This is crazy talk.
Madoc might be harmless, but the weird way he referred to himself unsettled her. She put down her ale and went to throw another log on the fire.
Instead of sitting back down, she began pacing the room, pausing to move a book or to adjust the position of a wall hanging, giving herself time to gather her thoughts.
How could he have been aware of her? Who could have mentioned her to him?
Madoc watched her, the shadows cast by the fire flickering over the thin angles of his face. “You are not the first to pass through the veil between the worlds, Martha. There have been others.”
His words sent a ripple of ice through her blood. There have been others like me? Her knees wobbled. Reaching out her hand, she sank down onto the nearest chair. How can he know this? Even so, she believed him.
“W-what happened to them… the others?” she asked.
“Some stayed. A few attempted the journey home.”
“Attempted?” That didn’t sound good. “Did they make it back?”
Madoc shrugged. “Who can tell? We cannot see through the veil, and no one ever returned to tell us. Those who chose to stay lived out their lives as the rest of us. Or so I am told. Their bones have been dust for many years now. You are the first traveler to cross over in generations.”
“But how is this even possible? How did I end up here?” Her headache was getting worse.
“Most accounts mention the traveler crossing a river or stream. At certain times, and if the stars are favorably aligned, the veil between the gateways is thin. The river seems to act as a pathway.” Madoc leaned forward suddenly, fixing her with his piercing eyes. “Is that what happened to you? Did you cross the water, Martha?”
She nodded. “I crossed over the stepping stones.” The Lake District now seemed so very far away. “Then I fell into the river, and woke up... here.” She rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling very sleepy.
Madoc sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Just as we thought.”
“I’ve heard people refer to you as a traveler before.” Her voice sounded a little slurred. “Are you like me? Did you come from... my world?”
“Alas, no.” Madoc replied. “That name is an echo of another time—a time when we gave our aid to the true travelers. Nothing more.”
“Have you ever tried? To cross the river, I mean?”
“Yes, we tried, but never with any success. ‘The portal chooses the traveler, it seems. Not the other way about.”
“We?” Martha yawned and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “You keep saying we and our. Who are we?”
“Madoc the Seer, of course.” Her lack of understanding seemed to amuse him. “When one host dies, we move on to the next. This...” he glanced down at his body, “is a recent acquisition. It takes time to… settle in, you might say. The quality of host candidates is not what it once was. The thirst for the Old Wisdom is being quenched by the desire for wealth and position.”
A finger of cold fear caressed Martha’s spine. This was incredible, and more than a little creepy. How many people are there, living inside of him?
As if controlled by the will of another, she got up and began walking toward the seer, swaying across the wooden floor, an unwilling puppet, dancing to an invisible pull on her strings.
“Sit beside... me.” Madoc took her limp hand and drew her down onto the seat next to his. “Now,” he said as she settled back in her chair, “let me see you, m’lady.”
Although her mind remained active, Martha couldn’t move. The seer kept hold of her hand and closed his eyes. What had he done? Had he hypnotized her without her knowing it? Or maybe he’d slipped something into her ale. No. She hadn’t had so much as a sip from the tankard he’d given her. Her heart pounded wildly in her throat, and perhaps he sensed that too.
“Hush now,” he said softly, as if she were a nervous horse. “I will not harm you, child. Let us in.”
And because he commanded it, she relaxed. Her head felt heavy, and her neck wilted with the strain of supporting it. She couldn’t resist his will. Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes.
“Good.”
She heard the smile in his voice.
“Show us your mind.”
Suddenly, she was home walking around Aunt Lulu’s home, back in the Lake District.
The cluttered lounge was just as she remembered it. Books leaned in precarious towers, propped against the back wall. Her aunt’s collection of Lladro figurines still battled for space on the crowded mantelpiece, obscuring the ticking clock that always displayed the wrong time.
She reached out to touch an ornament depicting a young girl in a pensive mood. When did she buy this one? To her astonishment, her hand passed straight through. She tried again. Same result.
Okay, now I’m officially spooked. Or perhaps I am a spook?
She went over to the window—only she didn’t actually walk there, it was more of a wispy glide—and looked out into the small, well-tended garden. What she saw made her heart leap with joy.
There was Aunt Lulu, sitting beneath her parasol, sheltering from the bright autumn sun. The old lady’s hand stilled on her sketch pad, her frown emphasizing some new lines on her pink-scrubbed face.
No sooner had she thought it than Martha found herself outside, leaning over her aunt’s shoulder. Although she stood in the sun, she neither felt its warmth, nor cast a shadow. She studied Lulu’s drawing of a craggy hill that she was attempting to commit to paper.
“Your shading is all to cock, old love.”
“Martha?” The stub of charcoal slipped from Lulu’s fingers and fell onto the grass, but the old lady made no move to retrieve it. Instead, she continued to stare straight ahead at the hill, her pale blue eyes welling with glittering tears. “Am I asleep?” The soft Irish lilt of Lulu’s voice almost broke Martha’s heart. “I’ve dreamed of you so many times!”
“It is me, love. I’m back.” Martha crouched down beside her aunt’s chair. “Can you see me?”
Slowly, Lulu turned, gasping when she saw Martha. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Her liver-spotted hands flew up to cover her mouth. “It is you! My dear, sweet Martha!”
It must have looked almost comical as they repeatedly tried—and failed—to hug one another. But each woman found the other as impossible to grasp as mist. Panting slightly, Lulu was the first to give up.
“Oh, my precious girl. Are you truly dead, then?” Tears streamed down Lulu’s rouged cheeks, cutting white runnels into her makeup. “Have you come down from Heaven to tell me it’s my time?”
Martha grinned. “Don’t be daft. A fine angel I’d make!” She stroked her ghostly hand over Lulu’s hair, admiring the vivid color of her aunt’s latest lilac rinse. “I’m not dead. At least, I don’t think I am. Please don’t worry about me. I’m happy.”
Time was against her. Already, Martha felt a peculiar “pulling” sensation in her head and stomach.
She took a deep breath and started talking, rapidly relating the edited highlights of her own disappearance. Another two big inhalations got her to the end of the story so far—though she left out anything pertaining to Anselm, His Evilness, or dungeons.
There was no need to worry Lulu, even if she was only a lovely hallucination.
With her mouth slightly open, Aunt Lulu listened, her eyes fixed on her ghostly niece. “Another world?” she said at last. “You went for a walk and ended up in another world? I-I don’t understand, sweetheart.”
“That makes two of us, hon.” Martha sighed. Now that she was here—home again—it was hard to let go. She’d probably never see Lulu again after today. Insubstantial tears filled her wraith-like eyes.
Aunt Lulu obviously understood. “So this is goodbye?” Fresh tears shone in her eyes while her knobbly fingers clung to the wooden arm of her deckchair. “Well if this is a dr
eam, I’m not sorry for it.” Her aunt smiled and raised her hand to touch Martha’s cheek. “I love you, my Martha. Raising you is the best thing I ever did.”
“I love you too, Lulu.” The “tugging” on her body increased, and it took all of her strength to resist it. “I wish I could stay, but Vadim is so—”
Too late. Lulu extended her hand to Martha as an unseen force pulled them apart. Even then, their eyes remained locked, relaying all the unspoken regrets of their hearts before a howling white vortex swept Martha away at an impossible speed.
Silence.
Gradually Martha became conscious of the physical world again. Which one, though?
The chair felt hard against her back. She heard the crackle and pop of an open fire and, from a distance away, the laughter of soldiers, their armor clanking as they passed by. A wave of sorrow washed over her for what she’d lost.
Her eyes flickered open, and there was Madoc, staring at her, shadows filling the hollows of his gaunt face.
“I thought I had lost you,” he said in place of a hello. “You have more strength than you realize, m’lady. How do you feel?” He handed her a tankard filled to the brim with ale.
“Tired.” Martha shuffled in her chair and sat up, grimacing slightly. “Sore.” Her body ached as though she’d taken a high-impact step class the previous day. Raising the tankard to her lips, she chugged the ale back in one go.
“And thirsty too?” A brief smile softened the seer’s features. “Tell me, have you ever considered studying the Old Wisdom? You have considerable potential.”
Martha sighed and wiped away her ale mustache with her fingers. “You don’t say?” Well, if he wanted to assimilate her into the Madoc collective, he could go whistle. But, of course, she’d forgotten about his funky mind-reading ability.
“Women are quite unsuitable for the role,” he said, staring down his thin nose at her, as if the fact should be common knowledge.
But Martha was more interested in what had just happened. “Was I really home just now?” she asked softly. “Did it really happen?”
Madoc nodded. “As payment, you might say, for allowing me to read your memories.”
Allowing? But she let it go. She stared into the fire, absently rolling the empty tankard between her hands.
I was actually home again.
Grief and longing gnawed painfully at her heart. After seeing Lulu again, Martha was more homesick than ever. The craving to be home rose up and overwhelmed her.
She turned to look at Madoc. “I-If I wanted to go back—for good, I mean—would you help me?”
CHAPTER SIX
“You have changed your mind?” Madoc asked with a frown. He looked almost disappointed. “What about the man you call husband, m’lady? Will you abandon him now and deny him his family?”
“Yes… no.” Oh, what did it matter? She couldn’t leave this room, let alone the castle. And what about Vadim? There was still a flicker of hope. She mustn’t forget the message he’d sent through Agatha.
I am coming for you.
The words calmed her, warming her aching heart and soothing the desperate urge to go home. Aunt Lulu would be fine. As for Martha, her place was here now, in Vadim’s world. Of course she’d see him again. No one could keep them apart. Not forever.
Madoc nodded. He’d obviously been mentally dropping more eaves. “I thought as much.” He reached for his staff and stood up. “Thank you for your company, m’lady. Tonight has proved most illuminating.”
“Huh?” Martha got up too, still holding her empty tankard. “You’re not leaving already, are you?” Her stomach lurched. Why was it whenever she started liking someone, they left, abandoning her to Anselm and the four walls of his chambers? It had been so nice, sharing the fire and a jug of ale with someone she didn’t actively despise.
“You… like us?” Madoc’s raised his eyebrows. “What a singular person you are, Martha.” He pulled up his hood, covering his head and wreathing his face in shadows once more.
“What will you tell His Evilness?” she asked as she accompanied him to the door.
“Whatever it suits me to tell him.” Madoc reached out, briefly touching her hand. Coming from him, the gesture was as good as a hug. “Keep to your story. Lord Edgeway will hear nothing to challenge it from me.”
She believed him. “Thanks, Madoc—all of you. I appreciate it. Are you sure you can’t stay just a little longer?”
The seer shook his young, ancient, head. “I am afraid not. Anselm is already on his way.”
He bashed on outer the door three times with his staff to summon the guard. Then he turned to look at Martha, who still hovered by his side. “You would be wise to retire to your chamber before your jailer returns,” he said. “Oh, and do ensure you bolt the door behind you, unless, of course, you particularly desire Anselm’s company in your bed.” She didn’t need to see Madoc’s face to hear him smiling. “I fear your young friend has imbibed a rather large quantity of wine this night.”
Martha rolled her eyes. Great. That’s all I need. “I will. And thanks for the heads-up. You’re a good person, Madoc, a little bit weird perhaps, but you’re all right.”
“Indeed.” Madoc was back to his sneering self. “I hardly know whether to be flattered or insulted. However, I wish you well, m’lady, and I will do whatever I can to aid you.”
The guard turned the key in the lock and opened the door. With a brief nod of farewell, Madoc left her alone with her thoughts.
When Martha woke, for a moment, she thought she’d gone blind. Then she realized she was clutching a thick pillow over her head. She chucked the pillow aside and sat up, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Morning at last. Weak daylight entered through the window, slowly lightening the room.
It was a good thing Madoc had warned her about Anselm. As predicted, he’d been completely rat-faced when he returned to his chambers last night.
When Martha ignored his gentle knockings at the door of her bedchamber, he’d set up camp outside her firmly bolted door and begun singing at her. She grimaced at the memory of his loud, tuneless wailings. Love songs, no less. And all for her.
Ugh! In his dreams.
When his serenading failed to magically open her door, Anselm tried sweet talking her instead. But the lack of a positive response made him violent. That’s when she’d buried her head beneath the pillow, trying to block out the vile curses and endless pounding of his fists on her door. Thankfully, the oak timbers held firm.
Martha shuddered, imagining what might have happened if it had been a modern flimsy door that separated them. Drunk or not, she suspected Anselm would have been physically capable of carrying out all of his terrible threats.
One thing was certain. She needed to escape. And soon. She couldn’t wait for Vadim to rescue her, not any longer. Last night, Anselm had crossed an invisible line. His professed affection and friendship were no longer a guarantee of her continuing safety here.
She sat up in bed and pulled the cover to her chin. Even on fine mornings, the castle was usually cold. Her blanket smelt damp and slightly fusty. What would it be like here in winter? Not that she had any intention of finding out.
Straining her ears, she listened for sounds in the room beyond her bedchamber. Silence. Was he still there? She daren’t open the door and find out. No. She’d wait until Effie delivered her breakfast. It wouldn’t be long now.
Drawing her knees up to her chest, Martha closed her eyes and thought of Vadim, blotting out the misery of her current situation. She smiled as she relived their wedding night, the first she’d spent in his bed. Butterflies danced in her stomach. Suddenly, she wasn’t cold anymore.
Tap-tap.
“Martha? Are you awake, sweeting?”
Her eyes snapped open. Anselm. Oh, God. No. All the loved-up heat leached from her body. It was way too early to be dealing with
him. She stared at the door, willing him away.
Tap-tap-tap.
Her temper flashed to supernova. “Get lost!” she yelled at the door. “Just leave me alone, dickhead.” He’d kept her awake half the night as it was. Did he have to torment her at the crack of dawn too?
“Please, Martha.” His voice was soft and wheedling. “I must apologize for my ungallant behavior last night.”
“Fine. You’ve apologized. Now feck off!” Grabbing the metal candleholder that sat on a table beside her bed, she hurled it at the door with all her strength. The heavy thump and ensuing clatter silenced Anselm for a few moments. She hoped he had a hell of a hangover.
“Very well,” he said at last. “I shall return later when you are perhaps a little calmer, my dear.”
Martha closed her eyes and ground her teeth together. Sweet baby Jesus! Her fingers positively itched to use the knife she kept beneath her mattress. Anselm was seriously doing her head in.
She heard the outer door close. Presumably, Anselm had left for the day. She stayed where she was, not prepared to take any chances. God damn it! She couldn’t hide from him forever.
Suddenly, Martha heard Aunt Lulu’s gentle voice, echoing inside her head, spouting another of those cryptic sayings she was so fond of.
If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always got.
Yes, she definitely needed a new approach. But what?
Imaginary Aunt Lulu was full of ideas this morning: A carrot often works better than a stick.
“Not if the stick beats Anselm to death first, it doesn’t,” she muttered as she threw back the covers, swinging her legs out of bed.
Imaginary Lulu frowned at her niece’s levity.
Okay. She definitely needed new tactics. And preferably before her mind unraveled completely.
Going over to the window, she leaned on the stone sill and watched the world wake up. A skinny stable lad yawned as he crossed the cobbles, two empty buckets swinging in his hands.
Returning from the ramparts, a line of soldiers marched wearily back to barracks, leaving the castle’s defense in the care of the day shift.
Wolfsbane Page 6
