Hemlock Page 6

  She glanced up, her sweat-slicked face shining in the firelight. “Is something amusing you?”

  To his surprise, Vadim found he had been smiling. He rectified this immediately. “‘Tis nothing of consequence.”

  Fortunately, Martha was too intent on her task to pursue the matter. “Do you have any soap?” she asked. “I can’t shift this rabbit grease.”

  He handed her the cooking pot with its mixture of ashes and fat. “Daub this over the bowls. Let it soak in a little before rinsing them.”

  She looked inside the pot and wrinkled her nose. “Really?”

  “Trust me on this.” He deliberately used the same words she had used so recently on him. “It will help cut through the fat.” How could she not know something so basic?

  The hours before bedtime proved to be the most entertaining Vadim had passed in a long while. He could not recall when he had last been so diverted. Not content with cleaning his cookware until it shone, Martha’s next mission was her own body. Near the back of the cave, she found a large rock with a natural depression at its centre.

  “It’s the perfect miniature bath,” she told him with obvious delight.

  Unconvinced, Vadim made no further comment. From his place by the fire, he watched with quiet amusement as Martha limped back and forth, boiling up pots of water and ferrying them to the back of the cave. It looked like hard work. And dangerous too. She had almost scalded herself twice already, politely declining all his offers of help. What more was a man to do?

  “I don’t suppose you have soap and a towel, do you?” she asked once her bath was prepared.

  “No.” He chuckled. She might as well ask for a copper tub to bathe in, or fresh linen sheets.

  “Fine.” She swiped her wayward hair from her face. “I’ll just have to do without. Oh, I’ll need to use your blanket as a towel, if that’s okay?”

  He shrugged. “As you wish.” Her habits were most peculiar. “Why are you doing this, Martha? You will catch a chill.”

  “Why?” She fixed him with a hard stare. “Are you blind? Do you have no sense of smell at all? Look at me!” She performed a slow twirl, pointing out what she considered to be the worst parts of her appearance. “See? Filthy.”

  He grunted. “You look well enough to me.” Indeed, she looked prettily dishevelled with her hair curling about her flushed cheeks.

  “As much as I appreciate your input, V, you’ll forgive me if I completely ignore that last comment, won’t you? Now, off you go.”

  “Where am I going now?” he asked in surprise, pipe resting against his lower lip.

  “Remember that talk we had earlier about sock darning?” Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m not about to take a bath with you—”

  “Oh!” By the Spirits! Vadim rose so swiftly he stumbled. “I quite understand. Forgive me.” Gladly abandoning his comfortable spot by the fire, he grabbed his cloak and strode from the cave, out into the safety of the night.

  The fresh air did little to calm his fevered imaginings. Huddled within the warm folds of his cloak, Vadim leaned against the cave wall, watching the tiny flakes of snow drifting from the heavy sky. They would need to head for Darumvale soon, before the weather worsened.

  What was she doing now? He sucked so hard on his pipe it made him splutter. Impatiently, he tapped the bowl against the wall to empty it and ground his boot on the glowing embers. Imagining Martha’s current state of undress was doing little to restore his equilibrium. She was disturbing enough even fully clothed.

  With effort, he forced his mind away from the cave and turned it to a less pleasant subject. What was the Earl doing so far south of Edgeway? With winter so near, he should have been holed up at the castle by now. Perhaps Reynard would know the reason? He decided to pay his old friend a visit in the morning. Maybe he could assist him with another pressing matter: women’s clothing.

  Martha could not arrive in Darumvale dressed in her own outlandish fashion. The villagers were suspicious enough of strangers as it was. She at least needed suitable attire. But clothes were only the first layer of her disguise. If they were to pass the winter there, Martha must learn to act more appropriately. The strangeness of her speech and manner would be much harder to conceal.

  Why was he doing it, thinking about her again when he had vowed not to? To punish himself for his weakness, he recited the lines of a long and tedious saga in his head, concentrating on each dusty word until his eyelids grew heavy.

  “Vadim? Are you out there?” Martha’s voice whispered into the darkness.

  Rousing himself from the semi-doze he had fallen into, Vadim pushed away from the wall and shook the snow from his cloak.

  Martha gave a squeak of fright as he advanced towards her. “Sweet Baby Jesus! You might have answered when I called.”

  Baby who? He looked her up and down. “I trust you have finished your…ablutions?” She had wound the blanket about her body in a makeshift gown which ended just above her knees. Wherever she came from, maidenly modesty must be in short supply.

  Vadim cleared his throat, his eyes transfixed by the curves of her pale calves. The oversized boots, with their dangerously dangling laces, looked slightly comical attached to legs of such shapeliness. Suddenly recalling his honor, he dragged his eyes up to meet hers. “Where are your clothes?”

  “I washed them, too.”

  Had she taken all leave of her senses? “Go inside at once.” He spun her about and pressing one hand against the base of her spine, he gave her a gentle push. “Your obsession with cleanliness borders on lunacy.”

  Martha didn’t move. “It’s better than smelling.” As she glared back at him, her scowl faded. “Oh, look!” She moved to the cave entrance and held her hand outside to capture a few of the thickening flakes. “It’s snowing.”

  “I am well aware of it, m’lady.” Vadim shook his head at the childlike wonder her voice contained. “And its arrival is ill timed indeed.” It had been many years since snow had given him the same thrill.

  She turned to him with a smile. “Are you always this grumpy?”

  He could not think of a reply. Instead, he guided her back inside towards the warmth of the fireside.

  Taking off his cloak, Vadim draped it over his seat to dry. Martha shuffled along her log to make room for him. Although unspoken, the invitation in her eyes was clear. Reluctantly, he sat beside her, being careful their legs did not touch. Ill at ease, he fiddled with his empty pipe.

  Firelight suited her well. Damp curls of hair framed her pink-scrubbed face in a most becoming manner. From the way she was staring at him, it was clear Martha required some sort of comment upon her appearance. Unable to formulate an appropriate response, Vadim looked away. Almost immediately, he regretted doing so. Her clothes were all strewn out to dry at the opposite side of the fire, including her flimsy undergarments.

  For the love of Erde!

  A discussion on bathing it was, then. He cleared his throat. “You look…clean.” Hardly a flowery compliment, but it was the best he could manage. Having spent so long in the company of men, he was well out of practice with discourse of this nature. It made him most uncomfortable.

  Martha smiled. “Do I?” She tilted her head to one side and fluffed her hair with her hands as she dried it by the fire. “Good enough to find a place in the house of Mrs. Wilkes, perhaps?”

  His fingers tightened on the stem of his pipe. “How are you acquainted with Mrs. Wilkes?” he demanded. “I thought you were a stranger here, certainly not the type of young woman who—”

  “Relax,” she said with a smile. “I don’t know her personally. It was just something the horseman said, that’s all.”

  A ball of cold rage formed in his stomach. “He called you a…whore?” The barrel of his pipe creaked ominously between his fingers.

  “N-no.” Her smile faded. “When I asked him for directions to town, he assumed I was heading for Mrs. Wilkes’ place.”

  The easy mood between them vanished. B
arely able to contain his anger, he grabbed a lump of wood from the pile and took out his knife to whittle it. With each violent stroke, he imagined he was cutting into the Earl’s scrawny neck. “You should go to bed now,” he said curtly.

  “And so I shall,” Martha’s voice remained calm and steady. “Right after you tell me who that man is.”

  Fortunately, his hair hung down over his face and concealed his grim expression. The last thing he wanted was for Martha to fear him. “He is Godric, Earl of Edgeway,” Vadim muttered, though it sickened him to speak the name out loud. “And you were lucky to escape with your life today.” He looked up, willing her to understand. “If your paths should ever cross again, you must walk away in the opposite direction from him. Give me your oath on it.”

  Martha nodded.

  Vadim returned his attention to his whittling, but he sensed her curiosity reaching out to him in the silence. “Not now,” he said quietly. He didn’t look up from the work in his hands. “You have a right to the truth, Martha, but, please, do not ask it of me tonight.”

  He heard her sigh. “Okay. Then I’ll just say goodnight.”

  “Take my cloak to cover you,” he muttered as she passed by. Martha did not speak, but he heard the rustle of the garment as she picked it up.

  ***

  Martha snuggled deep beneath the cloak and rubbed her feet hard and fast on the cold bedroll to warm them. If Vadim heard her shuffling, he took no notice. He scraped at his block of wood with smooth regularity, his strokes never faltering.

  She yawned and watched the shadows of firelight dancing across the cave’s knobbly roof. Why had the Earl of Edgeway rattled him so? This was far beyond mild dislike. Vadim obviously loathed the guy.

  Okay, she wasn’t exactly keen on him herself. He was obnoxious and more than a little creepy. Was that a good reason enough to hate someone? Then again, people frequently disliked one another over much less.

  No. These two definitely had a history. The Earl must have done something terrible. She refused to consider the possibility that Vadim might be the perpetrator. So why hadn’t he put an arrow through the Earl when he’d had the chance? Not that she wanted to see anyone dead, however creepy they were.

  She yawned and snuggled deeper beneath the folds of Vadim’s cloak. Its smell wasn’t so offensive now. It was a tad musty, a little sweaty too, but there was nothing truly rancid about it. He must bathe occasionally, no matter what he said. She inhaled. It was a comforting smell, really.

  Poor Lulu would be so worried by now.

  Closing her eyes, Martha pictured her aunt in the tiny cottage kitchen, preparing a meal for a niece who might never return. In her mind, she saw her own snug room in the attic, with its soft bed, thick duvet, and the wonky walls hung with that hideous triffid-esque rose wallpaper. The little window overlooking the lake. The simple wooden cross hanging on the wall—right next to that awful picture of the Yorkshire Terrier puppy.

  She sniffed as another wave of homesickness crashed over her. How idyllic her life had been. Will I ever see it again? Even Tony would be a welcome sight right now, and that was really saying something.

  “Martha?”

  Vadim’s voice interrupted her miserable thoughts and dragged her back to an equally miserable present. Slowly her eyes flickered open. He was crouching beside her, though she hadn’t heard him approach. Only minutes ago, his eyes had been cold, but now they glowed with pity.

  “Were you having a bad dream?”

  “I wasn’t asleep,” she admitted. “Just thinking.”

  “About home?”

  Unable to answer, she nodded repeatedly and sucked in her lower lip. His sympathy was unbearable. Hot tears pricked behind her eyes, but she managed to hold them back. Why doesn’t he go away and whittle his wood!

  “Do not give up all hope. You may yet find a way back.”

  She bit down on her lip. If she’d been able to talk, she would have mentioned the Earl Evil again. That would stop him from being so horribly nice to her.

  He made as if to stroke her hair, then seemed to think better of it. His calloused fingers hovered over her brow for a few brief moments then slowly retreated. “Try and sleep,” he murmured. “Things usually look better in the morning.”

  The lump in her throat eased. “That’s what Lulu always says.”

  “Lulu?”

  “My aunt. Her real name is Clooney. I could never pronounce it when I was little, so I called her Lulu. I still do.”

  “Ah.” Vadim smiled. “Then your aunt must be a wise lady.” He stood up. “Would you like me to light another torch to banish the shadows a little?”

  “No thanks. I’m good.” It was a kind thought though. “Vadim?” She called to him as he moved away. “Where will you sleep? I seem to have taken the only bed.”

  He looked over his shoulder, his lips curved in a tiny smile. “I require little sleep, m’lady. Take your rest while you may. You need not concern yourself about mine.”

  And with that she was dismissed. Strange man.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Just like yesterday, Martha woke up alone. She knew Vadim was gone without needing to open her eyes. The cave felt empty, somehow.

  At least he’d fed the fire before going walkabout. It blazed merrily in the hearth, beckoning her to sit beside it. She kicked off the cloak, her swollen knee grumbling in complaint, and went to check on her clothes. They were dry, if not much cleaner than they’d been before. Fearing Vadim might return at any moment, she dressed quickly.

  Once decent, she went outside to use the accommodation’s spacious en-suite facilities. The unfamiliar landscape had changed yet again, this time transformed by a thin blanket of snow. A low winter sun burned bright in the pale cloudless sky. Martha shielded her eyes from its brilliance. I wish I’d brought my shades.

  Ablutions completed, as she headed back to the cave, she noticed Vadim’s boot-prints in the snow. Long, even strides that headed downhill without evidence of a single slip. It was all right for some. She’d fallen twice already on her way to the toilet—or privy, as Vadim called it.

  It was too cold to linger, so she returned to the cave and went to sit by the fire. On her seat was a linen-wrapped bundle containing a piece of flatbread and a strip of dried meat. Breakfast, medieval style. Vadim must have left it for her. That was sweet of him. She picked up the meat between her thumb and index finger, and sniffed warily at it. No. She wasn’t that hungry. Not yet, anyhow. The bread would do for now.

  It wasn’t long before she heard the muffled crunches of approaching footsteps. Stomach fluttering, Martha leapt to her feet, her eyes trained on the door. What if it wasn’t him?

  Vadim breezed inside, dispelling her fears into nothing. The sweet scent of fresh moorland trailed in his wake. When he saw her standing there, his long stride faltered. “You are awake. I expected to find you still a-bed.”

  Did he have to sound so surprised about it? “Or halfway to the nearest town?”

  “Perhaps.” He smiled, shrugging a bulging pack from his back. “Did you consider it—another escape, I mean?” He came nearer, swinging the pack like a pendulum by its leather strap.

  “Once or twice.” Martha’s cheeks suddenly ignited. What was with all the blushing all of a sudden? Back in the real world, she never blushed. Well, hardly ever. Now, after only a couple of days in Vadim’s company, she was turning into a human brake light. “You sh-should have taken your cloak. It’s cold outside.”

  “And deprive you of your bed cover? I am not so ungallant as that.”

  He stood before her, positively glowing with good health. His sable hair hung in a glorious wind-mussed tangle about his handsome face, tumbling down to rest on the shoulders of his leather jerkin. It was hard not to stare when he looked so good.

  “Besides,” he continued, “I walked quickly and had no time to feel the chill.” He gestured for her to sit down, then thrust the pack into her hands. “Here. For you.”

  She arched her eyebro
ws. “Been shopping, have you?”

  “You might say that,” he replied, sitting down beside her.

  Acutely aware of his nearness, Martha reached inside the linen bag and fumbled around. She pulled out the first item. A blanket? It had a similar weave. But as she unrolled it, the truth hit her like a truck. “A dress?” She looked up in disbelief. “You got me a dress?”

  “A gown,” he corrected. “It is necessary.”

  Taking the garment from her hands, he held it up so she could see it properly. Martha wished he hadn’t. Holy Mother of God. He’s bought me a sack! The dress was a horrible mold-gray colour, ankle-length, and long-sleeved. A criss-cross of lacing ran from the scooped neckline to where the waistline should have been.

  “Darumvale is a small place,” Vadim said, perhaps reading the shock on her face. “Its inhabitants will gossip if you arrive there looking…” He glanced at her parka and trousers. “Well…as you do now. We must not attract gossip, Martha.”

  Despite her best efforts to conceal it, she knew he’d guessed what she thought of the gown.

  A crooked smile curved his lips. “It looks better on, I promise.”

  “Th-thank you.” Her smile felt more like a grimace, but she did her best. It wasn’t as if he had to take care of her, was it? “It’s very…”

  Vadim dropped the gown over the log and pulled the pack from her lap. As he leaned in, she breathed in a scent as sweet as line-dried laundry.

  “There is more.” He delved into the pack himself, since Martha was obviously more reluctant to do so.

  “More?” Oh, dear God. Her heart sank. “You shouldn’t have troubled yourself, Vadim.” Really, he shouldn’t have. “Though, I am grateful.”