Wolfsbane

by N. J. Layouni

  He was leaving her again? “Fine. Whatever.” She snatched her hand away and glared up at him. Hadn’t she spent enough time locked up in this room by herself?

  “Forgive me.” Vadim took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I cannot abandon them, not when they have risked so much on my behalf.” His warm words brushed tantalizingly over her cold skin. “I owe them a—”

  “But I need to tell you about the baby.” She wasn’t in the mood to be sweet talked just yet. “There’s something you need to—”

  “Shh.” He placed a finger against her lips. “There is no need to vex yourself so.” The tenderness in his eyes made her knees wobble. “I love you, wife, and so I must love him too. His sire is of no consequence to me. In my heart, he is my son, and the whole world will know him as such.”

  Martha’s eyes blurred with tears, and her throat grew so tight she couldn’t speak. Stupid, wonderful, infuriating bloody man! Why wouldn’t he listen? And why was he so convinced the baby was a boy, for that matter?

  “Then I must report to the new king,” Vadim continued, his dark pirate’s eyes begging for her to understand. “After that, I will return, I promise you.”

  “B-but he’s… it’s your baby.” The tightness of her throat made her voice croaky, but she had to make him understand.

  “I know,” he said softly. Catching one of her stray tears on his fingertip, he raised it to his lips and kissed it away. “Have I not just owned him as such?”

  Was he being deliberately dense? His sweetness broke her more effectively than any of the earl’s brutality. Her neck wilted forward like a thirsty flower until her head rested on the chest of his leather hauberk. In a flood of hot tears, the horror of the last few hours erupted from her body. Throughout the storm, Vadim held her close, murmuring gentle words of nonsense against her hair. All the while, he stroked her back, soothing and calming her with his touch.

  At last, her tears were spent. Holding her gently by her shoulders, Vadim held her away from him and placed a light kiss upon her brow. “I can hardly bear to leave you—”

  “Just go.” She looked up at him, forcing a weak smile for his benefit. “Do what you have to do, then hurry back.” Then she’d make him understand about the baby, spelling it out for him in big letters if she had to. “While you’re gone, see if you can find Effie, my maid, would you? She followed Fergus when they dragged him away to the dungeons.”

  “Of course.” Vadim let go of her hands and leaned against the doorframe. “Is there anything more you require of me?”

  Hell, yes! She had a list as long as her arm, especially when he looked at her like that. She wiped her eyes with her grimy hands. God, she must look terrible. The list would have to wait a bit longer, just until she was clean. “Yes, you might try and round up Forge. He must’ve gone to the infirmary with the Chuckle Brothers.”

  “The… who?”

  “Er, Harold’s friends?”

  “Ah! Of course.” Vadim stroked the back of his hand over her cheek. “Anything else?”

  It was a pity to ruin the moment, especially when he was smoldering so nicely, but it had to be done. “Yes. Anselm.” She flinched, readying herself for an angry outburst. It never came. She opened one eye and found him smiling at her.

  “You require a report on his health and lodgings, I take it?”

  She nodded. Why wasn’t he glowering at her as he usually did when she mentioned Anselm’s name? However, she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, however unexpected it was. “You’ll make sure he’s okay?”

  “Consider it done.” He took her hands and kissed each one in turn, his scratchy stubble tickling her skin. “Now, go on in. Lock the door, and get out of those wet clothes. Rest if you can. I promise to return just as soon as I am able.”

  And with those words, he left her.

  ***

  It had finally stopped raining. Vadim glanced up at the heavy gray sky. ’Twas only a temporary respite but better than nothing. Splashing through the puddles, and avoiding the innumerable corpses barring his way, he hurried toward the infirmary. The quicker he performed his duties, the sooner he could return to Martha. The mere thought was enough to increase his pace and banish the chill from his bones.

  As he neared the infirmary, however, his hopes of a swift retreat were dashed. A tide of men flooded the area outside the treatment rooms. Alone and in groups, on stretchers or supported by their brothers in arms, the wounded waited for the healers to attend them.

  Amid the crowd, a wild thatch of red hair caught his attention. Seth. Reynard was with him, casting frequent glances toward the open door of the infirmary. Vadim’s heart quickened. Were either of them wounded? Pushing through the mass of bodies, he set off through the crowd.

  Reynard saw him approaching and raised his hand in greeting. As Vadim drew nearer, he saw that Forge accompanied his friends, his wandering ways curtailed by means of a length of rope attached to his collar. The other end was wrapped about Seth’s fist.

  The movement of the crowd sent Vadim off course, so he used his arms to swim through the strong current. At last, he reached his friends. “Are you both unscathed?”

  “Not a mark on either of us, I am delighted to say,” Reynard assured him.

  “And the boy. How does he fare? You found him, I trust?” Nothing in Reynard’s easy manner suggested he had bad news to impart.

  “His Aunt Agatha is binding his head as we speak,” Reynard said, jerking his head toward the open door of the infirmary. “Though, it seems our efforts on his behalf were largely unnecessary.” At this, he exchanged a secret glance with Seth.

  “Oh?” Vadim looked from one man to the other. “How so?”

  “When we got to the dungeon, the door to his cell was already open.” Reynard’s smile broadened. “Fergus was quite himself and enjoying the, shall we say, rather tender ministrations of a very comely lass named Effie.”

  “Martha’s maid?”

  “How did you guess?” Reynard asked. “Have you the gift of foresight now, my friend?”

  “No.” Though it would be a useful ability, especially where Martha was concerned. “Finding Effie was one of the tasks Martha set me.”

  “Only one of them?” Reynard arched one steel-gray eyebrow. “Dare I ask what your other commissions are?”

  “Locating Forge was my next duty.” He glanced at Seth, who was feeding strips of dried meat to the salivating animal, food from his own ration pack, more than likely. “But you have already accomplished that on my behalf, I see.”

  The older man was uncharacteristically silent, his expression strained. No matter how long Vadim stared at him, Seth would not meet his eye. Instead, he concentrated on the whining animal at his feet.

  As the silence lengthened, an alarm bell tolled inside Vadim’s head. Although Anselm’s name had not been mentioned, it hung in the air between them like an invisible barricade. Martha’s cordial relationship with his foster brother had reopened many old wounds, not least his own. But Seth suffered most by it. That might explain the sudden awkwardness between them.

  Vadim was torn, his loyalty divided, and by the two people he loved best.

  Reynard cleared his throat, and stroked his neat gray beard. “What of the Lord Edgeway? The last I heard, the two of you were about to settle an old debt.”

  “It has been repaid… in full.” Vadim was glad to give his thoughts to another subject, even this one.

  “In full, you say?” At last, Seth looked at him, surprise in his bright blue eyes.

  With a brief nod, Vadim confirmed it. He hated being at odds with this man, especially over Anselm. The unexplained tension was sure to be about him. Guilt squirmed in his stomach. As hopeless as it seemed, he had to at least attempt to mend some of the damage Martha’s friendship had caused; to make it clear that his own loyalties remained the same. “You have bee
n my truest friend for many years, m’lord, a father to me in all but blood—”

  “Vadim…no.” Seth shook his head and stepped back. “Do not speak of it—”

  “But I must.” He grabbed Seth’s arm, restraining him when he would have walked away. “This matter cannot be allowed to fester between us—”

  Seth yanked his arm free. “What would you have me do, then? Forgive him?” He bared his teeth in a bitter smile. “After all he has done, you would take his part?” His voice was loud enough to still the conversations around them. Those men who stood nearest shuffled away to a safer distance, muttering quietly to one another, their eyes darting uneasy glances at Seth.

  Vadim could not blame them. Although Seth was usually the most placid of men, his rare tempers were explosive enough to dilute anyone’s blood into water. His own included.

  “The dog could do with a drink after all that salted meat, I think,” Reynard said, easing Forge’s rope tether from Seth’s hand. He departed swiftly, with Forge dancing along at his side.

  With effort, Vadim held Seth’s wild-eyed stare. The older man’s flaring nostrils reminded him of an angry bull. His great hands clenched into fists at his side. He looked ready to beat something to a pulp. More than likely himself.

  “There are no sides in this, Seth. I do not—”

  “I saw him arrive earlier,” Seth said, as if Vadim had not spoken, “swinging like a corpse in between those two men.” He gave a bitter laugh. “He is probably already in the afterlife with his mother.”

  “Be that as it may, be assured, I would never choose Anselm over you, m’lord—”

  “Yet, here you are.” Seth’s face drained of color, and the grim smile faded from his lips. “Have you come to visit him on his deathbed? The wonder is, you have not brought sweetmeats, or some other little delicacy that might restore him to health!” He jabbed his finger against Vadim’s hauberk, punctuating each angry word with another stab. “Or would you have me believe you came here for news of Fergus alone?”

  Vadim held his ground. “Of course not.” Raking his hands through his tangled hair, he attempted to subdue the prickling heat of his own rising temper. He took a deep breath. It was vital he remain calm. It would not do for them both to lose control. “I did not know Fergus was here until I saw you and Reynard,” he said evenly. “I am here at my lady’s bidding, and for no other reason.”

  “Oh?” Seth leaned forward, breathing a gust of stale alcohol into Vadim’s face. “’Tis Martha who wields the sword in your household now, lad? Is that what you are telling me, hmm?”

  Too late, he realized Seth’s rage was not solely fueled by Anselm. He should have read the signs sooner. The sickly stench of ale turned Vadim’s stomach, but he struggled to conceal his revulsion. All men had a weakness. The ale barrel happened to be Seth’s, and since Sylvie’s death he had sought its dubious oblivion ever more frequently.

  One thing was certain. This was not the opportune moment to be seeking Seth’s indulgence. “Perhaps this discussion will keep until later, m’lord? Our new king has summoned me, and I am loathe to keep him waiting.” ’Twas a small untruth, perhaps, but a retreat was vital. He would return to the infirmary when Seth had gone.

  As Vadim turned to walk away, a heavy hand gripped his shoulder.

  “What? Without first carrying out your wife’s orders?” Seth tutted in mocking disapproval. “Whatever would she say?”

  Wife? He had somehow managed to make the word sound like slattern. Vadim spun about and knocked away Seth’s restraining arm. Despite his resolution to remain calm, hot blood thundered in his ears. “Have a care, my friend,” he warned in a low voice. “This day has been long and arduous for us all. My patience is not without its limit.”

  “Your patience?” Seth shook his head and guffawed with laughter, his long red hair flying wildly about his face.

  “Go and sober up.” Vadim dared say no more, and strode away, heading for the infirmary. Curse him for an ale-soaked fool. Seth could go to the devil for all he cared. He would go and see Anselm, and at this very moment.

  “Vadim!”

  A host of outraged cries made Vadim turn. Seth was in pursuit, barging his way through the groups of waiting soldiers as if they were not there, knocking them aside like skittles.

  Fearing he would follow him into the infirmary and cause trouble, Vadim waited for the older man to catch up.

  “Wha—” Without warning, Seth’s meaty fist slammed into his face, filling his head with a flash of brilliant stars. The force of the blow lifted Vadim off his feet and sent him sprawling through the air. He struck the outer wall of the infirmary with a hard thump, the impact driving the breath from his lungs.

  Dazed and reeling, he watched Seth approach. A fleeting shaft of watery sunlight broke through the gray clouds, transforming his advancing figure into a silhouette.

  “Ah, lad.” Seth crouched down beside him, the rage in his eyes mellowing to something like regret. “What have you done to me? Have I been such a terrible father?”

  Still gasping for breath, Vadim could only listen.

  “Speak not to me of blood and lineage. On the day your own dear father died, you became my son. You were the child I should have sired, Vadim.” He stroked his hair with a gentle hand. “You were the child of my heart. In truth, I loved you better than my own seed, but you knew that.”

  Had he known? Of course he had. Throughout his boyhood, Vadim was always aware Seth favored him over his own son. What memories of those days did Anselm carry within his heart, he wondered. Before he had come to live with them, Anselm had been an only child. What must he have felt, watching through his child’s eyes as a relative stranger stole the affection of his father?

  The truth held a sour taste. Over a period of years, on a daily basis, Anselm had gradually been pushed aside and ultimately discarded. If he had turned out badly, was there any doubt as to why? Perhaps the approach of fatherhood had bestowed Vadim with a new clarity of thought. Whatever the reason, he was sorry for the part he had played in ruining Seth’s family, however unwittingly.

  Seth was still bemoaning his fate as the liquor circulating in his blood dragged him lower: “...only to see my dearest son turn against me. I never imagined I would see this day. ’Tis a—”

  “Be silent!” Vadim snarled. Using the wall to aid him, he scrambled to his feet. “My ears weary of your constant self pity.” He rubbed at his aching jaw, regarding Seth with disgust.

  “How dare you speak to me thus!” Seth leapt up, his simmering anger quick to the boil. “Insolent whelp.” His hand balled into a fist, but this time Vadim was ready.

  As Seth launched his hand, Vadim seized his wrist in a brutal grip, crushing down with his fingers until the older man yelped with pain. Then he dragged him closer until their noses almost touched. “If you strike me again, I will retaliate in kind,” Vadim hissed in his face. “Consider that a fair warning, m’lord. You will get no other. Now go!” He thrust him away. “Sleep it off, and we will speak later. There is still much I have to say to you.”

  Seth staggered backward, his cheeks crimson with temper, but he did not attempt to take another swing. “I want nothing further to do with you, boy. From this day on, you are as dead to me as he.” He spat on the ground then rubbed his hands together in a washing motion, symbolically ridding himself of both his sons.

  “So be it.” Vadim gave a thin smile. “Then, I will leave you in peace to wander through the empty rooms of your heart. Farewell.” He turned away and ducked his head, entering the low doorway to the infirmary. He felt no remorse. Not for Seth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  There was barely room to move inside the infirmary. Bodies crushed around him, absorbing him into the mass. Every inch of space was packed with the wounded and with those attempting to treat them. Wrinkling his nose at the foul odors, Vadim looked over the heads of the
crowd, seeking Anselm.

  He could not see him, but he spotted Agatha and Fergus in a far corner of the room. The lad had a sturdy bandage wrapped about his head, and at his side stood a pale-faced maiden. That must be Effie. Fergus listened intently as his aunt lectured him about something or other.

  Vadim moved through the crowd toward them, ignoring the moans of protest that followed him.

  “M’lord!” Fergus leapt up, grinning his familiar crooked-toothed grin. “You live!”

  Vadim held up his hands and smiled. “So it seems.” He pulled the lad into a brief, hard hug. “How are you, boy?” He lightly touched the bandage on his head. “Does it hurt much?”

  “Oh, ’tis nothing of consequence, m’lord.” Blushing, Fergus glanced at the silent young woman, now perched on the edge of his cot. “In fact, I think Anselm did me a service when he brained me.”

  At this, the girl blushed even harder than Fergus. Casting her eyes downward, she began pleating folds into the fabric of her skirt.

  “When Effie unlocked my cell, I thought the fey folk had sent their fairest princess to rescue me.” With a heartfelt sigh, Fergus sat beside her and took her hand. “I owe her a debt I can never repay.”

  Agatha shook her head as she looked at the young folk. “They are moonstruck, both, and in equal measure. I have barely had a sensible word from either of them since they arrived.”

  “I am very pleased to know you, Effie,” Vadim said, disguising his amusement with a low bow. “You have my gratitude also.”

  The girl managed to mutter an appropriate response before returning her attention to Fergus. Sitting side by side, they continued their silent worship of one another.

  Agatha sighed. “New love is truly the keenest blade, and a rather revolting one at that.” But despite her words, the worthy matron looked pleased. “And how are you, lad?” She raised her cheek for Vadim’s kiss then studied his face with narrowed eyes as if she could read what she sought in his expression. “You look better than at our last meeting.”