Songs of Love & Death

If he didn’t bed Martha Darby before tomorrow, perhaps before eleven in the morning, his hour of birth, Oberon would be free to finally exact his revenge on the line of Sir Robert Loxsleigh.

That left no time for niceties and wooing. By kind means or cruel, he must have her in the next twenty hours. He tried to compel calm. They would be at Five Oaks in hours, even with the worsening weather. Oberon’s work, he was sure. Once he took Martha to the old hall, where faery energy burned so fiercely, she would have to believe, have to agree to anticipate the wedding. Even she, the prim daughter of a canon of York.

If not?

Damnation. Oberon had chosen well and done his mightiest, but he could not be allowed to succeed.

But then the rain swept toward them, sheeting down, pounding the rough ground of the road.

“We must stop at the next inn, Mr. Loxsleigh,” Martha said. “We risk becoming stuck in the mud.”

“The road’s sound,” he said desperately, “and it’s not far now. Perhaps only an hour.” The coach had slowed, however, and he could feel the labor of the horses. The postilions would be miserable, but they must press on. Then the wheels sank and the coach stopped.

He opened the door to jump out. “We must lighten the load!”

The coach lurched forward then, the wheels finding new purchase. He fell back into his seat.

“This is folly!” his bride declared. “Look, I see lights ahead. We must stop. We can’t climb out to lighten the load in this weather. My mother could catch her death.”

He wanted to rail at her, but every word was true. They could not go on.

“Very well,” he said, desperately seeking solutions. “My apologies.”

The lights turned out to be a small inn, but called the Maid Marian. Was that a hopeful sign or a twisted joke? It had two tiny bedchambers for them, but they would have to take their supper in the common room. That didn’t matter. He made his plans.

He ordered supper for them and hot punch, making sure it had plenty of honey and spices. When it arrived, he strengthened it with the flask of brandy he had in his valise.

Mistress Darby declared it excellent and drank two glasses. Martha drank well of it, too. He topped up her glass when she wasn’t looking and saw her drain it again.

Mistress Darby began to nod off. She started. “Oh, my, the long journey has tired me out. I’m for bed.”

She left the room somewhat unsteadily. Martha rose and he saw her steady herself on the back of her chair. “I, too, am tired. You set too hasty a pace, Mr. Loxsleigh.”

“Perhaps I did. I am simply impatient to see you in my home.”

He watched her struggle to focus. “I am not going to marry you.”

“You must. You know the story now. Remember Oberon’s revenge.”

“Fablesh…” She frowned. “Fables for the credulous.”

He grabbed her and shook her. “Why am I cursed with such an impossible woman!”

She fought him off. “Cursed. Cursed. Because I will not sin in your bed I’m a curse?”

“I want to marry you!”

“I don’t want to marry you!” she yelled, inhibitions shattered by drink. She was magnificent. But adamant.

“You’re mad, Mr. Loxsleigh,” she said with the careful precision of the drunk. “It’s sad, but I will not bind myself to a madman.”

A man laughed, deep and dark.

Martha looked around, almost losing her balance again. “Who was that?”

“Oberon. Anticipating victory. Martha, listen to me. My birthday isn’t twelve days away, it’s tomorrow. We need to go to bed together. Now.”

She blinked at him. “That is a most improper statement, sir.”

“I know. Very well, we need to go on to Five Oaks. Now.”

“Mad, mad, mad.”

“We could ride.”

“I cannot ride.”

“We could share a horse.” He desperately wanted her willing. “Martha, if we don’t… wed by tomorrow I will die. My father will die. All the descendants of Sir Robert Loxsleigh, wherever they may be, will die within the year.”

She swayed slightly. “It is impossible for us to marry by tomorrow, sir. Banns… and I do believe that you have made me drunk.”

He approached again. “Certainly you are affected by the punch, Miss Darby. Permit me to escort you upstairs.”

She swatted at him. “Keep away from me, you… you… horny goat.”

That came so improbably from her lips that he laughed.

A mistake. She backed away, muttering, “Mad, mad, mad. Keep away from me. And I will not go to your home. Not tomorrow. Not ever!”

He watched her steer carefully toward the door. Some were made docile by drink, and some quarrelsome. Clearly Martha Darby was the latter. Some were made lusty, but he’d never trusted to that.

He followed at a distance, ready to save her if she stumbled on the narrow stairs. Halfway up her legs betrayed her and she sat down, leaning her head against the wall, muttering, “Drunk. I’m drunk. Oh, the shame…”

Then she slipped into a stupor.

Rob went to where she slumped and touched her prim cap. “Martha, my love, I wish it had been otherwise. Pray God you forgive me.”

He gathered her into his arms, aware of Titania’s exultance and Oberon’s fury and hating both equally. Titania’s lilting voice approved. But then Oberon changed his tone to coaxing.

Will you rape her? it murmured. Despoil her limp body? What will be the result when she regains awareness and understands what you have done?

She’ll love you, argued Titania. She’s your marrying maid. It is her destiny to love you just as it is your destiny to love her. Do it now, my knight. Do it now so you and your line can live.

Do it now and eat bitter bread forever. Perhaps it is not necessary. Perhaps I will allow your birthday to be as your worldly custom designates.

Rob carried Martha up to his bedchamber where he laid her on the bed. He untied the stings of her cap and took it off, then unpinned her hair. He spread it, astonished by its silky thickness, aroused by it and hungry. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers…

Which were slack and unresponsive.

He inhaled, straightening. “I cannot,” he said. Titania screamed at him; Oberon laughed.

Where was virtue and vileness here? Where was right and wrong?

There was one last hope.

6

MARTHA WAS FIRST aware of a throbbing head, and then that she was cold and wet. Then that she was not in her bed, but being carried. Was this another odd dream?

She struggled feebly and realized she was trapped in something. In heavy cloth.

“Hush, love, we’re home. I’ll soon have you warm.”

“Home?” She forced her eyes open and saw a distant starry sky. Closer, she saw Loxsleigh’s shadowed face.

“What have you done?” Her mouth was almost too parched for speech.

“Brought you to Five Oaks. It was the only way.”

“No…” He was going to rape her, and here in his house there would be no noble Sir Robert to stand between. She felt her own hot tears on her cold cheeks.

He kissed them. “Don’t be afraid, love. I won’t harm you. But I had to bring you here. I had to try.”

He put her down on the steps to open the door, but only for a moment and still swaddled, so her feeble struggles achieved nothing. They entered total darkness, but he must know it well. Of course he did.