Wolfsbane

by N. J. Layouni

  “Where were you?” Harold persisted looking from Martha to Seth and back again.

  “Out!” she snapped.

  “She was with me.” Seth’s brisk answer took the sting from the harshness of Martha’s reply. “No harm has befallen her. We sat in the sunshine for a while and kept one another company as old friends are wont to do.”

  Harold exhaled like a bull, apparently pacified. He sent the older man a brief smile. “Edric is sitting with your lad. I am certain he would welcome a break in his duty.”

  For several seconds, Seth lingered before the door of his son’s bedchamber. He raised his hand to knock then seemed to think better of it. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the latch and went inside, softly closing the door behind him.

  Martha went to examine the contents of a small handbasket on the sideboard. As she lifted its linen cover, the smell of fresh-baked bread enveloped her in a delicious cloud. Her stomach gurgled. At least Vadim had brought breakfast before he went out hunting for her.

  “I must find Lord Vadim and assure him of your safety,” Harold said, grabbing his cloak from its peg.

  Martha shrugged. “If you must.” She tore off a chunk of bread and began plastering it with butter.

  “In the meantime, I ask that you remain here until we return. No more solitary wandering. This castle is still a dangerous place, m’lady.”

  Despite herself, Martha smiled. “Okay, Dad.” It wasn’t Harold’s fault she was pissed off with Vadim. “I promise to stay put. Scout’s honor.” She saluted with her right hand, still clutching her buttery knife.

  She was devouring her third slice of bread and honey when the door of Anselm’s bedroom flew open. Seth leaned against the door frame, breathing hard, his head bowed.

  Heart pounding, Martha leapt up from her seat. “Seth? What’s happened? He’s not...” She couldn’t say it.

  He raised his head. “No. Not yet, at least.” If it were possible, Seth looked even worse than he had before. An unhealthy pallor lent his skin a gray tinge, and his eyes were red rimmed and swollen. He staggered to the window like a drunk, hands fisting in his wild red mane. “But death’s shadow stalks him closely. He cannot outrun it for long. Oh, Sylvie!” Seth tilted his face and looked at the sky. “What am I to do, my love?” he murmured. “I have never needed you more than at this moment.”

  The tenderness of his voice brought tears to Martha’s eyes. Deciding to give him a moment to collect himself, she went to see how Anselm was doing. But there was no need to ask. He lay twitching beneath the coverlet, mumbling to himself, lost in his own private delirium.

  Edric still sat beside the bed, heavy eyed and weary. “I would have left Seth alone had he not begged me to stay.” He scrubbed his hand over his bristled cheeks and shuddered. “For my part, I would have preferred not to witness such raw sorrow.”

  Poor Seth. He’d spent so long wishing his son dead but in truth, the reality of it had knocked him sideways. Martha moved to the bed and stroked a strand of sweaty hair back from Anselm’s face. He flinched from her touch and jerked his head sideways, muttering furious words she couldn’t make out.

  She glanced at Edric. “Do you need a bathroom break?” Someone must have fed him in her absence, for a wooden platter sat his feet along with an empty leather tankard.

  “A what?”

  She arched her eyebrows. “The privy.” Even after all this time, she kept forgetting this wasn’t the twenty-first century. “Go on. I won’t tell Agatha, I promise.”

  Edric nodded and rose stiffly from his chair. “Thank you, m’lady.” He stretched so hard she heard the kinks popping in his back. “A walk will help keep me awake.” He shuffled for the door, yawning and scratching at his private parts as he went.

  Martha suppressed a grimace. “Would you ask Seth to come back in please?” However, she had no idea what she’d say to comfort him.

  Edric went out, but he returned only moments later. “’Tis Seth,” he said. “He has gone.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Vadim stalked the castle from end to end, his agitation soaring with every step. Where could she be? None of the men he’d questioned recalled seeing her. What had possessed Martha to go wandering alone?

  When his search of the keep was exhausted, he hastened outside into the bright sunshine. Almost immediately he spotted Forge, licking at something on the bottom step. Vadim grimaced. It looked suspiciously like a lump of flesh. He took the stone steps two at a time and pushed the dog away from his grisly find. “Leave that alone, dog.”

  Forge looked up and wagged his tail in greeting, his great jaws smiling as always.

  “Where is your mistress, hmm? Have you seen her?” he asked, ruffling the animal’s shaggy gray head.

  Forge tilted his head to one side, secret intelligence shining in his eyes.

  “No, and I do not expect that you would tell me even if you could.”

  Shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare, he scanned the courtyard, hoping to see Martha amongst the crowd. Now that the siege was over, groups of women had begun creeping from their hiding places, clutching their children as if they feared they would be snatched away at any moment.

  Their fears were needless now. Almost as soon as Edgeway was taken, the king had issued a decree forbidding further rape and pillage under penalty of death. To set an example, several men were already awaiting their fate in the castle’s dungeon. Rodmar was not a man to be crossed, that much was clear. The pity was he had not made his proclamation sooner, before so many innocent lives were forever ruined.

  Unwillingly, he relived the moment he found Martha being ravaged by Rodmar’s hired thugs. A hot rush of bitter bile rushed into his mouth at the memory of their filthy hands mauling her. He leaned over, coughing the sour contents of his mouth onto the cobbles. Thank the Spirits he had found her before it was too late.

  Suddenly weary, he sank down onto the steps and concentrated on calming his roiling stomach. Perhaps it was another bout of battle sickness. If so, it was a mild dose, and with none of the violent headaches that usually accompanied it. He supposed he had Martha to thank for that. The night spent in her bed had silenced many of his ghosts.

  Forge laid his head on Vadim’s thigh, looking up at him with apparent concern. He stroked the dog’s head absently as his eyes searched the courtyard. Where could she be? The infirmary? His stomach rolled again at the thought of revisiting that hellish place.

  “M’lord!”

  He turned at the sound of Harold’s voice, anxiety spiking in his heart as he watched the man advance toward him. “I beg you, tell me you have found her.”

  “All is well. Your lady is safe. She arrived home with Seth shortly after you left.”

  He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Thank the Great Spirit.” But puzzlement rapidly replaced his relief. “With Seth, you say?” He was the very last person he expected to find visiting Anselm’s chambers.

  “Aye.” Harold sat beside him on the step. “How she managed to talk him around, I will never know.”

  “What?” Vadim’s eyes widened. “He actually came to visit Anselm?”

  “That he did. Who knows, perhaps he intends to hasten his worthless son’s departure to the ancestors’ hallowed hall?” Harold gave a snort of laughter.

  Vadim sat a little straighter. He had not considered that.

  “Not that it would be an easy task, not with Edric standing guard over him night and day.” Harold grinned. “I believe he would cut down any one of us if we attempted to interfere with the sacred charge Lady Agatha set for him.”

  The fierce matron had certainly roused a fierce kind of devotion in Edric’s soul, true enough. But Vadim did not smile. Was he any different? What would he not do for Martha?

  He watched distractedly as Harold fed small pieces of dried meat to Forge in exchange for his paw. The king still awaited an a
nswer, but in his heart, Vadim had already decided. With the death of the earl, the honor of his family was restored and their souls avenged, leaving him free to do as he would. But unless he had Martha by his side, the title, the castle, and all they entailed were worthless.

  He turned his head, looking up at the keep, the home of his boyhood, and the place where his parents had met their untimely end.

  Martha would not willingly consent to live here, and Vadim could not reproach her for it. Her memories were tied too closely with incarceration, violence, and death. He knew full well that her heart was set on Darumvale, and he could not deny part of him would be glad to leave Edgeway for the final time.

  Admittedly, their children would have a very different life from the one he might have chosen for them, but it did not follow that it would be a lesser one. Although he dressed like an outlaw, he was far from being a pauper. He had enough gold stashed away to establish a comfortable life for them back in the village, or anywhere else for that matter.

  You will be bored witless before the moon turns six cycles.

  Possibly. Boredom was a novelty he had yet to sample. Given a little time, he might grow to prefer a simpler existence. One thing was certain, with Martha by his side, life would never be dull.

  He got up off the step and stretched, working out the kinks in his neck and shoulders, the legacy of yesterday’s battle. Although he was still in his prime, his growing tally of wounds were gradually taking their toll. Yes. Perhaps it was time to settle down.

  At that moment, a man hurtled by in a blur of movement. He bounded down the steps, taking them three at a time and almost falling in his haste. Forge cocked his head to one side and whined, his long tail lashing.

  Harold pointed at the fleeing figure. “Is that not—?”

  “Seth.” His unkempt red mane was unmistakable. Where in Erde was he going with such haste?

  Shielding their eyes, they tracked Seth’s progress as he ran across the courtyard, moving as if the hounds of the Underworld were on his scent. He dodged a slow-moving meat wagon then barged through a loitering group of soldiers, ignoring the loud shouts of annoyance aimed at his departing back.

  Despite the warmth of the day, an icy ripple raced the length of Vadim’s spine as he suddenly recalled Harold’s earlier jest. What if Seth had done something to Anselm? If so, what would that mean for Edric and Martha?

  “Is he heading for the stables, do you think?” Harold asked.

  Vadim neither knew nor cared.

  Seth made a sudden change of course, heading for a knight who was ambling toward the main gate astride his gray palfrey. To the astonishment of those who witnessed it, Seth launched himself at the man and dragged him from the saddle, sending him toppling to the ground. The horse barely had a chance to flatten its ears before Seth had swung himself up into the saddle. Sawing wildly at the reins, he kicked the animal into a canter and raced for the main gate.

  Harold burst into laughter. “Oh, he will be for it now! I thought you said Seth was no horseman—”

  But Vadim was already running for the keep.

  The journey back to Anselm’s chambers seemed to last an eternity. Vadim could not later recall any of it. All the while, his mind raced with terrible blood-soaked images that became more unbearable with each step.

  At long last, he reached his destination. Without pause, he kicked open the door, almost falling into the room in his haste to know the worst.

  “Martha?” His eyes made a rapid sweep of the living area. Empty. There was no sign of a disturbance. Was she in her bedchamber? Was her life blood now staining the bed linen crimson? Fear rooted him to the spot. Suddenly, he dared not find out. “Martha!” Her name was a howl of anguish, a living embodiment of terror, the like of which he had not experienced since the night his family were taken from him.

  Then, thank the Spirits, he heard the rapid taps of hurrying slippers coming from Anselm’s bed chamber. Relief robbed his limbs of strength, forcing him to clutch at the back of a chair. Then he discerned her own sweet voice muttering crossly to her Jesus God.

  Anselm’s door flew open, and there she was. Hale and whole.

  “What the feck are you bellowing for?” she snapped. “Yes. I’m here! What?”

  The sight of her restored his strength. In two swift strides he crossed the room and, ignoring her squeak of protest, took her in his arms, crushing her tense little body to him. He pressed a kiss upon her hair. “Thank you,” he murmured, raising his eyes to the heavens.

  “Thank you? For what?” Martha squirmed, trying to get free, and unwittingly rousing him to passion. Unfortunately, she was not of the same mind. Not yet. “What the hell is wrong with you, Vadim? For fecksake, will you let me breathe at least?” She stamped her foot down on his boot for good measure.

  The pain barely registered. Holding her away from him, he rejoiced in the stormy expression of her eyes. “I thought I had lost you.”

  “Lost me?” She only scowled harder. “I only went for a bloody walk!”

  “You never looked lovelier than you do at this moment.”

  “And don’t try sweet talking your way around me,” she snapped, still straining to pull free. “I am so pissed off with you, right now. How could you?”

  He smiled. “What have I done now?” Temper lent her a most becoming air. It suited her well.

  “The Earl of Edgeway? Is that ringing any—”

  He kissed her because he could not help himself, unable to resist the sweet allure of her lips. Martha resisted for a heartbeat then her angry resolve crumbled. As she opened her mouth to allow him entry, he felt the tension ebbing from her body. Suddenly, she was soft and pliant in his arms, and more than willing.

  She stopped pushing against his chest and linked her arms about his neck, returning his fevered kisses.

  Blood thundered through his heart. She tasted of honey. Of summer. Of life. Erde! It was all he could do not to take her here and now.

  But then, Martha raised the stakes. Making mewling noises of want, she fisted her hands painfully in his hair and pressed her body even closer to his. Her kisses became more demanding, tinged with traces of her previous anger. She was rough, impatient. Greedy.

  He liked her this way.

  Cupping one soft buttock, Vadim held her against him. But grinding himself against the softness of her body only increased his suffering.

  With a groan of surrender, his self mastery deserted him. His hunger for her was too consuming. Without breaking their kiss, he walked her backward until she against the wall. Even before they got there, her eager hands were already pulling at the fastenings of his trews.

  Her breathing was as rapid as his own. He had no thoughts of resisting her.

  The way she sucked on his lower lip, grazing it with her teeth, pushed him to breaking point. He grabbed a fistful of her skirt and raised it then slid his hand beneath. Her skin was warm and velvet soft. He moved higher, gliding up her thigh to the place he most needed to be.

  She was already slick with need.

  Martha gasped in his mouth, finally breaking their kiss. “Oh, God!” Her eyes rolled back beneath her flickering lids, and her body arched against his fingers.

  She reached for him, encircling his hardness with a trembling hand, guiding him toward her body. But Vadim needed no instruction.

  In one swift move, he lifted her onto him, slowly burying himself in the tight heat of her body. Martha wrapped her arms about his neck, kissing him with even fiercer passion.

  The imperceptible tilt of her hips set the pace, driving him on, until he was thrusting into her, hilt deep and drowning in the bliss of her. The ending was all too swift. Her legs tightened about his waist, and suddenly she was quivering, uttering his name on breathy gasps, clinging to him as if she would never let him go. With a final thrust, Vadim joined her, journeying through the heady swirl of
fulfillment.

  The storm eventually passed. With a shuddering breath, Vadim cushioned his head upon her fast-rising breast and listened to the thumping of her heart. Were it not for the wall’s sturdy support, he would have fallen.

  Martha stroked the sensitive skin at the back of his neck, her legs still locking him within her body. She seemed as reluctant to be parted from him as he was to leave her.

  “Vadim?” she murmured at length.

  “Hmm?” With effort, he raised his head from its soft pillow and looked into her eyes. They were dark, languid pools, shining with the aftermath of their love. But there was something more. Amusement?

  “Do you think we should, maybe, close the door?”

  “Wh-what?”

  Grinning, she nodded over his shoulder, and Vadim turned to see what she was looking at. To his dismay, he saw that the outer door was open, gently moving with the breeze. They were in full view of anyone who happened to be passing by.

  With a muttered curse, he lowered her to the ground then began to adjust his clothing. “You should not encourage me so, wife.”

  “Me?” Martha’s eyes widened, regarding him with an innocence that fell the wrong side of wicked. “What did I do?” She was battling to suppress her laughter, the twitching of her lips gave her away.

  He stroked the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “You surrendered when you should have fought.”

  “Oh?” She pushed off the wall and stepped nearer. “I think,” she said, tracing her finger down his chest, “you would have liked that even better, m’lord.” Her sweet breath brushed his face, tempting him to kiss her again.

  “Sorceress.”

  “Barbarian.”

  Only the narrowest of margins separated their lips now. He cupped her cheek with his hand.

  “How can I defend you when I am too weary to wield my sword, my love?”

  “Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about your sword, Lord Hemlock.” She glanced down to emphasize her meaning.

  Impudent witch.