King's Errand Page 4

  Vadim nodded. “I understand. Be assured, I will counsel Reynard as best I may. Good enough?”

  “I suppose so.” With a loud exhale, Anselm let go of Vadim’s tunic and began brushing at the creases.

  “I had no idea you and Fergus were on such friendly terms.”

  “Oh, we aren’t. Not at all,” Anselm assured him. “Much of the time I consider him an irritating and extremely sullen youth, one I have no desire to know better. Granted, Fergus does play the harp passably well, but that’s probably the only redeeming point in his favor.” Reading the confusion in Vadim’s eyes he continued, “So why do I defend him?” He shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  It was true. Anselm actually cared and he did not like it at all. What the devil was happening to him lately?

  Ever since the day he’d first met Martha, his character had entered a period of rapid transition, so much so that Anselm barely recognized himself any more. Especially now.

  Had his brush with death altered him in some way? Whatever was responsible, he could not turn himself back, not to the man he used to be.

  Whether he liked it or not, Fergus and Effie’s fate really did matter to him, damn it. And much more than it ought.

  Chapter Three

  “Effie’s done what?”

  “She’s eloped. With Fergus. At least, that’s what Reynard believes.”

  “Bloody hell!”

  Vadim helped Martha sit up then plumped the pillows at her back. “There. How does that feel?”

  “Much better, thanks, love.” Settling back on her freshly-fluffed pillows, Martha attempted to digest the bombshell Vadim had just dropped on her. Like everyone else, she’d known for ages that Fergus and Effie fancied one another, but elopement…

  Nope. She’d not seen that one coming. “How’s Reynard taking it, as if I couldn’t guess?”

  “Not well at all.” Vadim began slowly unlacing his tunic, his handsome face deep in thought. “Not that I can entirely blame him.”

  “What d’you mean?” Martha asked, carefully maneuvering her arm out from beneath their sleeping son so that he could lay down properly.

  “However sweet Effie may be, we cannot overlook the fact that her mother runs a br—” Vadim flushed slightly. Aw, bless him. After all this time, he still couldn’t bring himself to speak coarsely in front of her. “I mean, ah,… house of ill repute,” he amended. “How else could Reynard be expected to react? A union between his son and the daughter of a… such a woman is unthinkable.”

  Martha frowned. Back in the twenty-first century, a person’s character was—generally speaking—more important than the lineage of their family or the place in which they’d grown up. Here in the medieval world, however, the right genetic combo meant everything. Why was it always the woman who paid the highest price for loving the wrong man?

  “Poor Effie. I hope she’s okay.”

  “And the worst of it is,” Vadim continued, as he finished undressing, “Reynard had already promised Fergus to another woman.”

  “What? Without Fergus’s knowledge or consent? Surely not. Who is this woman—? Actually, that doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  “Not really. No.”

  Martha huffed out her cheeks. “No wonder they ran away, poor things.”

  Carefully lowering himself onto the edge of the bed so as not to disturb the babies, Vadim leaned over and brushed Martha’s lips with his. “But let us turn our thoughts to happier matters. How are you feeling, my love? Has there been any more bleeding?”

  “Nope.” Martha mentally crossed her fingers as she spoke, just to be on the safe side. “Who knows? With a bit of luck I might be allowed to get up for a bit tomorrow.”

  Ma and Agatha had been extremely vigilant in their care of her. Martha wasn’t even allowed to get up for a pee. Instead, they’d thoughtfully provided her with a curved pottery jar, roughly formed so that it fit the general shape of a woman’s anatomy, for her to use whenever the need to ‘go’ arose. So gross.

  What with the bed pan and those woefully inadequate blanket baths, Martha was desperate for a proper wallow in a hot tub by now. Oh, to be able to wash her hair again. Sheer heaven.

  Vadim traced his forefinger down her cheek. “Be patient a while longer, love. I almost lost you, remember? Rest. Give your body time to heal.”

  He looked so darn cute when he was being serious.

  “Okay. Fine.” Martha clenched and released each numb butt cheek in turn which resulted in the bed developing a slight pitching motion.

  “What are you doing? Do you need the bed pan again?”

  “Bleeding, bedsores, and now bedpans. Ooh, whatever next?” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows suggestively at him. “No one can say we don’t know how to keep the mystery and passion alive in our relationship, eh? Actually, if you really want to know, all this bed rest has numbed my backside. I don’t suppose you’d care to give it a quick massage it for me, would you?”

  Vadim chuckled and tapped her nose with his finger. “Don’t tempt me, minx. You are a respectable mother now, remember, and a countess at that.”

  “Ugh.” Martha rolled her eyes. “Stop being so boringly sensible, would you?” She’d never get used to being called Countess of Edgeway. Whenever anyone addressed her with her formal title, Martha still had the urge to glance over her shoulder. A countess was supposed to be regal, for goodness sake. Someone more dignified. Someone like her friend Beatrice, for instance. The previous king’s former mistress—now the beloved wife of Sir Hugh and mother of their young son, Toby—was much more suited to the role.

  Beatrice was more… adulty, somehow. More capable. With her blonde hair and slender grace, she was definitely proper countess material. Not like Martha.

  Of course, in order to be a countess, Bea would need to ditch her studly hubby Hugh and marry Vadim instead, which just wasn’t going to happen.

  Like it or not, Edgeway only had room for one countess and Martha was it.

  “And how are my two sleeping angels?” Vadim asked, kissing each downy baby head in turn. The way he looked at his children with such tenderness twisted something inside Martha’s heart. “Have they been good while I was gone?”

  “If by good you mean ravenously hungry again, then yes, they’ve been really good. My poor nipples are red raw.”

  “Oh?” Vadim frowned. “We’ve discussed this before, but I really wish you’d let me find a wet nurse—”

  “And I’ve already said no,” Martha snapped. “These are my babies, Vadim, and I’ll be the one to feed them not some strange woman whose paid to do it, okay?”

  Wet nurses might be all the rage here in Erde, but it was one custom Martha had no intention of embracing—not unless, god forbid, her milk supply should dry up and there was no other choice. Of course, she knew full well the only reason Vadim had mentioned getting a wet nurse in the first place was because he was so concerned about her but she really wished he’d stop banging on about it.

  “Anyway,” she added in a gentler tone, for Vadim looked a little hurt. “Ma gave me one of her special ointments earlier and my nipples feel a lot less sore already.” Liar! Still, Vadim didn’t need to know that, did he?

  Nope. The invention of nipple shields and formula milk were still a long way off in the future, much like disposable nappies. Speaking of which, Martha wrinkled her nose and bent her head to sniff at each baby in turn. “Er, I think your son has just filled his cloth again, m’lord.”

  “Has he really?” Vadim looked thrilled. Green poop still had the power to fill her handsome hubby with wonder. Bending over, he sniffed at his sleeping heir. “You’re right. He reeks like a midden. Shall I change him?”

  “Naw. He’ll be ready for another feed fairly soon. Let’s wait until he wakes up.” Even so, it was nice to know that Vadim wasn’t above getting his hands dirty, not
that she had doubted him for a second. Some men were natural-born fathers and, fortunately for her, Vadim was one of them.

  Kicking off his boots, Vadim slipped into bed beside her. At the same time, he carefully picked up their daughter who was snuggled at Martha’s left side and gently cradled her sleeping form to him. “Roll onto your side with your back to me, love,” he commanded. “Take the pressure off your delightful backside for a while. Carefully, now. Yes. That’s right.”

  Once Martha was in the required position, Vadim proceeded to massage each of her aching buttocks in turn, soothing them with firm ministrations of his powerful fingers.

  Groaning with relief, Martha shuffled her butt a little closer so that Vadim could reach all of her numb and tingly bits.

  “How’s that?” Vadim murmured at length, his breath brushing her exposed neck and shoulder. “A little better?”

  “Oh, god, yes! Much better, thanks.” She looked over her shoulder at him. As she did so, a super-concentrated wave of happiness and love washed over her. Suddenly, Martha desperately needed this wonderful man to know just how much she loved him.

  He was her world. Both of them. Here and in the twenty-first century.

  “I know I haven’t been all that nice to you lately—”

  “Have you not?” Vadim asked with a lopsided grin, the light in his dark eyes dancing with amusement. “I can’t say I’d noticed.”

  “Seriously, though. You understand how much you mean to me, don’t you?” Martha rolled onto her back so she could look at him properly.

  “Of course I do.” Vadim stroked her face. “How could I not? Consider all that you’ve gone through on my behalf. Now look at those two most precious gifts you have given me. Only real love is capable of all that.”

  Martha leaned her cheek into the palm of his large, rough hand and sighed. “I’m so sorry for being such a foul-tempered mare. I just can’t seem to help myself.”

  “In your position, I doubt I would fare any better.”

  “I love you so much.” She pressed a kiss into the warmth of his hand, hot tears pricking her eyes. Since giving birth she couldn’t seem to stop crying. Anything had the potential to set her off.

  “Just as I love you, wife. Bad-temper, bedsores, and all.”

  She looked up at him. “Really?” Even she could hear the incredulity in her own voice.

  “Really,” he assured her, rubbing her nose with his. “How could I do otherwise when you have brought me so much joy?”

  That was just about the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

  Martha gave a watery smile. “I must admit, we do make rather nice babies, don’t we?”

  For the briefest moment, a cloud seemed to dim the brightness of Vadim’s smile but then it was gone again. “Indeed we do, but that wasn’t my meaning.”

  “Then what did you mean?” Perhaps she’d imagined the cloud because Vadim seemed quite himself again. Snuggling her face into his shoulder, she savored his warm manly scent.

  “As much as I love our children, ’twas you who brought me back to life and filled my days with such happiness.”

  “Oh, so you still fancy me, do you?” she asked, grinning up at him like the besotted fool she was.

  “Most definitely.” He shuffled down in bed until he could touch her lips with his. “Quite a lot, actually.”

  “The blood and bedpans haven’t put you off at all?”

  “If anything they’ve only served to increase my love for you.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” When he kissed her again, it was with such delicious slowness Martha felt her toes tingle. “You, my beloved wife, are the most beautiful woman I ever knew.”

  “You really do say the sweetest things, Lord Edgeway, even if I don’t altogether believe you.” Still, it was nice someone thought she was wonderful, especially when she must look—and most likely smelled—like raw offal.

  “You dare to question my honesty, wife? Oh, I fear I must punish you most severely for that. Come here, woman.” With a decidedly wicked grin, Vadim began nuzzling at her ear, making Martha squirm and squeal. She’d always been horribly ticklish and he was being unbearably gentle.

  “Ooh! Vadim, st-stop,” she begged, giggling. “We’ll wa-wake the ba-babies.” She felt their son begin to stir in the bed behind her, already gearing up for his next meal.

  “What in the name of the Great Spirit is going on in here?” Ma cried, her stern voice dousing their high spirits as effectively as a bucket of iced water. “Stop this horseplay at once, both of you.”

  Vadim chuckled at Ma’s stern face. “Can a man not show his wife how much she means to him?”

  “Not like that he can’t. It’s much too soon for this sort of frivolity. Bring her flowers or pastries to demonstrate your affection. They’re a safer choice. Now unhand that poor girl at once. That’s better. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, lad.” Ma regarded Vadim through narrowed eyes, her disapproval plain to see. “Why aren’t you overseeing luncheon in the great hall, hmm?”

  “Because I want to be here instead,” he said, giving Martha another toe-curlingly smoldering look. “To dine alone with my lovely wife.”

  “Well you cannot. It isn’t seemly. Now get yourself off downstairs and fulfill some of your other, less dangerous, lordly duties whilst your lady has her bed bath.”

  “Would you like me to help with that?” Vadim asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I would most willingly do so.”

  “Aye. No doubt you would,” Ma remarked, dryly. “Fortunately for us, Agatha will be along in a moment so your aid will not be required, thank you very much. Now, go. Get out of here before you feel the weight of my hand upon your noble backside.”

  What else could Vadim do but obey?

  Chapter Four

  Late that evening, a fast-riding messenger arrived at the castle bringing word that a young couple matching the description of Fergus and Effie had been sighted within the market day traffic heading for the town of Edgeway.

  Although this would probably turn out to be another false lead—after all, this particular stretch of road was always thronged with people at market time—Reynard was desperate enough to grasp at any straw, no matter how slender the stalk.

  And so, shortly after the sun poked her head out from beneath the horizon, a small party of riders had assembled in the stable-yard, preparing to set out for Edgeway.

  To everyone’s great surprise, Anselm was amongst them.

  “Is there any reason in particular why your brother has decided to grace us with his company this morning?” Reynard turned in his saddle, casting a disapproving glance backward to where Anselm sat on his mount.

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Vadim had been as amazed as anyone when Anselm had appeared in the stable-yard that morning. After much cursing and futile hopping around, his brother had eventually managed to scramble aboard his bay palfrey with the aid of a mounting block. “I’m sure there’s no harm in it.”

  “Oh, just look at him.” Reynard pursed his lips. “Did you ever witness a more pathetic sight? He can hardly sit upright in his saddle. How can he possibly hope to keep up? I give you fair warning, Vadim, I have no intention of slowing our pace to accommodate your invalid brother.”

  “If Anselm cannot keep up, he will be left behind,” Vadim agreed.

  Grunting something unintelligible beneath his breath, Reynard clicked to his horse and set off toward the gatehouse.

  For himself, whatever the reason, Vadim was heartily glad to see Anselm aboard a horse again. For too many months he had shuffled about the castle like an old man, almost wholly dependent upon his walking cane. To be sure, his wound had been serious, but over the intervening months it had healed well. It was good to see a spark of vitality in him once again.’Twas well past time that Anselm resumed his usual daily activities.<
br />
  At Reynard’s signal, they set out, clattering out of the gatehouse and thundering over the wooden drawbridge. As they negotiated the steeply-zigzagging slope in single file, Vadim gave his horse its head, allowing the beast to find its own way down the hill.’Twas a fair morning to be up and about so early, and it promised to be another warm day once the sun reached her usual spot high in the sky.

  Leaning back in his saddle, Vadim inhaled the cold, green scent of the new day, and as he did so, a sudden wild yearning filled his soul; a peculiar aching for the mountains and the wide open moorland which had been his home for so many years. Only at this moment did he fully understand how much he missed them.

  In a relatively brief period of time, his life had changed immeasurably—mostly for the better, and yet…

  Deep inside the quiet places of his heart, Vadim secretly mourned what he’d left behind. It had taken a long, hard battle to reclaim his stolen birthright, but finally, after years of toil and struggle, he’d succeeded, accomplishing what he’d set out to do. Setting aside his unfettered, albeit uncertain, outlaw existence, he’d exchanged it for the pampered, rather stifling, life of Edgeway’s newest earl.

  The taste of victory, he soon discovered, was bitter-sweet. Living out his dreams was nothing at all like he’d imagined.

  Perhaps wishes did not belong in the real world.

  Immediately, Vadim berated himself for such ingratitude. What was he thinking? Life had been more than generous to him. He had it all, and Martha and the babies were the greatest of all his treasures, their value far beyond that of mere gold.

  As they reached the bottom of the hill and touched level ground, Vadim felt Tarq’s powerful hindquarters bunching up beneath him, readying for the off. Like everyone else, Vadim clicked his tongue and gave his horse its head.