So Worthy My Love

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

Maxim paused as he was about to take a sip and glanced at the man. “And if I have?”

  Hilliard laughed shortly, setting his jowls aquiver. “Unruffle yur feathers, Herr Seymour. If I pry, ‘tis for a reason. It vould be of great interest for me to know to vhich country yu vould sell yur services.”

  “ ‘Tis a matter of logic,” Maxim answered simply. “It would of course be whatever country offers the largest purse.”

  “Nicholas told me of yur need.”

  Maxim curled his lip in derision. “I’m not a pauper yet, so I can afford to bide my time.”

  Hilliard sensed that he had pricked the man’s pride. Perhaps Herr Seymour was closer to poverty than he let on. “What if someone vere interested in obtaining yur services and could offer yu much gold, vhat say yu? Vould yu hear him out?”

  “I would be a fool not to.” Maxim returned a level stare to the shadowed gray eyes that probed at him.

  “Vould it matter to yu vhich country hires yu . . . or vhich yu vould have to set yurself against?”

  Maxim scoffed lightly. “If my friend Nicholas has not yet told everything there is to tell about me, perhaps I should enlighten you, Herr Hilliard. I’m a man without a country, and what loyalties I once held have indeed been wasted. I now serve my own pleasure.”

  The watery gray eyes narrowed as they watched the Marquess closely for any glimpse into his character. “Vhat of Elizabeth? Do yu owe any allegiance to her?”

  A sneer distorted the handsome shape of the manly lips. “By her hand I have been stripped of my title, my estates, and all my possessions.” Maxim lashed the words out in caustic venom. “Now by your gauge judge what loyalty I should give her?”

  “Vere it myself, I vould give her none.”

  “Precisely.”

  Hilliard traced a long, dirty fingernail thoughtfully around the rim of his mug. The Marquess’s reply was crisply spoken, and if one were to consider his poor state of circumstance, it was possible to believe the man had set himself staunchly against the English queen. “I vould ask yu rather bluntly, Herr Seymour. Vould yu entertain the idea of going back to England under the rule of Queen Mary?”

  The reply was cautious. “If she would return my title and properties to me.”

  Hilliard hunched forward in his chair, propping his massive arms upon his own flesh as he carefully chose his words. “Have yu thought of helping Queen Mary escape?”

  Maxim’s abortive laugh strongly hinted of his doubt. “And what miracle would bring about such an event? I’m but one man. What can I do alone?”

  “Be assured, Herr Seymour, yu vould not be alone. Ve have people in England who vould help yu. But then, there are others who think it vould be easier to assassinate Elizabeth first before setting Mary free.”

  “What are you proposing?” Maxim asked harshly. “Helping Mary to escape? Or murdering the Queen?”

  Hilliard’s eyes avoided Maxim’s for a moment. He seemed to ruminate over the last question, and his manner waxed anxious, as if he were uncertain of his course. Then he steadied his purpose and, after a moment of thought, ponderously heaved his corpulent mass from the chair. He passed to where large, glass-enclosed shelves, laden with books of all sizes, shapes, and forms, covered an entire wall. He paused for a space, and when he glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes were filled with a new light, one mixed with avarice and a strange, evil lust.

  “Come.” His head jerked to enforce the command. “I vish to show yu something.” Behind the bulk of his body, his finger pressed an unseen latch, then he pushed against the case, and to Maxim’s amazement, it began to move slowly and without a sound. A door appeared behind the bookcase, and Maxim followed the wide form of his host until they reached a high, narrow walkway protected by a rough-hewn rail. Lanterns hung from rafters near the walk, creating islands of light that shone into the blackness. The cavernous warehouse stretched out almost into what seemed like oblivion and was stacked with endless wooden boxes, crates, bales, and barrels. Moving spots of light gave evidence of a slow patrol of guards, armed with axes and pikes, bearing lanterns.

  Hilliard waited, allowing Maxim to take in the sheer immensity of the place. When the younger man finally faced him with a brow raised slightly in question, the Hansa lord grinned in greed-inspired glee. “Yu see before yu that vhich vould purchase the ransom of several kings or, more simply, several kingdoms. Indeed! Some of it has.” He pointed to a portion along one side. “There are spices, teas, and silks from Cathay.” His finger jabbed again. “There are tapestries, carpets, and sugared dates purchased from the emirs, beys, and sultans who reign beyond the Black Sea. Over there . . .”—his arm swung to another dark mass below them—“a recent acquisition of furs, amber, and honey from the Easterlings and the ports along the Baltic.”

  He faced Maxim and his grin bared his uneven teeth again. “My ships bring cargo from all corners of the vorld, and I send desired and much-needed items to other corners of the vorld . . . for a healthy profit, of course.” His face darkened as some vile thought beset him. “Or at least I do when that bastard, Drake, lets me vend about my business. That is vhat the Hansa is about. Just a band of honest merchants seeking to make an honest profit vhere it can.”

  Maxim followed the man back to his apartment, wondering about the black-hearted means and the thousands of dead who paid for this particular Hansa master’s profit.

  “And now,” Hilliard continued angrily, “that bitch Elizabeth plays her clever games of innocence vhile she sets Drake and his sea dogs to ravaging those of us who have labored to build our trade.” He almost threw his body into the chair where he drooped his shoulders and leaned forward over his massive paunch. Beneath beetled brows, his eyes gleamed with an evil light. “There are others, mind yu, who are like-minded and who vould see an end to her high-flown ways.” He slumped back against his chair as if exhausted, and his manner became one of weedling and pleading. “Vhy, I have been threatened myself. I dare not inspect my own properties in the Stilliards, lest I be set upon and cast into prison for offenses I’m innocent of. There’s no justice in that black heart of Elizabeth.”

  Maxim resumed his seat, mentally dismissing the man’s avid protests as bold-faced lies. He laid a finger on the hilt of his sword. “If you fear Elizabeth’s trickery, then why have you allowed an armed Englishman in your presence? Are you not wary of my intent? Could she not have sent me?”

  Hilliard rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, making a steeple of his pudgy fingers as he smiled knowingly. “I take some assurance in the fact that yur life vas nearly spent at her command, Lord Seymour. Still, I’m a cautious man.” He raised his hand toward the wall behind his guest. “Vould yu care to look behind yu?”

  Maxim sat forward and looked around. A large painting in an ornate frame had been moved aside slightly, revealing an opening in the wall behind it. Maxim remembered the cabinet into which Gustave had been storing charts and knew its placement was just about right to allow for surveillance of the room through it.

  “Gustave has had a crossbow vith a heavy quarral resting twixt its thighs directed toward yur back ever since yu came in. Had yu laid a hand to yur blade, yur friends vould never have seen yu again.” He nodded pensively. “Even in vinter the river carries most flotsam into the sea and disposes of it nicely.”

  “And, of course, Gustave is your most loyal servant,” Maxim remarked.

  “Assistant vould be a better vord.” Hilliard smiled smugly. “He has a penchant for dispensing vith my adversaries. Yu understand, of course.”

  “Your precautions have been well-noted, Herr Hilliard,” Maxim replied, leaning back in his chair again. “However, as yet my question remains unanswered. Which is it to be, an assassination or an escape?”

  “Vhichever is convenient.” The gray eyes took on a gleam above a sly smile. “Though I dare say the obvious. Even if Mary vere allowed to escape, she could not become queen ‘til the other is done avay vith or her supporters rally around her to make her queen.
‘Tis certainly to your benefit that Elizabeth be killed.”

  Maxim sneered in contempt at the man’s suggestion. “Aye, and the moment I set foot in a castle where Elizabeth is housed, I’d be arrested and then taken to the Tower to await my long-delayed execution. Forgive me, Herr Hilliard. I’d rather keep my head than lose it on a block. A bag of gold is no good to a dead man.”

  Hilliard carefully posed the question. “Vhat if someone vould help yu get into the castle and, in so doing, could assure that yu vould not be seen?”

  “If you have such a one in the castle, then why would anyone have need of me? Your man in the castle could slay the Queen and escape undetected.”

  Hilliard leaned back in his chair with a disgruntled sigh. “Therein lies the crux of the matter. A lady-in-vaiting could hardly bear the sword of a man.”

  “Nay, but she could bear the poison of an asp.” Maxim leaned forward, peering into those shadowed gray eyes as he pressed the man. “Come now, Hilliard. If you have someone that close to the Queen, then your deed is done. You have no need of me.”

  “I vish it vere that simple.” Hilliard set his jowls trembling as he shook his head in disgust. “The lady vill not do it. She is loyal to the Queen, and should yu gain entry, she vould have no knowledge of vhat yu intend.”

  “Then why would she allow me to enter the Queen’s apartments at all?” A frown troubled the noble brow as the Marquess tried to understand the reasoning behind the man’s plan. “Why would she trust me enough to allow me entrance?”

  “She is but a vorthless pawn . . .”

  “Why would she let me in?” Maxim persisted.

  The weighty shoulders heaved upward. “She is aging and has simple thoughts of love . . .”

  “And?”

  For once in his life Hilliard realized he faced a man whose will was at least as strong as his. Despite the power he claimed to have, he found himself squirming beneath those flaring orbs of emerald green and almost whined as he gave answer. “The vench has a lover . . .”

  Maxim fell back in his chair and smiled slyly as he pressed his own fingertips together. “And, of course, the maid would not think her lover capable of such a dastardly deed.” The green eyes glimmered and then narrowed into a glare. “Then, pray tell, why do you not pay her lover to assassinate the Queen?”

  Hilliard almost jeered in disdain. “That fellow is valuable in his vay, but he does not have the heart. He vould murder on the sly, but not vhere there’s danger.”

  “He is a coward then.” Maxim bluntly supplied the word the other seemed unwilling to use.

  Noncommittal, Hilliard waggled his head, setting his jowls to swaying.

  Watching the other closely, the Marquess baited him. “A German should have more daring.”

  “A German vould! But he is naught but an English-bred veakling.” The protruding lips curved downward, giving evidence of Hilliard’s dislike for the one mentioned.

  Maxim urged him on. “And you dare not vex him lest you lose your accessibility to the Queen. Perhaps you even pamper him.”

  A low snarling growl grated in the thick throat. “I’ve done that, though it has no doubt cost me a fortune in gold. Indeed, I’ll never know vhat I’ve lost . . .”

  Maxim sipped his ale as he mused on the man’s ramblings. “Gold is a hard thing to come by. Only a fool would let it out of his grasp.”

  Dejectedly Hilliard slumped forward again, as if in great sorrow. “It vas mine . . . or nearly so, but that misbegotten whoreson threatened to break off vith the lady. I had no choice but to give in to his demands.”

  “You obviously need the man to keep the lady pliable to your plans,” Maxim surmised. “Yet I sense that you would see the death of him if you could.”

  Hilliard drew his lips back in a sneer, showing his dark, gaping teeth as he made a twisting motion with his two hands. “If I could,” he swore between hissing intakes of breath, “I vould do the deed myself.”

  Maxim witnessed the gesture and could almost imagine the loud snap of his own neck breaking within the grip of those beefy paws, yet he was set to a course and he would not falter from it now. “Tell me, Herr Hilliard. Do you have any definite plans to assassinate the Queen? Or is this some hopeful dream of yours that will never come to pass?”

  The gray eyes flared with instant anger as Hilliard detected a tone of ridicule in the Englishman’s voice. “Fear not, Herr Seymour, I’ve my plans, and they vill be carried out. If not by yu, then another.”

  “And what is the sum you offer?”

  Hilliard smiled smugly, nestling his large head into the fat folds of his shoulders. “Vhy, yur estates, yur vealth, and yur properties, of course. Are they not enough revard?”

  Maxim drained the last dregs of his ale and rose from his chair. Taking up his cloak, he looked down at the man. “ ‘Tis a sufficient reward if you can guarantee it.”

  “Assassinate that Tudor bitch and free Mary Stuart from prison, and yu shall have it all.”

  “I shall of course need a small purse to tide me over until I can make arrangements to return to England.” Maxim smiled blandly. “You may call it a demonstration of your faith in me.”

  Hilliard waddled out of the room and came back with an iron-bound chest. Maxim recognized it as a larger but very similar version of one Von Reijn owned, which the captain called his testament. Producing a key from his coat, Hilliard plied it to the lock and withdrew a small purse which he tossed to his guest. He made a waxen impression of his seal and gave it to Maxim. “This vill help identify yu should there come a need, though there are few in England who have not heard of the Marquess of Bradbury.”

  “Will your man be contacting me? Or should I seek him out myself?”

  “He vill contact yu shortly after yur arrival.”

  Maxim stepped to the door where he paused a moment. “Should Nicholas make inquiries about our visit, I would take it much amiss if you tell him of this matter. He fancies himself an expert on Maxim Seymour. I choose to keep him uninformed.”

  “He shall be told nothing.”

  Maxim gave a crisp nod of farewell and took his leave, releasing a long sigh of relief as he departed the company of Karr Hilliard and his man, Gustave.

  Chapter 21

  THE SUN SLOWLY FADED to an indistinct glow in the western sky, silhouetting the tall spires and sharply pitched rooftops against the horizon. It seemed as if the winds paused to take breath, allowing a still, breathless dusk to descend, but soon, wafts of air stirred from the north, bringing a bitter cold that sucked away the last dregs of warmth the day had managed to instill. The sky darkened from a bloodless gray to a featureless black, then a dust-fine snow began to fall. Inside every pane of glass an intricate and ever-varied pattern of frost began to form, spreading its crystals in an intricately elaborate array. The air grew brisk, and the white bearding deepened on every surface that would hold it.

  A weak gust found its way between the solid rows of buildings and became a snow eddy that danced its dervishlike, whirling step up the middle of the empty street in front of the Von Reijn house, there dissolving abruptly in a puff of white that slowly settled with the rest. The only evidence of its passing was the obliteration of tracks and paths left previously in the deepening, fluffy snow.

  Elise drew away from the small window in her chamber, and the frost made haste to cover the circle she had wiped clear. The delicate, weblike tracings that formed before her eyes entranced her for a moment, then the glass trembled as another blast of air shook it. A low murmur moaned in the rafters as a rising wind took up a playful chase across the acute angles of the roof and eaves.

  Elise heaved a lengthy sigh of her own and began to pace the narrow confines of her room. Outside, the swirling gusts swept the snow into the streets, whipping the flakes into frenzied flight until a thick haze of white obscured familiar thoroughfares. Anxious worry assailed her fortitude as the wind mounted again to a relentless wail, as if a band of banshees flitted about the rooftops in fru
itless searching. Nicholas’s grim comments had left her feeling a deep dread of a man she had never met. Karr Hilliard apparently had the power to dispose of Maxim in whatever fashion he might deem appropriate, and, in so doing, would steal every joy from her life. She could not hope for reassurance until Maxim returned, and even then, there would be Nicholas to be dealt with. She had made the decision to approach the captain herself and tell him of their marriage, but as yet any clear opportunity had eluded her, for he too had avoided returning home.

  The shutters continued to bang, while every gust of wind seemed to shake the very foundation of the house, and still Maxim did not return. She stayed close to the window, clearing peepholes in the frost as she searched the encroaching storm for any glimpse of that tall, broad-shouldered form she longed to see. The mere sight of him could set her heart leaping with joy, but alas, the moment of elation did not come.

  A sudden clattering clamor rattled across the roof, followed for a space by silence, then a splintering crash came from the street below. A freshening, howling wind shook the manse with renewed vengeance and sent Elise, in carefully controlled flight, to the hall below where she found both Therese and Katarina intent on the stitches of their respective tapestries. Justin entered the room only a step behind her.

  “The wind must have blown a tile from the roof, Tante Therese,” he remarked.

  Therese carefully plied her needle to a stitch. “T’at noise scare the vits out o’ poor Elise!” She paused to press a hand over her own swiftly beating heart, and then, regaining her aplomb, shook her finger at the amused Justin. “Tomorrow yu go up t’ere and make sure no more come down.”

  “Ja! Ja! I giff t’em good scolding, too.”

  “Humph.” Therese raised a brow at him. “Maybe I show yu how first, ja?”

  “Nein, Bitte,” he pleaded with a laugh, raising his hands wide in a posture of yielding. “You’ve instructed me well enough.”

  Satisfied, Therese returned to her sewing as Justin approached Elise, who had taken up a stance near the front window and was trying to penetrate the thick veil of snow that enveloped the street.