King's Errand Read online

  Supported in bed by a huge mound of pillows, Martha stared down at the babies, sound asleep beside her. She still couldn’t get her head around the fact that they were actually here.

  Her precious babies. No, their babies. Hers and Vadim’s.

  She couldn’t stop looking at them.

  Little George stirred and grimaced in his sleep. Smiling, Martha trailed a gentle finger over the baby’s plump, warm cheek until he settled again.

  Oh, he was so like Vadim. They both were, in their different ways. She didn’t see anything of herself in either of them, although Ma and Agatha insisted the twins—Maudie in particular—shared some of her facial expressions. Fussing with the babies’ coverings, Martha carefully adjusted the thin blankets ensuring that they were neither too hot nor too cold. Not that she really needed to do anything at all in that department for Ma and Agatha took such great care of them all. Still, it was nice to be able to do something for the babies by herself. Something other than the milk-run.

  For once, she was alone. Agatha and Ma had popped out for a spot of lunch, while Vadim, meanwhile, had left at dawn, joining Reynard on his desperate, probably pointless, search for his son.

  Since becoming countess Martha hadn’t had much alone time. There was always someone petitioning her, wanting her advice on something or other. There always seemed to be another task waiting, or somewhere else she had to be. So, being by herself with the babies was a bit of a novelty. It wasn’t often she could sit and simply be. Just her, all alone, with nothing but her thoughts for company. It was quite nice, actually. Did Vadim ever feel the same way, she wondered.

  They hadn’t discussed this latest chapter of their lives that much, what with him being made earl and then the pair of them being so preoccupied with the pregnancy. Martha intended to rectify this neglect as soon as possible for there was a look in Vadim’s eyes that she hadn’t ever seen during his outlaw days. Being earl wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and anxiety really wasn’t a good look on him.

  It was ironic really. Vadim had traded his freedom at the very moment he’d stopped being a fugitive. Did he miss the bad old days? Martha certainly did. Even after all these months, she still regretted the loss of their little house back in Darumvale. How different their lives might have been if they’d stayed there. Their lives and those of their children.

  She yawned. Tired again? Heck, she wasn’t sure if she was tired or idle. She’d never felt so weary. Ma insisted this was perfectly normal, especially after all she’d been through. All the same, Martha was beginning to feel like she’d never get out of bed again.

  Just as she was pondering whether to take another nap or not, the bedchamber door swung slightly open and Agatha peered round the frame, tray in hand.

  “Ah, good. You’re still awake.” Barging the door fully open with an ample hip, she bustled inside the bedchamber. “You can eat this broth Ma made for you.”

  It did smell nice, but Martha wasn’t that hungry. Eating seemed to be a bit of an effort of late.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look, m’lady. You want to get better, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then eat.” Being careful not to disturb the babies, Agatha set the tray down on Martha’s lap. “All of it, if you please.” Since Agatha seemed prepared to stand over her until she’d done so, Martha caved and did as she was told.

  She had no trouble drinking the goblet of mulled wine, though, well watered as it was. It was absolutely yummy, so sweet and warming. Next, deliberately avoiding the chunk of coarse bread, Martha moved on to the dark, fragrant broth. Although it smelled good, she knew better than to ask what was in it. Knowing Ma, it was probably something vile like mashed up brains, or fried spleen or some other kind of disgusting offal of which the old lady was so fond.

  Dabbling her spoon into the murky soup, Martha took a tentative slurp. Mmm. Delicious. Hot and onion-y with a slight peppery kick. Deciding she was a hungry after all, Martha quickly demolished the entire bowl. When she set her spoon down, her stomach gave a contended grumble.

  “Good lass,” Agatha said, waddling over to take the tray away. “I expect you’ll be needing another nap now.”

  Another huge yawn took Martha by surprise. She could be right about that. However, before Agatha left, there was something she really wanted to know, something that had puzzled her ever since King Rodmar had claimed the throne and restored his faithful lords to power.

  “Wait, Ags. Don’t go just yet. I need to ask you something.”

  “Ask away. Only don’t be disappointed if I choose not to answer you.” Agatha frowned. “This isn’t about Edric again, is it? If I’ve told you once, I’ve—”

  “No, no. It’s nothing to do with Edric,” Martha assured her. “Put the tray down and come and sit with me for a while. Please?”

  With a sigh, Agatha dumped her tray on the trunk by the window and pulled up the chair beside the bed. Then she lowered herself down onto the cushioned seat. “Ah! That’s better. I feel as if I’ve been on my feet for weeks. I don’t mind telling you that all the walking I’ve been doing lately is playing havoc with my poor old joints.”

  “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “What? My troublesome joints?”

  “No, you daft thing.” Martha patted Agatha’s shiny, slightly puffy, hand where it rested on the bed-cover. “I was just wondering why you’re still here, that’s all—not that I want you to leave or anything. We’re so grateful for everything you’ve done, all your hard work and kindness—”

  “So what, precisely, are you getting at, m’lady.”

  “M’lady! That’s it exactly. Don’t you see? You’re a m’lady too, aren’t you? But a real m’lady, not like me. I acquired my title through marriage, but you… Well, you’re different.”

  “Your point being?” Agatha readjusted her headscarf, which seemed to be a constant battle for her as the blue fabric was forever sliding backward off her head.

  “Well, Reynard has his castle back, doesn’t he? And I believe your sons now have lands of their own. So my question is this; what about you? Why are you still drudging around here when you could be living it up as a lady of the manor somewhere? I love you dearly, Ags,” she said, clasping Agatha’s hand. “You know that, right? But you’re a noble. You should be resting those poor old joints of yours. Don’t you understand? Someone should be waiting on you. Why aren’t you taking things a bit easier? Or didn’t the king return your lands and property?”

  Agatha sighed and patted Martha’s hand. “He wanted to, yes. But tell me this, lass, after so many years living a full and busy life here, what would I do with all that free time, eh?” She chuckled. “Could you imagine it, me playing hostess for my brother? All those dinners to arrange, and dull musical evenings.” Agatha grimaced. “No, thank you kindly. Can you honestly see me trussed up in all the trappings of noble finery, fussing over hem lengths, or the cut of my sleeves, or any of the other trivial nonsense today’s modern lady is expected to care about?”

  Well, when she put it like that. “I see what you mean.”

  “Good. Then, unless you wish me to vacate this castle, kindly never raise the subject again. That part of my life is over. To tell you the truth, as hard as this life can sometimes be, I much prefer it to my old one.” Agatha’s eyes suddenly sparkled. “Besides, if I were off playing lady bountiful somewhere, who’d keep Edric and his band of buffoons in check, eh?”

  Martha laughed. “That’s a good point, actually. You’re definitely a good influence on him, Ags. Edric’s much better behaved when you’re around. Almost saintly, in fact.”

  “Aye, though I fear I still have a way to go yet.”

  “So, do you think you might… y’know?” Martha waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Some day… with the right lighting and a prevailing wind?”

  Agatha smil
ed and shook her head. “You never give up, do you?”

  “Nope.” Martha covered her mouth to stifle another yawn. “Never.”

  “Then let’s just say this; given enough time, almost anything is possible. But for now, Edric and I are friends and with that I am quite content. Now, you’d better lie down and get some sleep before those babies of yours wake for their next feed. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to find you a wet-nurse—?”

  “We’re happy as we are, thanks.” No way would Martha allow another woman to feed her precious children, not unless her own supplies of milk dried up—god forbid—and there was no other alternative.

  “Just as you will.” Agatha looked down at her three charges and smiled. “Then close your eyes and rest, m’lady. I’ll sit here by the fire and rest my weary bones awhile just in case you need me.”

  “Thanks, Ags. You’re a star.” Martha snuggled down the bed, her eyes already closing. But as the shifting sands of sleep sucked her into their bottomless depths, with her last conscious thought, she felt a peculiar fizzling in her blood. An odd tremor of excitement that had no cause. It was almost the feeling of being a child again, counting down the sleeps to Christmas and suddenly realizing it was almost Santa time…

  Only it wasn’t Christmas. Nowhere near. Besides, this feeling was… something else. Something… familiar. Like she was just about to find something precious that had been lost for an awfully long time.

  Ridiculous.

  They left Darumvale at daybreak.

  Anselm had spent a cold, cheerless night within the great hall, with nothing but a stale crust of bread and a cup of brackish cup of water with which to break his fast.

  Lulu seemed to have fared rather better at Bren’s house. Not only did she look extremely well rested, but the old woman kept emitting contented little burps from time to time, occasionally rubbing her stomach, and blaming a large breakfast for all her excess gas.

  Anselm tramped along moodily, leading the horse. Even Bramble seemed to have passed a more comfortable night than he had. Not only was Anselm sore and extremely stiff, every inch of his body now sported a palette of colorful bruises, a reminder of the beating he’d suffered at the feet and fists of the village boys. Bloody peasants. The sooner they reached Edgeway the better.

  “So you’re not married, then?” Lulu asked at length.

  “No, madam. I am not.” Anselm ground his teeth, bracing himself for whatever it was that she was building up to.

  “Well I can’t think why not, a good looking lad like you. Some pretty lass should have snapped you up ages ago. Unless… ”

  Here it came. The death blow. Already Anselm was growing familiar with the patterns of Lulu’s outlandish manner. Although he hated to ask, foolishly, he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. “Unless?”

  “Well… I don’t like to say too much, what with it being such a sensitive subject and all.” Beneath her face paint, which Lulu had somehow found the time to reapply, her cheeks glowed even pinker than usual. “I mean, some folks just don’t want to talk about it,” she continued in that strange sing-song accent of hers. “Martha’s last boyfriend was like that—you know, Tony? He only came out last year, and what a shock that was for everyone, I can tell you.” She chuckled in memory of the incident. “Oh, my word! I still don’t think his old dad has accepted it, not even after all this time, but there you go. Some folks take more time to accept than—”

  “Came out?” Lulu’s speech was as vexing as her looks, a perfect match, in fact. “Where did this fellow Tony emerge from, pray tell? Had he been hiding from Martha?” If so, he was certainly a wise enough fellow.

  Lulu nodded, her expression knowing. “In a manner of speaking, yes. And not just from her.” Lowering her voice in a conspiratorial fashion, she said, “No one had the slightest inkling he was… gay.”

  Anselm shrugged. “Well, what of it? Surely it isn’t a crime to be merry in your lands?”

  “Merr—? Oh, goodness me, no.” Lulu broke into peals of delighted laughter. “You dear, sweet boy,” she said when she was finally able to speak again. Much to Anselm’s irritation, the old woman leaned down and patted his shoulder, adding “Bless your innocent heart!”

  Innocent? Not a word anyone would have ever associated with the infamous Sir Anselm of Edgeway. Silly old woman. “Then what do you mean? Speak plainer, madam, for you confuse me a good deal.”

  “Very well. When I said Tony is gay, I meant gay as in, he likes the… er, company of other men… and not just in a friendly way, if you catch my drift.” Lulu arched her pale eyebrows meaningfully several times, nodding when she saw the truth finally sinking into Anselm’s befuddled skull. “Yes. Now you understand me. As I said before, no one ever suspected our Tony might be batting-for-the-other-side as it were. He hid it so well, you see. Not like my neighbor’s son, Cameron.” Lulu chuckled at another private memory. “Oh, such a lovely lad, Cameron. Camper than a row of tents, and as gay as any buttercup, but then, you see, he always was. So it came as no great shock to anyone when he finally moved in with—”

  “Wait just one moment, if you please.” With all the talking she did, it was a mystery how Lulu ever found time to breathe. Did she never stop her constant prattling?

  Still smarting from the insult she’d just delivered him, Anselm glared up at her. “Am I to deduce—from what I can make out from all your incessant jabberings—that you believe I’m gay like this Cameron fellow? That, given the choice, I’d prefer to have man in my bed than a woman?”

  Now a wiser person might have turned and run, but not Lulu. Sitting in her saddle like someone’s sweet old grandmother, she only smiled and shrugged, apparently quite unperturbed by the way he was glowering at her.

  “Well, there’s no shame in it, is there, dear? Besides, I’ve never been one to judge. That’s the job of our Maker, wouldn’t you agree? Judge not lest ye be judged,” she said, wagging her finger as she spoke. Obviously, she was spouting some quotation or other, but Anselm wasn’t in the mood to find out more.

  About to deny that he was anything like this Cameron or Tony, whoever the devil they were, Anselm opened his mouth to speak then he promptly shut it again—painfully jarring his jaw in the process.

  What would be the point? Lulu was quite clearly unhinged. After meeting her he could not now wonder why Martha had always seemed so odd. Who wouldn’t be after having being raised by such a peculiar little woman?

  Anselm could only hope that Vadim would realize the peril of his new circumstances before it was too late. One thing was for sure, if he didn’t take measures to severely limit the amount of time Lulu spent with her grand-babies, he risked contaminating his entire bloodline with the old woman’s unique form of madness—which would be a great shame considering all the effort he’d expended over the years into securing his lost birthright.

  “Not to worry, Hansel—”

  “Anselm!”

  “One day you’ll meet the right person. There’s someone for all of us, you know.”

  “Oh, I sincerely doubt that,” he growled, more to himself than her.

  “Yes you will. Have a little faith, why don’t you?”

  Anselm snorted rudely. Faith. The idea of believing in something he couldn’t see was laughable. No matter how hard they might want to convince themselves otherwise, it was all for naught.

  Once his blindfold had been removed, Anselm knew beyond any doubt how cold and bleak this thing called life really was. They were alone in the dark, every last one of them.

  The only faith he’d ever had, such as it was, was in himself and in his own abilities, but now even that was gone. In truth, surviving his wounds had never been Anselm’s intention. However, fate had once again conspired against him.

  Now, not only was he utterly faithless, he was feeble and unfit too.

  Useless.

  If Lulu only
knew how ill-suited he was to act as her escort she would have elected to stay behind in Darumvale. ’Twas a good thing it wasn’t the middle of winter for if they’d had the misfortune to encounter a hungry wolf pack Anselm wouldn’t have had a hope in hell of defending them against such determined opponents. But there were worse fates than ending up as a wolf’s supper, for if her dear old aunt died on Anselm’s watch Martha would never forgive him.

  Dead or alive, there would be no escaping his sister-in-law’s wrath.

  Taking a deep breath, Anselm squared his shoulders and forced his feet to keep plodding onward.

  The sooner he got Lulu to Edgeway the better.

  “You’re quite sure Anselm didn’t return home?” Vadim paced the long corridor outside the great hall the next morning, his boot-steps ringing like slaps upon the flagstones.

  “Quite certain, m’lord,” answered the unfortunate squire he’d dispatched to seek word of his brother. “His bed hasn’t been slept in, and the horse he borrowed isn’t in its stall.”

  Damn. Vadim shook his head and paced some more. He should never have allowed Anselm to ride off on his own like that, not when he was still so weak. For all that his brother was a man full grown, long past needing anyone’s permission to do anything, Vadim still felt responsible for him.

  He’d woken in the small hours of the morning, a faint niggling worry for Anselm tickling somewhere at the back of his mind. At dawn, Vadim had finally given up all hope of sleep, and was up and dressed even before the babies had begun to stir for their morning feed. Thankfully, Martha slept on, not moving even when he’d pressed a light kiss to her sleep-flushed cheek.

  There was nothing else for it, Vadim decided. He would just have to set out to find his absent brother. Anything was better than uselessly waiting around here for news.

  “See that my horse is saddled,” Vadim ordered the sleepy-eyed squire. “I will be down momentarily.” Taking the steps three at a time, he bounded up the staircase, heading for their chambers. Now he knew a little of how poor Reynard must be feeling. But at least Vadim had an idea of the direction in which Anselm had set out.