King's Errand Read online

  He could only hope he wouldn’t arrive too late. Hated by the general populace, who hadn’t forgiven him for being Lord Godric’s most trusted henchman, Anselm would have little chance of defending himself in his current weakened state.

  Praying that no terrible peril had befallen his stupid brother, Vadim went to retrieve his gloves and cloak from the solar. As he entered the room, Forge looked up from where he lay stretched out beside the glowing embers of the fire, his thin tail thumping a lazy welcome upon the floorboards.

  “Come on, you idle creature. Let’s see if we can find your friend Anselm. But first… ” Slowly opening the door to the bedchamber, he peered inside. Martha and the babies were still sound asleep.

  Despite his current worries, Vadim could not help but smile as he looked upon his little family, and his heart overflowed anew with gratitude for the blessing he’d been given. Oh, what a wrench it was to leave them, though. He would have liked nothing better than to climb back into that rumpled, cozy nest and to snuggle down beside them.

  Regrettably, his concern for Anselm would not allow it.

  No. The sanctuary of his family must wait until after his brother was found.

  Chapter Nine

  The border of Edgeway finally appeared on the horizon, and Anselm was most heartily relieved. One more league and his torment would be over.

  Ever since setting out from Darumvale, Martha’s aunt had talked incessantly, so much so Anselm now felt himself intimately acquainted with every last one of her many friends and acquaintances.

  And that wasn’t the worst of it.

  Not only was he uncomfortably familiar with the doings of her kith and kin, including the many vagaries of their lives and loves, Anselm had been granted the dubious honor of being made privy to a wondrous assortment of Lulu’s feminine ailments.

  Modern medicine sounded truly wondrous, but Anselm could have gone to his grave quite happily without ever knowing how some of these strangely-named maladies were treated. Indeed, some of the cures sounded like a form of torture. As a result, he’d begun to feel rather ill himself.

  Anselm had never had the stomach for torture. Lord Godric’s fascination with the subject

  had been one of the few interests the two of them had not shared. Had he lived, his old master would have no doubt greatly appreciated Lulu’s unique, albeit gory, descriptions of her many procedures.

  “… and even then, I knew they’d left something inside me. A woman knows her own body better than any flamin’ doctor. But did anyone listen to me? No, they did not!”

  Anselm shuddered, sincerely wishing he shared her poor physician’s good fortune. There was much to be said for the blessing of selective deafness.

  “Oh, look!” he cried, desperate to divert Lulu’s attention from her shriveled-up womb. “A rider approaches.” Merciful spirits. Thank you, whoever you are!

  Anselm led Bramble to the side of the road and waited so that the rider might pass by without obstruction. “Put up your hood, m’lady,” he said. “Cover your hair before he sees you.”

  “Oh, if you insist, but it’ll ruin my set.” With a heavy sigh, Lulu reluctantly obeyed, drawing the hood of the cloak that Anselm had insisted she wore up over her head. Thankfully, the garment all but swamped Lulu’s slight body with its generous folds, concealing the majority of her other worldliness. “Have you any idea how much this color cost me—?”

  “Be quiet, old woman. Do you want people to know where you’re from?”

  “So what if they do? I mean, well, you’re fine with it, aren’t you?”

  “Ah, but not everyone in the Norlands is as tolerant as I.” Which wasn’t something Anselm had ever envisaged himself saying. “And with hair that color you would instantly be dubbed a witch.”

  The rider came ever closer, kicking up dust on the road behind them. Lolloping at his side, a great gray hound kept pace with his master’s horse.

  Wait a moment…

  He knew that hound. Surely that was Forge? Which meant the rider could only be…

  Abruptly reining in his horse, the rider pulled the mask from his face. There was Vadim, the Earl of Edgeway himself, no less, and looking most seriously put out, too.

  “Where the hell have you been all night?” Vadim demanded, his dark eyes flashing concern as he looked Anselm over. “I’ve been worried out of my mind. What happened to you? Have you been fighting?”

  Meanwhile, with a puppy-ish yelp of delight, Forge leaped at Anselm. Planting his great paws squarely on his shoulders, the dog set to work covering his face with hot, frothy licks.

  “Oof. Get down, you great hefty lump.” With effort, Anselm managed to shove Forge away until all of his paws were safely back on the ground again. “Imbecile.” But he ruffled the dog’s shaggy head. Despite his words, he was extremely happy to see the dog again. Vadim too, for that matter. “And good morning to you, dear brother,” Anselm said cheerfully, wiping Forge’s slobbery greeting away with his sleeve.

  But Vadim wasn’t smiling. “Look at you. Your face is black and blue.”

  “Ah, yes. That. A small misunderstanding, nothing more.”

  “A small misunderstanding?” Lulu muttered from deep within her hood. “So that’s what you call having seven bells of holy shit kicked out of you, is it?”

  Vadim regarded Anselm’s hooded companion with open curiosity. “And who, may I ask, is this? However did you manage to find yourself a companion?”

  Anselm’s grin widened. “Oh, you’ll never guess. Brace yourself, m’lord, for this may come as something of a shock.” After clearing his throat, he ceremonially announced, “Vadim, Earl of Edgeway, may I present to you, mistress Ellen Clooney. Although,” he added, “you might know her better as Aunt Lulu.”

  At this, the old lady swept back her hood, bestowing Vadim with a bright, beaming smile.

  For once, Vadim’s natural poise deserted him, giving Anselm the opportunity to enjoy the sight of his lordly brother gaping so rudely at his wife’s peculiar relative.

  “Lu-Lulu?”

  “The one and only. So you’re my Martha’s husband. Nice,” Lulu said admiringly, taking Vadim in from top to toe. “Very nice indeed. How do you do, Vadim?” she said, sticking out her hand. “Or perhaps I should call you, Your Grace?”

  “N-No. Vadim will do perfectly well, thank you.” Taking the hand Lulu proffered, Vadim raised it to his lips, his eyes riveted on the bright lilac waves of the old lady’s hair. “’Tis good to finally m-meet you, m’lady.”

  “Now I understand,” Lulu muttered beneath her breath. “No wonder she didn’t want to come back home again.”

  “B-But how… how… ?” Still tightly clasping Lulu’s hand in his, Vadim visibly floundered for words. Clearly, he knew not how to proceed.

  “How what? How was your journey?” Anselm said, helpfully.

  Lulu chuckled. “Rather eventful.” But Vadim did not laugh. He just kept staring at Lulu’s hair, his mouth soundlessly flapping like a fish drowning on dry land.

  “Lulu? Perhaps my brother might benefit from a sip of that fortifying cordial you gave me, yesterday.” Anselm said, eager to take advantage of Vadim’s current distraction.

  “Good idea, Hansel. Right you are. Now, if you would just… let me have my… hand back, Lord Vadim—thank you kindly. I’ve always found two rather useful.” Quickly retrieving the silver flask from where she’d secreted it, somewhere in the vicinity of her bosom, Lulu uncorked the vessel and pushed it into Vadim’s unprotesting hand “There you are now. Have yourself a wee tot of that, m’lord. It’ll soon put hairs on your chest.”

  Oh. Would it really? Hastily pulling his tunic aside, Anselm peered down his shirt at his own chest. But apart from its usual light covering of golden fuzz, however, his torso remained as smooth and hair-free as it had always been.

  Foolish old woman. Or maybe he w
as the foolish one for taking a figure of speech so literally. After all, if the drink really were a chest hair restorative, Lulu would hardly drink it herself, would she? As a rule, most women seemed to prefer their bosoms to be as hair-free as possible. Well, apart from the bearded lady he’d seen, back when he was a boy, when the traveling fair had visited Edgeway.

  But if Anselm had expected Vadim to choke and splutter on Lulu’s fiery brew, he was to be disappointed, for he drank deeply from the flask without so much as a single cough, which said much for the shock he must be feeling.

  “What say you, brother?” Anselm said when Vadim made no move to depart. “Shall we set off for home? Vadim? Vadim!” He clicked his fingers beneath his brother’s nose. “Do stop staring at the poor woman for a moment. You really are being insufferably rude.”

  Blinking slowly, almost as if he were coming out of a trance, Vadim suddenly seemed to recall himself and where he was.

  “Forgive me, madam,” Vadim said with a faint smile. “Your arrival has come as a great surprise, albeit a most welcome one.” Handing Lulu her flask back, he added “But Anselm is right. We have tarried here long enough. Come. Let us get you safely back to the castle so that you may be reunited with your niece. She will be so glad to see you again.” He frowned. “Although… I have not the slightest notion of how you came to be here in the first place.”

  Lulu patted his cheek. “Not to worry, son. All will be revealed. There’ll be time enough for explanations later. Now let’s go. I want to meet those grand-babies of mine.

  If Vadim was a little quiet on the ride home, who could blame him?

  His two companions, however, more than made up for his lack of conversation. From his seat behind Vadim, Anselm chattered away with Martha’s aunt in such an easy manner Vadim was slightly envious. But instead of impressing his wife’s nearest relation, he merely rode in silence, leading Lulu’s horse Bramble at his side.

  In truth, he hardly knew what to think.

  Martha had always spoken with great affection of the beloved aunt she’d left behind in her old world. Her stories of Lulu and her exploits were now as familiar to Vadim as all the fireside tales of his own sires. In many ways, he felt like he’d always known her.

  In reality, however, Lulu was much younger, louder, and more vibrant than the elderly lady of his imaginings. And what dreadful mishap could have happened to her hair to turn it such an unnatural color? Was it a side-effect, perhaps? A consequence of her leap through time? But if that were so, why hadn’t Martha’s hair turned the same unsettling shade?

  He smiled, imagining his wife’s beautiful hair, a river of fluid chestnut glinting in the sunshine, shot through with strands of pure gold. So soft and wavy. Vadim loved sifting it through his fingers as they lay in their bed at night, their bodies replete in the aftermath of love.

  A sudden ache in his groin made him wince. He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. How long had it been since they’d last lain together as lovers? Weeks? It must be, for during the latter stages of her pregnancy, he had not dared to touch his wife for fear of harming her or the precious cargo she carried within her body.

  Although Martha had gently teased him for worrying so, thankfully she hadn’t pushed him to perform his husbandly duties. Not like she had during the earliest months of her pregnancy. Vadim had been in a state of permanent exhaustion back then, for Martha had developed a seemingly insatiable appetite for the act of physical love, taking scant heed of his frequent pleas for mercy.

  Day and night, she had hunted him down at every possible opportunity. A beautiful predator, always hungry for more. He smiled, recalling how, during a long and tedious audience with his petitioners, his wife had suddenly summoned him to her on some urgent pretext or other. Having made his apologies, Vadim had hurried into the back chamber adjoining the great hall, intent on reaching her by the fastest route. However, to his delight he had discovered Martha lying in wait for him, her eyes glinting hungrily in the gloom.

  “You certainly took your sweet time,” she growled in lieu of a greeting. A second later and she launched herself into his arms, devouring him with her kiss, her gown already half-unfastened, her full breasts spilling free, demanding his attention.

  Oh, what a coupling that had been! Brief and explosive. Rough and needful.

  The throbbing in his trews reminded him of just how much pleasure there was to be had in their love making. Truly, he’d never known a woman like his Martha, nor could he recall ever wanting anyone as badly as he always seemed to want her.

  When she had been heavy with child, several ladies had propositioned him, kindly offering to fulfill Lord Edgeway’s physical needs in his wife’s stead, but he’d politely declined. How could he have possibly accepted? There was no other woman for him but Martha and, god willing, there never would be. Anyone else would be a poor imitation, plain glass rather than a multi-faceted diamond.

  Anselm chuckled at some remark Martha’s aunt made. At least his brother seemed to understand her. For his part, Vadim could only make out half of what the good lady had to say for the thickness of her strange accent.

  Poor Anselm. If only he could find someone of his own to love; a good woman who would love him in return. But after all the years that had elapsed since the death of his beloved Isobel, the likelihood of this ever happening seemed remote. Although he’d never say it to Anselm’s face, Vadim believed his brother clung to his lost love like a drowning man, holding the perfection of Isobel’s memory aloft like a glorious banner, an ideal no mortal woman could possibly attain.

  Whether their love was as perfect as Anselm claimed, Vadim would never really know. All he did know was that, for the longest time, Anselm had been hiding from life. Safe within the armor Isobel had forged for him, he had once been almost invincible, able to navigate his way through life without any deep feeling, and devoid of fear. But in doing so his heart and conscience had been buried, crushed beneath countless layers of ice.

  Somehow—and Vadim still had no idea how—Martha had chipped away at Anselm’s thick armor until she’d finally made a hole large enough for her to be able to reach the man inside. Little by little, she’d dragged Anselm out of his hiding place, away from his dark master, and back into the light.

  Lord Godric’s death had done the rest.

  Suddenly, Anselm defenses had given way, shattering into a million shards. For the first time in an age, he was out in the open again. Exposed. Vulnerable.

  Whatever it took, Vadim vowed he would do everything in his power to protect his brother from the harsh justice of those who would neither forgive nor forget. If he’d been a better brother, perhaps Anselm would never have steered so far off course.

  Whether that was true or not made no difference now.

  All that mattered was that Anselm was back with his family and, thanks to the arrival of Aunt Lulu, their family was almost complete.

  Lulu. Vadim grinned. A most unique woman. He couldn’t wait to see how Martha would react when her aunt walked through the door.

  Clicking to Tarq, he increased their pace, rather eager to be home again.

  The reunion between the two women was everything Vadim had imagined, being both loud, tearful, and full of joy.

  On the pretext of wanting to announce their safe arrival home, after first checking that Martha was awake and decent, Vadim allowed Anselm to enter the bedchamber with him. Neither of them had wanted to miss out on the big moment.

  As long he lived, Vadim would never forget the look of utter disbelief and astonishment on Martha’s face as her dear Aunt Lulu walked right into their bedchamber and said;

  “Hello, love. So, where are those two grandbabies of mine?”

  Chapter Ten

  Six months later…

  “I don’t see why we can’t come with you,” Martha said, crossly from where she sat on their bed, absently jiggling their fretful daughter up
and down on her arm. All of her attention was riveted on Vadim as he moved back and forth across their bedchamber, selecting various items to cram into his saddle packs.

  He was leaving. Bound on a journey overseas. Some fecking errand or other for the bloody king.

  “Please, love. Don’t let’s start this again.” Abruptly stopping what he was doing, Vadim and came and sat beside her on the bed. “We’ve been over this so many times already.” With a weary sigh, he placed his arm about Martha’s shoulders and pulled her close. “As much as I’d love to have you with me, it just isn’t possible. Not this time. We will be riding hard and fast on roads that are no place for a mother, not even one as hardy as yourself.” He tucked her head beneath his chin. “Unless, of course,” he added slyly, “you’re prepared to leave our babes in Agatha’s care until we return home again?”

  “I suppose not,” Martha muttered in her sulkiest tone, crosser than ever because Vadim had used the twins, her greatest weakness, against her. She hated it when he talked common sense. With a huff of annoyance, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him and committing it to memory to keep her sane during the long days ahead. Mmmm. Lush. A blend of leather, tobacco, with just the right hint of horse.

  Although Erde was her home now, it was a long, lonely way away from the twenty-first century. There was no simply hopping on an airplane here. No staggering off said aircraft a few hours later in a different country, a tad woozy from the temptation of the in-flight drinks trolley—and perhaps a little bloated from the in-flight meal. But no matter how smooth their journey, or how quickly they rode, the reality was all too clear.

  At best, Vadim would be gone for many months.

  By the time he returned home, chances were the twins wouldn’t recognize their daddy any more, and Vadim would probably hardly remember them.