King's Errand: Tales of a Traveler, #5

By N.J. Layouni

When a new king ascends the throne of the Norlands, only Vadim and Martha's intervention saves Anselm and the other knights - men loyal to the previous king - from a trip to the gallows.

Now that reprieve is over. It's payback time.

Anselm and his fellow knights have one last chance to prove their loyalty to the crown. But King Rodmar does not require mere lip service. To demonstrate their fealty, he commands the knights to bring home his greatest treasure.

Join Anselm, Vadim and their companions on the King's Errand - an adventure that transports them far from the comforts of hearth and home to a new and exotic world.

As they brave the peril of the high seas and confront the unrelenting danger of the desert lands, Anselm finds unexpected friendship and a new sense of belonging - not to mention a woman who just might be the love of his life!

But when their convoy comes under attack and the future of their mission hangs in the balance, will they be able to avert disaster?

Will Anselm finally find his happily ever after?

• Language: English
• Publisher: N.J. Layouni
• Release date: Jan 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393056010

Book preview

Chapter One

The subdued rumble of male voices from the adjoining room roused Vadim from his slumber. In bed beside him, Martha and the twins slept on, and he meant to keep it that way.

Wait… was that Ma’s voice? What was happening out there?

Carefully slipping his arm from beneath his wife’s pillow, Vadim eased himself out of bed. Martha gave a quiet mutter of protest but did not stir. She was still too bone weary.

Hardly surprising really, considering that just three hellish days ago, Vadim had faced the real and very frightening prospect of losing his wife forever. The twins’ birth had been a great trial, one that was both long and bloody. It had taken all of the considerable combined midwifery skills of Ma and Agatha to keep his little family alive.

Tiptoeing across the room, he went in search of his boots. One of the floor planks creaked a loud protest beneath his bare foot. Vadim winced and froze, hardly daring to breathe. He glanced back at the bed but, thankfully, the precious dreamers slept on.

Dragging his boots upon his feet on the hop, Vadim made a wild grab for the shirt draped carelessly over the large trunk at the foot of their bed and dragged the garment over his head. Still in the process of fastening the neck tie, he cracked open the door of their bedchamber and peered out to see what was going on in the room beyond.

A scene of chaos greeted his eyes.

With her back to the door, the diminutive figure of Ma guarded the bedchamber against the threaten of invasion—in this case, by Lord Reynard and two of his advisers. Anselm and Seth were also present, but their role seemed to be only a supportive one. Flanking Ma on either side, they looked poised to lend the old lady their muscle should she have need of it.

Not that Ma would require anyone’s aid, for in full sail, their paternal grandmother was as daunting now as she’d ever been. Full grown as he was, Vadim was still wary of provoking the old lady too far for fear of rousing her impressive wrath.

Only someone extremely foolish—or desperate—would even consider tackling Ma in her current mood and, as a long-standing friend of their family, Reynard knew this as well as anyone. Which made this current act of foolhardiness all the more puzzling for his friend wasn’t backing down at all. Since Reynard was as clever a man as had ever drawn breath, something must be very wrong indeed.

And I say you cannot see him, Reynard! Ma snapped in a voice which dared him to defy her. With her frail arms crossed about her waist, she was seriously displeased. That poor lad has had no proper rest in days. Leave him be, why don’t you, at least until a more reasonable hour? ’Tis barely even cockcro—

Vadim! Reynard cried when he spied his friend emerging from the bedchamber. Oh, thank the spirits! I must speak to you at once on a most urgent matter.

But Ma still would not abandon her post and continued to stand in Reynard’s way. Lord Edgeway won’t be speaking with you or anyone else until he’s properly—

Be at ease, Ma. Gently placing his hands upon the old lady’s frail shoulders, Vadim slowly turned her to face him.You may stand down, m’lady. I was awake anyhow, he lied with a smile. Let Lord Reynard speak his piece.

Ma gave an irritated huff. You’re too good-natured, my boy. Then again, you always were. Even as a child you were a kindly little soul. But now that you’re Lord Edgeway you really must try to alter your ways, for there will always be someone waiting to take advantage of your generous spirit. Unless you learn to stand firm against the constant bleating of the undeserving your situation will only grow worse. Here she darted a flinty-eyed look at Lord Reynard, Mark my words, she muttered grimly, it has already begun.

Vadim bent down and placed a gentle kiss on Ma’s thin cheek. Consider your words well marked, m’lady. But I have nothing to fear, not while I have you here to defend me from the attention of the… less deserving. He winked at Reynard, but for once his friend had no answering smile. Dark shadows haunted the angles and hollows of Reynard’s gaunt face, and his usually pristine clothes were unnaturally unkempt, creased and rumpled as though he hadn’t changed them in days. Vadim had seen Reynard in many a dire situation over the years, but he’d seldom looked as bad as he did at this moment. By nature, his friend was usually the most composed of men, but now he looked worried to death. What could have happened?

Ma threw up her hands and sighed in defeat. Oh, very well, she said grudgingly. Speak to your friend if you must. I will go and watch over your family in your stead. Contenting herself with one last venomous glare at Reynard and his companions, Ma hobbled inside the bedchamber and quietly closed the door behind her.

As Ma departed, Vadim wasn’t the only one to release a pent-up breath.

Finally, Reynard declared with feeling. First, you must allow me to congratulate you on the safe arrival of your new family, my friend. I wish you every joy in your children, indeed I do.

Thank you. Vadim accepted Reynard’s hand when he offered it and clasped it firmly. I will be sure to convey your good wishes to my wife when she wakes. Now, what is all this about, hmm? Vadim glanced at the the two silent advisers, Butters and Millstone, who were hovering by the door, muttering quietly to one another. As glad as I am to see you, I take it this visit is not merely a social one.

Indeed it is not. Reynard looked grim. You cannot know how it heartens me to see you back amongst us once more. The townsfolk had begun to wonder if you were dead, so long has it been since you were last seen abroad in daylight hours.

It had only been a couple of days. Most amusing, I’m sure. Only it wasn’t. Not really. Death was nothing to make light of, especially when the stench of its foul breath still tainted the castle.

With a quick jerk of his chin, Vadim acknowledged Seth and Anselm. As their services to Ma were no longer required, they’d wandered over to the window seat and were now sitting rather awkwardly together. Forge immediately rested his head upon Anselm’s lap, demanding attention and effectively acting as a hairy wall between the two men.

Despite all that had occurred during the past few months, father and son were still ill at ease with one another. Although the passage of days had softened their former hostility into something less destructive, the barriers separating them remained firmly in place.

Perhaps they always would.

Settling into his usual chair by the fire,Vadim said to Reynard, Very well, speak to me, my friend. Tell me this urgent news. I take it something of a serious nature has occurred,

You might say so, yes. Reynard perched on the arm of the other chair, his dark gray eyes betraying a glimpse of his inner anxiety. ’Tis Fergus.

What about him?

He’s nowhere to be found.

The knots in Vadim’s stomach eased at once. Was that all? For a moment he’d feared something truly terrible must have happened. And when did you see him last?

Two nights ago. At supper.

I see. If this was a taste of fatherhood to come Vadim certainly had some rough times ahead of him.

Fergus wasn’t a child. He was a young man in the prime of his life and at the very summit of his strength. In battles past, Vadim had often fought at his side. He had nothing but admiration for the lad, both as a warrior and as a man. Not only did Fergus have youth on his side, but he was highly skilled with both blade and bow.

What possible peril could have befallen him in a castle full of friends? Surely Reynard was vexing himself needlessly?

Seth cleared his throat. And it seems young Effie is missing, too.

Vadim immediately sat up a little straighter. Most of the castle were aware of Effie’s tender regard for Lord Reynard’s son and, in turn, of the young man’s quiet, steady passion for her. Had they finally decided to do something about it? Martha wouldn’t be happy if her favorite maid had absconded with Fergus.

Vadim shook himself. Wait. What was he thinking? Reynard’s paranoia must be contagious. Surely there was a more reasonable explanation to be had.

Let us consider the matter with cooler heads for a moment. Fergus and Effie are both young and in love… and a castle is a big place. Isn’t it more likely that the two of them are holed up somewhere in a secret love nest, perhaps, having lost all sense of time?

How well Vadim recalled the first flush of romance with Martha. What a merry dance she’d led him back then. So befuddled had she rendered him he’d barely been able to remember his own name, let alone the hour of the day. And this was only in the early days, before their love had taken a more… intimate turn.

When a new love first entered the heart, all rational thought departed at the exact same moment. Everyone knew it was so.

But still Reynard looked concerned. No. Something else was at play here, something that had yet to be revealed.

What else? he demanded. Without the full story, he was as good as blind. Tell me the whole of it.

Fergus is already betrothed, Reynard answered quietly.

To Effie? But even as he spoke the words, Vadim realized how foolish they sounded. If that were the case, why would Fergus disappear?

No, Reynard admitted quietly, confirming Vadim’s suspicion. He is to marry Lady Juliana and Lord Gareth’s eldest daughter—Belinda.

Oh! Juliana. Now there was a name from the mists of his unmarried past; a name that stirred up a simmering cauldron of memories. And you believe Fergus and Effie have—?

Run off together? Reynard supplied smoothly, his eyes flashing like quick silver. Yes, I most certainly do.

Now Vadim understood the root of Reynard’s concern. Dismissing Lady Juliana from his mind, he asked, Do you have proof of this supposed elopement?

The sentries report seeing Fergus and a female companion slipping out though the postern gate two nights ago.

Perhaps they’d simply gone to the town of Edgeway in order to spend some undisturbed time together? Vadim was fool enough to give voice to this thought.

Oh, Vadim! Reynard snapped. "Are you being deliberately obtuse or has lack of sleep curdled your remaining wits? Fergus and this… wench of his were seen leaving the castle together. They were each burdened with a heavy pack apiece. Rather excessive for a simple trip to town, wouldn’t you agree?"

Vadim forgave Reynard his uncustomary rudeness. All things considered, his old friend was being remarkably calm.

Getting up from his chair, Vadim began pacing the room hoping the activity would remove some of the densest cobwebs from his brain.

What has been done to recover them? He directed this question at Seth. As Edgeway’s acting steward, no doubt he’d already ordered a search party.

Of course, I sent out riders at the very moment the alarm was raised, Seth replied, standing up. But you know as well as I do, lad, outlaws—reformed or otherwise—are not easy men to track down. They cannot be found if they don’t want to be found.

A valid point. Up until a few months ago, Vadim had been an outlaw himself, and his survival had depended a good deal upon the ability of being able to make himself ‘disappear’ at will.

I hope you will forgive me for speaking bluntly, Reynard, Seth continued, but I believe our young lovers do not want us to find them.

In which case, Fergus and Effie were now well and truly out of anyone’s reach.

Fergus had learned the art of vanishing at a very early age for the older outlaws had been only too happy to indulge the lad’s curiosity and pass on their survival skills. Unfortunately for Reynard, his son had proved a good student. Too good. Covering his tracks and blending in were now as natural to him as playing the harp.

Where would he go? Vadim muttered, half to himself. Raking back his hair, he tried to think as Fergus might. Although the lad was well used to living in the wilds, Effie wasn’t. She didn’t share the same abilities, or so Vadim hoped. With an inexperienced woman in tow, sooner or later Fergus would eventually be forced out of hiding. But where would he take her?

I have no idea, Reynard said with a heavy sigh. Believe me, I’ve wracked my brains until my skull aches but I can find no answers.

Has Fergus made any new friends of late? Seth asked.

Reynard shrugged elegantly. "’Tis always possible, I suppose. But if he has, I haven’t heard mention of anyone unfamiliar. Most of his friends are also mine, so who would he turn to? He will certainly need someone’s aid before long. But who?"

The men ruminated on the riddle in silence for a few moments.

Rising from the window seat, Anselm limped over to claim the fireside chair Vadim had so recently vacated, Forge acting as his living walking aid.

With a groan of relief, he settled down onto the cushioned seat and gingerly stretched out his legs until his boots rested upon the stone lip of the hearth. Forge flopped down onto the rug beside him, staying close to Anselm’s legs.

When had those two begun keeping one another company? But then, Vadim and Martha had been so occupied with baby business of late mayhap the poor beast had been forced to find a new friend to keep him company. Someone who didn’t move as quickly.

Oh well, Seth said, clapping his hands and rubbing them briskly together. There’s nothing else for it. We shall just have to track them down the old way… on foot.

He was right. When traveling by horseback, it was too easy to overlook any subtle signs Fergus and Effie might have left upon the land. On foot, there were better odds of discovering news of the runaways. ’Twas a slower method, but a surer one.

Even so, finding them wasn’t guaranteed.

Why bother? Anselm chimed up from his comfortable place by the fire. The warmth must have loosened his tongue for he’d been unnaturally quiet thus far.

I beg your pardon. Reynard glared at Anselm from the neighboring chair, his silver eyes narrowed, daring him to repeat what he’d just said. I fear I must have misheard you.

Anselm was nothing if not bold—either that or incredibly stupid. Oh, there’s nothing wrong with your hearing, m’lord, he assured Reynard. Well, not yet at least. Indeed, for a man fast approaching the winter of life, your senses appear to serve you remarkably well. He looked around the room, grinning, but no one smiled back.

Vadim scrubbed his hand over his face in frustration. What the devil was he up to now? His brother’s truce with Seth and the other men was still too fragile to be tested, especially with such an ill-advised jest.

Undeterred by his stone-faced audience, Anselm continued, What I mean to say is this: their head-start is too great. Your quarry will already have gone to ground, probably somewhere many leagues from here.

Your point being? Although Reynard’s voice remained calm, the rising tide of color staining his face spoke eloquently of the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

"If your son and the maid have run away together, then we may be fairly certain that the deed, shall we say, has been well and truly done."

"What deed? Propping his elbow on the arm of his chair, Reynard rested his chin upon his fist, regarding Anselm with a look cold enough to summon back winter. Do continue, Sir Anselm. I find the mechanics of your mind most fascinating."

Perhaps unnerved by their master’s gentle tone, Reynard’s two advisers retreated a little closer to the outer door. There, huddled together like anxious, overstuffed pigeons, they toyed with the gold chains about their necks and renewed their urgent mutterings, their disquiet plain to see.

Vadim didn’t blame them for being uneasy. Although it happened only rarely, when roused to temper, Reynard’s anger could be frightening. In all the years they’d known each another, Vadim had only seen him lose control on two occasions, and he had no desire to witness it a third time.

Of course, Anselm could have no idea of this so Vadim leaped to his defense. I am sure my brother meant no offense, m’lord.

Don’t you dare apologize for me! Anselm snarled, sweeping back his untidy mane of golden hair which had slipped into his eyes again. Believe me, brother, I am more than capable of doing so for myself if I thought such a thing were necessary.

Now Anselm was angry too. Wonderful.

As you wish. Shaking his head, Vadim stalked over to the window. Let them tear one another apart if they had a mind to. In the meantime, he would observe the ever-brightening sky and wish himself far, far away. Preferably to that distant speck on the horizon.

So, you were saying? Reynard prompted Anselm.

Only that I suspect your first grandchild might have already taken root within Effie’s belly, forcing Fergus to— Oh!

There was a tremendous crash as a chair hit the floor. Vadim turned just in time to see Reynard launch himself at Anselm, his gloved hands reaching for his brother’s throat.

Provoking Reynard was indeed perilous.

Not my son, he cried. Not he. How dare you imply such a thing, you evil little bas— Forge’s wild barking added to the godless cacophony, making it impossible to hear, or think.

Stop! Seth jumped from his seat and ran at Reynard. Dragging him backward, Seth’s timely intervention dislodged Reynard’s hands even as his fingers were curling about Anselm’s throat in an attempt to throttle the life from him. Leave him be, Reynard. He’s not worth the effort!

With Vadim’s assistance—and Forge constantly leaping between them, barking and growling—they managed to haul Reynard away, still cursing and snarling, to a safer distance.

Anselm, meanwhile, scrambled back into his seat from where he’d slithered during the attack. Gracious me! he gasped, clutching at his throat as he regained his seat. Where did that… c-come from? Said I something to upset you, m’lord? That wasn’t my intention.

To an outsider, perhaps, Anselm’s performance might have been convincing, for he appeared to be genuinely surprised by Reynard’s violent outburst. Vadim, however, wasn’t fooled for a second. He’d known his brother too long to be taken in by his play-acting. He’d always had a talent for innocent needling.

If that is the case, Anselm continued in a most penitent manner, allow me to beg your forgiveness. I meant no harm, m’lord. My words were kindly meant.

"Kindly meant? Reynard growled, his eyes almost bulging from their sockets. I’ll give you kindly meant, you despicable creeping turncoat." Fortunately Seth still had Reynard firmly restrained, one brawny arm wrapped about his friend’s chest, thus depriving him of the pleasure of murdering Anselm.

This whole situation was getting out of hand.

Moving with stealth, Vadim managed to remove Reynard’s eating dagger from the sheath at his belt. ’Twas always better to err on the side of caution.

Enough! he cried at last, his own temper igniting. If you cannot be civil, then take yourselves from my sight. Well, what’s it to be?

With a smug smile that only Vadim saw, Anselm settled back in his seat and said no more. Forge finally stopped snarling at Reynard and padded back to Anselm’s side, resuming his former position with his great shaggy head resting on his brother’s lap.

Vadim shook his head. Fickle beast. Anselm wasn’t the only turncoat in the room, it seemed.

Shaking himself free from Seth’s restraining arm, Reynard stalked away to stand by the door with his clucking advisers. Overflowing with sympathy, although neither of them had raised a finger to aid their master at the time, they began to smooth the creases from Reynard’s long blue tunic, uttering hushed words of dismay. If only they could smooth Reynard’s temper so easily.

By the balls of the Great Spirit, Seth cried, glowering at Anselm. How I ever managed to sire such a child, I will never know. He sighed. Oh, I have my faults, Reynard, as do we all. Despite my flaws, I don’t consider myself to be a bad man. As for my poor Sylvie—may the spirits keep her—she was the very best of mothers, always so loving and kind.

Do not vex yourself, old friend, Reynard said, seeming outwardly recovered from his outburst, although the blazing fire in his eyes told a different tale. You cannot be held responsible for the blackness of another person’s soul. I think I can guess what this is about, though. I believe your lad has not yet forgiven me for humiliating him so badly upon the eve of the last Great Battle. Reynard chuckled in remembrance of it. Shamed before two mighty armies. Do you recall the occasion, Vadim? You were there too, I believe.

Yes. Vadim had been there. In secret. In hiding.

Anselm and Lord Godric had believed him dead at that time and, fearing what revealing the truth would have mean for Martha who had been Lord Godric’s prisoner back then, Vadim had not dared to reveal his identity. There was no telling how the previous earl might have exacted his revenge upon poor Martha had he learned how she had lied to him for so long.

You must not blame yourself, Seth, you or dear Sylvie, Reynard continued. No child could have had better, more devoted, parents than the two of you.

At this, Anselm gave a loud snort but no one paid him any heed. He’d said more than enough for one day.

’Tis kind of you to say so, my friend, Seth said with a sad little smile. I do miss my girl, though, especially now. Sylvie always knew how to handle the wretched lad, whereas I haven’t a clue what to do with him. But you mustn’t heed Anselm’s poisonous words. Indeed, he has always taken great delight in prodding the seeping wounds of others.

But in one respect he may right, Reynard said softly.

Oh? And what might that be?

Even Anselm seemed interested and he sat up a little straighter in his seat.

Now that I have had a moment to think on it, perhaps Effie does carry Fergus’s child within her womb. How else could she have lured him away? The cost of righting this situation will be extremely high, for not only has Fergus abandoned me, forsaking his duty as my son and heir, but he’s deserted the young woman who would have one day been his bride,.

Apparently forgetting that he ought to remain silent, Anselm piped up again, Then perhaps it is you, his own father, who has driven him away. ’Twould not be the first time. He darted a long, hard look at Seth before continuing, You sicken me, Lord Reynard, you and your fine talk of duty. Hah! Maybe Fergus and this girl are simply in love and could not bear the thought of being parted. Had you considered that, m’lord? No, I expect you haven’t.

Love! Seth rounded on his son, his hair billowing about his face like an angry red cloud. What would a heartless whelp like you know of such a tender emotion, hmm?

More than you care to remember, Anselm muttered, staring into the fire. Much to my cost.

Oh? Then, enlighten me, boy. Go on. Let us all hear you spout your wisdom on the subject.

"I think not. Speaking her beloved name in your presence would be akin to allowing swine to attend a royal banquet."

Bestowing Anselm with another look of dislike, Reynard turned away, going into a huddled conference with his advisers.

Although Vadim secretly admired Anselm for speaking up on the young couple’s behalf, that did not mean he was right to lecture Lord Reynard on the manner in which he chose to manage his personal affairs. Like it or not, the facts were inescapable. Fergus was Reynard’s only child. As such, Reynard’s title and estate would ultimately pass to him. This had long been the way of things in the Norlands. The old rules could not be easily set aside now.

While Anselm and Seth bickered with one another, Vadim sank down onto the window seat. He didn’t want this. Not any of it. All he wanted was to be left alone with Martha and the babies. As he stared outside, a sudden desperate yearning washed over him. He longed to bundle his little family up into a cart and and set out, leaving Edgeway and all of its demands far behind them.

Just as Fergus and Effie had done, now he came to think of it.

In his heart, Vadim did not blame the young couple for leaving. In the same situation, he would have done the same thing if it meant being with Martha. However, siding with Anselm wouldn’t ease the current tension in the room.

Seth and Anselm had progressed to yelling at each another, and if Vadim didn’t intervene soon it might even come to blows. This particular quarrel had been fermenting for a good number of years. However, this was neither the time nor place to settle their familial dispute, not when Martha and the babies were in the next room trying to sleep.

By the balls of the Great Spirit. Martha and the babies!

No sooner had Vadim given the thought life than he heard a thin, reedy wail rising up from within the bedchamber.

They’d woken the babies. The blood flashed hot in Vadim’s veins.

"Silence!" he roared, leaping to his feet.

The quarrel abruptly ended. As one, Seth, Anselm, and Reynard turned to stare at him, slack-jawed with astonishment. One of the benefits of rarely losing one’s temper was that people were sure to take heed when he finally did.

From the other room, a second baby began to wail. Vadim ground his teeth. Perfect!

Seth looked most ashamed. Forgive me, m’lord. I—

Get. Out, Vadim growled through gritted teeth. He was in no mood to hear any apologies no matter how sincere.

But, m’lord—

"Now! Crossing his arms over his chest, Vadim glared at his unwelcome guests. He was tired, hungry, and now, thanks to the three of them, in the foulest of humors. I mean it. You have pushed me too far. Go. I will deal with you all later… once I have managed to settle my family."

There was a familiar gentle rapping at the outer door. As it swung open, Harold popped his shaggy black head into the room. Is anything amiss in here, m’lord?

No, not at all, Harold, Vadim assured him, forcing himself to be civil. My guests were just leaving. Would you please escort them down to the great hall and see that they stay there? I will join them once I’ve had the opportunity to wash and dress. And eat! His stomach grumbled, protesting at its neglect. Erde! If he didn’t break his fast soon, he might be persuaded to take a bite out of one of his quarrelsome friends.

Certainly, m’lord. Pushing the door wide open, Harold gestured into the corridor beyond with a grand sweep of his arm. This way if you please, gentlemen.

What—even me? Anselm regarded Vadim with dismay. Surely you would not eject me as well? All those stairs are murder on my—

"And yet I am unmoved. Now, be gone! However, if you do feel unable to make the journey unassisted, I’m sure Harold would gladly carry you."

Harold’s grin was broad enough to split his face. Oh, believe me, m’lord. Nothing would give me greater pleasure.

I’m sure it wouldn’t, you great lumbering oaf. Scrambling from his chair, Anselm hobbled over to retrieve his walking stick from where it rested on the wall beside the hearth. He wielded it at Harold like a weapon, keeping the big man safely at bay. Well, if you think I’d give you the chance to drop me on my head you are much mistaken. No, get away from me, he cried as Harold feinted a move to grab him. Come, Forge. Let us depart and leave Lord Edgeway to his vile mood. We shall seek ourselves a good breakfast and a little civilised company.

Without another word, and with many a baleful backward glance, the five men filed out of the chamber. Harold winked at Vadim and quietly closed the door behind them.

Vadim exhaled. Ah. The joy of being blessedly alone.

But as he turned to head back into the bedchamber, he found Ma standing in the doorway, admiration shining from her eyes.

Would you like me to leave, too, lad?

No! Not you, Ma. Aghast that she would even think such a thing, Vadim hastened to her side and took her gnarled old hands and held them gently. Never you.

Ma chuckled, her wet laughter rattling in her throat. I was only teasing. In truth, ’tis well past time you began acting like a proper earl. You’re too soft on them all. It won’t hurt to remind them who’s in charge from time to time.

Thankfully, the bedchamber was now silent. The babes must be feeding again.

Between you and me, Vadim confessed, I’ve begun to wish that Martha and I were back home in Darumvale.

For all its grandeur, the castle’s lofty rooms didn’t feel like home yet. The wall hangings were too lavish, the furnishings too expensive and ornate to suit the sensibilities of a man so used to living the spartan life of an outlaw.

Not so long ago, his lodgings had been more humble.

Vadim was accustomed to sleeping in caves or, in fine weather, out in the open, with his cloak doubling as his blanket, and the starry firmament overhead serving as his roof.

For sure, his old life had had its challenges. Sometimes he hadn’t known when his next meal would be. But despite its hardships, Vadim frequently missed the simple life he’d left behind. For all its hardships and deprivations, the days had seemed richer somehow.

Ma—wise woman that she was—must have read his thoughts. Reaching up, she lay her rough palm against his cheek.

Give it time, boy, she said, softly. This life will not fit you in just a few weeks. Over the coming months, however, I think you will grow into your new role… you and your lady wife.

Vadim suddenly felt in desperate need of sound counsel. In the absence of his own father, he could think of no one better suited to advise him than Ma. What am I to do in the meantime?

Looking too far ahead will swamp you, boy. Concentrate your attention on the here and now—on this very moment. Keep your gaze on Martha and those grand-babies of mine and allow them to determine your course. You will not steer far wrong if you do.

Vadim nodded. Of course, Ma was right. She usually was. If only he could persuade her to stay with them, indefinitely, here in Edgeway. The voyage through life’s uncertain waters would be much easier to navigate if only she would.

Chapter Two

W ell, I must say, I am really quite put out. To be slung from his chambers like common criminals. Even by my standards, I call Vadim’s behavior unspeakably rude. What can be the matter with him today? He is certainly not himself.

Anselm, Seth, and Reynard sat together at one of the long tables in the great hall, breaking their fast as they awaited Lord Edgeway’s presence.

Enemies bonded by a common insult, they were all suddenly inclined to keep one another company.

Happen we pushed him to it, Seth said as he ate. Becoming a father for the first time is a testing enough time for any man, be they lord or serf.

Is that so? Anselm threw Forge a scrap of cold pork from the platter before him. The big dog leaped up, delicately catching the morsel with his powerful jaws. Tell me, honored Father, do you have any other pearls of paternal wisdom to impart upon the subject?

To his credit, Seth didn’t rise to take the bait. Instead, he continued to eat as if he hadn’t heard. Anselm was most impressed.

Lord Reynard, however, proved much more obliging. Ah! Fatherhood. Truly, it is a trial like no other, he lamented. Giving a great sigh of melancholy he leaned his elbows on the table, continuing, Open battle is less arduous. Let us hope our friend Lord Edgeway never has to take a sip from the bitter cup of my current woe.

Oh, what a cheerful gathering they were, sitting together like a huddle of cantankerous pigeons, each pecking disinterestedly at their cold breakfast whilst they awaited their lord’s arrival.

Anselm looked about the room in the hope of finding someone else with whom to converse, but at this hour the hall was all but deserted. The hearth-knights and their squires were long gone, their sleeping mats already neatly rolled and packed away. Rising with the sun, they’d now be hard at work, training down on the field beyond the castle walls.

Alas, it was just the three of them. Well, with the exception of two maidservants who were quietly occupied with tidying the echoing chamber and strewing a fresh layer of rushes and fragrant herbs upon the floor.

The scent of lavender and sweet growing things eased Anselm’s head a little. Closing his eyes, he massaged his fingers into his pounding temples. Another hangover. By rights, he ought to keep off the wine for a while—truth be told, he would not miss it—but excessive drinking was a side effect of the company he had lately begun to keep.

Ever since that terrible night when Martha had given birth to the twins—almost dying in the process—a new wind had blown in to Edgeway; a warmer wind that seemed to blow in Anselm’s favor for once. Although the majority of the castle population still actively despised his guts, Anselm found himself in the new and enviable position of having people choosing to speak with him, and civilly, at that.

Thus far, it had only been Harold, Edric’s lovely niece Joy, and—once or twice—Edric himself, but it was a start. Now his streak of luck looked set to continue, for here he was breaking bread with Seth and Reynard—if such a circumstance could be considered good fortune.

What’s more, neither of his companions had tried to physically harm him yet. Truly, his situation was improving.

With an muttered oath, Reynard threw down the bread he’d been shredding to crumbs and, abandoning his seat, he began pacing the length of the great hall. Up and down he strode, from one wall to the other, his anxiety plain to see. Watching his constant movement made Anselm feel quite dizzy.

It was difficult to believe Reynard was the same man who had, just half a year ago, got the better of Anselm during the negotiations which had taken place before the Battle of Edgeway. Usually, when he was not preoccupied with the fate of his only son, Lord Reynard was the calmest of men. Blessed with a quiet but lordly manner, his very presence immediately commanded respect.

Anselm would never admit it, but he rather admired the older man—albeit grudgingly—even though he had made Anselm look like a ranting fool before the combined might of two great armies, curse him.

Ah well. That particular water had flowed beneath the bridge a long time ago.

At least Reynard was showing genuine concern for the welfare of his son. His own father wouldn’t care if Anselm were to vanish from Erde for ever.

Suddenly aware of Anselm’s intense scrutiny, Seth suddenly turned his head to look at him. What? he demanded. Spare me the feel of your poisonous blades and speak your mind, boy. The tenderness Seth had displayed whilst sitting by Anselm’s deathbed had long since dried up. Ever since Anselm had done the unforgivable and survived his, supposedly mortal, injury.

I have nothing to say except I am glad to see you are yourself again.

And what do you mean by that? Seth demanded, eyes flashing.

Since the truth was unspeakable, Anselm attempted to wrong foot Seth some other way. Tell me, m’lord, when do you intend on returning to Darumvale? You have been in Edgeway for well over a month now.

Hah! This is a first. You’ve never shown much interest in your boyhood home before… well, except for in the collecting of its taxes. Why the sudden concern, eh?

I still care just as little, I assure you. Only I cannot help wondering how the villagers are faring without the guidance of their wise and kindly chieftain.

Seth’s eyes narrowed. Are you mocking me, lad?

Indeed not. I would hardly dare, m’lord. I should not want you to be missed by those who need you the most, that’s all.

Raking his hands through his fiery thatch of hair, Seth exhaled through his nostrils like an angry bull. Anselm had to admit, Seth was getting better and better at managing that fearsome temper of his. According to the gossips, he’d not sipped a proper drink in weeks, not even of the well-watered variety.

Not that it has anything to do with you, but Hemble is overseeing Darumvale in my stead.

Old man Hemble? That doddering fool! Anselm snorted with amusement. If Darumvale’s fate rests with him I doubt you’ll have a village to return to. He’s probably razed it to the ground by now. ’Tis ironic really, he added with a laugh. To think that one old fellow will finish the task my master and I strove for so long to complete.

Is he ever quiet? Reynard said, coming to a halt beside Seth, both men regarding Anselm with dislike.

Not often, no, Seth answered. I still do not know whether to rejoice or be sorry that the former Lord Edgeway did not succeed in some of his final endeavors.

Anselm’s jaw dropped. Seth truly did wish that he’d died beneath his master’s blade? It shouldn’t have mattered to him one way or the other. Even so, Anselm couldn’t deny the bright flash of pain within his heart. Angry with himself for caring a fig what his sire thought, he said brightly, Well you never know, perhaps the new Lord Edgeway will have more success.

We can but hope.

Bastard.

If Seth had possessed any residue of paternal feelings he might have noticed that his carelessly slung barb had struck its target. But he didn’t. Instead, with a final look of disapproval, he went to accompany Reynard who had recommenced his aimless pacing, speaking in a low voice that would not be overheard.

Anselm seethed inwardly. So slighted was he, he barely noticed when the doors of the great hall suddenly swung open to admit Harold. As usual, the big man was grinning all over his bearded face as though he were party to some secret jest or other.

Lord Edgeway, m’lords, he announced with a flourish and a low bow.

Vadim strode into the hall. Freshly scrubbed and shaved, and wearing a pair of dark fitted trews beneath a long tunic of deep forest green, he looked rather smart for once. His countenance, however, was grim and stony. Taking a seat beside Anselm he immediately addressed Reynard.

"Now you may speak, and as freely as you wish."

"If it’s all the same to you, I would prefer a private audience, my friend." Reynard darted a pointed look in Anselm’s direction, his meaning all too clear. But as always with Lord Reynard, he masked his true feelings with a veneer of cool politeness.

As you wish. Anselm scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over Forge in his haste. His blood still simmered from Seth’s earlier slight. Believe me, I have no interest in hearing anything you have to say—

Wait! Vadim placed his hand upon Anselm’s forearm, detaining him when he would have left. Banishing my brother from our council will not serve you, Reynard. The time for concealment is gone. Whether you like it or not, Fergus and Effie’s elopement is common knowledge. Even as we speak, the castle is humming with gossip. Do not dismiss Anselm out of hand, my friend. Perhaps, Vadim added, holding Anselm’s stare for several heartbeats, his presence may be of benefit to you.

Again Vadim defended him. But as grateful as he was, Anselm had no idea what he could be getting at.

With a graceful shrug, Reynard revealed what he knew, which wasn’t much. He spoke of how he’d been well aware of his son’s partiality for Effie but he’d thought little of it. As far as Reynard was concerned, his son’s dalliance was but a short-lived passion; Fergus’s devotion naught but a symptom of the rising of the sap, a natural affliction for all men of a certain age.

However, Reynard had grievously underestimated the power Effie wielded over his son.

He’d believed the young maid an innocent flirtation, a pretty bed-warmer who would, in due course, be succeeded by a succession of other lovers. Only when the marriage negotiations had begun did Reynard first realize his son’s infatuation with Effie might be a little more serious than he’d first supposed.

Nevertheless, anxious to establish a permanent union between their two ancient families at the earliest opportunity, Reynard arranged a dinner to commence negotiations, inviting Lord and Lady Wolcombe and, of course, Belinda, their youngest daughter. ’Twas during this disastrous meal that Reynard first became aware of how deeply his lovelorn son had fallen.

Course followed interminable course, and Fergus remained determinedly silent, paying no heed at all to his fair dining companion or to the conversation that flowed up and down the table. Keeping his eyes fixed on his board, Fergus idly pushed his food around with his eating knife, barely eating a morsel, although he did better justice to his wine.

In short, the dinner was an abject failure.

The only mercy was that Lady Belinda seemed equally disinterested in Fergus. Throughout that long evening, she’d devoted all her attention to one of Reynard’s knights who happened to be seated at her other hand. Flirting with him at every opportunity, the young lady paid Reynard’s sour-faced son no heed at all.

Even after hosting such a disastrous meal, Reynard refused to accept that a humble maid servant could possibly be responsible for Fergus’s dour mood. So, once their guests had gone in seek of their bedchambers, Reynard began questioning his son, demanding an explanation for his uncustomary rudeness.

Refusing to meet his father’s eyes, Fergus blamed his low mood upon the onset of a summer cold—although there were no symptoms of the ailment. But because Reynard had wanted to believe his son, he’d foolishly accepted his poor excuse and left it at that.

It was around this time—the occasion of his being introduced to Lady Belinda—that

Fergus first began disappearing. Always alone, he left the castle at sun-up, riding as if all the foul beasts of the underworld pursued him, such was his haste to be gone.

On returning home, many hours later, Fergus would spoon-feed his father a watery gruel consisting of yet more lies and poor excuses, the kind of fare Reynard had come to expect. Nothing Fergus said was at all convincing. But no matter what Reynard tried, Fergus refused to open up. Nothing Reynard said seemed to penetrate his son’s thick shield.

And so, in utter exasperation, Reynard finally asked Fergus outright if he wanted to be joined with Lady Belinda.

Only then did he hear the bitter truth.

No, Father, Fergus answered. I do not wish to be joined with Belinda.

And then? Vadim prompted when Reynard drifted into a pause of thoughtful silence.

And then? To my lasting shame, there followed a scene that did me little credit, either as a father or as a man. Reynard gave a heart-weary sigh. For the sake of family honor, and his duty to me as my son and heir, I demanded that he marry Belinda. Reynard stared at the toes of his black boots as he idly scuffed at the floor rushes. I commanded him to set Effie aside.

Honor? Duty? The anger of injustice burned within Anselm’s guts like acid. Little wonder Reynard hung his head. After what he’d done, he deserved to feel the weight of his personal shame.

Now Anselm didn’t particularly like Fergus, but he could not help but pity him. Still, this was none of his concern. For the sake of his own peace of mind, he could not allow himself to become embroiled in this whole miserable affair. It came as a surprise, therefore, to hear himself saying; Did he confess that he was in love with Effie?

Damnation. The question was out before Anselm could stop it.

Hmm?

Pushing down on the table, Anselm rose stiffly from his seat. "I said, did Fergus speak of his love for the maid?"

Whatever Fergus may or may not have told me is no concern of yours, Reynard answered rather curtly.

To Anselm’s everlasting astonishment, Seth suddenly backed him up. Perhaps not, but I for one should like to know the whole of it. So tell us, did the lad reveal his heart to you or not?

Unable to resist the weight of the three pairs of eyes trained upon him, Reynard relented. Aye, he said with a nod of his silvery head. Fergus spoke of his affection for the lass, and I’m afraid I was… less diplomatic than I might have been.

Anselm snorted, a snake of inexplicable anger writhing within his belly. Oh, and I can well imagine how you expressed yourself, m’lord. Being careful to avoid stumbling over Forge who was still sleeping beneath the bench, he limped over to where Reynard stood, confronting the man face to face.

"You told him to cast her off, didn’t you—to crush the maid’s hopes before they were raised too high. That’s why you allowed them to speak together on the night of your arrival in Edgeway, is it not? Because that’s when Fergus was supposed to carry out the deed you had tasked him with."

Be silent, snake! Keep your prying nose out of my affairs, do you hear?

But Anselm could not back down. Not when he knew first hand how it felt to stand in Fergus’s boots. You forbade him from seeing her, didn’t you? Undaunted by Reynard’s rising fury, Anselm let loose his outrage at such foul injustice. Now here you are, the great lord of diplomacy himself, coming to beg for Lord Edgeway’s aid in bringing your errant son to heel. Anselm gave a burst of bitter laughter. For shame, m’lord. Beseeching others to repair that which you could not. Have you no dignity at all?

For the second time that morning, Anselm watched the blood drain from Reynard’s face.

How dare you address me thus, he hissed, clenching and unclenching his hands at his side. Traitorous dog! What right have you, a cur who knows the meaning of neither honor or loyalty, to pronounce such cold judgment upon me? Reynard leaned closer until they were almost nose to nose. "If I have no dignity, then I say you have even less than that. How does it feel, Sir Anselm, to be wholly reliant upon the goodwill of your brother, the same brother you have long wished dead, hmm? Reynard’s face contorted into a sneer of hatred, the deluge of bitter words spilling from his mouth in a toxic stream. Make no mistake, although I seem to tolerate your presence, it is all for Vadim’s sake. Were it not for your tender-hearted brother, I would have finished you off long ago."

To his shame, Anselm felt a tremor of fear stirring deep within his belly. On some base, instinctive level, he sensed the latent power the older man took such care to conceal beneath his mantle of refinement. Within Reynard’s breast beat a heart as fierce as that of any mercenary.

"Believe me, sir, Reynard said a little more calmly, I should like nothing better than to bear witness as you submit to the king’s justice. Ah! To watch your wretched carcass dancing the high jig upon the end of a thick rope would give me naught but the deepest of pleasure. Reynard’s aniseed-scented breath brushed Anselm’s face, a tiny smile playing over his lips as he imagined Anselm’s body swinging from a high gibbet, blowing limp and lifeless in the breeze. Alas for me, my dear friend Lord Edgeway has blessed you with the sanctuary of his protection, and so I am bound to respect his wishes. For now."

Enough, Reynard, Vadim snapped. This is not helping our current cause. Leave Anselm be.

Raising his chin, Anselm held Lord Reynard’s steely stare. If the old man believed he could be intimidated he was very wrong. Just because Anselm relied upon a walking cane to get about, inside, he was still the same old Anselm. Oh, there’s no cause for concern, brother. Lord Reynard and I were merely getting the measure of one another.

Let Reynard glower as he would, Anselm would not be the first to look away.

Quite so, Reynard agreed. And I believe I now know all I need to. Enjoy your reprieve while you can, Sir Anselm. Sooner or later, you will have to pay for your sins. I look forward to seeing what misery the future has already laid in store for you.

Anselm gave a smug smile, secretly impressed by the size of the old outlaw’s balls. Even so, he still had one final trick up his sleeve. No matter what happens to me in the future, your son will still be lost to you, m’lord.

Eyes bulging, Reynard opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish blowing soundless bubbles.

Fortunately Vadim intervened before Reynard could rally his wits again.

Come, my old friend, he said, putting a comforting—or restraining?—arm about the older man’s shoulders. I know you’re worried but the situation is not so bleak as you suppose. Vadim glared at Anselm, his dark eyes eloquently expressing his displeasure. Of course Fergus will be found. You may rely upon me to help you in any way I can.

Bless you, m’lord.

And when you find him, what then? Anselm demanded. What will you do, hmm? Drag Fergus’s sorry backside home whether he wants to come with you or not? Damn. What was the devil was the matter with him today? Why was he still defending the boy? Really, one of these days his mouth was going to get him into a whole heap of trouble.

Seth seemed in agreement.

For the love of Erde, he growled, striding toward Anselm, his hair a-frizz with irritation. Be silent, boy.

"Oh, believe me, Seth, I’ve barely begun to—"

Abandoning Reynard at a safe distance, Vadim returned and seized Anselm by the arm. Do excuse us for a moment, gentlemen. Then he hissed against Anselm’s ear. "Walk. Now. I mean it. Do not test me, brother. I’ll carry you out of here if I must."

Anselm believed him. Vadim looked angry enough to erupt. Regrettably, Anselm was not yet fit enough to counter the wishes of the Earl of Edgeway.

Vadim marched from the great hall dragging Anselm along with him, tottering unsteadily at his side. Once the doors closed at their backs, Vadim dismissed the guards with a jerk of his head before rounding on Anselm.

Reynard’s right, he growled, the second they were alone. This affair is none of your concern, Anselm. If you value your life, you will leave this subject alone and cease baiting Reynard.

But he’s wrong! Anselm cried, shrugging free of Vadim’s hold. "If Reynard doesn’t tread with care everything I say will surely come to pass. He will lose his son. Perhaps forever. Can you not see that?"

Perhaps. Perhaps not. The expression in his dark eyes suddenly softened. Brother, with the greatest respect, Fergus and Effie are not you and Isobel, he said kindly. Their situation is nothing like your own. You do see that, I hope?

Of course I do. Despite what you may think, I’m not some kind of mentally deficient half-wit. But know this, if Reynard does not have a care, that young couple could quite easily finish up the same way as me and Isobel. He grabbed a fistful of Vadim’s tunic. If you have any affection for your friend, I implore you, do not allow him to make the same mistakes my father made.

Vadim nodded.