Beatrice stopped fighting and, with a strangled sob, she covered her face with her hands.
The guards shoved the prisoners into place, herding them into a line before the dais. There were only a dozen men—mostly knights and nobles from the looks of them.
“Where are the others?” Martha asked Harold. “You know, the men-at-arms, the ordinary soldiers?”
“The fate of their masters awaits them.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “They don’t even get a trial?”
Harold shook his shaggy head then returned his attention to the unfortunate men before them. Martha clasped Beatrice’s hand and glared daggers at Rodmar. Throughout the disturbance, the king’s face had remained as expressionless as stone.
How could he do this? Cattle got better treatment than Edgeway’s prisoners did. For all his fancy words, he was no better than King Erik had been.
As if aware of her hostile stare, Rodmar turned his head and met her eyes. She shivered and quickly looked away. Why was he looking at her? It was most unsettling.
Once order was restored, another thick blanket of silence descended, broken only by several chesty coughs and the clanking of iron manacles.
Rodmar slowly descended the wooden steps. Then he walked the line of prisoners, looking into the face of each man in turn. “The man you called king is dead. His head sits on a spike on the North Road for the crows to feast on. Which of you will flock to his banner now?” He paused before Sir Hugh. “Is there any reason I should spare you, any of you?”
Martha hissed as Beatrice’s fingernails dug into her hand, but she didn’t pull away. Her attention was riveted on the scene before her.
“What say you? Sir Hugh, is it not?” A mocking smile played on the king’s lips. “Will you put right the sins of your treacherous father this day? Will you renounce your false king and beg your rightful heir for mercy, hmm?”
Beneath Sir Hugh’s salt-and-pepper beard, a pulse ticked in his jawline. He held Rodmar’s gaze, but made no response. Brave, foolish man. He probably knew that begging wouldn’t do him any good.
Martha bit her lip, conscious of Beatrice quietly sobbing at her side.
Oh, where the feck was Vadim? He should have been back by now. She glanced around and saw his friend Reynard standing amongst the king’s gaggle of advisers. Maybe he’d say something on the prisoners’ behalf and spare her from the ordeal of what she was steeling herself to do.
“Well?” Rodmar was still staring at Sir Hugh, their faces bare inches apart. “As the senior man in this unholy rabble, will you make no attempt to save them... or yourself?”
One of the guards struck Hugh across the face with the back of his hand, the sharp crack echoing about the silent room. “Answer your king, traitor!”
Sir Hugh barely flinched.
“Oh, for the love of the Spirit. Please, Hugh!” Beatrice cried, leaping to her feet again. “If not for me, then do it for your son!” She rested her hand on her still-flat belly.
Hugh whipped round to look at his wife, his jaw sagging slightly. If possible, he looked even paler than he had before.
Beatrice’s pregnancy had obviously come as a shock.
“Congratulations,” Rodmar said softly. “How unfortunate though that your son will never know you.”
He moved on, traveling the line of prisoners, pausing occasionally to ask a question, but the other men appeared to have taken a leaf from Sir Hugh’s book of courage and remained stubbornly mute.
Martha couldn’t help but admire them.
In the end, Rodmar gave up. With a heavy sigh, he ascended the wooden steps and slumped down onto his golden throne. “Will no one speak for these wretched men before I pass judgement?”
“You cannot do this!” Beatrice screamed. “My husband is a good man!”
Harold kept a firm hold on her arm, but made no attempt to silence her.
“Someone other than wives and sweethearts, perhaps?” Rodmar continued, sounding rather bored.
This is it. Stomach churning, Martha got up and smoothed her hands over her skirt. How the hell was she supposed to address a medieval king, let alone talk to one in a respectful manner? Her breath shuddered as she tried to inhale.
Ah, feck it! All she could do was be herself.
“I will,” she announced in a loud voice. “I’ll speak for them.”
With a collective gasp, hundreds of pairs of eyes turned in her direction—including Rodmar’s. Martha blushed, wilting beneath the sudden weight of the crowd’s scrutiny.
“What are you doing?” Harold hissed through his stage smile. “Please reconsider. Your husband—”
“Vadim isn’t here, is he?” She glanced at Beatrice. “I’ll do my best, okay? Just don’t expect too much.” The new king didn’t seem like he was big on clemency.
Beatrice nodded furiously, the force of her tears rendering her speechless.
She approached the dais with the faithful Forge at her side. She clung tightly to his collar, her legs wobbling like jelly. As one of the guards stepped into her path Rodmar waved him away.
“Let her speak!” He beckoned her closer. “Will you give us your name, my good woman?”
“M-Martha.” She clung tighter to Forge’s collar. “Martha... Bigalow.” Damn it. What was Vadim’s surname? Did he even have one?
Fortunately, Reynard came to her aid, muttering in a quiet aside to the king, “Lord Vadim’s wife, sire.”
“Indeed?” Rodmar arched his eyebrows then glanced at Forge. “I thought I recognized his hound. A very fine animal, that.”
Martha stood at the foot of the steps trying not to think about how many people were staring at her.
“Very well.” Rodmar said. “Speak up, m’lady. I trust you have come to beg for the life of your infamous brother-in-law?”
Anselm was scheduled for execution too? Shit!
“I’m af-afraid you might have to forgo the pleasure of executing Anselm, m’lord.” Be polite. Be nice. Smile.
“Oh?” Rodmar leaned his elbow on the arm of his throne then rested his chin on his hand. “And why is that?”
“He’s already d-dying, sire.”
“Then, let us hope he makes a miraculous recovery. I had especially looked forward to his execution.”
A ripple of laughter traveled through the crowd.
“Yes, I can certainly understand why.” Martha forced a smile. Humor might be her best form of defense.
“Oh? You are not very loyal to him, m’lady.”
“I know.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “He is a bit of black sheep, but for all his sins he’s still family. I wouldn’t want to see Anselm dead. Nor any of these men, for that matter.”
The merriment faded from the king’s eyes. “The fate of these men is not your concern. A lady ought not to wade into water that might prove to be too deep for her.”
She blinked. What the hell did that mean? Had he just called her stupid?
“I beg to differ, m’lord... sire.” Damn it. “Your decisions today will ultimately affect us all.”
Rodmar’s eyes narrowed. “I have heard tell,” he said, “that you are a woman who favors plain speech. Pray, would you be so good as to indulge me now? The hours of daylight are all too finite.”
More muted laughter from the crowd.
A flash of heat burned in Martha’s stomach. “Fine. Then, I will.” If Rodmar wanted plain speech, he could have it. With effort, she reined in her temper. “Apart from backing the wrong horse, what have these men actually done that’s so unforgivable?” She waved her hand to indicate the prisoners behind her. “I mean, from what I can see, their only crime is loyalty. You can’t execute someone for the mistakes their fathers made. It’s... it’s just plain wrong.”
A shocked ooh rose up from the crowd. At the same moment, one of the guards stepped n
earer as if to grab her, but Forge growled, teeth bared in warning.
Rodmar stood up. “Leave her be. I asked her to speak plainly and so she has.” He walked back down the steps. “What would you have me do then, m’lady? Set them free?”
“Yes,” Martha replied. “With certain conditions, why not?”
The king’s eyes flashed. “Such as?”
“I don’t know... you could take away their lands until they swore loyalty to you. Or have them bound over to keep the peace or something?”
“Indeed I could,” Rodmar agreed. “But why would I trouble myself with the taming of malcontents when I can so easily deal with them today?”
Martha swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly as dry as dust. “B-because loyalty is a rare commodity. You need men like this around you—decent men, not like the thugs and rapists who attacked this castle.”
There were more shocked gasps from the onlookers.
“Serious accusations, indeed.” Rodmar moved closer until Martha could see his weird violet eyes. “Tell me, where does your loyalty lie, m’lady?”
“What? You don’t believe me, so you question my loyalty?” She almost laughed. Instead, she pulled away her shawl to display the dark bruising on her neck and then rolled up her sleeves so he could see the marks Jacob and Ferret had left on her arms. “Where do you think I got these? Or take a look at Sir Hugh’s wife. The bruises on her face didn’t come from her husband, I can tell you that.”
Rodmar remained silent for several long moments as he glanced at each woman in turn. It was impossible to read his face. “And these men who attacked you?” he said at last. “Where are they? Can you point them out to me?”
“There’s no need, sire. My husband... dealt with them.” Or executed them. Potato, pot-hato. She raised her chin and looked into Rodmar’s eyes. “Believe me, they got what they deserved.”
“A punishment befitting their crime?”
She nodded, suddenly tired of it all. “There’s been so much killing. Too much. The imposter king is dead, along with his evil cousin, and you’ve got your throne back. Can’t you leave it at that? Don’t you see? You’ve won already. Whatever else they are, these men,” she said, pointing to the prisoners, “are noblemen, and I’m sure they still have some powerful friends. Wouldn’t the start of your reign go a lot smoother if you weren’t having to permanently look over your shoulder for people set on revenge?”
Rodmar stroked his golden beard, apparently considering her words. “Is it your sincere belief that these men deserve another chance at life?”
“It is... I mean, I do, sire.”
“And if these men refuse to swear allegiance to the House of Weyland? What then?”
Would they refuse? Martha blushed. Damn. She hadn’t considered that.
“Shall we ask them?” The king pointed to Sir Hugh. “What about you, m’lord? Are you prepared to swear fealty to me in exchange for your life, for the chance to look upon your unborn son?”
Hugh remained silent, his eyes locked on Beatrice.
“You see?” Rodmar turned back to Martha with a smile. “It is quite hopeless. They are either too stubborn or stupid to seize the chance of life. Indeed, hanging them might be considered an act of mercy.”
She ignored the chuckles of the king’s advisors. “But what if someone acted as their... oh, I don’t know... their custodian for a while?” Surely in a few months, Hugh and the others would have cooled down enough to see the sense of kissing Rodmar’s regal butt?
“A custodian, you say?” The king glanced at his friends, a smile playing about his lips. “Did you have anyone in particular in mind for the role, m’lady?”
Martha wracked her brains for a suitable candidate. What about Reynard? He was a reasonable bloke. But she was out of luck there. Reynard was showing a sudden rapt interest in the floor. Was he deliberately avoiding her eyes? It certainly seemed that way.
Rodmar followed her gaze. “You seek aid from my closest advisers?” He laughed. “I doubt you will have much luck there. Come, m’lady, surely you can do better than that. Might I suggest that you look a little closer to home?”
“I-I don’t know what you mean, sire.” But she did—or, at least, she was beginning to.
“No?” Rodmar’s violet eyes glittered. “Then, allow me to speak plainer: perhaps the new Earl of Edgeway might vouch for the behavior of the prisoners.”
“The new earl?” The back of Martha’s neck prickled. “I wasn’t aware you’d f-found a replacement, sire.”
“Oh, indeed I have. Unfortunately, the man I wanted for the role had certain... insurmountable obstacles which prevented him from accepting it.” Rodmar grinned at her. “But now, having spoken with your good self, I feel confident those obstacles are about to be removed.”
Unable to formulate a response, Martha just stared at him. If she’d walked into a trap, it was her own stupid fault.
A sudden commotion at the back of the room diverted their attention. The people standing nearest to the doors were grumbling loudly as a latecomer forced a path through their midst, fighting his way into the overcrowded hall.
Vadim.
Martha’s heart soared. Oh, thank God!
He looked tired and a little travel worn, but the sight of him buoyed her flagging spirits. His dark eyes immediately locked on hers, and she had no problem interpreting the unspoken questions lurking in their fathomless depths.
What have you done?
“Ah! Lord Vadim.” Rodmar smiled in greeting. “A timely arrival as always. Pray, do come and join us. Your good lady and I were just discussing crime and punishment. I think we can all agree her views on the subject have been most illuminating.”
Vadim finally broke free of the crowd and hurried to Martha’s side, immediately seeking her hand, clasping it with his strong, warm fingers. He bowed to the king. “I hope she was not too forthright in stating her opinion, my liege?” Pulling Martha to his side, Vadim tucked her protectively beneath the shelter of his arm. “What have you been saying, my love?” he murmured against her headscarf.
For the life of her, she couldn’t remember—her mind was much too scrambled. God! It was good to have him back, though. Already, she felt the tension easing from her bunched-up muscles. She shrank closer to the comforting heat of his body, and the scent of horse and leather enveloped her. Mmm. He smelled so good. However, this wasn’t the appropriate moment to be lusting after him.
“Not at all.” Rodmar was saying, smiling as he shook Vadim’s hand. “After the initial shock, I found her candor most refreshing. Almost like taking a dip in a freezing lake on a summer day, in fact.”
Oh dear. She grimaced. That didn’t sound too good at all.
Vadim obviously thought the same way. “I feared as much,” he said with a sigh. “Tell me the worst, sire. I take full responsibility for anything—”
“Peace, m’lord. Although your lady was passionate in her defense of the accused she has done me no real harm.” The king glanced at the miserable line of prisoners. “In fact, when viewed in another light, her words might have done me a great service. Let us put it to the test and see.” Suddenly deadly serious, he said. “For the final time, my friend, do you want the position of earl or not?”
Time seemed to slow. Each second, every heartbeat, felt like a decade. The walls of the Great Hall seemed to press in until Martha could hardly breathe. In a blinding flash of insight, she suddenly understood just how much the title of earl meant to Vadim. There was no mistaking the hungry glitter in his eyes. Oh, it wasn’t his fault; becoming the Earl of Edgeway was in his blood, hard-wired into his DNA, an inextricable part of who he was. The earl and the outlaw were forever intertwined. Where one ended, the other began. There was no parting them.
She knew he loved her. If she asked him to walk away now, he’d do it. For her. All she had to do was shake her head and t
he uncertainty would be over.
The thing was, when it came down to it, she couldn’t ask him to. If she made him give up his dream, he’d eventually resent her for it. Oh, not now, perhaps, but some day.
And what about the prisoners—Sir Hugh and the others? Giving the wrong answer would send them to their deaths. She frowned. Could she live with such a terrible stain on her conscience?
Vadim raised her hand to his lips. “Have no fear, my love. Just answer with your heart. We will make it work, whatever it is you decide, I promise.”
His softly murmured words warmed her fingers and sent a bolt of electricity racing down her arm. When he put it like that, how could she refuse?
“Well?” Rodmar arched his eyebrows, obviously growing tired of waiting.
Taking a deep breath, Martha nodded. “Fine. Let’s do it.” Vadim’s joyful smile was ample reward for any sacrifice on her part.
He kissed her hand then turned to face Rodmar. “I thank you for your most generous offer, my liege. I gladly, and most humbly, accept.”
Rodmar positively beamed, reminding Martha of a grinning golden lion. “In that case, all that remains is for me to congratulate you, Lord Edgeway and,” his eyes sparkled when he looked at Martha, “the lovely countess, of course.”
Oh, feck! What have I done?
But at that moment, Vadim turned, submitting her to his sexiest crooked smile. Her stomach flipped. The promise in his eyes restored her faith. It didn’t really matter where they lived. She’d always miss Aunt Lulu, but Vadim was her future now—him and their baby. As for the fancy title, so what? Beneath their borrowed finery, they’d still be themselves. She smiled as he pulled Reynard into a bear hug, almost lifting the older man off his feet—everyone was getting a happily ever after today, whether they wanted one or not.
No. Learning to love the Earl of Edgeway wouldn’t be so difficult. After all, she already loved the outlaw, didn’t she? How hard could it be?
A NOTE TO THE READER
I hope you enjoyed Tales of a Traveler: Wolfsbane. Please take a moment to leave a review where you purchased this book.
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