Hemlock

by N. J. Layouni

  One by one, like a magician’s trick gone bad, he pulled other things from the pack and held them up for her inspection. Each new item was as hideous as the one before: a thin linen shift with stains under the arms; grey woollen stockings; a pair of battered, leather shoes; a thin belt, and a large strip of linen to cover her hair. The grand finale came in the form of a blue woolen cloak. As Vadim unfurled it, she caught a waft of rising damp and old cabbage.

  At last, the pack lay empty. Martha looked at the pile of clothing on her knees, wondering if she trusted herself to speak. As if landing in a medieval world wasn’t bad enough, now she had to dress up as one of its peasants.

  Immediately, she rebuked herself for her ingratitude. In the past, she’d been a member of a local medieval re-enactment group. From what she recalled, the clothing on her knees would have constituted someone’s whole wardrobe in years gone by. In real terms, she held a fortune on her lap.

  With as much grace as she could muster, she took a deep breath and turned to look at Vadim. He silently watched her, his dark expression unfathomable.

  “Th-thank you so much for the clothes. Forgive me if I don’t seem grateful—I am—it’s just that the truth of my situation has finally hit me. It’s all real, isn’t it?” She attempted another smile. “I hope my new wardrobe didn’t cost you a lot of money?”

  “It is on loan,” he said, “from a friend.”

  A woman friend? His real wife perhaps?

  She blamed the sudden twisting sensation in her guts on last night’s rabbit. All that grease couldn’t be good for anyone. “Then, please, thank your friend for me. It’s very good of her to…help me.”

  “I shall.” The stern line of his mouth twitched as if he was holding back a smile. “You may stop now, Martha. You have been humble enough for one day, I think.” As his smile appeared, crinkles formed at the outer edges of his twinkling almond-shaped eyes. His sudden cough sounded suspiciously like laughter.

  Martha glared at him. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Certainly not.”

  But as he turned his head away, she distinctly heard the sound of chuckling.

  “You gobshite!” Without pausing to think it through, Martha dug him hard in the ribs with her elbow, making him gasp. “It isn’t funny, Vadim.”

  “Oh, but it is.” He secured her hands easily in one of his, preventing her from taking another dig at him. “Your show of gratitude almost choked you, my lady. Admit it.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said as she attempted to pull free of his grasp. He’d removed his gloves, and the touch of those warm, rough hands was affecting her heart rate big time. “I am grateful.”

  “Oh?” He drew her closer, his smile suddenly fading.

  Martha found herself up close and personal with Vadim’s incredible chocolate-colored eyes. Tiny flecks of gold glittered from their depths. She was close enough to count each one of his long, black eyelashes. The heat of his breath brushed softly over her lips.

  She was drowning. On dry land.

  The hungry look in his eyes drove the air from her lungs. Suddenly, stupidly, she forgot how to breathe. Her heartbeat became one long drum solo. Every bone in her skeleton turned to a jelly-like mush. Everything faded. All she saw was him and the miniature Martha trapped within each of his eyes.

  With his free hand, he stroked a strand of hair back from her face, his eyes flitting repeatedly to her lips. “Just how grateful are you, m’lady?” He stroked the rough pad of his thumb over her lower lip, his words brushing her mouth as he leaned in even closer.

  Suddenly, her mind rebooted. “Not that grateful!” Thank God. Her mouth was back online. Whatever spell he’d been weaving was broken. Freed her from paralysis, she resumed her struggle for freedom.

  Vadim blinked several times as if waking from a deep sleep, and released her hands as though her touch suddenly burned him. He scooted back along the log, hastily putting some distance between them.

  Martha leapt to her feet, breathing hard. “What the hell d’you think you were doing?”

  It was difficult to say who was the most shocked.

  “Forgive me, m’lady. I do not know what—”

  “I don’t think me pretending to be your wife is such a good idea, after all.”

  “You have nothing to fear from me, I swear.”

  “Oh, really?” she sneered. “Then what was…that?” She gestured her hand rapidly back and forth between them. “Perhaps I ought to pretend to be your sister instead— ”

  “No!” The force of his protest made her jump. He got up so quickly, Martha took an involuntary step backward. Taking a deep breath, Vadim spoke more gently. “I had a sister. She was known to the people of Darumvale. They know she was my only sibling. You understand?”

  Martha nodded. Was? Past tense. She’s dead?

  “Another female relative, then,” she persisted. His morning visit to her mystery clothing benefactress had obviously fired him up big style. Attractive though Vadim was, Martha had no intention of becoming his surrogate lover in her stead. “Tenth cousin twice removed, maybe?”

  “Impossible. You come as my wife or not at all. Have no fear of me, Martha. I will not touch you again.” And his eyes were so cold she almost believed him. It was as though the events of last few minutes had never happened.

  She crushed the sudden flicker of disappointment. “Good. Make sure you don’t. I’m grateful you rescued me, but I’ve no intention of offering myself up as payment for your services. Are we clear on that?” She sounded like a prudish school ma’am, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Perfectly clear, m’lady.” Vadim inclined his head towards her with mocking civility. “I will be sure not to touch you again. Not without your prior permission, of course.”

  Of all the arrogant…

  Instead of hitting him, Martha smoothed her hands over her khaki trousers, feigning a calmness she certainly didn’t feel.

  “That’s hardly likely to happen, Vadim,” she said. “I happen to be engaged to a wonderful man who satisfies me in every way.”

  “Indeed?”

  If she’d meant to shock him, she was unsuccessful. “Then, let us hope we can find a way to reunite you with this paragon as soon as possible. Excuse me.” And pausing only to collect his bow and arrows, Vadim turned and strode from the cave, leaving her to fume on her own.

  Martha eventually regained her composure. But it took an anger-fueled frenzy of cave tidying to achieve it. After that, she had nothing left to do but think. Their near-kiss had shaken her badly, especially coming so soon after Tony’s betrayal.

  But Vadim was her only hope of survival here. She’d do well to remember that. Okay, he wasn’t perfect, but he had saved her life. Twice. And by offering her the role of his pseudo-wife, he was protecting her again. He didn’t have to do it. It couldn’t be much fun for him.

  So why had she acted like such a shrew? A kiss was nothing, right?

  Because I’m jealous, that’s why. Jealous of the woman who loaned me those awful clothes.

  This revelation surprised her.

  She was behaving like a victim of Stockholm syndrome, becoming emotionally attached to her captor. Okay, so he wasn’t holding her hostage, but she did depend on him for her well being. Wasn’t that roughly the same thing?

  Being angry because he had a lover wasn’t rational, but it wasn’t right that he’d…what? Almost kissed her?

  Big deal. Grow up, Martha. You’re twenty-nine years old, for heaven’s sake. And you’re certainly no timid little virgin.

  ***

  Vadim approached the cave with reluctance, uncertain what his reception would be. Perhaps Martha had run off again? He would hardly blame her if she had. He would have kissed her this morning if she had not prevented him. His conscience pricked him again for the hundredth time that day.

  Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside the cave. His eyes widened as he looked around. The cave was unnaturally tidy, and there was Martha, sitting
by the fire and smiling at him. He glanced over his shoulder, unsure if someone else followed behind him.

  “Hello.” She stopped poking at the fire with her stick and gestured toward his empty hands. “No luck hunting, then? Never mind. I expect all the animals are hiding somewhere warm out of the snow? Come and sit down. You look frozen.”

  Vadim edged into the cave and dumped his weapons in a noisy heap by the wall.

  “By the way,” she continued in the same friendly tone. “I chopped some more wood while you were out. I used your axe; I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Have you been eating mushrooms?” That would explain her sudden change of mood.

  “No. But I did eat that strip of meat you left for me. It wasn’t bad at all.”

  ‘Twas not mushroom season anyway. Then why was she being so pleasant?

  He approached the log with caution and sat beside her. He looked around. She had not lied. The log pile had tripled in his absence. The fire was so well stoked that sweat was already beading on his brow. He removed his gloves and loosened the ties of his tunic.

  “We will set out for Darumvale first thing in the morning. I had hoped to set out today but—”

  “Great.” Martha seemed determined to be pleased about everything. “I’d best get an early night then.”

  Vadim shrugged out of his tunic and placed it on the log between them. “Perhaps we ought to discuss…what happened earlier.”

  “Oh, no, we shouldn’t!” A look of horror flashed across her pink face. “It’s fine. Really. In fact, I think we should put it right out of our minds. Don’t you? It never happened. What a lot of fuss about nothing.”

  “As you wish.” He could not deny he was relieved. “Then we shall attempt to be as we were.”

  If she was willing to forget, he would endeavor to do the same. Though it would be no easy task.

  By first light the next day, they were on the move.

  Although Martha wore her new clothes, she refused to give up her boots for the sake of authenticity. She declared the flimsy leather shoes were useless for snow, and that she would not risk frostbite for anyone. Vadim conceded, seeing the sense of it. Besides, her gown was long. No one would see her feet.

  To his annoyance, she insisted on wearing her trousers beneath the gown.

  “There’s no one else out here, Vadim.” She hitched up the long, full skirt and tucked it into her belt, freeing her from the encumbrance of its heavy folds. “At least I’ll be able to keep up with you this way.”

  The morning was bright and fair. There had been no more snow during the night, and the going was relatively easy. From time to time, he glanced at Martha as she trotted alongside him. She sang to herself as she walked, stopping often to examine something that caught her eye: stones, plants, or a piece of wood. In fact, she lingered so long he frequently had to call her to catch up with him. She was as determinedly cheerful this morning as on the previous night.

  Perhaps thoughts of her future husband were responsible?

  ***

  The trail became too narrow for them to walk side by side. As it dipped between two large grassy banks, the way ahead was often submerged beneath the constant run of melt water.

  Martha stopped to admire some strands of drowning grass, dancing beneath the water of a deep puddle like the hair of a mythical sea creature.

  “Who is he?”

  “Who?” She looked up. Vadim had stopped to wait for her again.

  “The man you intend binding yourself to. Does he have a name?”

  Perhaps it was because of the exercise, but her cheeks felt very hot again. “Tony.” She straightened up, inwardly cringing at the deception she’d begun. Anyway, why was Vadim so interested all of a sudden?

  “What does your Tony do for a living? What is his trade?”

  Martha grinned as she walked towards him. “You sound like a Victorian father: ‘And what are your intentions towards my daughter, hmm?’” she said, mimicking a deep male voice while twirling her imaginary moustache.

  Vadim didn’t smile. “A man must be able to support his mate. There is nothing amusing in it.”

  In this world, maybe. “Then it might surprise you to learn that where I come from, women are quite capable of supporting themselves without a man’s help. Believe it or not, some of us actually prefer it that way. There’s a lot to be said for the single life.”

  She walked around him and took over the lead, continuing down the narrow track way with Vadim splashing behind her.

  “Women live alone?” He sounded incredulous. “By choice?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Without the protection of their menfolk or families?”

  “Yes, and usually with their blessing, too.”

  “I can scarcely believe it! How do you support yourselves?”

  “We work, of course.”

  “What kind of work?” His voice deepened suspiciously.

  “Not the kind of work you’re thinking of.” Martha laughed. “Mrs. Wilkes isn’t the only kind of employer in my town, you know.”

  “Most amusing,” he answered sourly, giving her a gentle shove in the back. “Walk faster and tell me more. Do you support yourself, Martha, or does your Tony help?”

  Why had she ever mentioned Tony? Even the sound of his name set her teeth on edge. “I work in a shop that sells women’s clothing.”

  “Then you are a seamstress?”

  “No. The clothes I sell are ready to be worn.”

  “Incredible!”

  Finally, blessedly, Vadim lapsed into silence. She glanced down at her gown. The material was straining over her bust, so she tugged at the leather lacing to loosen it, hoping Vadim wouldn’t notice. “How would I go about getting a new dress?” she asked. “It can’t be that different here, surely.”

  “You must visit the seamstress. A new gown is usually ready within a couple of weeks, or so I am told, excluding fittings, and depending on the availability of cloth, of course.”

  “But of course.” A couple of weeks? So much for instant gratification. Suddenly, her foot skidded from beneath her as it hit a patch of half-melted snow.

  Vadim caught her as she fell, steadying her with a hand beneath her elbow. “Go more carefully here.” His breath brushed warm upon her ear. “The way ahead is most treacherous.”

  “Thanks. I had noticed.” She blamed the sudden hammering of her heart on the shock of almost falling.

  Pulling free, she continued walking, this time with her eyes firmly on the path. For a time they were both silent, concentrating on the trail. Finally, the path broke free from the cover of the grassy banks and turned sharply downhill, bypassing a little coppice.

  As her feet found their rhythm, she relaxed, lulled by the crunching steps of her boots. Walking gave her peace. It always had. Suddenly too warm, she flung back her cloak, welcoming the gentle breeze as it cut though her clothes and cooled her skin. Heaven. A small brown bird darted from the undergrowth up ahead, twittering a defiant song as it flew away. She smiled to hear it.

  “Does Tony work alongside you in your shop?”

  Oh, for fecksake!

  Her good mood vanished. Why wouldn’t he leave this alone? He was like a demented dog with a bone. What madness had possessed her to mention Tony in the first place?

  “No he doesn’t,” she answered, through her gritted teeth. “He works in accounting.”

  “Ah! A counter of gold,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Little wonder you have been forced into a life of paid labor.”

  “Do you mind?” she snapped. Tony was the last person she wanted to defend. “I’d rather not discuss my personal life, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “As you wish.” The path broadened and Vadim fell in step beside her again. “I was merely making conversation. I meant no offense.”

  “Huh.” The way he was smirking, she wasn’t so sure about that. However, she was too eager to let the subject drop to say so. “Tell me about Darumvale inste
ad.”

  ***

  The day was all but gone when the lights of Darumvale finally came into view,

  Vadim offered up a silent prayer of thanks. For the last two miles, Martha had suffered a good deal. Her knee was plaguing her again, their journey too long for such a recent injury. Although she had neither complained nor asked for his aid, her discomfort was apparent. When he offered her his arm, she accepted it with a mumbled word of thanks and leaned heavily upon it as she limped along.

  Their progress was much too slow. A bitter wind swept down from the colder lands to the north, bringing with it the first flurries of snow. A storm was coming. Worse still, although he did not mention it to her, he knew wolves had picked up their trail. From time to time, amber eyes glittered out from the shelter of the trees, silently stalking them. A distant howl told him the pack had been summoned. Once they were gathered, they would attack.

  “We are almost there, Martha,” he said at last. “Look.”

  “Thank God.” Then she lapsed back into her weary stupor.

  From the valley below, cheerful points of light shone out into the night, beckoning them on. Darumvale. A dog barked, perhaps picking up their scent or that of the wolves. Soon, the quiet dusk was shattered as other dogs joined the chorus.

  Vadim was relieved. Their noisy welcome meant whatever hunted them would have heard it too. With luck, they might have already turned tail, heading for safety. Wolves had no love for dogs nor their human masters.

  As Darumvale loomed nearer, Martha slipped her arm from his, apparently wishing to attempt the remaining distance unsupported. He would not allow it, and clasped her hand. Erde! He felt the chill of her fingers even through his glove.

  “You are freezing! Why did you say nothing before?” He stopped walking and rubbed her icy digits briskly between his hands.

  “Ouch! Enough, Vadim.” She tried to pull free, but he held her too securely. Only when she whimpered with pain did he heed her pleas to stop. It must hurt. Well did he recall the burning sensation of hot knives in the blood.