Hemlock Page 8

  Ignoring her protests, he removed his gloves and pushed them on her hands. They were far too big, but they were warm.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as she looked up at him. “But you didn’t have to give me your gloves. We’re almost there now.”

  “So we are.” He began tugging at her skirts, freeing them from her belt and then arranging them into decency.

  “I c-can do that myself you know.”

  “I do not doubt it.” Nevertheless, he did not stop until all of her other worldliness was hidden from view. When they set off again, he kept her hand firmly clasped in his.

  To reach Darumvale, they were forced to make a steep descent. By now Martha was weary beyond words. She limped on, biting her lower lip, frequently gasping with pain. The moment they reached level ground, he swept her into his arms, carrying her swiftly towards the long, single-storied building at the centre of the village.

  For once, Martha made no objection. As he strode for the Great Hall, he felt the tension easing from her body. She pressed her face against his neck and sighed. The feel of her warm breath on his skin made him shiver.

  The village dogs raced to meet them, surrounding them in a snarling, yipping mob. “Be gone!” Vadim aimed a kick at the big grey brute who just tried to take a piece from his boot.

  “Who approaches this hall?” A deep, booming voice cut through the night and silenced the excited dogs.

  “Seth. ‘Tis I, Vadim.”

  “Vadim?” The stranger’s voice relaxed into friendliness. “You are early, m’lord.” He hastened to meet them. “We had not expected to see you for another month at least. Has there been trouble? The Earl?”

  “Not that kind of trouble, no.” With a brief nod, Vadim indicated the bundle in his arms.

  Seth came closer, frowning and rubbing at his red beard. “What have you there?”

  Martha’s eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted.

  “A woman?”

  “Not just any woman, my friend. Seth, I would like you to meet my wife.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When Martha opened her eyes, it was morning. Shards of brilliant sunlight streamed down through the gaps in a thatched roof, and a million dust motes danced, trapped within its narrow rays. She yawned and rubbed at her bleary eyes.

  Where was she? A barn? It certainly looked like one, with its rough stone walls and the great crucks of timber supporting the huge thatched roof. It smelt like a barn, too, a combination of sweet hay and animal poop. At least she was warm. The mattress rustled beneath her as she rolled onto her back to stare up at the blue sky through the neat hole in the roof. Why had someone bothered to put a hole up there?

  As a cloud of smoke engulfed the bed, she got her answer. She sat up quickly, coughing and spluttering, dislodging the mound of animal furs that were piled up on top of her. The movement attracted the attention of the small group of people who were sitting by a long fire at the far end of the barn. Was Vadim amongst them? She hoped so.

  A tall figure disentangled itself from the group and strode through the haze of smoke towards her. “Good morning, my love. I hope our conversation did not disturb you?”

  Her stomach flipped. Yes. It was him, all right. My love? Oh, it was way too early to be dealing with this—especially without the prospect of a coffee anytime in the next few centuries.

  “How did you sleep?” he continued, with charm and concern oozing from every pore.

  Let the games begin. “Very well, thank you, my little lamb chop.” Martha smiled up at him, matching his tone.

  Vadim’s dark eyes flashed a warning as he sat beside her on the bed. The wooden frame protested loudly at their combined weight. “I am afraid the shock of our sudden marriage has left Seth and Sylvie reeling.” With a smile, he nodded towards the two figures sitting by the fire—clearly listening for all they were worth. “Neither of them can quite believe it.”

  Martha flashed another saccharine smile. “I feel much the same way, dumpling.” That comment earned her another stern look. Tough. She might as well have a little fun with this marriage of theirs. Well, it was only a dream, after all.

  Leaning forward, she fluttered her eyelashes in a mock-flirty manner. “From the very first moment I saw you, I knew you were destined to be mine.” Which book had she commandeered that line from? She couldn’t recall it now.

  “Indeed?” Vadim’s eyes twinkled. “I had no idea you felt this way.” He took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. “Then, why did you fight me so hard, hmm?” He was enjoying this as much as she was.

  “Oh, a lady must never appear too keen.” Her mouth suddenly did that pouty thing it did whenever she was flirting in earnest. “After all, being pursued is half of the fun. And I so like the way you chase me.” Okay, time to stop quoting the cheesy romance. The way his lips were moving over the back of her hand was bringing her out in massive shivery goosebumps.

  Vadim’s smile faded, and his eyes suddenly darkened. “I will have to remember that, m’lady.” As his gaze locked with hers, he turned her hand and placed a soft kiss against her palm. “But, be assured.” Another kiss. “I am a most determined hunter. Run where you will, my love. I will find you.”

  Her jaw dropped, and her cheeks blazed like a blast furnace. The intensity of his gaze stunned her into silence. God, he was good. For a moment there, she almost believed he meant it. When he released her hand, time started moving again.

  “Will you come and meet our hosts?”

  How could he sound so normal when she was trembling so badly?

  Mercifully, apart from her boots, she was fully clothed. Vadim helped her out from beneath the mound of furs, and like an obedient child, she sat at the edge of the bed while he slipped her feet into the awful medieval shoes he’d got for her—Prince Charming style.

  “How is your knee today?” he asked, still playing the concerned husband.

  What knee? How could she think about anything as mundane as a dodgy knee?

  “Sylvie applied a poultice to it last night. She assures me the swelling will soon recede.” He tilted his head and looked at her, obviously expecting some kind of response.

  “It’s f-fine, thanks.” Mentally slapping herself, she stood up, Vadim supporting her with a hand beneath her elbow.

  Mooooo!

  “Sweet baby Jesus!” The deafening sound drove her into Vadim’s arms, clinging to him in fright. She glanced over her shoulder. There, not ten feet away from her bed, stood a large brown cow. “What the hell is that th-thing doing in here?”

  Vadim chuckled, holding her steady. “‘Tis only a cow, Martha. I understand she is very friendly.”

  As her heart rate slowed, she disentangled her fingers from Vadim’s tunic and glared at the bothersome bovine. The cow swished its tail, regarding her with its huge brown eyes while emitting a heavy, wet, pattering sound from its rear end.

  “Ugh! That’s just gross.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust and allowed Vadim—who was still laughing—to lead her to the fire.

  A heavy-set man with long red hair and a matching beard rose from his seat to greet them. “My lady.” He bowed his head. “I am Seth, Chief of Darumvale, and this,” he said, indicating the little woman standing beside him, “is my wife Sylvie. We are honored to have you as our guest.”

  Martha smiled and inclined her head towards the couple while racking her brains for a suitable reply. “Thank you both so much for your hospitality and kindness.” Her eyes flicked to Sylvie. “My knee is much improved, thanks to you”

  Although her words felt stilted and formal, they seemed to do the trick, dispelling the tensions of introduction. Sylvie hurried to her side and, taking her hand, led her to a bench beside the glowing fire.

  “Do sit down, my dear.”

  Sylvie was a tiny bird of a woman, probably somewhere in her mid-forties. Her merry grey eyes seemed to smile as frequently as her mouth. “You cannot imagine what a treat it is to meet the woman who has managed to capture the heart
of the most wanted male in the locality.”

  Wanted as in outlaw? Or as in desirable?

  “Sylvie!” Vadim said in a warning tone.

  Ignoring him, she sat beside Martha and took her hand, squishing it between hers. “Let me have a proper look at you, my dear. I barely saw you when you arrived last night, for Vadim was so eager to get you into bed.”

  Oh, God! She daren’t look at him. She could feel him smirking from here.

  Blushing furiously, she waited for the older woman to finish her inspection. After the trials of the last few days, she was sure to be a disappointment. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath and a bit of makeup.

  “Perfect.” Sylvie announced at last. “I could not have chosen a better wife for him.”

  Huh? Martha frowned. Was there something wrong with Sylvie’s eyesight?

  “You will both be very happy, I think,” Sylvie continued. “Have a care, though. Not all the single maidens will take kindly to your stealing Lord Hemlock from beneath their noses.”

  Was Lord Hemlock his nickname or something? Martha shot Vadim a teasing glance. “Should I be worried, Lord Hemlock?”

  “Pay Sylvie no mind,” Seth said, leaping to Vadim’s defence. “My wife speaks nonsense, m’lady.”

  “Oh, please. Won’t you both call me Martha?” Being addressed as my lady made her feel like a pensioner.

  “Martha, then.” Seth’s face flushed beneath his beard. “Know only this: you have the good fortune to be joined with the most honorable of men.” He patted Vadim playfully on his arm. “He will treat you well.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  Vadim looked down at her, his expression inscrutable. With his boot resting on her bench, he suddenly reminded her of a pirate, all cheekbones and stubble, and dark, flashing eyes. No wonder he was such a hit with the ladies. She wasn’t exactly immune to his appeal herself.

  Clasping Martha’s hands tightly, Sylvie lightly kissed her on both cheeks. “Welcome to Darumvale. I wish you both every joy, my dear.”

  ***

  Following a breakfast of fresh bread, cheese, and warm milk, Sylvie removed the fragrant poultice from Martha’s knee. Vadim cast many a surreptitious glance at the two women from where he conversed with Seth, his eyes lingering on the shapely curve of Martha’s leg. The swelling had almost gone and apparently did not merit another dressing. With effort, he averted his gaze and attempted to concentrate on Seth’s words.

  When she was ready, Vadim invited Martha to accompany him to inspect the work being done on his house.

  “I didn’t know you had a house,” she said, pulling her cloak tightly around her as they crossed the village’s main, and only, street.

  That amused him. “You imagined I dwelt in a cave permanently?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know what I thought.”

  She was still limping, flinching when she thought he could not see her.

  “Take my arm. The way ahead is full of potholes.”

  Martha did as he requested. Over the recent days, much to his surprise, he had begun to enjoy the feeling of her little hand resting on the crook of his arm. He frowned as he touched her fingers. She was cold again, and he had left his gloves back at the hall. He would need to see about getting her some gloves of her own, along with some decent boots. She would need both if the weather proved to be as severe as the signs indicated.

  They walked in silence for a time, following the road as it sloped gently uphill. Martha rapidly turned her head this way and that, taking in the sights of Darumvale. Such as they were.

  As always, the fires of the smithy sent a steady stream of smoke up into the sky, and judging by the rhythmic clangs and clanks, Jared was already hard at work at his forge. Vadim touched the handle of his sword. Despite his best efforts with the whetstone, the edge of his blade was not as keen as he liked. Recent use had earned it several small notches that demanded more expert attention.

  “Would you mind if I called at the smithy, Martha? My business there will not take long.”

  “Sure. Knock yourself…I mean, take your time.” She smiled. “I’d like to have a proper look around.”

  Though Vadim experienced a brief pang of loss as her hand slid from his arm, he at once dismissed it as nonsense. Despite her sultry words back at the Great Hall, she was not really his wife. He would do well to remember it. “Wait here.” With that, he ducked into the open doorway of the smithy.

  Obligingly, Will, the smith’s eldest son, and apprentice, dealt with the sword, leaving the two older men to exchange news. While Jared hammered at the strip of glowing metal on his anvil, they spoke briefly of the new taxes, the harvest, and other everyday matters, but Vadim could not bring himself to mention Martha. He was in no mood to receive any more joy or good wishes on the subject of his marriage.

  Gradually, over the various clanks and hissing of the forge, Vadim became conscious of the sound of excited barking coming from outside. Without pausing to excuse himself, he hurried out onto the street.

  He was just in time to see a huge gray dog leap at Martha.

  Teetering on its hind legs, the great beast planted its two front paws on her shoulders in a grim parody of a dance, obscuring her from view. His blood chilled when he heard her squeal.

  Erde! He ran, instinctively reaching for his sword, then cursing its absence. Without pausing, he drew his dagger instead. If he was not much mistaken, this very same creature had tried to take a chunk out of him on the previous night.

  But as the shaggy gray animal dropped back onto all fours, Vadim realized his mistake.

  Martha was not only whole and unspoiled, she was smiling. He slowed from a run to a trot.

  She looked up and saw him advancing on her with a glittering shard of steel gripped in his hand, and her upturned lips slid into a disapproving line. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The dog stood beside her, regarding him with equal suspicion.

  Vadim stopped a little distance away from the pair. “Move away from the dog.” He spoke calmly, though it cost him a good deal. He had seen such animals in battle. Fearsome creatures capable of shattering a man’s bones between their massive jaws.

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” To his dismay, Martha stepped between him and the dog, her arms crossed in defiance. “What is wrong with you? I’m not going to stand by and let you kill an innocent animal for no good re—”

  “The dog has an evil temperament.” Even as he spoke, the words sounded foolish.

  “Really?” Obviously unconvinced, she turned to look at the beast.

  If such a thing were possible, the animal proceeded to make Vadim look like even more of a simpleton. Flopping down in the half-melted slush, the dog rolled onto its back, exposing its bedraggled belly toward Martha, whining pathetically for her attention.

  When she glanced back at him, the look in her eyes made him cringe inwardly. She obviously thought him a complete imbecile.

  “Evil, huh?” She sighed and shook her head. “Put your knife away, Vadim. I think I can handle this alone.” Then she crouched beside the dog, smiling broadly as she rubbed at his belly. “Are you a wicked boy? Yes. You. Are.”

  Rear legs thrashing, the dog groaned in delight, his lethal jaws parted in ecstasy.

  “You big bad doggy, scaring the silly man.” Her headscarf slipped back with the force of her exertions, but she seemed not to notice. “Naughty puppy!”

  Vadim was unsure which offended him most: her insult, or the sickly sing-song voice in which she delivered it. As he replaced his dagger, Jared stepped outside, dabbing at his brow with a square of dirty linen. He gaped when he saw Martha fussing over the dog.

  “By the moldy bones of the ancestors! Well, I never. Hey, Will?” The smith bellowed over his shoulder. “Come and see this, boy.”

  At the summons of his father, young Will hurried outside.

  The three of them stood in line, watching Martha and the beast. “Who does he belong to?” Vadim asked at length. “I cannot
recall seeing him before.”

  Jared puffed out his cheeks. “Well, I suppose that would be me, m’lord.”

  “Dad found him out on the moor last spring,” Will supplied helpfully. “Someone had left him for dead with an arrow stuck through him.”

  The son had always been more of a talker than his father. In the months since Vadim had last seen him, Young Will had grown in width as well as height. His stout stature now rivalled that of his father. They were alike in many ways, even down to the way they wore their straw-like hair, tied back from their ruddy faces with a narrow strip of leather.

  “For all that I nursed him back to health, the hound never behaved that way with me.” Jared nodded towards Martha. “Nor with anyone else, come to think of it.”

  Comfort indeed. At least he was not the only one behaving oddly in Martha’s presence, even if her other victim was a hound. Perhaps if he had left her to speak with Lord Edgeway the other day, the Earl’s character might have undergone a similar transformation? The thought brought a grim smile to his lips. Nothing short of beheading would improve that man.

  “Who is she?” Jared asked at last. “The young lady, I mean.”

  “Ah.” Vadim turned to smile at the Smith. “The lady’s name is Martha. And I, gentlemen, have the additional honor of calling her wife.”

  ***

  Martha limped after Vadim, with Forge trotting beside her.

  What was wrong with the man? After briefly introducing her to the nice blacksmith and his son, he’d hurried her away, cutting both men short as they’d tried to offer their congratulations. Granted, receiving good wishes on their fake marriage made her uncomfortable too, but was it necessary to have been quite so rude?

  Glaring at the back of Vadim’s swirling cloak, she followed as best she could, holding onto Forge’s shaggy back for support.