Maxim Seymour paused and cocked his head slightly as he heard the soft chirp. His nod was more mental than noticeable. He looked into Edward’s gleaming, sweating face and murmured with a sardonic smile, “You have a reprieve from the wolf, weasel I now have what I came for, and for that you shall pay dearly.”
Maxim leapt away and cast a quick glance about the hall. Hardly a score of men were capable of pursuit, but some of them would prove reluctant. Those who were loyal to Edward rallied together at his shout.
“He’s escapin’! Don’t let him get away! He’s a traitor ta the Queen!”
Maxim tore a velvet drapery from a window and, swirling it about, flung it into the faces of those who followed, then as they struggled to disentangle themselves, he caught the edge of a long table and overturned it upon the squirming mass. He leapt to the top of another plank and, from there, sent platters of food and flagons of wine sailing down upon them. He seemed in gay spirits as he ran to the doorway and there paused to salute Edward with his sword.
“ ‘Tis time I bid you adieu, Squire. I trust the lot of you will not sorrow greatly over my departure.”
His arm whipped upward, and the sword sailed high to bury its point in a timber of the vaulted ceiling, there to quiver in fading throes. “Farewell, Squire,” he bade with a sweeping bow. “I leave a memento to remind you that I shall return. Gird your loins against that day, or flee and hope I cannot find you.”
Edward lifted his eyes and seemed entranced by the glimmer of light sent abroad by the trembling blade. Slowly the movement died, and when he glanced about him, Edward realized his foe had departed.
“After him!” he shouted, and glared about him when there was no immediate response to his command. “Would ye have the Queen think we’re all cowards ’cause o’ one man? She’ll have our heads if we make no attempt ta stop him.”
The heavy table was laboriously cast aside, and the men, incongruously bedecked with varied sauces or coyly perched carcasses of roasted blackbird, struggled against each other to get to their feet. In priggish distaste they flung aside the sticky gobs and stumbled after Edward as he charged through the portal.
When they stepped outside, a rattle of hooves drew their attention to the lane in front of the manse. Beneath a canopy of winter-bare limbs that swept upward from the trees growing alongside the road, they could see the dark figure of a man on the back of the black Friesian stallion.
Edward cursed aloud as he watched the rapidly departing pair, then he turned to shout to those who stood around him, “Ta horse! Ta horse! We can’t let him escape!”
Chapter 3
THE SUFFOCATING CONFINEMENT of her cloth cocoon and the weight of the two men pressing the straw bundles down upon her created a hellish torment for Elise. The cord-bound drapery restricted her movements and held her arms pinned to her sides, but her mind ranged far afield, conjuring a multitude of evil deeds which might be done to her. The unknown dragged out her apprehensions until the low rumble of the wooden wheels rolling over the rutted lane seemed but a distant echo of her wildly thumping heart. Had she been the least bit prone to having fits of unbridled panic, she might have yielded to an upsurging compulsion to writhe and struggle against her bonds, but fear of what these brutish ruffians might do persuaded her to keep still and hold her peace, at least for the time being. It was little more than idiocy to provoke them while she was so vulnerable.
Her ankle and her hip were pressed down hard against the boards beneath her where the mound of straw had thinned and offered little padding. With each jolt of the cart Elise suffered a twinge of pain in both areas. It was easy to surmise that even after a short journey she would be left bruised and aching. Persistently and by slow degrees she managed to wedge a hand beneath her to cushion her hip and discovered there an opening in the fold of the drape.
Concentrating all her efforts, she wiggled her hand through and began to search the silken cord for the knot that held everything secure, then a distant drumming made her pause. She strained to listen until the sound grew more distinct, and her spirits soared as she recognized the pounding hoofbeats of a swiftly approaching steed. Someone was coming after them! Surely she would be rescued!
Her heart took up a hopeful beat, and she hardly dared to breathe as she waited for the rider to overtake them, but alas, her expectations were cruelly dashed when a sharp jolt bespoke of the cart’s departure from the path. The rough conveyance jounced and lurched beneath her and, after several more heaving gyrations, finally came to a halt. The racing hooves clattered past, and a brief moment later another movement jiggled her crude bed as one of the men scrambled down, then everything grew still and quiet around them until the sounds of the night came stealing back. In the waiting hush a growing rumble arose in the distance. This time it became distinguishable as the thunderous advance of a dozen or more horses on the road. The din of the ride was liberally fused with loud shouts and questions, most of which were unintelligible to her constrained ear, but amid the windswept jargon she recognized her uncle’s loud bellow.
“Ride hard, lads! We’ll run that black-hearted son o’ Satan ta earth an’ stretch his neck for certain this time! He’ll not escape us!”
Elise struggled to alert the horsemen to her presence, but the sudden thump of a foot on a straw bundle above her head warned her to be still. Warm tears of frustration coursed down her cheeks as the noise of the chase faded and silence once more regained its hold. In their haste to catch the fleeing rider, they had not even considered there was one nearby in desperate need of rescue.
Cautiously the driver took to the road again, and he plodded along for what seemed an eternity to Elise. To be sure, the monotony of their passage became well-established. Her fingers had discovered no binding knot that could be plucked free, and though she wiggled around in a continuous effort to secure the ever-evasive comfort of her crowded straw bed, the jolting of the wheels rolling over stones and into holes made the ride almost unbearable. She grew more weary and numb with each furlong they traversed, and she was certain no other rack of torture could compare to the one she had been set upon.
As the journey dragged on, doubts began to corrode her mettlesome spirit. Her mind, seeking random surcease from her distress, began to drift, and she tried to find some reasonable cause for her abduction. Why had these strangers taken her? What was their intent, and who was the lone rider on the road? The image of Maxim Seymour grew strong and tall amid the jumbled impressions that rushed at her. Surely he was the one who had passed them on the road, as affirmed by her uncle and the small band of wedding guests giving chase behind him. They would have gone after no other. But she could not even imagine what auspicious end her capture would serve such a man. Had he been of such a mind to take her prisoner, he would have surely forbade her departure from the hall. Instead, he had dismissed her with barely a glance, not caring that she was fleeing. Nay, ‘twas not that traitorous renegade who wanted her. There were others who had more reason to see her taken. Cassandra and her whelps, for instance. Or the high Earl Reland bent on mischief and revenge.
The possibility that these men were working for people bearing the same surname as her own lent Elise no amount of confidence. If she became the prisoner of her aunt and cousins again, she would be hard-pressed to continue her defiance for any length of time. Cassandra would see to that. The woman would not waste time going over ground she had already covered. She would come swiftly to the point.
Elise had overheard many whispered comments about the vindictiveness of her aunt during her childhood years, mostly from servants who had disapproved of the woman. According to gossip, the widow, Cassandra, had been in love with Ramsey Radborne even while his brother, Bardolf, was still alive. Cassandra had abhorred the beautiful, auburn-haired woman Ramsey had married, and had insisted that Deirdre was naught but a nameless wench whom he had taken pity on, much like the Stamfords who had found her as a babe. The fire flamed higher beneath the cauldron of jealousy and hatred when the young w
ife gave birth to a daughter, and in spiteful venom Cassandra had refused to acknowledge the girl as kin, suggesting as boldly as she dared that Elise was not a Radborne at all but the leavings of some wandering bard, just as her mother had been. Then came that sad day when Deirdre succumbed to some strange malady during the latter stages of a second pregnancy. Ramsey had grieved deeply over the loss of his wife, but much to the vexation of his sister-in-law, he had turned his attention to his young daughter.
The years had passed, and the increasingly questionable state of Cassandra’s financial affairs began to concern Ramsey, for he knew the limitations of his daughter’s future if he died without securing his wealth and estates for her. Cassandra’s greed was such that if no precautions were taken he could easily foresee Elise being stripped of her inheritance and then being thrown upon the doubtful mercy of the world. To prevent this injustice Ramsey established accounts for her with bankers who were close friends of the family. It was further rumored that in more recent months he began to dispose of his possessions and took to traveling to and from the Stilliards on strange missions, causing rampant curiosity among the Radbornes who fretted over the removal of several large coffers from his manor during the night hours Cassandra and her three younger sons gained this information by the torture of one of Ramsey’s servants, and therefore, in their opinion, it was undeniably true.
Elise grimaced as the cart lurched around a bend, causing her heel to painfully scrape across the rough boards. She could expect no better treatment from her kin. Indeed, the Radbornes could be quite ruthless when it served their purpose. Despite all the murmured accusations and tales of vile deeds that her aunt was supposed to have done, Elise had still been amazed by the woman’s unquenchable avarice. After Ramsey’s kidnapping Cassandra and her sons took charge of the Radborne manor, not with the purpose of giving comfort to his daughter by any means, but to insist that he was dead, that the estates and the hidden fortune could not be inherited by a female offspring without due consent of the Queen and that everything was therefore the rightful property of the sons of Bardolf Radborne as part of their birthright. Elise refused to yield anything to her aunt, which only served to infuriate the woman, who took out her spite in harsh measures. Nor did Cassandra take it kindly when Quentin interfered and spirited Elise away to his country estate. She was even more incensed when the girl made good an escape on her own, much to the embarrassment of Forsworth.
Now here she was again, Ehse thought morosely, being swept away in a cart to some strange destination by men she had never seen before. No good would come of it, she was certain of that. So certain that she was seized with a paralyzing fear when the driver halted the small wain. She was relieved of a burdensome weight when the two men climbed down, but she could not count her blessings, for any moment she might find herself facing a greater hazard.
One of the men spoke in muted tones to the driver while the other took away the straw bundles and lifted her down. The drapery and gag were removed, and Elise was provided her first look at her abductors by way of a weak light cast from a tallow lantern. The last few months had brought a full share of scoundrels to her attention, from the meticulously well-garbed and seemingly ever-youthful Cassandra and her handsome sons to the low, base, filthy, evil-hearted thieves of Alsatia. To her surprise, these men did not appear unduly dreadful. Spence was tall, lean but strong-built, with light brown hair and kindly gray eyes, while Fitch was shorter, rounder, and somewhat pear-shaped with unruly hair and a merry twinkle in his blue eyes. Neither looked capable of doing the evil deed which they were about.
Elise recognized the driver as one who worked in the stable at Bradbury, but she promised herself that if she ever returned to that place, she would make sure that his part in this kidnapping was made known. Now she had to watch in dismay as he clucked to the nag, urging the animal back the way they had come.
Glancing about her, Elise realized she had been brought to the edge of a river. She saw no boat or waiting conveyance or mounts by which they might leave the place, and as illogical as the idea seemed, she began to wonder if she would leave the place alive. If not for the purpose of murder, then she had to believe the two men had brought her to this place for their own sordid pleasures. A cold, agonizing dread congealed within her and left her heart thudding heavily against the inner walls of her chest, but she settled the matter firmly in her mind that if there was naught else to do, she would at least give these knaves a fight worthy of her strength. She had been well-tutored at an early age and in a most unladylike fashion by a scullery maid’s son on the necessity of defending oneself, and though she had not the body of a brawler, she had the temperament and determination that could equal the brawn of a much larger foe.
The men’s countenances quickly changed to those of brute savages as her imagination ran rampant. A thousand disparaging titles came to her tongue, but she dared not waste the advantage of surprise. She noticed a broken branch lodged in the crotch of a nearby tree and surreptitiously stepped back until she could grasp hold of the end of it. As Fitch came near, she swung it over her head with all her might, landing a painful blow against the side of his noggin. With a loud yelp the man stumbled back into his startled companion, but Elise never paused. Catching up her velvet skirts, she made a frantic dash into the nearby copse. The pair shouted as they recovered their wits. Spence seized a lantern and the two gave chase, but the night was dark as ebon, and her black gown gave Elise the advantage. While the lantern Spence carried illumined the two in a dim circle of light and showed them the path close at hand, its dull glow failed to reach the deeper shadows wherein Elise moved. She raced far ahead of the two who thrashed about in confused discord, her thin slippers making no sound on the damp, thick mulch of decaying leaves while the small heels secured her footing. Like a small, furtive sprite, she sprinted through the trees, now and then flinging a glance over her shoulder, and was encouraged by the slower progress of the men. Her heart thumped with the excitement of the chase, for it seemed her escape was well within her grasp.
Alas, it was not so easily gained. When she passed a narrow glade, Elise found her way barred by an impenetrable thicket. Anxiously she searched the dense growth for an opening that might allow her to slip through, only to be halted at every turn. However, after the many trials she had faced of late, Elise was not ready to accept this barrier as defeat, not when she was aware of what might await her if she did not escape.
Choosing a stealthful retreat, Elise slipped across the clearing again and entered the trees where the darkness befriended her. As the lantern-lit circle in which the men moved drew nearer, she stepped back, merging with the deeper shades of night. Though her heart threatened to give her away with its riotous thumping, she stood motionless, afraid even to breathe.
Oblivious to her proximity, the men charged forward until their progress was also halted by the brambles. Separating there, they raced in opposite directions, seeking a way around the spinney while Elise carefully left the dark void wherein she had hidden herself. Gathering her skirts, she fled back toward the spot where she had first entered the woods. Her feet fairly flew over the leaf-strewn bower, and once again she anticipated her freedom. Then suddenly her world was jolted as her slippered toe caught on a lowgrowing vine. A startled cry escaped her as she sprawled forward to the ground, and before the fog dissipated from her head, Fitch and Spence had regrouped and were racing back in high-kneed form. Elise groaned in misery, but it had naught to do with the slight discomfort in her ankle. Rather, it was the inevitability of her capture which prompted her to vocally vent her disappointment.
“Unhand me!” Elise cried angrily as the two sought to lift her to her feet. Surprisingly they obeyed her command and stumbled back to await her pleasure. Beneath the light of the lantern, she plucked dead leaves and small twigs from her hair and primly brushed her velvet gown. Satisfied that she had done what she could to repair her appearance and thereby test the patience of the men, she raised a hand to Spence.
“ ‘Tis dreadful sorry I be, mistress,” Spence rushed to apologize. Once again he bent to lift her up into his arms, this time using more care.
Elise was confused by his apparent show of concern, but she had no doubt that she would learn more of their game as time progressed . . . if she lived that long. “I should like to know what you intend,” she demanded. “Why have I been kidnapped?” Though he gave no answer, she pressed him further, anxious to gain what information she could. “Were you hired by the Radbornes? Did they promise you a purse to bring me back?”
Spence looked somewhat perplexed and slowly shook his head as he replied, “Nay, mistress. We’ve no ken o’ the Radbornes.”
Elise found no comfort in his statement. It was a simple enough matter for her aunt and cousins to make use of other names when hiring their accomplices. Of late, she had taken to tying a pouch of coins beneath her farthingale to ensure the presence of some bargaining power if circumstances warranted it. The present time seemed appropriate, but rather than letting them know she carried it on her person, she would let the pair think their reward awaited them at her uncle’s house. “I can promise you a worthy purse for your trouble if you’ll take me back to Brad-bury Hall. I vow ‘twould be more than what you can expect from the ones who’ve set you to this mischief. Oh, please . . . you must take me back. I’ll pay you well.”
So Worthy My Love Page 6