So Worthy My Love

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Elise nodded and lifted her head to stare into the shadowed green eyes for a long, perplexed moment. Without comment, Maxim nudged Eddy closer to the stoop. Fitch, chagrined and eager to redeem himself, rushed to lend Elise assistance, apologizing anxiously for the trouble he had caused. Her slippered toe touched the step, and Maxim’s arm slid free of her waist as she stood to her feet. He held the stallion to his place and waited until she raised her gaze to his. In the flickering pool of yellow torchlight their eyes met and locked for a long, quiet moment, then his voice seemed to reach out and caress her. “You will grace my dreams tonight, fair maid. Rest assured.”

  Elise’s confusion deepened and, not knowing what to reply, fled quickly into the great room. Her feet flew on the stairs, and she burst into her chambers with naught but one thing on her mind. The burrs! If ever she regretted an act, then surely it was this thing that she had done to his bed. How would she face him again once he had suffered in her trap? It would have been better had he not been so generous with her. A ride home on the back of that unworthy white nag would have strengthened her desire to see him punished.

  Carefully Elise laid the bar across her door, securing the room from any possible invasion. Dragging off her cloak, she paced back and forth in front of the hearth, fretting over what might happen in the lord’s chambers. It seemed an eternity before she heard the distant creak of the balustrade and the scrape of a booted foot on the stairs. It would only be a matter of time now before she would hear Maxim’s enraged snarl and possibly the pounding of his fist upon her door. She waited in tense silence, listening to the sounds of the keep. Her fingers were icy cold, and a persistent chill made her shiver. Though she added more wood to the fire, she could find little warmth that would ease her trembling. Time dragged by, and she began to slowly undress. Chill-bumps rose along her flesh as she slid naked beneath the furs, and for a long time she stared at the ceiling, waiting and wondering why she had not yet heard a movement or thunderous outcry from the loftier chambers.

  Maxim had slipped off his boots and, in a restless mood, paced the corridor of the upper hall, glancing now and then through the arrow slits into the darkness beyond. He had no desire for sleep. His thoughts ranged like hunting birds of the night and could find no place to roost though they wandered far afield. From every corner of his mind he was assaulted by visions of Nicholas and Elise together. Perhaps he should stand aside, he told himself, and let Von Reijn carry out his courtship unhindered. Had he not expressed his own lack of interest in the girl and given taciturn approval to the swain? Yet with each passing hour he was aware of a growing reluctance to see her wooed by another man. He found it rather bewildering that he was overtaken by a burgeoning urge to reserve that right for himself alone.

  Frowning in discontent, Maxim braced a hand against the stone wall and peered through the long, narrow opening of an arrow slit. A cloudy haze, pushed by a rising wind, drifted across the face of the moon, dulling the sky to a blackness bereft of stars. He found no ease in the shades of night for his pensiveness and once again took up his aimless strolling. He was as one caught on the twin horns of a wild dilemma. He could not tolerate the idea of his best friend paying court to Elise. Neither could he justify his own approach as a suitor. He knew that in her mind he was her abductor and chief traducer, the villain in her life. The situation as cast by fate had to be endured until some unforeseen happening would free him of the onerous task.

  Nay! Maxim paused in reflection, considering his own part in her abduction. ‘Twas not an event cast by the winds of fortune! He had devised the plan himself and lent it the credence of a fool, allowing it to be executed in error and to be finished in mutual frustration.

  The moon continued its flight across the ebon sky, heedless of his conflict, and gave no notice when he made his way to his chambers. There was only the whisper of his footsteps in the silence of the empty hall. The fire had all but gone out on the hearth when he entered his chambers, and he took a moment to heap kindling and fresh logs upon the glowing coals before he began to undress. Garbed only in close-fitting hose, he stood before the warming fire with legs spraddled apart, as if he braced against the rolling heave of a quarterdeck. His thoughts took up the chase again as he lifted his gaze toward the paneled wall wherein was hidden the secret door. A vision of his charge lying asleep in her bed came back to him in meticulous recall. She would be lost now in the depths of slumber with her hair flowing over the pillow and her silken lashes resting upon the pale skin. It was a sight a man could hold dear.

  Moving to the bed, Maxim braced a hand high upon the carved wooden canopy as his mind roamed boldly to sights he had never seen. Whenever the woolen gown had clung to her form, he had been most attentive, and now-remembered glimpses came together to form a mental image of her lying undraped upon his bed. Her slender body was soft and womanly, her breasts temptingly round and pale-hued, and the long legs trim and sleek.

  Shaking his head to thrust away the disturbing thoughts, he took several deep, slow breaths to cool his warming ardor. He rubbed a hand over his bare ribs and glanced about him, half-expecting to see her in the dark shadows of his chamber. Deliberately he turned his thoughts away and prepared his bed, flipping back the top sheet with the furs. He sat on its edge, determined to put her from his mind long enough to allow sleep to come upon him, but he knew it would be a difficult task. She was like a sweet intoxicant that coursed through his senses, awakening his very soul.

  Maxim heaved a frustrated sigh and fell back upon the bed with arms upraised. Of a sudden his eyes widened as a thousand needle-sharp pricks cleared his mind, and he came out of bed as swiftly as he had fallen upon it. Turning in confusion, he whipped back the bottom sheet and swept his hand over the feather tick, frowning as some of the barbs stuck to his palm. He held his hand up where the firelight could provide more illumination and picked a sticker from his flesh. Holding it between his fingers, he cocked an eye toward the door.

  “So! The little minx has not yet given up her games,” he mused aloud.

  A desire rose up within him to confront her with what she had done right then and there, but he paused and a smile slowly spread across his lips as he thought of a better way. Carefully he replaced the sheets and furs until the bed once again looked undisturbed. Taking a fur-lined cloak from the dressing room, he wrapped it about him and dragged the huge, high-backed chair to the edge of the hearth, where he settled within it. Leisurely he propped his feet up to the warmth. He could play the game as sharply as any fox and slumbering here in easy rest was tantamount to confounding the she-hound hot on his trail.

  Morning dawned, and Elise came awake with a start, realizing that somewhere during the night she had fallen asleep listening for the loud explosion of Maxim’s temper. Obviously he had not come downstairs to beat upon her door. So now what was she to do, and what should she expect of him? Was it even safe for her to leave her chambers?

  Clasping a fur about her naked body, she ran across to the hearth, poked at the coals with a rusty old sword she had found in the keep and then laid a handful of splintered wood upon them. Tucking the lower edge of the pelt beneath her, she knelt upon the stone and bent down to blow life into the dying embers. A thin trail of smoke curled upward from the heap, then a small flame appeared and fed with ravenous delight upon the dry kindling. She laid several dry logs upon the burning sticks, then sat back upon her heels and watched the hungry flames licking up in frenzied haste The warming fire took the chill from her, and she began to brush out her long hair until the silken tresses tumbled in loose curls around her bare shoulders. In her mmd she saw cold accusative green eyes staring into hers, and she slowly lowered her hands upon her lap to gaze in dismal dejection into the dancing flames. If only Maxim had not purchased the mare for her . . . if only he had not lifted her from the frightened steed and comforted her against him . . . if only he had not spoken to her so warmly at the front stoop perhaps she would not be so tormented now by what she had done.

&nb
sp; A persistent clapping of a shutter drew her to the windows, and she laid her brow against a pane of glass to stare out upon the wintry day. Gray clouds scudded across the eastern sky, chased by the howling wind that swirled through the courtyard like a venging wraith, slapping shutters and scouring the frozen earth of all debris. The skies promised a turbulent day, but the coming storm would be no worse than the one brewing between her and the master of the keep.

  Fitch came into view as he left the keep, and a sudden gust of wind took his hat and led him on a zigzagging chase across the compound. With a sigh Elise returned to the hearth, seeking the warmth that had not yet reached to the far corners of her chamber. She prepared herself for the day, donning her usual drab clothes, and dolefully went downstairs.

  Herr Dietrich glanced up with a jovial smile of greeting as she crossed to the hearth. “Guten Morgen, frau. Wie geht es Ihnen?”

  Elise returned a hesitant nod to his inquiry. What she knew of the Teutonic tongue was enough to fill a thimble. “Good morning, Herr Dietrich.”

  The cook bobbed his head in acknowledgment and continued plying a ladle to his various pots and kettles, eliciting savory odors that both tempted and tantalized. It had occurred to Elise that Herr Dietrich’s presence in the hall might offer the safest haven for her since he was loyal to Von Reijn, and for that reason Maxim might be wont to temper his arguments in front of the man. Reluctant to stray too far from that dubious comfort, she puttered around the table.

  The moments lagged in their passing, and her nerves tightened until they were as taut as the gutstrings of a harp. Elise waited for some indication from above that would warn her of Maxim’s approach, and started at every noise in the castle, sure that he was coming until the sound became distinguishable as something else. Finally she sank into a chair at the far end of the table where she would be well out of Maxim’s reach, and silently reviewed half a dozen possible replies to whatever accusations might be forthcoming when he joined her. One by one she dismissed them as inadequate. He would reject her attempts to placate him and dash her efforts beneath a stern rebuke.

  A shutter, flapping open with the force of the wind, brought her almost out of her chair, for it sounded like the slamming of a door. With repetition the noise betrayed itself. Folding her arms, Elise braced back into the corner of the large, tall-backed chair, steeling herself for that moment she dreaded. At last an upper door creaked and closed softly, then leisured footfalls were heard on the stairs making their descent. Elise closed her eyes as she listened. The sound was a portend of her approaching doom.

  Herr Dietrich did not notice her distress as he placed a small, steaming tankard of cider, spiced with rosemary and sugar, before her. Thankfully she clasped cold hands about the warm mug and gave a tentative smile up at the man, not knowing the words to convey her appreciation. Her look of gratitude was enough, and the man returned to his hearth, humming a rousing melody to himself

  “Good morning,” Maxim bade from the stairs, and when Elise glanced up, she found his smile warm and pleasant. Strangely his eyes were void of that steely-cold anger that could pierce her like the sharpest blade.

  “Good morning, my lord,” she replied, giving the usual odd twist to the title that made it more of a slur than a compliment. She regarded him warily over the top of her mug as he strode with purposeful stride across the hall. He halted beside her chair, and cautiously she set the cup on the table. Though she folded her hands primly in her lap, she was well-poised to flee should he threaten.

  “You look rested, Elise. Did you sleep well?” he questioned in gracious concern.

  “Aye, my lord. Very well, thank you,” she murmured. Casually he reached out and brushed a curl over her shoulder. Her heart gave a sudden double beat as his hand dropped upon her shoulder, and though it rested there with the lightest touch, it seemed to pin her inescapably in the chair. Carefully she asked the question that burned to be spoken. “And you, my lord? Did you sleep well?”

  Growing thoughtful, Maxim folded his arms across his chest and lifted his gaze to the rafters before he looked down at her again. “Well enough, I suppose, considering . . .”

  Elise steeled herself for his next words. It would not surprise her if he shouted them in her ear.

  “My mind was restless.” Maxim gave the excuse smoothly. “And I sought out a chair near the hearth. Alas, the late hour overtook me, and ‘twas there I spent the night.”

  Relief was hardly what Elise experienced when he stood so close. “Was there a reason for your restlessness, my lord?”

  Lifting a curl, Maxim bent forward to test the fragrance of it and murmured with a slowly widening grin, “I was thinking of you, fair maid, as I promised.”

  Her gaze swept upward abruptly to meet his, and she stared at him in astonishment, wondering what game he was playing. “Me, sir?”

  Dropping the silken tress, Maxim chuckled and moved to the opposite end of the table where he accepted a mug of cider from the cook. He settled in his chair and replied as he raised the cup to his lips, “I was worrying about what I would have to sell to pay for the clothes you purchased.”

  “Oh.” It was a very small word, spoken in a very small voice imbued with disappointment. Slowly Elise let out her breath and was surprised to realize she had been holding it at all. The possible cause astounded her. Had she truly believed he would express some softening of his feelings for her? “You need not trouble yourself overmuch, my lord.” Her reply, tainted with the slightest note of regret, was cool and aloof. “I have no further need of your coin for what I have purchased.”

  It was Maxim’s turn to be confounded. “How so?”

  “ ‘Tis simple enough.” Elise ffipped her hand in a curt, backward gesture, as if to end the discussion. “I have enough of my own to pay for the remainder.”

  Maxim stared at her in bemusement. He could not say just what he had done to change her mood, but she had adopted that same defiant mien she had displayed upon his arrival from England. He realized that whatever ground he had lost in this discussion, she had gained.

  Herr Dietrich slid a trencher of food before his lordship and placed another of the same but with smaller portions in front of Elise. Folding his hands beneath his long apron, he stepped back and waited for the fare to be tasted. Each took part in the repast, breaking the morning fast with a light sampling of the delicious sausages, raveled bread, and crisp fruit tarts before bestowing well-deserved compliments upon the cook

  “Delicious!” Elise assured the man with a buoyant smile. “Thank you.”

  “Es gut,” Maxim agreed. “Danke.”

  Herr Dietrich’s smile broadened, and once again he nodded his head with enthusiasm. Then he grew serious. Drawing a deep breath and squaring his ponderous shoulders, he forced out the reluctant words. “Tank yu, mad-am . . . sir.”

  Elise laughed and applauded her approval, and a pleased Herr Dietrich returned to his many tasks, leaving Maxim to resume the conversation. He did so with a perplexed frown.

  “You say you have enough coin of your own to pay for the clothes, but how could you have been carrying such wealth on you when you were taken?”

  Though Elise lowered her gaze and turned away to let him view her profile, it seemed her nose raised just a snip to convey her lofty disdain. “I’ve been aided by a friend,” she replied, knowing with keen feminine discernment what erroneous conclusion he and his hunting logic would come to. Let him feed upon that bitter meat, she mused in smug silence, and tendered no further explanation for his comfort.

  Von Reijn! The talons of Maxim’s reasoning sank deep in the lure. It could only be him! An outright gift? Or in return for . . . ? Maxim’s mind rebelled at the thought, and he struggled with himself as a mighty gorge of rage rose within him. “You seem to be quite fond of Nicholas,” he prodded rather tersely. “But I wonder if you’ll be content as the wife of a Hansa captain.”

  “I cannot see why that should be any concern of yours, my lord. I’m sure you’re far too
involved with Arabella to care whether or nay I’ll be satisfied with my choice for a husband. You may have had me kidnapped from my home, but no one appointed you my guardian.”

  “I feel a certain obligation.”

  “Your obligation to me is to see me returned to my home as soon as possible and to provide for what nourishment and necessities I’ve need of while I’m here as your prisoner. Beyond that, my private life is none of your affair.” With that Elise rose and, bobbing a brusque curtsey, left him glowering into the leaping flames on the hearth.

  Chapter 13

  THE WIND HOWLED like a venging fury against the stone walls of Faulder Castle, probing each crack and gap until it seemed that its icy breath intruded into every chamber and hall. Elise shivered as the frigid drafts stole what warmth the hearths could provide with their roaring fires. Though she gathered a woolen wrap about her shoulders, her fingers were chilled and beneath her skirts her slender feet grew numb with the cold. From the upper reaches of the place there came a repeated slamming as if a stubborn shutter would not latch, then she heard Maxim’s voice raised in a bellow of command as he directed a shout from a window to the courtyard below. ‘Twas a brief moment later when Spence and Fitch came stumbling through the front portal on a hefty gust and, spilling their burdens noisily on the floor, threw their combined weight against the door to shut out the stubborn, snow-ladened gale. Both were wrapped in pelts for the short trip from the stables, and beneath a thick mantling of fluffy white they looked more like hoary creatures from the far north. The two men paused briefly near the hearth to spread their outer robes where the heat would banish the crusting of ice and snow, then Fitch again gathered a saw and an armful of planks, while Spence hefted a wooden box full of nails, hinges, and other fittings weighted down by a pair of hammers. As he passed Elise, Fitch bobbed a hasty “Good morn’n, mistress,” and continued on his way without pausing for an answer. Clutching their tools and lumber, the pair clattered and rattled their way up the stairs, vying in a constant joust for leadership until at the narrower section of stairs Fitch forged into the van and, heedless of the verbiage Spence heaped upon his back, led the way to the master’s chambers. There they found his lordship standing with arms akimbo and feet braced apart behind a narrow veil of falling snow. A sharply jutting eyebrow quickly conveyed his irritation as he slowly raised his gaze toward the ceiling where their makeshift repairs were being torn apart by the strong gales. Without word or excuse they set to their labors in earnest haste, this time getting assistance and direction from the master of the keep.