. But I will not change my mind.”
“Fine.” That would do for starters. She sat down on the step beside him. “But I warn you now, some of things I have to say won’t make easy listening.”
She didn’t hold back. With her eyes fixed unseeing on the activity in the courtyard, Martha spoke about Sylvie and her secret meetings with her son. Then she told him about Anselm’s distress at the death of his mother and of how he’d intended to save her.
Seth remained silent.
Sensing his growing tension, Martha moved on to safer topics. She told him how Anselm had known about Darumvale’s secret grain store and how he’d never disclosed its location to his master.
Spin doctoring Anselm wasn’t easy. His decent moments were few and far between. Even so, Martha hunted out each rare gem, buffing it until it sparkled in the retelling, hoping that Seth might thaw.
Recent events were much easier to relay. Here, Anselm’s heroics spoke for themselves and required little enhancement. Martha described how he’d tried to help her escape, even after learning how she’d deceived him over Vadim’s death. Then she spoke of those terrible last moments on the roof of the barbican, how the earl had turned on him, stabbing him for defending her.
When the words ran out, Martha glanced at Seth. He stared at a far point on the horizon. Although his profile was granite-hard, she sensed he was listening.
“He’s dying, Seth,” she said in a low voice. “Oh, I keep telling myself that he’ll be all right and that Agatha can fix him.” She sighed and looked up at the clouds. “But I know I’m fooling myself.” Without Anselm, the world would be a much duller place. She’d miss him. “I know he’s no angel, Seth. God knows, I’ve hated him myself at times, but he came good in the end. Isn’t that what really matters? Anselm sacrificed his life to save me. No matter what he’s done in the past, that’s got to count for something, don’t you think? He’s been bad, but he’s not beyond hope.”
Seth cleared his throat. “You speak as though you are fond of him,” he said gruffly.
Am I? “Yes. I suppose I am.”
“And a little in love with him too?”
Martha snort-giggled. “Ugh! God, no.” What a thought. “He’s much too irritating. I pity the poor woman who…” Only, Anselm wouldn’t be getting married, would he?
“What ails him?” Seth met her eyes. He wasn’t angry anymore.
“He has a high fever.”
“Is that all?” A small smile flickered over his lips. “You worry needlessly, m’lady. ’Tis a child’s illness, nothing more.”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “It’s more than that. He lost a lot of blood, and I think his wound’s infected. I don’t think he’s strong enough to fight much more.”
A shadow of emotion flickered over Seth’s face. It looked like fear. “Then have Agatha make him one of her foul-tasting infusions. That will soon set him right.”
He was afraid. Martha sensed it lurking beneath the lightness of his words. “Perhaps it would,” she said, “if Agatha only had the herbs to make one.”
“Oh?” Seth frowned.
“Have you visited the infirmary recently? You’d be lucky to get so much as a leaf of mint.” Taking a chance, Martha laid her hand upon Seth’s forearm. “Come and see him, Seth. He won’t know you’re there, but at least you’ll have the chance to say a proper goodbye.”
Seth’s arm tensed beneath her fingers then he jumped to his feet, looking about the courtyard, wild eyed, as if he’d never seen it before.
Martha got up too. A sudden thought occurred to her. “What about Eslbeth, Orla’s mother? She fixed Vadim up. Maybe if she came here and brought her herbs, she could fix Anselm—”
“She left Darumvale some time ago. Orla went with her.”
“She left?” Martha gaped at him. “Why?”
A wry smile curved Seth’s lips. “How could she stay after people learned her daughter had been Anselm’s informant? Still, Orla got a gold brooch for her duplicity. Much good may it do her.”
“Oh.” What with recent events, Martha had forgotten all about Orla—the evil little mare. Even so, she had no quarrel with Elsbeth, and the news of her leaving came as a blow.
“Come.” Seth took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Since you are so intent on a reunion, let us get it over with.”
Hardly able to believe her luck, Martha linked her arm through Seth’s and followed him back inside the keep. She had nothing to fear now. None of the loitering knights and soldiers dared challenge her, not with Seth at her side.
“What were you doing earlier, wandering the castle unchaperoned?” he asked as they ascended the main staircase. “I cannot believe Vadim sanctioned such behavior.”
“Oh. Him.”
Seth chuckled when he saw her frown. “A quarrel so soon? I suppose you have heard of the honor King Rodmar has in store for him?”
“You might say that.” Did everyone know about it except for her?
“Vadim suspected you might have some opposition to him reclaiming his rightful title of earl.”
Martha gave an annoyed huff. Was that why Vadim hadn’t mentioned it to her? Did he imagine she’d simply roll over and accept his decision? Ha! He obviously hadn’t banked on one of his kindly henchmen spilling the beans.
“If he thinks I’m going to raise our child in this fecking castle, he can think again.”
“Congratulations on the babe, by the way.
” They paused on the first landing to allow a group of ladies and their escorts to pass. “Forgive me for not wishing you joy sooner.”
“Thanks.” She looked up at him. “Aren’t you going to ask if the baby’s Anselm’s? Everyone else has.”
“Not I.” Seth grinned, his teeth bright white in his grimy face. “The fire in your eyes is enough to warn me against it.”
Did Seth believe it too? Oh, let him. They’d all eat their words when the child was born.
They took the next flight of stairs.
“Why are you so opposed to the title of countess?” Seth wanted to know.
Martha arched her eyebrows. Was that what she’d be? Countess of Edgeway? For a fleeting moment, she imagined herself dressed in lovely gowns and bedecked with jewels. Then she dismissed the thought. She looked like a fecking Christmas tree.
“I don’t want to live here, Seth. I hate this castle.” She sighed. “For the longest time, it’s been my prison. All I want is to go back to Darumvale and make our home there.”
“Depriving your child of its inheritance?” Seth glanced at her stony face. “You cannot mean it.”
“Oh, but I do,” she assured him.
“You prefer him to have the uncertain life of a farmer?”
Seth had called the baby “he,” but Martha was too irritated to correct him. “Better that than growing up here as a noble. No child of mine is going to be used as a pawn to secure alliances, or whatever it is these people do. Not now. Not ever.” She sounded so fierce, two passing soldiers glanced at them.
Seth arched his eyebrows but made no reply, and they continued the rest of the way in silence.
Harold descended on them the second they walked through the door.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, his dark eyes flashing with concern. “Lord Vadim is frantic. He is out searching the castle for you even as we speak.”
“That’s nice of him.” She slipped her hand from Seth’s arm and pointed to the door of Anselm’s bedchamber. “He’s through there. Go on in, Seth.”
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