So Worthy My Love

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  The captain held up a hand to delay his friend. “Then vhile I have yu disposed as my guest”—he swallowed a bite of duckling and washed it down with a glass of wine—“I beg yu one more favor. Vhen yu see the maid, Elise, vill yu inform her of my intent to call upon her this Friday next? About the noon hour I vould expect. I shall of course bring a light repast vith me. I’ve heard the food there is somevhat lacking.”

  Maxim laughed and, rising to his feet, clapped Von Reijn on the shoulder. “ ‘Tis your own shattered hopes you will bear, I fear, but I shall risk my welfare and bid the girl to be prepared for your visit.” He reached into his purse and pulled out the leather pouch of coins. “I shall settle my debt with you as one would a dying friend. You may not survive the trauma.”

  Nicholas returned a pained frown to him. “Yu do not allow me to gain much interest on yur debts, Maxim. Now I vill have to invest the monies elsevhere to fetch the amount of coin I guaranteed.”

  “I see no difficulty,” Maxim replied, counting out the money. “You will now have more money to invest elsewhere.”

  The Hansa captain heaved a sigh. “Nay, no difficulty. I can easily sell a portion of my investment in another captain’s voyage. It vould no doubt bring a better return, but I rather think it vill not bring as much delight.”

  “Delight?” Maxim queried, giving his friend a curious look. “Who is it that invests in my venture?”

  “Give no heed to my ramblings, my friend,” Nicholas bade with a chuckle. “Just remember me to the maid.”

  When Maxim returned to Faulder Castle that evening, the hour was close to midnight and all was silent and still, save for the low, rumbling snores of his minions who slept soundly on their pallets near the hearth. He quietly barred the repaired door behind him and made his way stealthily up the stairs. Before ascending to the third story, he moved quietly from the stairs and went to stand beside the maid’s door, there to listen for a long moment. He could not hear even the faintest breath of a whisper or movement. Curiously he reached out to test the door and found it firmly barred from within. He nodded thoughtfully. It was as he had surmised; the wench would be ever cautious of her safety while he was about.

  Continuing his ascent to his own chambers, he found there the welcoming warmth of a well- banked fire awaiting him A goodly supply of wood had been laid up for him on the hearth, and a small kettle had been brought to warm the water now filling a nearby bucket His gaze lifted, and to his surprise he found that his men had effected a repair to the roof through the use of a stable door secured in place to cover the hole. Even as he looked, bight flurries drifting down through the firelight indicated they had not been altogether successful. Beside the hearth the wet furs had been laid out to dry, and upon his bed a fresh pallet temporarily stuffed with straw had replaced the sodden one. This brought to mind his need for security, and after spreading his cloak and doublet before the fire, he inspected what his men had done toward that end. Huge brackets had been placed on the inside of the frame, and a beam hewn down to size was propped nearby. With a rueful grin, he dropped the bar in place and slipped wedges behind it to tighten it. It would take a series of mighty blows to break it down, and he could now consider himself safe from the antics of that slender young maid.

  Satisfied as to his safety, Maxim pulled a bench close to the flames and slowly worked the sodden boots from his feet, placing them where the warmth of the hearth would slowly dry them. The addition of a few logs soon had a cheery blaze crackling, and he strode about the chambers, loosening the ruff of his shirt. He was still restless to a fault, and he investigated the privy and dressing room, noting that his men had brought up his chests and made use of the pegs on the walls, but he found nothing there to occupy his roaming mind.

  Returning to stand near the fireplace, he reached out a hand to brace against the wall and was amazed when a portion of the wooden paneling gave beneath his weight. The area was cast in deep shadows behind a jutting corner of the stonework that formed the chimney and hearth, but tracing his fingers downward, he explored a joint and found a small latch cleverly wrought of iron hidden beneath a raised portion of wood. Lifting the same, he pressed until the whole panel moved inward, opening onto a small, dark room. Seizing a stout candle, he lit it from the fire, then returned to the panel, pushed it wide, and stepped within. Lifting his tiny torch high, he saw that he was in a narrow space tucked between the back of the fireplace and another wall. The cubicle tapered to an end not far above his head, and no more than a pace away from him, a steep narrow stairway curved downward. He felt for the dagger he wore at his side and, confident with the presence of the weapon, eased his curiosity by following the passage downward. The stairs were sturdy and firm, and his stockinged feet made no whisper of sound. He had gone the distance of a full floor when the stairs ended abruptly in a short passageway. There, warm stone on his right jutted up against the boards of a wall where a single door offered the only exit.

  Maxim found a small latch securing it, much like the one above. He tugged, and the door gave beneath a light touch. Though he had opened it no more than the breadth of a hand, he found himself much bemused, for he was standing at the threshold of the chamber belonging to his charge, one Elise Radborne.

  The fire on her hearth had burned bow, and the lady herself was sound asleep beneath several furs spread upon her bed. He pushed the door wide and, in his stocking feet, crossed the room with noiseless tread. Lifting the candle high, he looked down upon her, feeling as if he had chanced upon a victory of sorts. Her long bashes lay like dark shadows on her fair cheeks, and her soft lips were slightly parted as she breathed long and slowly in deepest slumber. Her hair formed a dark, tumbled halo over the pillow, over which an arm rested in a flawless ivory curve above her head, leaving her shoulder and the higher, swelling curves of her bosom naked to his gaze. He allowed his gaze to linger on her face and the tempting fullness of her breasts, as one who had chosen to savor a special treat. She was more woman than child, to be sure.

  He leaned slightly closer to study her more carefully. In sleep the lass seemed harmless, indeed most innocent with her delicate features and creamy skin.

  “Perhaps Nicholas,” he mused, “has seen more of what I could not.”

  She possessed an uncommon beauty, certainly more vivid and lively than that of the translucent paleness of Arabella. Where that one evoked a vision of ivory and lace, this one seemed to exude the very essence of life. Both women, by their striking and stirring comeliness, were set well apart from others. Invariably they would be easily noted in any crowd.

  Maxim passed to the hearth where he carefully laid fresh logs on the coals, then silently withdrew, taking note that the latch on her side of the door had been removed. Seeing the adjustments, he entertained a glimmer of hope for his henchmen. When, several moments later, he closed the door of his chamber behind him, he found a small stick of firewood in the pile and, as a precaution, wedged it tightly against the latch to prevent the panel from being opened from the other side. On the morrow he would remove the barrier, for it was to his benefit to keep the passageway a secret, at least for the time being.

  He stoked his own fire, then arranged the furs on his bed, doffed the remainder of his clothes, and sought a warm spot to indulge his slumbers. A knowing smile curved his lips as his thoughts turned back to the vision he had just seen, and he drifted into the arms of Morpheus, no longer dreaming of Arabella.

  Chapter 10

  THE DAWNING SUN burst upon the land, sending long streamers of light shining across the vast empyrean. In the eastern sphere the morning sky was bathed in spectacular hues of magenta pinks and dulled to a dark grayish-blue on the western horizon. Puffy white clouds with gilded edges seemed to glow with a luminescence of their own as they drifted near the sun’s face. Against such splendor the dark silhouette of the hilltop dwelling stood out in bold relief, like some slowly decaying sentinel. Its dulling presence could easily serve as a reminder to the world that man’s attempts wer
e all too frail and fleeting against the contrast of more heavenly and eternal creations.

  Maxim opened a frosty panel of octagonal leaded glass to view the radiant panorama. He relished the zesty tingle as the crisp morning air caressed his naked body and washed the last dregs of sleep from him. He stretched his right arm upward, then winced slightly as the muscles twitched in his back, a frequent and painful reminder of his most recent wound.

  A chill breeze wafted over him, eliciting a shiver and prompting him to pull a woolen mantle around his shoulders. He leaned out, letting his gaze range far and free before bringing it inward to the courtyard and its tumbled structures. A bleak smile curved his lips as he surveyed his newly acquired domain. Nearby a week had passed since his confrontation with Hans Rubert, but he was by no means the richer for his purchase. To say that he had come down in the world was putting it mildly; by the Queen’s own decree he could lay no claim to his wealth or title. If ever he would be allowed to return to England as rightful lord of all he had once owned, he would first have to present evidence of his innocence to Elizabeth. Just how he might go about that involved more than merely setting his mind to the matter, for it did not promise to be a simple task.

  Maxim could hear the animals nickering for their morning grain and knew that Fitch and Spence were moving about in the stables. His gaze drifted elsewhere, moving along the path that led beyond the main gate. Piqued by a sudden curiosity, he dropped his eyes downward alongside the keep to the windows just below his. If the little vixen was up and about and bent on some chicanery, he saw no visible evidence. The lead-glass panels were tightly closed against the wintry chill, but even as he watched a window opened and the maid appeared with only a fur pelt wrapped about her and that hanging loose and low around her bosom. As she tossed a bucket of dirty water into the courtyard below, he was rewarded with a brief flash of creamy white and rosy-pink breasts, fully naked to his gaze.

  She lifted no slightest glance upward, but withdrew and closed the window again, ignorant of what she had given him. He rubbed his icy hands together, as much in glee as in need, and chuckled to himself, feeling a new vitality with which to meet the day. At least now, when he played the challenging hector, he need not think of her as a rude child in need of a thrashing, but could derive pleasure sparring with a wench who was both comely and curved.

  Whistling a frolicsome melody, he closed the window and placed a kettle of water to heat over the fire. He washed and carefully shaved the light stubble from his face, then garbed himself casually in suede trunk hose, dark stockings, and a fine white linen shirt. He donned a soft leather doublet over the latter piece and tugged on thigh-high boots, then stepped to the door.

  Quite cheery of mood, he left his chambers and made his way downstairs, noting as he passed the hallway near the girl’s chamber that her door was now standing ajar. A dull clank of copper kettles drew his notice to the hearth as he descended the last flight of stairs. There he found his charge attending the morning meal. He had for the last several days stayed away from her as much as he could, rising early to hunt or to roam his newly acquired lands and the surrounding territory. For the most part she had also kept her distance, remaining in her chambers or the other end of the hail when he was about. Thus, this morning, it was almost as if he was seeing her afresh and with clearer vision. She was without a doubt a most comely maid, and even clothed in the rough woolen gown, she would have done much to shame women in far richer garb. A thin strip of frayed cloth gathered her hair in a Grecian style on top of her head, leaving the softly curling length falling in freedom past her shoulders. Such a display of rich auburn tresses could fuse a thousand impressions into a single thought in a man’s mind, and that was how she might look robed only in the glory of her hair. For a moment his mind paused as he regarded the treasure he had recently viewed from his window. Once, in Florence, he had chanced to see Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. He had admired the artist’s talent in creating his subject, but now the memory of that lifeless goddess was brought to vivid life by this more refined and exquisite example of womanhood.

  “ ‘Tis pleasing to see you have taken my advice and applied yourself to some meaningful duty,” he needled. “I was sure you could if you would only put your mind to it.”

  Elise faced him, and her eyes sparked with well-fired irritation. The desire was in her to tell him how hard she had worked to clean this pile of stone, but if he was so blind and lamebrained not to see that his men needed a strong example and a firm guiding hand, then she would let him stew in his own stupidity.

  Dropping hands to slender hips in a petulant stance, Elise gave as good as she got. “What ho! The good master of the house has at last deemed to grace us with his presence this morning. Did you sleep overlong, my lord? I swear I saw the rising of the sun some hours ago.”

  “Perhaps one, if that,” Maxim replied pleasantly.

  “Well and good! And here be a feast for you, all prepared to meet your royal favor.” She stepped to the kettle, slopped porridge into a bowl, and dropped the wooden piece with a dull thud on the table before his chair. She smiled tightly. “Your pleasure, my lord.”

  “You are most kind, maid,” he countered with a shallow bow. “And indeed, most fair to look upon. I swear, if the ladies at court were to espy your raiment, they would rush out en masse to the clothiers. Your gown fair bedazzles the eye.”

  His light mockery touched off a fuse of indignation within Elise. “Aye, they should! As witness to the generosity of my lord.” She swept a slender hand to indicate his long form as he lowered himself into the chair. “Look how he denies himself that others may enjoy his wealth and protection. Why, his clothes must be worth no more than . . .” A long, heavy knife cleaved the air and chopped off a chunk of bread from the loaf that lay on a wooden tray near his arm, drawing a surprised start from him. Maxim turned an incredulous stare upon her, certain he would have lost, a finger had he been a hairbreadth closer. Elise smiled with half-lidded eyes that boldly locked with his until, heaving a casual shrug, she finished, “ . . . a few gold sovereigns, at least.”

  Maxim snorted and ignored her for a moment as he tasted his morning fare, then he glanced at her again, curling his lip in repugnance. “Your talents as a cook are indeed lacking, maid,” he berated. “Perhaps a bit of salt will help.”

  “Certainly, my lord.” Elise took the bowl from him and faced the hearth. When she stepped back to the table again, she placed the wooden piece carefully in front of him. “Is this more to your liking?”

  Maxim caught a tantalizing scent of freshly washed woman as she leaned close, and his eye, drawn to her bosom, saw where the gown gapped away from her to tease him with a brief, but tempting, view of porcelain-perfect skin. The effect of sight and smell was rather disruptive, and he stirred in sudden discomfiture as his blood began to warm.

  Elise straightened and, in some surprise, saw that his eyes had followed her movement, as if reluctant to leave her cleavage. Her color heightened, and snidely she asked, “Considering a replacement for Arabella, my lord?”

  Maxim scoffed, not willing to give her any quarter. “ ‘Twould be an impossible task for you to accomplish, my girl, so you needn’t inflate your vanity overmuch.” Smug with his answer, he lifted a spoonful of porridge to his mouth and sampled the portion, then grimaced in sharp distaste and quickly gulped a long draught of water from his cup.

  “Is that enough salt, my lord?” Elise questioned in overstated sweetness. Indeed, sweetness was not what she was feeling toward him at the moment. She was rather regretful that she had not whacked off his finger along with the bread and then rubbed salt in the wound.

  Glaring at her, Maxim came out of his chair and, snatching up the bowl, dumped the contents into the fire where it fell upon a log and hissed and bubbled in an obnoxious white glob until it began to char and smoke. He ladled another portion from the kettle, added a tiny pinch of salt, and returned to his chair.

  Elise felt the weight of his steely stare
and turned aside as he began to eat. Seemingly quite innocent she began to putter about the hearth, straightening this and washing that. Taking up a broom, she busied herself with sweeping the floor, and for a moment she worked diligently, picking up stools and setting them aside as she brushed beneath them. A frenzy seemed to seize her, as if she became completely engrossed in her labors. At first, the dust rose in small puffs before the broom, but the faster and harder she swung the thing, the higher and wider the dirty cloud became. A billowing, dusty haze soon roiled up around her, becoming more pronounced until it engulfed the table. The Marquess choked suddenly and brought the flat of his hands down hard upon the plank. His bellow of rage nearly shook the rafters.

  “Cease, witch!”

  Elise obeyed, but directed her gaze over her shoulder and bestowed upon him a look of cool contempt. “Does my lord find displeasure in my work?”

  Maxim coughed, waving his hand before his face in an effort to clear the air of dust, and stabbed his finger toward the opposite end of the table. “Sit yourself down, wench!”

  “Witch? Wench? Witch?” Her slender nose lifted primly, while her eyelids lowered to partially mask the deep blue orbs that stared at him in aloof disdain. Her eyebrow jutted upward in a piqued quirk. “My lord, you speak to me?”

  “Aye!” Maxim barked. “And all like you, be they bitch, witch, wench, or lady!” He spread his hands and glanced upward with an impatient supplication, a gesture Elise would not let pass without comment.

  “No good to look there for help, my lord. I declare your copemate is in the nether direction just waiting to roast your foul carcass.”

  Maxim peered at her with a jaundiced eye, then slowly shook his tawny head as if sorely grieved. “I told Nicholas, but he would not listen.”

  “Nicholas?” Elise’s curiosity perked.

  “Aye, Nicholas.” Maxim nodded. “He asked if he could pay court to you.”