“Don’t do it, Fergus!” Martha yelled from the safety of the stairs. “Don’t give him what he wants.”
The earl spun about, fixing her with his most toxic glare. “Be silent, you duplicitous whore! I will deal with you later.”
“Is this how you get your jollies, killing children?” she demanded, leaning on the banister for support. “Ooh! Most impressive. Not!”
“I am not a child,” Fergus said with a scowl.
She ignored him. Hurting the boy’s feelings was preferable to seeing him dead.
The earl shrugged. “You heard his words as well as I, m’lady. Honor demands I afford him the same courtesy as any man who crosses me.”
“You could try showing a little mercy for a change. Save yourself for a worthier opponent.”
“Such as your husband, I assume?” The earl laughed. “Even this boy could best him,” he said, nodding toward Fergus. “Your beloved Lord Hemlock lost his edge a long time ago, and now he has lost his wife too. Most careless of him.”
This provoked another ripple of laughter from the crowd.
Martha, however, was far from amused. Her cheeks glowed hot. Maybe it was time they all learned the truth.
“He cut you down once, remember?” she said softly, once the merriment had died down. “Believe me, he can do it again.”
That wiped the smile from the earl’s arrogant face. He definitely didn’t want reminding of that particular day, and certainly not in public.
“You poor deluded creature,” he sneered as he moved toward the stairs. “Our paths have crossed many times since that day, and yet Hemlock has done me no further harm. Why should that be, hmm? He has certainly had the opportunity.” The shark’s smile was back. “I believe he has not the courage to confront me. Your husband…” He spoke so low, she had to strain to hear him. “Is a fraud and a coward.”
Fergus raised his sword. “How dare you speak such—”
“Fergus!” Martha yelled. “Keep still, shut up, and listen.”
The boy’s eyes flashed with a rage to match her own, but he backed down, enabling her to concentrate on His Evilness.
“You’re wrong, m’lord.” Desperation made her break the confidence Vadim had shared with her so long ago. If he ever learned of it, she hoped he’d forgive her. “The only reason you’re still alive is because of the promise Vadim gave his sister before she died.”
“Lissy?” The mention of his dead wife leeched the color from the earl’s face. He almost dropped his sword and fumbled to catch it before it hit the flagstone floor.
Fergus gave an irritated huff and went to lean on the banister at the bottom of the stairs.
The crowd fell silent, and a deathly hush descended on the hallway. Every pair of eyes were trained on the earl, waiting to see his reaction.
“I-I think,” he said at length, “you had better explain yourself, madam.”
Martha took a deep breath. She was in too deep now; she might as well tell him. “Lissy made him promise not to hurt you—”
“Liar!” The earl pointed a trembling finger at her, his eyes like splinters of blue glass. “She would never—”
“But she did! That’s how much she loved you. God knows why!”
“Hold your tongue.”
But she couldn’t. Not now. “You butchered her family in cold blood and left Vadim for dead with your arrow wedged in his body.” The mental image of his brutality made her blood boil. Caution, be damned. “He was only a little boy. What kind of man are you?” She shook her head, tears blurring her eyes. “And despite all this, Lissy loved you. Personally, I think she must have had a major problem in her attic.” She tapped the side of her head with her finger to emphasize her meaning.
“How dare you besmirch her memory!” The earl’s color returned. His face glowed crimson, incandescent with rage.
“Me?” Martha snort-laughed. “You do that all by yourself, every single day, you stupid man.”
“M’lord?”
Anselm’s voice forestalled whatever reply the earl had been about to make, which was probably a good thing, all things considered. With more than a little relief, Martha watched him walk through the crowd, Sir Hugh at his side.
“Enemy forces are massing near the postern gate…” Anselm’s glance flicked from Martha, to Fergus and back to the earl. “What has happened?”
For once, His Evilness didn’t look pleased to see him. “Why are you here? Your orders were to lead the charge on the enemy’s castle-breakers.”
“And so I will. But the breach in the back wall is too severe. It needs shoring up. The enemy force stands poised to attack and only lacks the command to do so.”
“Our troop is short of men.” Sir Hugh looked pointedly at the knights who’d been watching the earl’s fight with Fergus. “The soldiers outside are in great want of leadership. I think your time would be better spent elsewhere, m’lords.”
The knights looked at the earl, but he only shook his head, so the men remained where they were.
“Return to your duties, Anselm,” the earl commanded in a cold clear voice. “Do what you can to prevent the inevitable. There is nothing for you here.”
“I disagree, m’lord,” Anselm replied. “Why does my future bride stand there so pale and still, and who is this boy?” He shook his head. “No, sire. Whatever this is, I am involved up to my neck.”
Martha held her breath. Thank God he’d come. But what would he say when he learned she’d planned to escape with Fergus? Would he still defend her then? She wasn’t hopeful. Anselm’s reactions were always unpredictable. Relying on his protection was about as safe as a game of Russian roulette.
The earl gave a mocking little smile. “As you are only too aware, your future bride is already married, and her husband still lives and breathes. Please, let there be no more lies between us, my friend. I caught her ready to flee the castle in the company of this… outlaw cub.” He wafted his hand in Fergus’s direction. “What do you say to that, hmm?”
Anselm’s jaw tightened, and his eyes sought Martha’s. “Is this true?” he demanded.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck in her dry throat. Instead, she gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Answer me, damn you!” Eyes glinting dangerously, Anselm strode for the stairs, but Fergus leapt into action and stepped into his flight path, standing between him and Martha. The sword trembled in his hand in the face of the fury emanating from his new adversary.
Anselm unsheathed his own sword.
“Anselm, no!” Martha cried, her heart almost hammering through her chest.
Without slowing up, he lashed out at Fergus and knocked the weapon from his hand. The sword crashed to the flagstones, spinning and skittering wildly over the uneven surface. But before Fergus had time to react, Anselm was upon him. Grabbing the back of the lad’s neck, he smashed his head against the ornately carved wooden upright at the foot of the stairs. There was a loud echoing thunk, and Fergus crumpled lifeless to the floor.
Another chorus of oohs rose from the spectators.
“You bastard!” Martha edged her way up the stairs, breathing fast. A wave of dizziness struck her, and blackness hovered at the periphery of her vision. Don’t you dare faint. Oh, poor Fergus! Was he dead? Please don’t be dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Anselm paused at the foot of the stairs, staring up at Martha. His face was as emotionless as a shop mannequin’s.
“Well played, indeed.” The earl tucked his sword beneath his arm and applauded, beaming in delight. He turned to the knights. “See if the lad still breathes.”
One of the knights clanked over to Fergus, bending stiffly in his metal suit. “He lives, m’lord.”
Martha closed her eyes and exhaled hard.
“Excellent!” His Evilness sounded happy about it too, but probably not for the same reasons. �
��Take him to a cell. Oh, and treat him gently. We shall have much to discuss when he wakes.”
Martha’s relief at hearing Fergus was alive didn’t last. Not only was the poor lad now a prisoner, by the sound of it, he was about to become the earl’s new favorite plaything. Death might have been a better outcome.
A rumble of conversation rippled through the crowd. To Martha’s disgust, more money changed hands. Was everyone in this fecking castle sick and twisted? Clutching her skirt in her hand, she turned and fled up the stairs.
Before she reached the first landing, Anselm roughly grabbed her arm and spun her about to face him. “Where are you off to, m’lady?”
“Let go of me!” Hampered by the heavy folds of her gown, she aimed a kick at his legs. “Ow.” A pulse of hot pain flashed in her toes. His shins were protected by armor plates. Anselm dragged her up the stairs, but she continued to struggle.
“Be still, you hellion,” he growled.
When they reached the second landing, Anselm paused to lean over the banister, addressing the earl who remained in the entrance hall below. “Perhaps Sir Hugh might have the honor of leading the company in my stead, m’lord?” he called in a loud voice. “I will deal with the threat at the postern gate the moment I return.” He glanced at Martha and smiled. “My business with m’lady will not take long.”
The earl stood at the bottom of the stairs, his hand pressed to his wounded thigh. “As you wish, my friend. But do not kill her. Not yet, at least.” The sound of the dispersing crowd almost drowned out his voice. “I may have a use for her before the end comes.”
Anselm inclined his head. “As you command, m’lord.”
Tears slipped down Martha’s face. Everything had gone to hell.
Fergus lay face down and motionless on the floor. As she watched, two knights raised him and dragged him away, red hair trailing across the flagstones. His long legs flopped in a lifeless V behind him, reminding her of a rag doll she’d had as a child.
Then she saw something else, something that ignited a spark of hope in her heart. Effie stepped out from the mass of people and looked up, meeting Martha’s eyes. She gave a tiny smile then hurried after Fergus. Good girl!
“Go on.” Anselm released his death grip on Martha’s arm and gave her a rough shove. “Move!” He made her walk ahead, herding her down the corridor directly ahead of them.
What could she say to calm him? Surely there was another way out of this that didn’t involve pain and dying? Her mind reeled. She was too shell-shocked to think clearly.
A smooth metallic scrape told her Anselm had replaced his sword in its sheath. That was a small comfort.
“Turn left here.”
Martha obeyed his curt command, still wracking her brain for a solution. But all she could come up with were lots of graphic images of all the awful ways in which she might be tortured.
Another of Rodmar’s missiles struck nearby, making the floor shudder, but Martha didn’t flinch. Death by trebuchet now seemed like a soft option.
“Wait here a moment, sweeting.”
Huh? Martha turned around, stunned by Anselm’s gentle tone.
He walked back along the corridor they’d so recently traveled and peered around the corner. “We are safe enough now, I think,” he said with a grin. “Did I frighten you, m’lady?”
What the...? Martha blinked several times. Had she misheard him? No, he was still smiling. His face bore none of its previous hardness.
He’d been acting all along? Un-fecking-believable. Relief flooded her body in a warm and heavy wave. Suddenly, her legs sagged, refusing to support her for another second.
She slid down the wall and slumped inelegantly to the floor. Anselm crouched down in front of her, concern shining in his eyes.
“Are you hurt?” He stroked back her tangled hair. “Answer me, sweeting.”
“I’m fine.” Lord, but I’m tired though. The urge to rest her forehead on Anselm’s metal breast-plate was too tempting to resist. She closed her eyes and let her head slump forward. The metal felt cool, soothing on her skin.
Cradling the back of her head in his hand, Anselm rested his cheek against her hair. “I am sorry I was rough. My master is not an easy man to fool.”
“Well, you certainly fooled me,” she muttered. It felt good to surrender, to rely on the strength of another, if only for a few brief moments.
“What on Erde were you doing back there?”
“Trying to stop Fergus from being killed.”
“Not very successfully.” Anselm cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “Had I not intervened, you would both be dead by now. No one is allowed to mention the earl’s lost wife—not even I. I am surprised your husband failed to tell you this.”
“Why would he?” She summoned a bitter smile. “Neither of us planned on me becoming one of His Lordship’s long-term house guests.”
“Be that as it may, you and the lad were both damnably foolish. Come on.” He helped her to her feet. “We must not linger here.”
They set off walking again. Anselm covered her hand with his as it rested on the crook of his arm.
“Will Fergus be all right?” she asked, unable to shake the vision of the boy being dragged away.
“Apart from a very bad headache when he wakes up, I expect he will make an excellent recovery. The pity is, his plan to get you out of here failed. Now I must think of something else, and quickly.”
Martha glanced at him. “You aren’t angry?”
“Should I be?”
“But I left without saying goodbye.”
Anselm smiled. “To my mind, our final conversation was a goodbye of sorts. Did I not tell you I would rather see you back with Vadim than dead?”
Martha pretended she hadn’t noticed him use Vadim’s name. “So if you didn’t tell the earl about Vadim, who did?”
“How well it must have suited you to believe me guilty.” He chuckled. “Anselm the demon! Tell me, sweeting, was I your only suspect?”
“Of course you were.” She shoulder-barged him as they walked, making him stagger. “And you can drop the wounded expression, my friend. It doesn’t suit you at all.”
“Unfeeling witch.” But his smile remained. “To answer your question, ’twas Sir Hugh who spilled his guts to the king. Hugh is a good man, but he can be a royal dunderhead on occasion. Almost as soon as we returned, the poor fool informed our masters of my ill-advised remarks whilst we were playing emissary at Rodmar’s encampment. I expect it never occurred to him that I might want the truth concealed.” Anselm snorted with laughter. “It certainly never occurred to me—not until I confronted you with my discovery.” His face became suddenly serious. “Can you ever forgive me for what I did to you, I wonder?”
She became aware of the bruising on her throat again, like brutal ghostly fingers pressing into her skin. The moment he’d almost strangled her to death wasn’t a moment she was keen to relive. Avoiding his eyes, she glanced through one of the windows. The skyline had lightened. Dawn wasn’t far away.
“Your silence is eloquent enough.” Anselm sighed. “I will say no more on the subject and bear my guilt as best I may.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake! “Let’s just forget about it.” Anything was better than his sackcloth-and-ashes routine. The role of St. Anselm didn’t suit him at all. “If you get me out of here, we’ll call it even.”
Anselm squeezed her hand. “Hugh may be a fool but he is a harmless one,” he said, swiftly changing the subject. “I can detect no malice in his make up. In fact, I confess to having grown rather fond of him over recent days. Thank Erde he was privy to my master’s discussion with the king. Old Hugh was greatly troubled by it.”
“What were they saying?”
He shrugged. “Only what you might expect. That you had turned my head and poisoned my loyalty.” Suddenly, Ansel
m wouldn’t meet her eyes. He glanced out of the window at the breaking dawn. “My master intended to deal with you whilst I was occupied with the attempt to destroy the enemy’s castle-breakers.”
Martha shivered. What would have happened if Anselm hadn’t come back? What if he’d ridden away to do his lord’s bidding? Although things were bad enough now, they might have been a hell of a lot worse.
“If Hugh had not—” He stopped walking and froze. “Hush!” He glanced behind.
Martha couldn’t hear anything. She was about to say so when Anselm pressed his gloved index finger to her lips. With his head tilted to one side, listening, he put her in mind of a golden Labrador. Seconds later, they were on the move again, hurrying down another long corridor lined with more dusty, sun-faded tapestries.
“Where are we going, anyway?” She had no idea where they were.
“That, I cannot say. I had hoped our walk might inspire me.”
Learning he didn’t have some cunning plan or other up his sleeve didn’t exactly fill her with confidence.
They paused by another small window and looked out onto the courtyard below, and Anselm fell silent. In the pre-dawn light, the devastation was apparent. The castle’s outer wall contained more holes than bricks.
There would be no sun today. Menacing clouds hung in a thick, heavy drape that robbed the world of color. As they watched, a troop of mounted knights clattered toward the gate, jumping their horses over the worst of the rubble.
“May the Ancestors ride with you, my friends,” Anselm said softly. “I pray Rodmar is more merciful than our own masters have been.” He shook his head as if to dispel ugly images within his mind. Then, his eyes cleared, and he looked at Martha again. “The lad—Fergus? Where was he taking you before you encountered the earl?”
Should she tell him? Could Anselm really be trusted?
She wavered, but only for a second. “The dungeons. He told me to hide down there. I don’t know what he planned after that.”
“The dungeons?” Anselm raked back his hair with a careless hand. “They must be using another of the old tunnels to get inside.” A tiny smile played upon his lips. “Clever thinking, my brother.”
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