Maxim tried to retreat, but was halted abruptly by the bed at the back of his legs. He sat down heavily, and still his antagonist gave him no quarter. She followed between his spraddled legs and pressed her finger upon a spot above his heart, her sharp nail digging into his flesh where the shirt fell open. She ground out her words in short phrases as if she were lecturing a simple child.
“What think you that I am, sir? A soldier of the realm? Forsooth, I am not on a foray in the field, nor do I wax fond of this pile of stone wherein you seem to feel at home! I’m as hearty as the next, but I do not like the cold seeping through the cracks and crevices of every chamber. I huddle in my bed each morn and dread the leaving of it.” She calmed and spoke in a softer voice. “In truth, my lord, I would prefer a bed of warmth and safety and, were it possible, a woman to help with the cleaning.”
The slight, shadowy form moved away from him, and in a subdued, wistful vein Elise stared into the waning fire for a long moment. At long last she faced him again, and Maxim was surprised to see the shine of tears in her eyes.
“I do not ask for the rich comforts you would have provided your dearest Arabella,” she murmured, her anger spent. “I’ve made no further demands that you send me home before the spring. I would only ask that we try to live at peace while we’re imprisoned here together in this place. I am weary of the battles, and though I know you would prefer sweet Arabella at your side, neither of us can remedy the mistake that has been made.”
Embarrassed by her own outpouring, Elise moved to stand beside the open door. “I bid you take your leave now, my lord,” she said in a small voice. “May you sleep well.”
Maxim rose to his feet, a veritable flurry of thoughts coursing through his brain. Catching up the sword, he sheathed it and approached the door where he paused beside the maid. Words evaded his grasping tongue, for any denial of his feelings for Arabella would have seemed a crude ploy. Reluctantly he left the maid.
The hinges squeaked slightly as Elise closed the door behind him, and heaving a sigh, she leaned her brow against the smooth surface of the wooden panel as the solitude of the room pressed down upon her. At the moment she felt very tired and utterly alone. It seemed that whenever they were alone together, she always ended up acting the vindictive shrew. She was unable to pass even an hour’s time with him without getting into a fray. It was as if he set her at odds with herself.
A dim gray light marked the coming of morn, and Elise came abruptly awake as a door opened and closed somewhere in the keep. Thrusting her nose above the furs, she noted the leaden skies. She dreaded the thought of more snow, for the hilltop keep was becoming a fortress of white, impenetrable by all but the most hearty. She dragged her shift and gown beneath the covers where she pulled them over her head. Thus garbed against the cold, she rose and slid her cold feet into the hide shoes. Wrapping a shawl about her shoulders, she scampered across the room and hastened to restore the nurturing warmth of a fire.
A short time later, her face and hands pink from a scrubbing and her hair gathered in a heavy, coiled knot upon her head, Elise left her chambers and made her descent of the stairs. Her manner was one of soft contrition at the fury she had unleashed upon his lordship. Indeed, she was reluctant to face him as she recalled the fist she had driven into his oak-hard belly. “What must he think of me?” she groaned in misery. “Arabella would never have done such a thing!”
Spence was seated on the raised hearth eagerly eyeing Herr Dietrich as that one took out fresh buns from the oven that was set in the wall close against the fireplace. As she approached, the smaller man jumped up and hastened to pull out her chair from the table. It was rare to see Spence without his companion, and Elise made mention of the fact. “I say, Spence, you seem to have come out without Fitch. Is he well?”
“Don’t ye worry ’bout him none, mistress. ’E an’ ‘is lor’ship went ter ‘Amburg ‘fore sunup, ‘ey did.”
Behind the cook’s back, the servant snatched up a roll from the iron planch and scampered away, just in time to avoid a ladle Dietrich swung at him. Tossing back a grin at the petulantly frowning cook, he settled on a squat stool on the far side of the table, out of harm’s way.
“Hamburg?” Elise’s voice was fraught with dismay. Had Maxim finally taken exception to her abuse and left the keep? “Will he be coming back . . . I mean, will they be returning soon?”
“I don’t rightly know, mistress. ‘Is lor’ship ne’er said a word ta me ’bout ‘at.”
“I guess it really doesn’t matter,” Elise sighed, and gave a small laugh. “ ‘Twill give me some time to myself.”
Spence never noticed her distress as he eagerly consumed the stolen bun. “Aye, ‘at’s likely what ‘is lor’ship was thinkin’ when ’e left ye here.”
Elise braved a smile. “He’ll be lucky to return without running afoul of the weather. The gray sky bodes ill.”
As if in compliance to her words, a thick fog settled over the countryside that afternoon, obscuring the distant hills until they became vague, dark shapes. At times they disappeared altogether, consumed by a mass of whitish gray. Gazing out from her windows, Elise had an eerie feeling that she and the keep were marooned atop a mist-shrouded pinnacle set apart in a faraway universe and she would never again know the comfort of England and home. With an effort of sheer will, she shook off the dismal gloom and busied herself with a vigorous cleaning of Maxim’s chambers. She straightened his dressing room and smoothed the velvet doublets beneath her hands as she placed them in neat order. Though the tiny room was not what one might call cluttered, it undoubtedly belonged to a man who was used to leaving such matters in the hands of servants.
Every now and then Elise would catch a faint melody drifting up from below where Herr Dietrich lent his voice to song. From the stables Spence added his own harmony to the tune with a vigorous hammering. The sounds reassured her, and yet the hours since Maxim’s departure grew long, and it became a labor to fill them. She was puzzled by the feeling of emptiness that pervaded the keep, as if his presence gave life to the structure. Though she struggled to deny the evidence of her own emotions, she was beginning to realize she had grown accustomed to his company and actually missed him when he was gone.
It was late afternoon when Spence appeared at the front portal. He seemed anxious as he hurried across the hall to fetch his long bow and a quiver full of arrows.
“What’s wrong?” Elise questioned in sudden apprehension.
“No need for ye ta fret, mistress,” he assured. “ ‘Ere’s just some strange voices on the trail, an’ I thought we’d best be wary, what wit’ thieves and vagabonds known ta roam ‘ese ‘ills.”
Motioning for Herr Dietrich to lower the bar across the door behind him, Spence slipped out and ran across the courtyard. As the cook made the hall secure, Elise raced upstairs and, opening her chamber windows, watched Spence mount the rampart beside the gate. She heard a distant creaking and a rattle of many hooves coming up the snow-packed trail, then a muffled call, hardly the sort of sounds a pair of riders would make. Whatever sort of brigands roamed these barren hills, it was obvious the castle’s lone defender would need help against their attack, for it seemed they were coming with force.
Over the top of the crumbling wall she could see the vague, darker line where the ridge crested and indistinct patches where the lighter path crossed it. A dark shadow moved in the mists, becoming the ghostly form of a man on horseback. Behind him another appeared, little more than a grayish haze in the fog. A larger apparition came behind them, taking on the shape of a cart drawn by a team of oxen. A second conveyance followed.
A small gasp escaped Elise as her eyes returned to the lead steed and she recognized his prancing gait. When she saw the tall, straight form of his rider, she realized by the telltale beat of her heart that she felt more than mere relief.
“Maxim is home!” The thought burned through her consciousness and warmed her with joy.
Catching up her skirts, Elise raced from
her chambers. In a thrice she was down the stairs and lifting the heavy bar away from the front portal. By the time she reached the stoop, Maxim and Fitch were in the courtyard. Behind them came a cart loaded down with barrels, crates of chickens, and a pair of small cannons. On the seat beside the driver sat a large, squarely built woman, wrapped in a hooded cloak. The other cart was heaped with wooden planks, two large chests, bolts of cloth, feather ticks rolled and wrapped for protection against the elements. A trim, neatly dressed older woman had taken a place beside the driver and clutched a tapestry-covered case upon her lap. Following in the wake of the crude conveyance came a veritable entourage of animals: a lone cow, a small flock of sheep driven by a lad carrying a tall staff and a shaggy-haired dog that scampered along beside the youth.
Maxim dismounted and tossed the reins to Fitch before he turned and approached the stoop. Drawing off his gloves, he paused before her. “As my lady commands.” With a grin he swept a hand to indicate the strangers. “Masons and carpenters to help mend the breaks, a woman to clean for you, another to ply a needle for a time where needed, animals to keep us in good supply of food and a lad to tend them.”
Elise was overwhelmed. “But how could you afford such comforts?”
“Nicholas advanced me moneys against the holdings of the Marquess of Bradbury,” he answered with a rueful smile. “Some would name him foolish, but he obviously trusts that I’ll be restored in good graces with the Queen.”
“And what of Edward and his lies?” she murmured.
He reached out and brushed a wayward curl away from her cheek “Of late, I’ve thought little of the man. Perhaps the fire of my hatred is waning in the pleasurable presence of his niece.”
She felt a flood of warmth toward him, and yet when he was so handsomely clothed in fur-trimmed cloak, velvet doublet, and fine leather boots, she could not ignore the fact that her own rough garb was base and crude. She scrubbed self-consciously at her cheek where his fingers had touched, spreading a smudge of dirt that encrusted it as she replied hesitantly, “You’ve outdone yourself, my lord, and been most generous.”
The two women were directed toward the stoop by Fitch, who was having difficulty keeping up as he struggled with their cases. As the pair mounted the steps, Elise retreated into the hall and held the door for them. The older woman smiled graciously, but no lady of quality ever put on so many airs as the larger one. She paused several paces beyond Elise to glance about with contempt at the interior, then she turned to peruse the maid with an equal amount of disdain.
Fitch was faced with the challenge of getting his bulk and the baggage through the portal at the same time. He mounted several abortive attempts before making an advance sideways. Even then, when he squeezed through, it was like a cork bursting free from a fermenting flagon of wine. No matter how hard he tried to hold them, the trunks and cases flew helter-skelter.
“Oh, look vhat yu’ve done, yu clumsy oaf!” the woman of bovine proportions scolded. Her words were marked with a faint German accent, and she gestured imperiously for Elise to give Fitch assistance just as Maxim entered.
“Don’t dawdle, girl! Help the man, and then show the dressmaker and me to our rooms!”
“Nay, mistress!” Fitch cried in an anxious dither, shaking his head at Elise. “Do not trouble yerself!”
“Mistress?” Raising her brows in sharp skepticism, the newcomer looked Elise up and down, bringing the blushing heat of humiliation to that one’s cheeks. Beneath that haughty stare of disapproval, Elise could find no suitable reply, aware that her appearance would have matched a scullery maid’s rags.
Maxim made the introductions: “Frau Hanz, this is your new mistress . . . Mistress Radborne.”
“Then . . .”—the woman paused, her dark eyes passing down the worn, woolen gown disdainingly—“she is not the Marchioness?”
Maxim felt a prickling of irritation as he noted the derisive smirk on Frau Hanz’s broad face. Her expression left little doubt to the conclusions she had drawn. “You were hired as housekeeper here, Frau Hanz, and your duties will be to lend yourself to whatever Mistress Radborne sets forth for you. If you’re displeased with that arrangement, you may leave come the morrow. I shall have my man take you back”
The housekeeper stiffened at the softly spoken rebuke, and it was a long moment before she answered. “Entschuldigen Sie, mein Herr. I did not mean to offend.”
“Take care in the future that you avoid doing so,” Maxim replied, and gave a brusque nod to Fitch. “Show the women to their rooms.”
In the silence that followed their passage, he contemplated Elise who appeared frozen by the exchange. “ ‘Tis difficult to find good servants in so brief a time,” he murmured as his eyes softly caressed the downturned face. “If you’re not satisfied with Frau Hanz, she can be dismissed.”
Realizing the threat of her crumbling composure, Elise stiltedly bade, “I must beg to be excused.”
Before Maxim could reply, she pressed a knuckle against her trembling lips and fled toward the stairs. He stared after her, his senses dulled by confusion. He had seen the hurt in her face and was able to understand it, yet for some reason he felt as if she had cast him as the villain in all of this.
Running after her, he caught up with her on the third step of the stairs and pulled her gently around to face him. Her eyes, spilling a wealth of tears from the lashes, refused to meet his gaze. “ ‘Tis no simple annoyance I see,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”
“You . . . you shame me, my lord,” she sobbed softly.
“What?” The word burst from his lips before he could halt it.
Elise flinched at his retort, and her teary eyes lifted to search his face. “Do you not ken what she thought of me?”
Maxim accepted the blame without argument. “I know I have compromised your good name, but short of exchanging vows, Elise, I can make no further amends than what I’ve already made. Frau Hanz can be sent away as easily as she was brought here. All you need do is give the command.”
“She looked at me . . . as something loathsome.” Elise stared down at her clothes and plucked distastefully at the frayed woolen gown. “And she had a perfect right to. I . . . I look like . . . a . . . charwoman!” She sniffed and wiped the back of her hand shakily across her cheeks as the words stumbled out between intakes of breath. “How can I face any servant you have brought here, much less go to Lubeck with Nicholas looking like this?”
Maxim frowned his displeasure. So that was it! Nicholas! She wanted to look her best for the man. “You took moneys from him for the clothes. What have I to do about that now?”
Elise lifted her hands in earnest appeal. “I came here with moneys of my own hidden beneath my skirts, and those I gave to Nicholas to invest for me. I’ve never taken anything else from him. Nor have I taken anything of yours. The purse you gave me was taken to the exchangers for benefit of usury. Nicholas can make full account of it all, every last coin.”
Maxim folded his hands behind his back and gazed down at her, his face enigmatic, as if he held a secret and would draw it out until the last moment. “Women,” he murmured softly. “I’ll never understand the breed. They cause me great trouble and even greater bewilderment. You could have explained, yet you allowed me to think you’d take moneys from both of us.”
“Give me leave to go to my chambers before Frau Hanz returns,” Elise pleaded miserably. “I would not have her see us together like this.”
“I pray you delay a moment more, Elise, while I’d make you aware that when Frau Reinhardt thinks one is deserving of her attention, that one also takes on a high priority.” He noticed her brows drawing together in confusion and allowed himself a small smile. “Except for the last fittings, the gowns were ready and have been brought along. Were I you, maid, I would hie myself to my chambers and make ready to receive them . . .”
A sharp intake of breath interrupted him, and in the next instant Elise was stretching upward on the tips of her toes and flinging her arm
s around his neck. Locking them fiercely about him, she drew his head down, amazing Maxim who was pleasantly taken aback by the swift, soft brush of her lips against his cheek.
“Oh, thank you, Maxim. Thank you,” she whispered against his ear, and before his arms could close about her narrow waist, she had slipped free and was flying up the stairs.
“Frau Reinhardt sent the seamstress along to see the gowns properly fitted,” he called after her and, a moment later, heard the slamming and bolting of her chamber door.
Maxim retraced his steps downward and crossed to the hearth where he stretched his hands toward the heat. The memory of Elise’s radiant face warmed him more than any fire, and the idea of making a temporary home of Faulder Castle was settling comfortably within his mind. Until a time came when they could return to England, the keep would be a nurturing haven for both of them.
Elise came awake suddenly, her body bathed in cold sweat. The remaining dregs of a nightmare, in which she had seen her father imprisoned in a dark, foreboding place, lingered in her mind. His hands and feet had been shackled with long chains, which had clanked in a slow, plodding measure as he trod the cold, stone floor with bare, bony feet. The boundaries of his prison cell were marked with bars of iron attached to a stone wall. A pair of eyes, of mammoth proportions and as transparent as a thin veil, overlay the vision, and the impression that they had stared with a deep, troubled longing straight at her had wrenched her from the depths of slumber.
Restless now, Elise left the comfort of the soft, downy tick and pulled the clean, sweet-smelling sheets and furs into place behind her to preserve what warmth she could for her return. She slipped a long velvet robe over her naked body and donned a pair of slippers, giving little heed to the luxuries she now enjoyed. What did they matter when her father could be suffering terrible hardships?
So Worthy My Love Page 28
