Hemlock

by N. J. Layouni

  She threw the jerkin down and leapt to her feet. When he walked in, she was standing red-faced in the middle of the room.

  “That is a very guilty face,” he said, closing the door behind him. “What have you been doing?”

  “N-nothing.” Breathing fast, she forced a smile. “Can we go now? I’m sure Humble…Hemble needs to get on with his work.” She made to walk by, but Vadim caught her wrist, gently restraining her with his strong, warm hand.

  “There is no hurry. Hemble will return later. He has another errand, it seems.” He drew her slowly to him.

  Hot and flustered, she couldn’t look away from the deep neckline of his shirt and the temptation of the firm tanned skin that lay beneath it. It just isn’t fair. Even her own body was conspiring against her. Her eyes were determined to get her into serious trouble today. With effort, she managed to close them. “I d-do wish you’d put some c-clothes on. It’s freezing in here, or hadn’t you noticed?” Her eyes snapped open when she heard his throaty chuckle. “And stop laughing at me!”

  He cupped her face between his hands. “Poor Martha. Are you so unaccustomed to men? Can you truly be so innocent as your blushes proclaim?”

  “Actually,” she said, pushing his hands away from her face, “I’ve known plenty of men in my time.”

  “Oh?” Vadim didn’t seem at all shocked. He leaned back against the door with the sole of his boot resting against it, effectively blocking her escape. “Socially or carnally? I am not convinced it can be the latter.”

  Carnally? Where did he find such words? The mere sound of it conjured a dozen deliciously sinful scenes within her mind. All of them featured Vadim in the leading role.

  With difficulty, she found the strength to retaliate, hanging on to her rising anger in the hope it would save her from herself. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I happen to have known a couple of men very intimately indeed.” Hah. That had wiped the smile from his arrogant face.

  “And is Tony one of these men?” he asked, stepping away from the door.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact he is.” She edged toward the window, eager to put some distance between them. The look in his eyes, so cold and brooding, was making her distinctly uncomfortable. In hindsight, she should’ve kept her mouth shut and let him go on thinking she was a virgin.

  “And does he know he is not the only man to have shared your bed?” Vadim crossed the room towards her in a couple of slow strides.

  The table prevented her from moving any farther, pressing into the back of her thighs. “He knows.”

  “Of course he does.” He shook his head, his mouth curled with disgust. “From a man such as him I should have expected nothing less. I pity you, Martha, I really do. You deserve better.”

  “Really?” Another flame of temper ignited within her. Who was he to make judgements and feel sorry for her? What did he know about anything? “And what should he have done, in your considered opinion, hmm?”

  A muscle ticked rapidly in his tense jaw line. “As your intended he should have called out the man who so dishonored you. ‘Twas his right.”

  What stupid old-fashioned rot. “And what about my rights?” She faced him, hands on hips. “I have the right to make my own choices, don’t I? I am not, and will never be, any man’s chattel.”

  “A chattel?” Vadim looked shocked, his eyes widening. “You think Sylvie, or any other woman in this village, would accept a mate who treated her as mere property?”

  “Don’t they?”

  “You should ask them before making such wild accusations,” he told her in a low voice. “I do not understand your world, Martha, nor the dishonorable conduct of the men you associate with, but your knowledge of my world is equally inadequate. Have a care before you judge us too harshly.”

  She took a deep breath. “Then don’t judge Tony and me by your standards. Our worlds are very different places, Vadim. We might never understand one another, but we can at least be respectful, can’t we?”

  “As you say.” He bowed his head slightly. “But remember, Martha,” he added quietly. “You are in my world now.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Following their spat, Vadim took her straight back to the Great Hall, maintaining a stony silence the whole way there. He barely even looked at her.

  Was he sulking? Well, that suited her just fine. She didn’t want to speak to him either.

  The moment they arrived, he strode over to the fire where Seth and several other men sat talking—a lively debate on the delights of hunting, by the sound of it. Martha hovered in the shadows, smiling to herself as the men began comparing weapons. They were all the same, no matter where, or when, they came from.

  “Oh, I fear you have lost him now,” a cheerful voice said at her shoulder. It was Sylvie, carrying a large basket of firewood in her arms. “No woman can compete with the glory of the hunt, not even a pretty new wife.”

  Martha grinned. “Men will be men, I guess. Here, let me help with that.” She grabbed one handle of Sylvie’s basket and, together, they carried it over to the log pile.

  As they unpacked the wood, Sylvie said, “Tell me. Do you have any arrangements for the rest of this day?”

  Martha glanced at Vadim. He was examining another man’s bow, and shaking his head, obviously not impressed with the thing. She sighed. “It doesn’t look that way.”

  “Good.” Sylvie’s grey eyes shone. “Then I can introduce you to the women of Darumvale.”

  Before Vadim set out with the hunting party, he came over to where Martha sat with Sylvie. The older woman politely excused herself and went to say goodbye to Seth, probably thinking the newly weds would value a private moment together.

  Nothing could be further from the truth. Martha was still bristling from the way he’d spoken to her back at the house. She stiffened when he took her hand, raising it to his lips. This affectionate display was all for the villagers’ benefit. Already, the deception was making her feel slightly sick.

  “Will you not bid me farewell, m’lady?”

  Sure. Why not? Anything to get rid of him. “Bye, Vadim. Have fun.” Her smile felt forced and unnatural. He must have thought so too, for he released her hand and walked away without giving her a backward glance. He seemed as keen to be rid of her as she was to see him gone.

  With the departure of the hunters, Martha’s day improved. Sylvie was a very cheerful companion. As she trailed the older woman about the village, she gradually became acquainted with the other residents of Darumvale.

  Unlike Vadim, Sylvie was extremely communicative. She talked constantly as they walked, rarely coming up for air, pointing out every home, barn and outbuilding. Each one, apparently, had a story to tell.

  There were more houses than Martha first realized. Eighteen, in total, including the Great Hall. Although many homes were only slightly larger than Vadim’s, according to Sylvie, parents, children, and grandparents all lived and slept beneath the same tiny roof—with only the occasional falling-out. Or so she claimed.

  The small plot of land attached to every house was where families grew the food for their own tables. But there were larger fields on the outskirts of town, which the villagers farmed as a community. The main crops were wheat, oats and barley, enough to support the whole village. Any surplus stock was taken to sell at Edgeway’s fortnightly market.

  “Edgeway?” That name was familiar.

  “The next big town, my dear,” Sylvie replied. “Of course, we only attend during the growing season.”

  The plots and fields were empty now, the well-tilled earth waiting quietly beneath the snow for the cycle to begin again.

  “I admit, Darumvale looks rather bleak at the moment,” Sylvie said, perhaps guessing Martha’s thoughts. “But you wait until next summer, ‘tis a different picture then. Why, the whole town looks like a giant orchard, bursting with life and color.”

  Next summer? Hopefully, she’d have woken up by then. She refused to believe that any part of this elaborate dr
eam was real.

  Initially, the villagers and their children were as shy of Martha as she was of them. But shyness was a flimsy obstacle, lasting for as long as it took Sylvie to make the introductions. After that, only friendliness remained.

  Martha soon found herself sitting on a stool outside the baker’s house, encircled by a crowd of chatting women and laughing children. She sipped contentedly at the mug of warm ale someone had given her, basking in the fickle warmth of the winter sun. It appeared she was the centre of an impromptu street party. Everyone wanted to meet Vadim’s woman.

  The husbands of the village women—those not out hunting—were polite but somewhat reserved. Most of them disappeared just as soon as it was possible to do so.

  “Ach! Pay him no mind.” Rhea, the baker’s wife, said to Martha when her husband had vanished back indoors after only the briefest of bows. “Men are all the same. They have no real interest in anything unless it’s metal or sharp or shiny.”

  “Rhea!”her mother scolded, whilst Martha grinned and the other women laughed. “What kind of way is that to speak about the father of your children?”

  Rhea was undeterred. “I speak the truth, Ma, as well you know.” She was distracted by her son who was attempting to push a piece of twig up his baby sister’s nose as she lay sleeping in her basket. “Connel!” Rhea excused herself and rushed off to save her daughter.

  More chairs found their way out onto the street. An old woman began singing and other voices soon joined her. The song was in the ‘Old Tongue’, Sylvie said. Although Martha didn’t understand a word of the song, she enjoyed the soft and haunting tune.

  Snot-nosed toddlers constantly battled one another for the coveted position of Martha’s lap, tugging at her skirts until she lifted them up, or until their mothers called them to ‘leave her be’. Finally, one little boy fell asleep in her arms. Although her previous experience with children was limited, an unexpected wave of pleasure engulfed her as she held the child, snug and safe within the folds of her cloak.

  She regarded all the smiling faces with a sense of wonder. As Vadim’s wife, and in such a short time, these people had accepted her into their lives. It was a good feeling. Simple acceptance. Tony’s friends had never fully accepted her. Not really.

  Just for a second, she wished the dream was real.

  However, there was no time to analyse this thought further. A pretty, snub-nosed young woman came across, introducing herself as Orla. She had the most beautiful auburn hair that lay in a thick, shining plait down her back. Martha was puzzled. All the other women, herself included, wore headscarves.

  “I know this is probably a really stupid question,” she said, once the introductions were complete, “but why is your hair uncovered?”

  Orla giggled. “Why, to indicate my maidenhood, of course, m’lady. And,” she added with a sparkle in her green eyes, “so that my future husband might recognise me.”

  “Oh. Right.” Did men display their singledom in a similar way, like wearing their daggers on the right side of their belts, for instance? Not that she dared ask. She felt ignorant enough already.

  As luck would have it, Orla was a seamstress, and Martha wasted no time in making enquiries about a new gown. Compared to the other women, she felt downright dowdy. Although their garments were undeniably well worn, their cloth was brightly colored, and the addition of small pieces of glittering gold jewelery made them much more stylish, in a very medieval way. They made arrangements for Orla to visit the Great Hall to take Martha’s measurements on the following day. She just hoped Vadim wouldn’t mind footing the bill when it came.

  The mother of the sleeping boy arrived to claim him.

  “He’s so good,” Martha said as she stood up, transferring the soft, warm bundle to the safety of his mother’s arms.

  “I shall remind you of that the next time he disturbs the whole village with his wailing.” His mother smiled. “Why do children always seem to cut their teeth at night?”

  Martha confessed she didn’t know. Children had never featured in her plans for the future. Or perhaps, they’d never featured in Tony’s plan, and, like the fool she was, she’d gone along with his wishes, at the same time sacrificing her own.

  There was a sudden, pained yelp. Looking down, she realised she’d accidentally stepped on Forge. Unnoticed by anyone, the dog had managed to sneak between everyone’s legs, finding a place to settle near her feet. Now she’d gone and trodden on him.

  “Oh, baby.” Crouching down, she cuddled the big dog’s head to her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  Bren, the smith’s wife, shook her head as Forge licked Martha’s face. “May the Spirits forgive me for doubting my own man. So, Jared was right, after all.”

  “Sorry?” Martha frowned, certain that she’d missed something vital.

  “That dog…fawning all over you like that. I never knew him take to someone so, not even his own master.” Bren smiled, displaying a rather gap-toothed grin. “Like him, do you?”

  “I love dogs. Have you had him very long?”

  “Only since last spring. Jared found him out on the moor, half dead with an arrow sticking out of his leg. We all thought he would die, for he was ill with a fever for days.”

  “How awful.” Martha kissed the dog’s head and stood up.

  “Doubtless he once belonged to some noble who wearied of such a useless hunting dog and wanted rid of him.” But Bren ruffled Forge’s shaggy head, displaying an affection absent in her words. “Not that he ever shows us any gratitude for the trouble we took with him back then. Nasty old beast that he is.”

  A change in weather finally broke up the party. Thick, dark clouds lumbered in from the mountains, blotting out the sun. A bone-chilling wind sent the villagers back indoors to the comfort of their hearths. After saying their goodbyes, Martha and Sylvie walked back up the gentle hill that led to the Great Hall.

  “Forgive me for being so ignorant,” Martha said as they walked, “but I heard the women refer to Seth as ‘The Chief’. What does that mean?”

  “Why, that he is the Chieftain of Darumvale, of course.” Sylvie looked at her with a curious expression in her eyes. “He has held the position for five years now. I thought Vadim might have told you.”

  “He didn’t.” Martha flushed, feeling stupid again. What must people think of her? “I’m so sorry. Perhaps I should have addressed him in a certain way?”

  “The villagers call him ‘Sir’ or ‘Chief’, but there is no reason for you to do so, Martha. Not since you so kindly dispensed with the formality of address that is yours by right.”

  “Huh?” What right? She certainly couldn’t ask Sylvie about it, not unless she wanted to blow her cover.

  But Sylvie was no fool. Surely she must know that Vadim had told her nothing about his past, or about anything else of consequence for that matter. Her blush intensified. She probably thinks we didn’t have much time for talking!

  Sylvie smiled, linking her arm through Martha’s as they walked. “Your handsome husband has much neglected your education, my dear. Ah! Seth and I were just the same in the early days of our own marriage. We had no need of words, either, not when we were so much in love.”

  The hot flush spread to the tips of Martha’s ears.

  “Enjoy it whilst you can,” Sylvie continued, “for there will eventually come a time when the outside world and all of its concerns will intrude into the bliss of your marital bed. It will pull your lover right out of your arms if you allow it.” A shadow crossed her face, extinguishing her smile. “These are the most precious of days, my dear,” Sylvie said as she opened one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance of the hall. “Keep them warm in your heart. Then no matter what the future brings, there will always remain a place where you can be happy.”

  “Wait.” Martha gently caught Sylvie’s arm as she made to go indoors, hardly sure of what she wanted to say. “Is anything wrong? Is Seth all right?”

  A smile flickered on Sylvie’s lips. />
  That was her armor, Martha realized. Smiling kept her troubles at bay.

  “You have a good heart, m’lady,” the older woman said softly. “Please, do not vex yourself on my account. We are both quite well, I assure you.”

  Worms of guilt ate at Martha’s insides. Sylvie was such a nice little woman. She didn’t deserve lies, especially from someone she’d welcomed into her home. The urge to confess all almost defeated her. Only Vadim’s disapproving face, scowling within her mind, stopped her from doing so.

  “Not everything is as it seems. Not for any of us.” It was a cryptic comment, but as honest as she dared.

  “Oh?” Sylvie searched Martha’s eyes. “Secrets are a heavy burden, are they not? No matter how much we long to rest, we can never set them down.”

  Martha nodded, absently sucking her lower lip as she wondered about Sylvie’s secrets. The older woman looked haunted, the fine lines on her face appeared deeper without the disguise of her smile Whatever burden she carried was obviously eating her up inside.

  How long before I look like that?

  “You can talk to me about anything,” Martha said. “I promise not to tell a soul—not even Vadim.”

  Something flashed across Sylvie’s gray eyes. For a moment Martha thought she might confide in her. But just as soon as the look came it was gone again.

  Sylvie clasped Martha’s hand. “You are a good girl,” she said. “I hope Vadim appreciates you as he should. Now, come.” Her smile returned with a vengeance. “Let us seek the fire before we freeze.”

  ***

  The hunters returned at dusk with much loud talk and laughter, bringing with them the first flurries of snow.

  It had been a good day. Tethered by their feet to sturdy wooden poles, the carcasses of two young bucks rocked from side to side as they were carried triumphantly into Darumvale, borne on the shoulders of the hunters.