So Worthy My Love

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  When the cat lit, it raked its claws deep into the stallion’s nose as it struggled for a hold, drawing forth a terrified shriek from the steed. Like some wild, maddened beast the animal had leapt and thrashed about to dislodge his tormentor, while the equally terrified cat clung with perseverance to the steed. Not so the rider! Unprepared for this abrupt turn of events, Reland had soared through the air with limbs flailing helplessly until he crashed to earth flat on his back. His breath had left him with an audible “whoof,” and he had suffered through a panic-filled moment as he fought to regain it. An enraged, bellowing curse had given loud evidence of his success, and he had sprung to his feet like a geyser of erupting fury.

  Faced with this new threat, Elise recalled her decision to beat a hasty retreat into the house, but Reland had seen her move and determined otherwise.

  Incensed that a mere girl could unhorse him, he had charged her back, hardly considering that her far smaller frame was actually more agile than his own rather hulkish one. Elise had both sensed and heard his ponderous approach and, when the moment was ripe, had whirled aside from his path, ducking beneath his outstretched arm. A low moan had issued through Reland’s gritted teeth and increased in volume and intensity as he stumbled past.

  Even before Elise had finished turning, she heard a loud splash and an even louder commotion. When she looked around, she had found Reland thrashing facedown in a nearby pond. Spewing forth a flume of water, he had gotten clumsily to his knees, then to his feet, presenting the servants with such an hilarious spectacle that their giggles and guffaws could not be contained. The wet plumes of his toque had drooped downward beneath his hooked nose, causing him to spit between gasps as he tried to expell the limp ends from his mouth. His leather-cuffed riding gloves had spilled torrents of water when he lifted his hands to rake hair and feathers from his face, while the fur-lined chamarre had dripped steady runnels all around him. His soft hide boots, the pride of his costume, had each held a jug or two of water, making his legs and feet appear swollen and misshapen as he stomped out of the pond.

  Reland’s ensuing bellow of rage had made the skittish stallion snort and dance away, then, as if wondering what new threat might be forthcoming, the steed had glanced about in some apprehension until he spied the cat safely ensconced on top of a stone wall a short distance away. The clear victor of the fray, the feline had licked a paw and smoothed its ruffled fur in languid repose.

  Reland had slowly glared the onlookers into silence before he faced the insolent twit who had so recklessly challenged his authority. Elise had met his glowering gaze calmly and smiled with soft, enigmatic humor, aware that he was purposefully maneuvering to entrap her in a corner of the courtyard wall as he stalked forward.

  Elise retreated until she felt the stone at her back, then braced herself to give him full measure before his strength and bulk could overwhelm her. Growling a profanity, Reland seized her by the collar and, lifting her from her feet, began to shake her violently. The girl reacted, and the previous furor of the cat was diminished by the outraged vixen she became as she fought off her assailant. Scratching, biting, poking, and eye-jabbing, she was like a little wild thing until a pained yowl issued forth from the ungallant Earl.

  “You little bitch!” Reland bellowed and swept a hand back to cuff her.

  “Great Caesar’s blood!” Edward exclaimed from the gallery. “What be ye about?” Shocked by what he was witnessing, Edward stumbled down the stairs and, with the help of servants, dragged the pair apart, but not before his niece delivered a sharp kick to Reland’s shin.

  “You foulsome son of a flap-eared knave!” she railed in unladylike vehemence. “What hole did you slither from?”

  “Elise! Calm yerself, girl!” Edward was aghast at the insults his niece laid upon the Earl Anxiously he explained, “This be Arabella’s betrothed . . .”

  “Pity Arabella!” Elise sneered. “She’ll likely expire from this clumsy oaf’s abuse!”

  “Shush, girl, shush!” Edward wrung his hands in great distress as he tried to placate his future son-in-law. He had never been in a situation that warranted such control on his own temper. He could not turn on his niece for fear of losing a fortune. Nor could he question the Earl for fear of setting off his temper. “Please, Reland, ye must forgive the girl. She’s beside herself. She’s a kinswoman o’ mine, barely arrived. Ye can see she has much ta learn. I beg ye, ease yer fervor, an’ let us settle this in a genteel manner.”

  “She has maimed me steed!” Reland flung a sodden glove to indicate his mount, scattering an arc of shiny bright droplets as he once again startled the steed who threw up his head in fear. Fine trickles of blood marred the tender nose and, where the rich bridle crossed it, small droplets gleamed in the sun like tiny rubies on a strand. “He’ll bear the marks ‘til his death!” Almost as an afterthought Reland clutched his aching head, moaning his discomfort. “And she nearly spilled me skull upon the cobbles!”

  “You need have no fear, milord,” Elise snidely countered. “ ‘Twas empty before the fall.”

  In a high-flying rage Reland shook his fist at her. “Ye simpleminded twit! Ye must’ve come from the low bogs not to know Eddy could’ve killed ye. Next time I’ll let him trample ye in the mire!”

  She responded with derisive sarcasm. “Having now met your acquaintance, my lord, next time I’ll be more wary of what you might command of the steed.”

  “Reland, forgive the girl,” Edward hastened to interject. “She just doesn’t know . . .”

  “Remember the names, girl,” the Earl growled, ignoring the pleas of the elder. “Hide yerself when ye hear that Reland Huxford, Earl of Chadwick, and his big Eddy are here. I give ye fair warning.”

  “Eddy . . . Big Eddy . . . Eddy Reland . . . Reland Big Eddy . . .” Elise tossed her head like a child chanting a verse as she deliberately jumbled the names to convey the fact that she could disregard the man, his title, and his threat more readily than she could the stallion. “ ‘Tis a fine steed you have been given. Obviously too good for you. I shall endeavor to remember him.”

  Reland’s face darkened to a mottled red as she lifted a challenging gaze and dared him to attack her again. Edward rushed to stave off the threatening eruption, seeing the lowering brow of the man, and quickly took the younger man’s elbow. “Come, my son-to-be,” he chortled worriedly. “Let us seek a cup o’ bitters an’ rest ourselves ‘fore the fire.”

  Edward gestured urgently for a servant to attend the dripping Earl, and when the man was led away, the squire turned a glare upon the errant Elise in dire promise of further reproof. It came when Reland was well out of earshot.

  “Have ye lost yer wits?” he demanded. “Do ye want ta sour the bonds Arabella seeks with this one?” Edward thrust his hands aloft in mute supplication, then bore down upon his niece again. “Or would ye rather set me affairs awry by shamin’ this good fellow in me home?”

  “Twas his buffoonery that caused the fray!” Elise flared in her own defense. “He nearly ran me down with that animal!” She flung a hand toward the stallion as it was being led away by a groom. The stable boy was patting his neck affectionately, as if the animal were some long-lost friend. The steed nuzzled him in return and did not seem so threatening now. “Does it matter aught to you that Reland is an overbearing lunatic?”

  “Shush!” Edward flung the command out before he threw an anxious glance over his shoulder to assure himself that the Earl had departed. “Do ye not ken, girl?” He caught her elbow and bent close to whisper, “This may be Arabella’s last hope.”

  Elise jerked away from the cruel vise and rubbed her arm as she replied with barely restrained ire. “Better to remain a spinster than bed with the likes of him!”

  Spinning on a heel, Elise lifted her skirts and flew up the stairs before her uncle could find his tongue. Though he called after her, she dashed along the loggia without giving acknowledgment, snatched open the door to an inner hall, and slammed the portal behind her, rattling nearby w
indows with the force of her passage.

  Throughout the ensuing days her uncle had repeatedly demanded she give an apology to the Earl, but Elise had vowed through clenched teeth that she would move into a thorn-bound spinney before she would yield to any such request. Not sure of just what she might do, since she seemed capable of the most outrageous conduct, Edward had finally acceded and had pressed her no further.

  And here she was again, Elise thought, feeling a strong repugnance for Reland. She was sure the task she had been given was tantamount to lending assistance in the sacrificial rites of a virgin being offered up to a slavering beast. In truth, she abhorred the ruffian and felt great sympathy for her cousin.

  Elise quickly erased the repugnance from her face as Arabella glanced around. As if bidden by some mysterious summons, she searched the room until she found her younger cousin. Elise met her gaze and responded with a hesitant nod, recognizing an unspoken inquiry in the pale gray eyes. A fleeting frown touched the bride’s smooth visage before she turned aside to speak a word to her new husband. Reland leered in heated lust as he watched her depart, and in smug triumph he glanced around at his companions, stirring a memory in Elise’s mind of that same self-satisfied smirk he had worn that first day of their meeting. It was almost as if Arabeila had become another possession he could use as a whip with which to lord it over others.

  A few of his rowdy friends called to him in coarse repartee and, at each stroke of witty humor, chortled the louder in outrageous glee. Arabella showed only a trace of a smile as she moved with quiet dignity through the press of bantering, hooting guests and held her silence until she and Elise were climbing the stone stairs that led to the west wing.

  “I am beset by folly,” she murmured dismally.

  Elise stared at her cousin, wondering what had finally set her awry with her state of circumstance. Arabella had always managed to maintain a reserved poise through times of conflict and turmoil, even amid her father’s blustering tirades, and had actually shown a certain measure of eagerness to marry the Earl. To Elise’s knowledge she had never issued a complaint against Reland before, though there were times when she displayed a discontent because of the tragedies she had suffered. She had a bent toward melancholia and long moods of depression, which even Edward tried to assuage. Much attention had been given to the grieving woman by everyone in an attempt to bring her out of doldrums, for no one could doubt she had good cause to lament.

  “What troubles you, Arabella? Why do you say such a thing?” the younger cousin asked.

  “Oh, Elise, try and understand. Reland is a fine and noble man . . . even a handsome man . . .”

  Elise was sensitive to her cousin’s uncertainty and understood only too well the troubling disquiet Reland could rouse in a young bride’s breast. Indeed, if the roles were reversed and she were the one to wed the Earl, she would have vented a thousand grievances by now.

  “I am beset with a cruel curse,” Arabella continued in a muted tone. She paused on a step and leaned her head listlessly against the stone wall, not caring how she crushed the jeweled attifet that adorned her meticulously dressed hair. “Heretofore every man who has vied for my hand has been torn from my side by some cruel tragedy. Where now are those who once pledged their troth to me? All fallen to some awful fate, I vow. Each plucked from my side by death or some great catastrophe. I thought it mere coincidence when the first two succumbed to some unnamed malady, then the third’s life was snuffed out when thieves attacked him on the streets. ‘Twas not three years ago during Eastertide the earth jerked and heaved until stones tumbled down upon our heads from a church and killed my poor William. Hardly a week betrothed, and so quickly he was taken. The fifth suitor was abducted by miscreants, and I’ll warrant we’ll find his bones someday. And then, the sixth . . .”

  Delicately sweeping brows came together in querying bemusement as Elise heard the other’s wistful sigh. Softly she questioned, “Was that not the Marquess of Bradbury?”

  Arabella nodded slowly. “Yea . . . Maxim . . . he was the sixth.”

  Elise dropped a slender hand on her cousin’s sleeve as she gently argued, “Surely you cannot mourn a murderous traitor.”

  Without answering Arabella continued her ascent and, moving down the hall, passed through her chamber doors. She crossed the anteroom and went to stand before the fireplace in the bedchamber, there pulling the veiled cap from her head and tossing it carelessly aside. “Yea, ‘tis true. The Marquess’s offenses were worse than the others. Accused of murder and conspiracy with Mary Stuart against the Queen, he deserved to be hunted down and slain. He could not have done more to win my hatred.”

  Not knowing what to reply, Elise glanced about at the spacious bedchamber and its rich appointments and wondered what had possessed the man who bad once lived here within the confines of these chambers to form such unhealthy allegiances. What had turned him against the Queen . . . that same Queen who had fondly compared him to that other Seymour she had known in her youth? Thomas Seymour had won her affection; had Maxim Seymour deserved her hatred?

  “Surely you are not cursed as you suppose, Arabella,” Elise consoled. “Rather, ‘twould seem you’ve been fortunate to escape marriage with those who were less worthy.”

  “How can I make you understand, dear child? You are so young, and I have grown so tired and . . . so old . . .”

  “Old?” Elise repeated in amazement. “At five and twenty? Nay, you are still young, Arabella, and you have your life ahead of you. This is your wedding night . . . and you must prepare yourself for your husband . . .”

  Elise saw the tears well up in the silver-gray eyes. The agony was visible in the wan smile, but there was no ease for it, nothing either of them could do.

  “I must have some time alone,” Arabella whispered in sudden desperation. “Delay the wedding party until I send a servant to beckon them.”

  “Your father asked me to attend you,” Elise murmured softly. “What would you have me say to him?”

  Arabella looked into the worried countenance of her cousin and hastened to reassure her. “Beg him to let me have a few moments alone so I can better prepare myself for Rebind. Only a little time . . . just until I have calmed myself. Then you may return and assist me.”

  “Reland has a fair look about him.” Elise offered the comment with the hope that she could bolster her cousin’s spirits. “You’ll no doubt be the envy of many a maid.”

  Arabella responded distantly, “Not as handsome as some I’ve known.”

  A small, fleeting frown chased across Elise’s brow. “Do you yearn after a dead man, Arabella?”

  The gray eyes stared back in mild curiosity. “A dead man? Whomever do you mean, Elise?”

  “The Marquess of Bradbury, of course,” the girl stated. “Does he still trouble you?”

  “Oh, truly there was a man to stir a maiden’s heart.” Arabella touched a hanging drapery absently and caressed the velvet as if in fond recall. “Quite dashing and handsome. Always a gentleman, always . . .” She snatched herself from her reverie. “But enough of this! I must be alone.” Laying her hands upon her cousin’s shoulders, she turned Elise about to face the door and, at her uncertain resistance, avowed, “I only seek some time to myself before my husband comes. ‘Tis all I ask.”

  “I shall inform your father,” Elise acquiesced and reluctantly made her departure. As she closed the door gently behind her, she wondered how she might approach Edward without first defeating her purpose. If she could somehow catch his eye without drawing the notice of the other men and then speak with him in private, he might prove more tractable, but if an audience of boisterous merrymakers were gathered around him, his pride would have to be dealt with more subtly.

  The stairs were of stone and turned sharply with each short flight around an ornately carved newel. Her passage set the candle flames wavering in the wall sconces, and a multiplicity of shadows leapt and danced ahead of her until she was fairly dizzy with the shifting light and her ever-
turning progress. Though she hurried, she concentrated carefully on the stairs lest her silken slippers miss a step and bring about a faster but infinitely more painful descent.

  From below the music of tambourines, celtic harps, and lutes blended with the louder, uproarious laughter and crude, boisterous shouts of the guests, mantling the ascending approach of another on the stairs until it was too late. The man’s haste was more agile than her own, and at the very last moment they both glanced up and tried to swerve, only to step in the same direction and collide. Careening off the solid, unyielding chest, Elise staggered precariously on the edge of a step. A small cry escaped her as she seemed destined to plunge headfirst down the stairs, then an arm as hard as an oaken limb came around her. For a scant moment Elise leaned in relief against the stalwart body, then long fingers encircled her slender waist, and she was lifted to a safe stance upon a higher step. She opened eyes she had not been aware she had closed and, in sudden realization, flung them wide as she recognized the rough tunic of the servant, Taylor. The hood had slipped from his head, and what she viewed was not the sort of face she had expected to see beneath the cowl. This was not some scarred and hideous beast she stared at, but a strikingly handsome man with pale-streaked tawny hair and aristocratic features half-masked by a shaggy beard.

  A slight frown of concern marred the man’s brow as he questioned in the same heavy tones, “Be ye well, mistress?”

  Elise nodded hesitantly as she tried to sort through a moment of confusion, and then his hands left her waist and he was moving further up the stairs. Her head cleared with a snap. “Here! What are you about? What business have you in the upper chambers?”

  The man halted on a step and pivoted about with deliberate slowness, allowing the shifting light of a nearby torch to illumine his features. The green eyes seemed to bore through her, and the gaze was so bold and froward that for a brief moment Elise held her breath, frozen by those steely orbs.