“Woman, must you have it stated more clearly?” he thundered. “She is now Lady Seymour! Now go away and leave us in peace! I’ve no wish to be disturbed until I bid you come. Be gone with you!”
“As yu vish, my lord,” Frau Hanz meekly returned, her voice quavering slightly. It was a sad day indeed when one of highborn nobility stooped to bestow his name on a common guttersnipe.
“Lady Seymour,” Elise repeated with a dreamy sigh. Looping her arms around her husband’s neck, she twirled a finger around in his tawny hair. “I like the sound of that.”
“Aye, my lady,” he breathed as his open mouth caressed the pale throat. “No other woman would have honored the name so well.”
In curious wonder her blue eyes searched his. “Not even Arabella?”
“ ‘Tis you I love, Elise, and no other,” he averred, and was rewarded by the radiance he saw in her face.
* * *
A haze of relentless white obscured the dawn as the storm continued to rage across the land, but within the warmth and security of what was now the master’s chambers, the couple cared little about the howling tempest, for the bliss of the moment was almost tangible. They lay abed, luxuriating in the unhurried calm of the morning. It seemed an eternity since they had been allowed time to enjoy each other’s nearness and to become intimate with the intricate nature of each other’s character. Their voices were soft and hushed, the pace leisured as they shared the same pillow and spoke of a thousand different things: their hopes, their dreams, their yearnings, their past, present, and future. Snuggled beneath the covers, Maxim rested on his side with an arm folded beneath his head, while Elise lay on her back with her legs propped casually over the hard, manly thighs tucked close beneath her own. Their hands were entwined, and as Maxim nibbled, teased, and kissed the slender fingers he held, she watched him with love shining in her eyes. It was a beginning of a marriage, the laying of a sturdy foundation, a solid structure that could be built upon and enhanced by the pleasures of life, to stand firm against the buffeting storms and trials that would no doubt seek them out. It was a gentle melding of two lives into one.
The hour was approaching noon when Maxim finally escorted his wife down to the hall and, beneath the brooding stare of Frau Hanz, crossed the room to join their guests.
“Welcome to my humble castle,” Maxim heartily bade, and chuckled as they answered his humor with hoots and guffaws.
“By faith! I swear the splendor rivals any palace of the Queen of England,” chortled Sir Kenneth.
Elise moved to the trestle table where a most inviting feast had been laid out. To gain the attention of the men, she clanked a knife against a pewter goblet and called to them gaily, “Hear me, good gentlemen. Be kind to this old keep. Someday you may find yourself well into your years, perhaps even jeered at for your doddering ways. Turn your minds from the tumbling ruins of this place. Think no more of the rattle of shutters, the squeak of hinges, or its decaying face, but rather, come break the fast with us and please your palates. Let us make merry this morn, for we have not only singed the whiskers of one Karr Hilliard—”
Elise started in surprise as a clanging clamor nearby rent the tranquillity of the hall, and she looked in some amazement at Frau Hanz who stared down agog at the iron kettle she had dropped. The pot gyrated in lopsided circles on the stone floor until it finally settled into stillness, leaving a ringing resounding in everyone’s ears. The housekeeper awoke from her trance and reached down to seize the handle of the wayward pot, not daring to meet the gaze of the one who stared.
With a brief nod of gratitude, Elise pressed a slender finger to her temple. “Where was I? Oh, of course! Karr Hilliard! We have indeed singed the whiskers of Karr Hilliard, but this storm has gifted us with enough snow to save us from his pursuit. Take heart, my good fellows. We’ve the rest of the winter to enjoy each other’s pleasure and the delicious foods prepared by Herr Dietrich.” Graciously she indicated the widely grinning man before she boasted, “Why, his talents would gain us the envy of the English queen herself.”
“Here, here!” Sir Kenneth drank down a long gulp of wine and blustered a moment as he wiped his heavy mustache and prepared his own speech. “We’ve trod close to heaven’s gate to view the loveliest angel that ever graced these eyes.” He raised his pewter goblet to her. “To the most lovely Lady Seymour, who though but a fragile maid herself, dared tweak the nose of the Hansa masters.”
The men drank the toast, and then Elise added one of her own. “And here is to the men who rescued her. May they have long life, every one . . . and be ready to dash a dozen more dragons to the winds.”
Frau Hanz looked with contempt upon the jocular group, but she would wisely hold her tongue. The time would come when she would make sure that these poor feeble Englishmen reaped the revenge of Karr Hilliard.
Chapter 24
THE STORM RAGED on for one day less than a week, and then the seventh day dawned bright and bitter cold. Had an eagle braved the frigid, airy heights, he would have been hard-pressed to mark the site of Faulder Castle, save for the dark plumes of smoke that seemed to flow from the peaks of snowy mounts. Several leagues to the north, the free city of Lubeck fussed for a quartet and more of days as she turned her skirts inside out in search of the dastardly culprits who had committed murder and mayhem within her confines. When word reached Hilliard that his ship was on fire at its winter slip, he had raced to the dock and let out a howl of indignant rage as a shudder freed the blazing carrack from the ice-bound anchorage. A look of deadly purpose had come into his eyes as he watched his vessel sink into the river. Only the smoking stubbles of her masts were left jutting forlornly above the blackened muck floating on the surface, a grim reminder of what once had been a swift and mighty ship. With a driving fury he had vowed to see the ones responsible chased down and put to death.
A dark haze had lingered over the city long after the huge billowing clouds of black had been doused, but by the time the second Sabbath had passed, the city had nearly forgotten the intruders and returned to business as usual. Not so in the Hansa kontors. The halls resounded with the enraged bellows of one Karr Hilliard who fumed at the fates, cursed the climes, berated the snow for being snow, the ice for being ice, the wind for being wind, and roundly vented his agitated spleen with a fine eye for equality on any who came within earshot and many who simply misjudged the range. Masters and merchants who found it necessary to visit his offices crept in and promptly hastened out, for the Hanseatic agent was wont to lash out with tongue or heavy fist at any who ventured within reach of either. Pity those who gave him the slightest provocation.
The winter passed on spavined, leaden feet for those in the league. Each week, each day . . . Nay! Each hour was counted by many an anxious eye upon the sands that trickled with agonizing languor through the glass. But in snowbound Faulder Castle the days flew past with fleet-footed alacrity. The comfort and contentment of its occupants seemed boundless even while the storms raged outside. The delicious aromas of Herr Dietrich’s cooking wafted through the keep, while the sounds of activity and the murmur, laughter, and gabble of many voices brought a warmth and vitality to the place. The camaraderie of all—save one—helped quicken the flow of those same tiny grains of time, and though all were aware of the coming conflict, it was a period well-marked with pleasure and fine rapport.
None doubted that Hilliard would come. The man would not let the affront pass without a fierce reprisal, and in preparation of that day, tactics for their defense were discussed, crossbows tested, swords and daggers oiled and honed, and proposals presented for the making of new weapons. While the weather remained inclement, the men tested their fighting skills against each other, and the hall rang with the clash of steel and boisterous shouts as they gave themselves over with wit and enthusiasm to the martial games. Though careful to maintain a safe distance, Elise eagerly watched their play and added her laughter to the clamor. The fact that she was there to witness their feats seemed to encourage th
e antics, and the younger men were especially committed to winning her lighthearted praises. Maxim felt no need to worry when Justin and Sherbourne displayed a courtly dash and daring for her benefit, for he was secure in the knowledge that she was entirely his. Ofttimes Justin was made the brunt of Kenneth’s pranks in their competition, mainly because of his youth, but he accepted the teasing good-naturedly and gave more of the same in return.
It was usually in the quiet of the evening when the men withdrew to a more private area of the hall to plan their defense and strategy, secluding themselves well away from the straining ears of Frau Hanz. It became Elise’s habit to retreat to the bedchamber to await her husband, and at times her soft, lilting voice would drift in song through the keep as she plied her sewing skills to her tapistry or, if need be, to mending the men’s clothing. The airy strains seemed to calm the men, and they responded to each other in murmured voices, reluctant to argue when bathed in such contentment. Maxim neither took note nor did he especially care that the same sweetly melodious voice which soothed him could, with the very same notes, grate roughly on the ears of one Frau Hanz. The housekeeper’s brows often gathered in stern concentration as she bent her attention to whatever task was at hand, and her lips would move in silent vexation as she made dire vows to herself or to some venging, unknown god.
Herr Dietrich, on the other hand, waxed jovial and was given to low-voiced accompaniment. If the melody was light and lively, he kept time by tapping a spoon on a pot lid or moving his feet in a shuffling dance that matched the rhythm. At times, he would catch Maxim’s amused contemplation and would grin in response and waggle his head happily as he lauded the beauty of the voice.
When the slashing winds and blinding snow finally spent their fury, the men shoveled paths through huge drifts, gaining better access to the surrounding wall, stable, and the tumbled ruins of the barracks and storehouse. They searched through the rubble until they found, in rough form, most of what they needed for the making of new weapons. They tore away wooden planks and piled heaps of it in protected places where it would remain dry. Small pieces of iron were thrown into barrels and the bulk of it stored near kegs of black powder. Their frugal confiscation stripped the outbuildings to stout timbers and bare stone, for they left no corner untouched.
Sealed jugs of lard were found in the cellar of the storehouse and were emptied into huge iron vats in the middle of the courtyard. The pots had been hung on iron frames fashioned by Spence, and roaring fires were built beneath them until the contents were melted down. When the kettles cooled, heavy lids were settled into place over the pots to keep out the moisture. There they were left for another day’s heating.
With Spence assuming the duty of smithy in the stable, blades for lances, arrowheads, and heavy quarrels were fashioned. It was Spence’s empathy with animals and a foreboding of the northern climes that had goaded him to make several trips to Hamburg for forage and hay while the master was away in Lubeck. Thus, while the storm had raged, all remained snug and warm in the stables. Now each night the ringing of iron and the roaring of the furnace drowned out the contented munching of the animals and lulled the lad who tended them to sleep.
In all of her maidenly dreams of requited love Elise had never once imagined that a remote castle, built on a barren bluff and caught in the depths of an icebound winter, could provide such a sublime haven. Many evenings she curled in Maxim’s arms while he sat in a chair before the blazing hearth. Wrapped together in a thick fur, they solved the problems of the world in soft voices punctuated by long moments of silence. When the fire burned low and the chill drove them to bed, they burrowed deep within its warmth and passed such nights . . . Oh! They were far beyond any fantasy an innocent maid could have conjured.
It was inevitable that morning would break upon the land, and so, marked by the aging of one day into a week, a week into a month, another season would come. It was a lament of Elise’s heart that time could not stand still. For once in her life she dreaded the advent of spring.
A brace of fortnights passed, and the castle remained secure from all outside interference. In the frozen world of white beyond its gates, there was a hushed stillness, as if this faraway hinterland and all of its inhabitants held its breath in expectant dread of the furor yet to come. An occasional breeze rattled the limbs of the trees, shaking free a fine dusting of snow that glittered iridescently in the shafts of sunlight streaming through the barren branches. Small birds flitted though the treetops, seeking seeds and frozen berries. A squirrel was seen sitting in the crotch of a tree, while below him a lone stag cautiously approached the slow, dark trickle of water that marked the first thawing of the river.
The days gradually warmed beneath the climbing sun as the harshness of winter dwindled to a mere shade of its former self. A shiver crept along Elise’s spine as she watched the dust motes that danced a leisured ballet in the bright rays shining in through the thick, wavy glass of the windows, where the drapes and shutters had been opened wide. Maxim had built the fire high in the hearth before hot water had been carried up for a bath, then after partaking in a connubial lavation, he had left Elise to luxuriate in the warmth while he had toweled himself dry and dressed. After a lengthy kiss and another admiring caress of soapy, wet skin he had departed the chambers, giving the excuse that he wanted to exercise Eddy for awhile. Though there was no outward reason for a chill, Elise shuddered as a cold knot of dread formed in the pit of her stomach. She realized only too well that a careful patrol of the area was beginning.
A long, pensive sigh slipped from her as she slid down into the tub, and her eyes moved sadly about the chamber as her mind brought back in careful recall the events of the past months. Since leaving England she had become a woman in more ways than one. She reveled in the stirring immensity of her love, for it satiated her heart to overflowing. Maxim fulfilled every facet of her far-reaching aspirations of a loving, considerate, and gentle husband, and yet there was a passionate sensuality about him that sparked the hot blood within her. He could, with a look, start her pulse leaping, but there was no need for him to be so purposeful. Her eyes could settle on his back and warm with desire as they wandered admiringly over his manly frame, especially if that form was bereft of garb.
A smile lifted the corners of Elise’s lips as she leaned her head back against the rim of the tub. Deliberately she summoned to the fore of her mind an image of those wide shoulders, the muscled ribs, the narrow hips, and the long legs that bulged with the play of rippling sinews as he moved. When a man was as well put together as Maxim was, it was rather hard for a young wife not to admire her own husband. A lopsided grin would slowly twist his lips whenever her stares betrayed her curiosity, and he would approach her with a purposeful gleam in his eye, interrupting many a toilette. His gentle guidance and instruction were every bit as exciting as those moments when his own rutting quests swept her into a whirlwind of frenzied passion.
Of a sudden Elise’s eyes flew wide and she sat up in some astonishment. Canting her head, she raised her hand and slowly counted on her fingers. Could it be possible? She counted again, more carefully this time. Was it really true?
Foolish mortal she to doubt it! Beware the bed and the craving lusts of a man! Or so went the warnings of many an old dame to a virginal daughter. But where love abounded, there was pleasure to be had in all things . . . even in this small, cherished blooming of life.
A secretive smile traced across her lips as she remembered numerous occasions when their love might have brought this small miracle into being. No exact determination could be made to single out the moment, but then, there was no need. Each memory was worth keeping.
Another week slipped past at the same idyllic pace, and as the days lengthened the men ventured out more. They rode beyond the gate to patrol the countryside and sometimes to hunt. Their careful vigil extended to posting a guard near the gate, and Spence and Fitch took turns to make the place secure from all intruders.
One early morn Elise came
down to the kitchen to find that the men had already taken their victuals and had withdrawn to the courtyard. She was sipping tea before the kitchen hearth when the front door burst open and the sound of running footsteps claimed her questioning attention. Her apprehensive stare halted Sir Kenneth in his tracks.
“Your pardon, my lady, I . . . ah . . .” The man stammered in confusion as he searched for an appropriate excuse for his haste and finally took himself firmly in hand “I didn’t mean to disturb you, my lady. I only wanted to fetch my buckler and sword.”
Elise’s thoughts gathered in a dark cloud of worry as the ogre, Hilliard, came to mind. “Is aught amiss? Is . . .” Her tongue froze on the name. “Is someone coming?”
“No need to fret, my lady,” Sir Kenneth attempted to assure her. “ ‘Tis naught of import. One of the small nags is missing, and Frau Hanz is nowhere to be found. ‘Twould seem she has fled the fold. His lordship is saddling our horses. We only mean to follow the tracks for a ways to see . . . well, to see what state the road is in.”
Elise read more in his pause than the knight had meant to convey. “Do you expect trouble to follow Frau Hanz’s leaving?”
Sir Kenneth cleared his throat and returned a noncommittal answer to her inquiry. “ ‘Tis best to be wary in any case, my lady.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “And there is indeed cause to be cautious of Frau Hanz. I fear she was never one of us.”
“His lordship’s sentiments exactly, my lady,” the man conceded. “He was expecting her to leave and allowed for the possibility.”
So Worthy My Love Page 44