“ ‘Twould appear, my lord, that you’ve given serious study to the private attire of women,” she observed as he laced her stays. “Should I consider that you’ve acquired the art by repeated practice?”
Maxim laughed and dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. “I shall never tell, madam, but many’s the time I’ve taken off your clothes . . . in my mind.”
“Lecher!” she accused with a coyly flirtatious smile over her shoulder.
“Aye, madam, when it concerns you.” He knotted the cords of her stays and then turned her around in his arms. “Now give your husband a kiss to last him on the journey home.”
It was a deep, blissful exchange filled with stirring passion, but such a small sampling left them craving for more. With a sigh, Maxim gathered his wife’s velvet gown from a nearby chair and, lowering it over her upflung arms, swept the skirt down over the petticoats. Lifting her hair aside, Elise waited and then shivered in tingling delight as she felt his warm hand slide over her shoulder and slip within the top of her chemise to briefly capture a soft breast. She leaned back against him, encouraging the fondling as his other arm, moving up from her ribs, folded around her and claimed the other breast over the cloth of her bodice.
“I’ll be most anxious to reach Faulder,” he breathed against her ear. “Such tender ground needs be explored more leisurely.”
Elise laid a hand over the one within her chemise. “I think I shall always crave your touch, my lord, knowing what delight it brings. ‘Twill also be a test for me to wait for that moment we can make love again.”
“Nicholas waits us, and we have delayed long enough,” he whispered. “Fetch your father’s ring, and let us be off. The sooner we leave, God willing, the sooner we’ll be home.”
Maxim escorted Elise to the dock where Nicholas and Justin were waiting with the horses. He swept her onto the back of the mare, and then giving the excuse that he had forgotten something aboard the ship, bade the two men to start on their way with Elise. Worried, his bride watched him over her shoulder as Justin led the mare down the street.
Moving swiftly, Maxim returned to the galley and, with a long-handled iron scoop, dragged a burning log onto the wooden flooring. He made haste to roll another from the hearth and, dragging it down the companionway, tossed it into the hatch that opened over a deep hole where scraps of hawse, rope, and splintered spars littered the deck below. He smiled as he backed to the door. If there was naught else to incite Hilliard to come to Faulder Castle, then surely the burning of his ship would bring him flying in haste to search out the man who had set fire to it. If all went well, the Queen of England would have her revenge.
Chapter 23
LEADEN GRAY CLOUDS hovered low over the hilltop rise of Faulder Castle as the strong, snow-laden gusts whipped savagely across the barren trail. The horses strained through the deepening drifts, drawing behind them the long sleigh into which Elise had retreated to escape the driving winds. A glance outward assured her they were approaching the moat, and though the haze of white was nearly impenetrable she saw the vague shadow of the portcullis moving slowly upward. The muffled, hollow sound of the horses crossing the timbered bridge was followed a moment later by the equally subdued shouts of Maxim as he reined Eddy around and directed the men across the courtyard. Fitch and Spence were there to halt the team of horses, and as Sherbourne and Justin swung down from their mounts, Kenneth lent his assistance to the servants in getting the team and the other mounts stabled. The men squinted against the heavy flurries and had to shout to be heard above the strengthening gale.
Elise pushed open the door of the coach to find Maxim already there. Snowflakes studded the two days’ growth of whiskers covering his lower face, and beneath the deep hood of his cloak she could see that his brows and lashes bore a hoary frosting of white. His jaw was clamped rigid against the frigid winds, and his face was pinched and pale. He could speak no word as he lifted her down. Elise sensed his need to find warmth and, slipping her arm behind his waist, lent him support as they moved toward the keep. Close on their heels came the huddled figures of Sherbourne and Justin as they sought to protect themselves from the bitter winds and the blinding snow. The thought surfaced in Elise’s mind that they had reached the castle none too soon.
Maxim opened the portal, and the handle was promptly snatched from his icy fingers as the wind caught it and flung it crashing against the inner wall. A cloud of white swirled around them in frolicsome freedom, scattering snowflakes far into the hall as it pushed them inward on a hazy swell of billowing white. The portal was closed, and Elise turned her worry toward Maxim, who leaned in silent agony against the wall. Carefully she eased the frozen gloves from his hands and, as she tried to gently rub some circulation back into them, she tossed a searching glance about the hall, catching sight of a familiar bovine figure a short distance away.
Frau Hanz had halted at their intrusion and was incensed at the rapidly disintegrating neatness of the area wherein they chose to doff their white-crusted garments. Yet she dared not voice her complaint, for she remembered only too well what the mistress had said before her departure. With her hands folded before her, she held her tongue behind the grinding teeth of her annoyance.
Elise spoke with some urgency, commanding the housekeeper’s attention. “Herr Dietrich does not understand English well enough for me to tell him what I want. So speak with him and instruct him to prepare trenchers of food to be sent upstairs. These men have traveled hard from Lubeck and have need of a rest. They’re nearly frozen and need care. And tell him to heat plenty of water for their baths. His lordship can bathe in my room. The others may have his old chambers.”
“Ja, Fraulein.” Frau Hanz started to cross the hall, but was halted as Elise gave further orders.
“And when Spence and Fitch come in, tell them to move his lordship’s clothes and chests to my chambers. Our guests will be sharing the upper rooms while they’re here. See that fresh pallets and cots are brought in from the quarters in the stables.”
The woman’s dark brows rose sharply. “But vhere vill his lordship be sleeping?”
“Why, with me, of course,” Elise answered and, giving the servant no further notice, turned back to her husband.
A thousand disparaging titles rushed through Frau Hanz’s mind, all accusing the maid of the vilest traits. It was what she had known all the time! The English strumpet was plying her favors on his lordship to glean what she could from him. She was not deserving of any display of respect. Indeed, if not for the Marquess, the little trollop would see a good measure of her contempt.
Now, with her earlier suspicions confirmed, Frau Hanz felt a renewed superiority as she considered herself well above the harlot. The girl had no rightful place in a great house and could not be a proper mistress to servants who dismissed her as common. And they would surely learn of her deeds, Frau Hanz silently vowed.
Elise failed to notice the disturbance in the kitchen as she bent her full attention to Maxim. Frau Hanz set her barbs into the cook and ordered him about as if she were the rightful mistress of the house. The housekeeper had decided the man needed to show more respect for her station and was dispensing commands with an authoritarian demeanor.
“Come upstairs, Maxim,” Elise entreated. “You can warm yourself by the fire while a bath and food are being prepared.”
A strong gust of wind burst into the hall as Fitch swung open the door. He scampered quickly in with Sir Kenneth close behind him. The pair struggled a moment with the willful door and finally gained the advantage, pushing it closed.
“Fitch, will you show these men to his lordship’s chambers?” Elise bade. “And make sure there’s plenty of firewood on hand upstairs. They’ll need to thaw out and bathe and eat before settling down.”
Eager to help, Fitch gave his attention to the guests. “Come along now. We’ll see ta gettin’ ya settled in upstairs, just like the mistress said.”
The servant was ready to sprint upstairs, but the men followed at
a much slower, much more painful pace. The winds had risen sometime after noon, and it seemed with each passing hour the snow had deepened while the gusts strengthened and grew more crisp. They were completely exhausted, and so cold they could hardly move.
Maxim slowly eased up the stairs as Elise lent him what support and assistance she was capable of. In the chambers upstairs, he carefully lowered his shivering body into a chair near the hearth, and immediately Elise was there to wrap a fur throw around his shoulders. She knelt down before him, and he winced slightly as she eased the boots from his feet, but he took heart, reassured that he still had feeling in his toes.
Elise stripped the snow-dampened garments from her husband, then gently rubbed his chilled skin, now and then dropping an anxious kiss upon his chest, his arm, or his hand until at long last he seemed to revive and respond. Tucking the fur around him more securely, she moved away to pour a strong draught into a tankard and then knelt before the hearth to warm it with a searing iron. A brief glance upward assured her that some color was returning to his skin.
“You must be feeling better.” Elise voiced the hopeful conjecture with a tentative smile.
“The storm almost did me in,” he admitted, unable to subdue an errant shiver. “During the last miles I began to wonder if we would make it.”
A wavering sigh slipped from her as evidence of her pent-up tensions. “Hilliard will find it hard to follow.”
“Aye, ‘tis true. If this storm keeps up, he won’t be able to get through until spring.”
“My heart shall tremble in fear when he comes.”
“I plan to be ready for him, my love. I don’t intend to make you a widow for at least a score or more years yet.”
Elise braved a smile as she rose and handed him the mug. Pausing beside him, she lifted a hand and smoothed the long wisps of hair that tumbled free from the loosening knot. “I begin to understand how Justin feels.”
Maxim scraped a hand across his bristly chin. He was so tired he could barely lift his arms, and chagrined by his unkempt appearance. “This is hardly the way a new bride should view her husband. I must look a bit battle-worn.”
“I love you,” she whispered, slipping to her knees before him. “And I don’t care how you look. My only concern is how you feel. I could not bear to lose you.”
Maxim’s movements were slow and leisured, as if a rare bird had come to perch on his arm. This woman he had taken as wife was indeed a unique rarity. She could be tender and timid, wild and wanton, serious and sober, happy and hopeful, all the things that a living and loving woman could be with a man, and in the short time he had come to know her he realized how good she was for him and how fortunate he was that Fitch and Spence could not tell red hair from brown.
Speaking no word, he loosened the coiled knot and stroked her hair as it tumbled around her shoulders. In some fascination he watched the brightly gleaming strands eagerly curl around his fingers, and it was as if a slow dawning came upon him. He had said the words before, but now they came upon him with a deepening realization. He really did cherish and love her more than his own heart.
A light rap sounded upon the portal, and the spell was broken. Elise moved away as Fitch answered Maxim’s inquiry, and the servant was given leave to enter. Shoving a shoulder against the panel, he came hurrying in with two pails of steaming water. He dared a brief glance at the couple as Elise prepared to shave his lordship, but he kept his face carefully blank. When he had emptied the pails into the copper tub, he paused before his lordship’s chair.
“Ye’ll be proud ta know, milord, ‘at Spence an’ me’s been behavin’ ourselves, ‘at we have. ‘Ere’s been nary a squabble ‘twixt the two o’ us. O’ course, ‘at’s not sayin’ we ain’t ‘ad a spat or two wit’ ‘at fat old crow, Frau Hanz. She sticks me in the craw some’in fierce, but ‘at’s neither here nor there. How’s it been with yerself, sir, an’ the mistress? Ta tell ye true, sir, we weren’t ‘pectin’ ye back so soon, an’ me an’ Spence was wonderin’ if’n ya might’ve ‘ad some trouble.”
“Trouble is a rather mild way of putting it,” Maxim remarked as Elise carefully plied a blade to his lip. “But as to the mistress and myself, we were married a brace of days ago in Lubeck.”
Fitch’s face lit up like a candle, radiating his pleasure. “ ‘At’s real good news, milord.” His eyes wandered around the room as the idea settled comfortably in his mind. It was perhaps the best thing that had happened to his lordship in some time, and even if it had been brought about by the loss of a title and possessions, the lady was well worth the price. “I ne’er gave it much mind ‘at ye’d be speakin’ the vows with the mistress, but ye made a fine choice, milord, ‘at ye did.”
Elise threw a smile at him over her shoulder. “Thank you, Fitch.”
“Milady, ‘tis a pleasure ta serve ye, ‘tis,” he vowed with a sheepish grin. Giving them an enthusiastic bow, he sidled nearer the door. “I’ll be tellin’ Spence right away, ‘at I will,” he said. “Just as soon as I fetch ye more buckets of water, milord.”
The door slammed closed behind him, and in the silence of the keep they could hear him scurrying down the hall.
“ ‘Twould seem that Fitch approves of the match,” Maxim observed, pulling his wife close to bestow a kiss upon the soft mouth.
Elise lost herself in the adoration she saw in his eyes. “He’s probably overjoyed that we won’t be fighting anymore.”
Several more buckets of water were brought in, and as Fitch hurried out to fetch the last of them, Maxim rose and followed Elise to the copper tub where she poured cold water into hot and swirled the liquid about to blend the two. Dropping the fur, he eased himself into the steaming bath and was just beginning to relax when Fitch bumped the door open again and hastened across to the tub with another pair of brimming buckets. Elise poured in more cold as Fitch added the hot, and then scooping up a pitcher-full, she let it cascade down the well-muscled back.
A deliberately loud clearing of the throat drew Elise’s attention to the door, where the housekeeper waited with a tray of food. Frau Hanz could hardly contain a sneer as Elise directed her toward the hearth.
“Just leave the food there by the fire where it will stay warm. His lordship and I will eat after his bath.”
“I didn’t understand that yu vanted to eat vith his lordship, fraulein.” The woman stood staunchly rooted to the floor, making no move to enter the chamber. She found the idea of a woman closely attending her lover’s bath in the presence of others most offensive, and in no slightest way would she consider chancing a more intimate view of the naked man. For the moment it gave her delight in subtly hinting that it was not the place of common women to eat with their betters. “I vas t’inkin’ yu vould vant to eat yur vittles downstairs in the kitchen.”
“You were mistaken, Frau Hanz,” Elise declared crisply. The arrogance of the woman sorely grated on her good humor.
“Then is it yur vish, fraulein, that I bring up another tray?”
“Of course!” Elise flung with growing exasperation. “And be quick about it. Oh, and tell Herr Dietrich to heat more water. I’ll be wanting a bath after dinner.”
Maxim saw no reason for the extra bother and offered with a grin, “You needn’t wait, my love. There’s plenty for sharing now.”
Frau Hanz drew herself up with a shocked gasp and, marching a few steps forward, slammed the tray down on the nearest table, then whirled in a huff, offended by this sordid debauchery she was witnessing. Muttering to herself, she strode down the hall in a spiteful temper. As sturdily built as they were, the walls and floor seemed to shudder in her wake.
Fitch tried to keep his lips under tight restraint as her ladyship scolded his lordship with a shaming look, but the urge to laugh nearly got the better of him.
“You shock the poor woman, Maxim,” Elise chided, but her eyes conveyed something far different than her concern over the housekeeper.
“I’ll be going now,” Fitch announced abruptly, catchi
ng a pointed frown from his lordship. At times the Marquess had a deliberate way of pinning a stare that prompted one to hasty action. On the way out he closed the portal securely behind him.
“Now, my lady . . .” Maxim laid his arms on the rim of the tub and leaned back as he fixed his eyes upon the comely form of his wife. “We have all the time in the world, and we need not be afraid of the long, cold night ahead. So come favor your husband by gracing his bath with your presence. My blood is quickly warming beyond my control.”
With a seductive smile Elise lifted her arms and fastened her hair again in a knot. She left him for a moment to latch the door and set the tray before the fire, mentally taking note that there was more than enough to share between the two of them. She perched on the edge of the bed to slip off her hide shoes and then raised her skirts, giving him a lengthy view of slender thighs and calves as she rolled down her stockings. Piece by discarded piece, Maxim was teased with each fresh view of her body until she stepped over the edge of the tub. His burning gaze stroked slowly down her nakedness as she stood before him, then she lowered herself into the water and came willingly into his arms. Enjoying the wet, slippery feel of their bodies pressed together, he kissed her with all the leisured thoroughness of a man in no hurry.
Another knock intruded, and Maxim raised his head with an impatient frown. “Who beats upon my door?”
“Mein Herr, I haff come vith another tray of vittles,” Frau Hanz answered through the thick planks. “Vould Fraulein Radborne vish me to bring it in now?”
“Go away,” Maxim commanded. “We’re busy now.”
“But Fraulein Radborne said for me . . .”
“ ‘Tis Frau Seymour now,” Maxim corrected sharply.
On the other side of the door Frau Hanz clutched a pudgy hand to her throat in shock. Surely his lordship had better sense than to marry that baseborn snip of a girl! Seeking affirmation, she dared to test his patience again. “Mein Herr, do you mean that Mistress Radborne . . . is now . . . Frau Seymour . . . ?”
So Worthy My Love Page 43