Maybe if she gave His Evilness a few answers, he might loosen his grip on her leash. “Okay, fine. I come from a far-off land.” She smiled at the manservant standing behind the earl’s chair. “Could I have some water, please?” The man bowed and walked away.
“How far off?” Anselm demanded.
Martha turned to look at him. “Very far off. A place way beyond… the Great Sea.” That sounded convincing, right? They couldn’t have mapped out the whole world yet. She returned her attention to the earl. “I daren’t name my country for fear of discovery.” His face revealed none of his thoughts. Did he believe her?
“I see.” The earl picked up his goblet, staring into its depths as though he might find the answers he sought there. “Then, how did you get here?”
“Well, I didn’t swim!” Her laughter died when she met the earl’s eyes. “All right, I stowed away on a boat. My family was going to marry me off to a revolting toad of a man.” This is good. All those romance novels can’t be wrong. Keep it going. “The night before the wedding, I stole my brother’s clothes and assumed a man’s identity.”
A little historical romance cliché with a garnish of Shakespeare. That should do nicely.
“I find that difficult to imagine, m’lady.” The earl glanced pointedly at her chest. “Your… charms are not what I would call subtle. Eh, Anselm?”
“As you say, m’lord.”
Martha’s cheeks burned, but she resisted the urge to cover her chest with her hands. “Believe me, it’s amazing what you can do with a strip of linen. It certainly brought these puppies to heel.”
“If your story is true, why did you choose to come to the Norlands? Were you already intimate with your future mate?” He leaned closer. “Why were you out in the hills with Lord Hemlock on the day we first met, hmm?”
Oh, why had she drunk so much? The earl was too sharp for her wooly head.
“I didn’t choose to come here. I stowed away in the first boat I came across; I could have ended up anywhere. When I came ashore, I picked a direction and set off walking. Vadim happened across me when I collapsed in the hills.”
The earl and Anselm exchanged glances. What does that mean? She wasn’t sure whether they believed her or not.
“So you claim my outlaw brother was a stranger to you back then?” The sneer in Anselm’s voice was apparent. “How quickly you must have fallen in love.”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Martha said, turning back to look at him, “but it’s true. We did.”
Anselm’s smug expression worried her. What does he know that I don’t?
“I understand you were married by a holy man,” the earl said, diverting her attention.
“That’s right.” But her confidence wobbled. She heard Aunt Lulu speaking within her mind: You need a good memory to be a good liar, child.
Perhaps she ought to shut up for a bit? Any minute now, she was going to trip herself up.
“Do you happen to recall his name?” The earl’s eyes glittered as he leaned closer.
“No. Sorry.” Martha sat back in her chair and folded her hands on her lap. Unfortunately, this new position allowed her to see both Anselm and the earl. They were definitely gloating about something.
The noise of the banquet continued, soft music accompanying the hum of conversation and bright laughter. But at the head of the table, the three of them seemed to be protected by an invisible bubble. Only the red-headed harpist caught Martha’s eye, but he swiftly looked away.
“Shall I tell you what I think, my sweet?” Anselm reached out and touched a ringlet that had escaped from her elegant raised hairdo, twirling it about his index finger.
Martha tried to jerk away but she was trapped by the high back of her chair. There was nowhere to escape to anyway. She glanced at the earl, who watched the scene with obvious enjoyment.
“I think your husband is alive and well,” Anselm said softly, releasing her hair in order to trace his finger down her cheek. “So why has he not come to claim his pretty little wife, hmm?”
“Why don’t you enlighten me, fuckwit?” At times, Anselm looked so much like Seth and Sylvie, Martha found it difficult to deal with him. How had such sweet people managed to produce... this? Anselm was the polar opposite of his parents.
“I do not think you are Vadim’s wife at all. My poor Martha. How little he must think of you. Were you even lovers?” He touched her burning cheek. “Ah, yes. Of course you were. That much is clear to me.”
Martha sat rigid in her seat, staring off into the distance. She refused to give him a reaction. Fear was food to sickos like him. The young harp player met her eyes again. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but as he looked away, the feeling vanished.
“How long will you wait for him, Martha?” Anselm continued to attack her with his gentle words. “Hemlock does not love you, not as you love him. He has used you terribly.” He took her limp hand in his and clasped it tightly. She didn’t attempt to pull away.
That’s your fantasy, not my reality.
Anselm could go to hell. Even though the rest of her world was crumbling, she was secure in this: Vadim loved her.
“Why do you smile, m’lady?” the earl inquired. “It seems to me you have little cause to do so.”
She kept her eyes on the harpist and didn’t reply. Not verbally, anyhow. Suddenly, Anselm released her hand, his eyes trained on the doors of the Great Hall.
“He has come, m’lord.” There was an unmistakable note of awe in his hushed voice.
Martha turned to see who he was looking at.
The soldier had returned. Walking beside him was the tall, lean figure of a man. The stranger’s simple brown robe dragged on the floor rushes as he moved, and a deep cowl covered his head, concealing his face. He clutched a tall wooden staff, which thumped upon the floor as he walked, rather like an unwieldy trekking-pole.
This is my surprise? Martha frowned. What is he, a monk?
Loud whispers traveled down the table, and one by one, the many conversations petered out. Silence descended on the room. The banquet lay forgotten; everyone stared at the monk. Even the harpist had stopped playing. His hands lay flat on the strings of his instrument, stifling its final, plaintive note.
Every pair of eyes stared at the new arrival. The room seemed to hold its collective breath as the stranger advanced. The steady thud of his staff on the floor sounded deafening.
Martha slithered lower in her seat, wishing she were invisible. Who the hell was this guy? And was the silence out of respect or fear?
Anselm and the earl rose from their seats, smiling as their guest approached.
“Thank you for coming, Learned One.” The earl swept an elegant low bow before the raggedy monk, and Anselm followed suit. “You honor my hall with your presence.”
“Let us forgo the meaningless courtesies, m’lord,” came a stern voice from within the hood. Deep shadows hid the stranger’s face. “Where is she then, this woman who vexes you so?”
The earl stepped aside, indicating Martha with a graceful sweep of his hand. “M’lady,” he grinned broadly at her, “allow me to present Madoc the Seer.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Martha’s jaw dropped. Eyes bugging, she looked rapidly from the cowled figure to Anselm and back again, desperately trying to articulate some coherent words.
This was him? The man who might know the way back to twenty-first-century Earth? She clasped her trembling hands together on her lap.
This couldn’t be a coincidence. How had the earl known she’d been looking for this elusive seer?
Anselm must have read the question in her wide, staring eyes.
“I overheard you one day at the market in Edgeway,” he said with a smirk. “Do you remember? You were asking the stallholders for news of Darumvale, and you happened to ask after our friend Madoc during
one of your conversations. I thought it rather strange, so I mentioned it to Lord Edgeway.”
Anger fizzled in Martha’s blood. Yet another reminder of just how stupid and trusting she’d been back then. “You’re nothing but a worthless piece of—”
“Come now.” The earl lay a warning hand on her exposed shoulder, his clammy touch making her flesh creep. “We are all friends tonight, are we not?” The ruby on his pinkie finger glittered with a fire to match her temper.
“No, we are most definitely not fecking fr—” She gasped, squirming with pain as the earl squeezed her shoulder. His cruel fingers dug deep into her soft skin, effectively silencing her.
“The guards will escort you back to your chambers, my dear,” the earl said in a kindly voice, as if causing her pain was a weird sign of affection. “Do speak freely with the good seer. Ask him what you will. I will ensure you are left undisturbed.” Mercifully, he let go of her shoulder and stepped away.
Martha slumped back in her chair, gasping and clutching her aching shoulder, but there was no time to catch her breath, for Anselm pulled her to her feet.
“Come along, sweeting,” he said. Keeping hold of her arm, he escorted her from the banqueting hall. The rhythmic clunk of the seer’s staff followed close behind them.
The iron key grated in the lock, two full turns as always, locking her in with the mysterious Madoc the Seer, the man who might be able to shed light on her accidental slip across time. Unfortunately for her, at that moment, Martha’s fear of the man far outweighed her curiosity.
“Make yourself at home while I change,” she said before fleeing to her bedchamber.
Breathing hard, she leaned back against the securely bolted door. Effie had left a candle burning. Combined with the firelight, it gave her little room a cozy feel. She exhaled, forcing the tension from her body.
After enduring the banquet from hell, she needed a couple of minutes to get her head together—and to shed her slut-suit, as she’d taken to calling her beautiful, expensive gown. Horrible thing! Sod giving it to Effie as a parting gift; the maid could have it now. Martha certainly had no intention of wearing it again.
She walked to the window, absently pulling out the pins that secured her elegant piled-up hairdo. What was His Evilness up to? Why was he allowing her a private audience with Madoc the snarky monk? Certainly not out of the goodness of his heart—if he even possessed such a thing. No. This was definitely all for his benefit.
The last hair pin tinkled to the floor, and Martha’s hair cascaded down about her shoulders. She massaged her throbbing scalp, groaning with bliss. Whatever the earl was up to, as sure as Anselm was a two-faced weasel, it wouldn’t be anything good. In the meantime, she had to go out there, to talk to the scary monk. Some primal instinct warned her that facing him half cut wasn’t a good idea.
Oh, why had she drunk so much? The first sign of the hangover to come pulsed beneath her right eyebrow. She spied the jug of water on the chest beside her bed. She needed to rehydrate, and fast.
Almost ten minutes later, Martha reopened the door of her bed-chamber. Without Effie’s help, she’d struggled to get free of the loathsome dress. The back lacing had posed quite a challenge, but as it turned out, the expensive material tore very easily. Who knew?
The plain blue gown she wore in its place had a far more modest scooped neckline, keeping her puppies well concealed, and her hair hung about her shoulders in loose waves. Much better. She felt almost human again.
“Sorry I was so long,” she said with a forced smile. “I had a spot of dress trouble.”
Madoc sat by the fire, his booted feet resting on the hearth, and a tankard of ale clasped in his hand. “Yes. I heard your profanities. Most… original.” He didn’t turn to look at her, his gaze fixed on the red glow before him. “Now that you are here, come and sit beside me.”
Inexplicably, Martha’s fear of him vanished. Despite his gruffness, somehow she knew that he wouldn’t hurt her. She sidled up and took the chair beside his.
“Aren’t you hot with your hood up?” she asked. Immediately, she wanted to kick herself. What if he was disfigured in some way and preferred to keep his face hidden? “But you can keep it on if you like… I don’t mind.”
“How gracious of you, m’lady.”
Hot color flooded her cheeks. “Sorry. That came out all wrong.”
“An all-too-frequent occurrence for you, I imagine. Your mouth has the unfortunate habit of speaking too soon.” Madoc flung back his hood and turned to look at her. “Am I so horribly disfigured, then?”
How had he known what she’d been thinking?
The seer wasn’t what she expected. A pair of serious-looking hazel eyes regarded her from a thin and clean-shaven face. His close-cropped brown hair made him look like a convict. But it was his age that shocked her most of all.
“You-you’re…” Martha floundered, wary of offending him again.
The man arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess: young?”
She nodded. “I imagined you’d be much older.” This guy was barely out of his teens.
“Most people do. The title of Madoc the Seer is more of an… occupation than an actual person.”
“Really?” Martha leaned in closer. “It’s funny, in my head, you were always old with a long beard. Maybe with a pointy hat.” She giggled. “At least I got the staff part right.” Oh, just stop talking. You’re being rude. “I’m sorry. I had a lot to drink tonight.”
“Indeed?” Madoc’s stern mouth twitched. “Sober or drunk, I suspect in essentials you are always much the same, m’lady.”
He’s as rude as I am. She grinned. It was comforting somehow. “That’s true.”
Brusque as he was, Martha felt more at ease with the seer than she had with any man during her stay at the castle.
“Tell me,” Madoc said, returning his gaze to the fire. “Why did you first seek my guidance?”
Martha exhaled. Here it was at last. How many times had she longed to meet this man? How often had she prayed for a way to return home, to leave this medieval world and resume her comfortable twenty-first-century life? Madoc the Seer might just have the power to make her dreams a reality.
Mentally salivating, she recalled the bliss of indoor plumbing, the miracle of electricity, and the comfort of central heating.
Imagine it: medicine and feminine-hygiene products. Do you remember the taste of chocolate? How about the hot, cheesy indulgence of pizza delivered hot and fresh straight to your door? And then, more importantly, there was Aunt Lulu.
It might be possible. All she had to do was ask.
There was just one problem. Despite the lure of so many incentives, she no longer wanted to go. For better or worse, she wanted to stay in Vadim’s world. Admittedly, she might not ever see him again. But if she left, “might not” would become an absolute “never”.
I made my choice when I married him. Leaving was no longer an option.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Martha said quietly, stifling the pang of regret for Aunt Lulu. “I finally worked it out for myself. Thanks anyhow.”
Madoc slowly turned his head, studying her face through narrowed eyes. “There is nothing you wish to ask of us?”
By the sound of it, this was something new for him. Hold on. Had he just said us? Martha shook her head and shrugged. She must have imagined it.
“You are quite certain?” he asked.
She nodded. “Why? Was there something in particular you wanted me to ask?” Since he was here at the earl’s command, it wouldn’t hurt to try and find out why. No doubt the seer would be reporting back to him as soon as he left.
To her surprise, the grim line of Madoc’s mouth curved into a full, beaming smile, transforming his features from granite into sunshine. More than ever, he seemed impossibly young for the role he’d assumed.
“Well said, m�
�lady. Your caution was gleaned from a true master.”
Does he mean Vadim?
“For sure.” Madoc replied.
“Excuse me?” Martha blinked. Did I say just that out loud? She massaged her aching temples. Two mugs of water obviously wasn’t enough.
“No. My role comes with… certain abilities, you might say. Each one passes from seer to seer.”
“Oh?” He’s reading my fecking mind? “Oh!” Suddenly Martha felt horribly exposed. Naked, in fact. She rapidly replayed any thoughts she’d had that might have betrayed her… them.
Madoc chuckled and reached for the jug of ale that sat beside his feet. He refilled his tankard and poured one for Martha.
“Be at peace, Martha,” he said, handing her the ale. “I will not reveal your secrets.”
She wasn’t reassured. “So if you’re not spying for His Evilness, why are you here?” She took the drink he offered her and nursed it between her hands. “What’s in it for you?”
Madoc took a sip from his tankard before answering. “You have seen, I suppose, how the people of these lands already struggle to pay the earl’s heavy tax demands? My meeting with you tonight means there will be no further increases this year.”
Martha snorted. “And you believed him? God, and I thought I was gullible.”
Her remark made Madoc smile again. “Ah. But the Lord Edgeway fears our wrath, m’lady. Unlike you, he has witnessed it before.”
Our? Perhaps there’s an army of seers out there?
“So, why didn’t you just threaten him with your wrath when he mentioned raising the taxes, hmm? You didn’t need to come and see me at all.”
“You are right,” Madoc agreed. “But in truth, I wanted to meet you. My earlier bluster was all for the earl’s benefit.”
This was unexpected. “You wanted to meet me? Why? Before His Evilness approached you, I doubt you knew I existed.”
Madoc nodded. “Although I did not know you personally, Martha, we have been aware of your presence here for some time.”
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