So Worthy My Love (20 page)

“Cease, you vixen!”
His bellow gave her impetus as he tossed aside the pan. He was sure she had meant to spill his brains.

Elise sprinted in earnest toward the stairs, aware of the jeopardy she was in.

“M'lord! Spare the lass!” Spence cried, his hands almost a-blur in a twisting frenzy.

Maxim was thoroughly enraged and ignored the servant's plea as he leapt after the girl. Fitch and Spence stumbled after him in hasty but uncertain pursuit, not knowing what they could do to halt him should he become violent. They had never faced such a dilemma, for his lordship was usually quite well-mannered in the presence of the ladies. Still, they had both tasted the spite of this slender maid and could well understand how his temper could have been tested beyond restraint. In truth, she was a rare challenge to any man, whether lowborn or of noble birth.

Elise passed a standing candelabrum beside the balustrade and, with a strength born of desperation,
swept it around behind her as she fled. It toppled to the floor in front of Maxim, catching him across the shin in its descent, and sent him sprawling upon the lower steps. In great perturbation, he raised himself to see the girl's skirts flick out of sight on the higher bevel. A door slammed from that vicinity, and the sound of an inside bar dropping into place reverberated throughout the keep.

“M'lord! Be ye hurt?” Spence questioned anxiously, trying to grasp the Marquess's arm and haul him to his feet. He was greatly relieved that circumstances had not necessitated the use of force to subdue his lordship.

“Get away!” Maxim snarled and brushed aside the servant's hands. Pushing himself upright, he tossed a glare toward the upper level, rankled by the fact the girl could remove herself from any confrontation by the simple barring of her door. In truth, she was not as helpless as he had first imagined. No mere rabbit she, but a vixen through and through.

Tugging at his damaged ear, Maxim bent a scowl upon the two who stood watching him. “So! What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“What can we say, m'lord?” Fitch replied, nervously stroking the sides of his ponderous belly. “We made a dreadful mistake, ‘at we did, an' if ye've a mind ta cut off our ‘ands, we'd be deservin' h'it.”

“Spence?” The Marquess raised a brow as he awaited that one's answer.

The taller man scrubbed a toe over the stone floor, thinking how a week or so earlier it had been thickly covered with filth. If not for the girl it might
have remained so. “I feel a great burden in me heart for the young maid, yer lor'ship, “specially with us makin' a ragged mess o' everythin'. Why, if ye were o' a mind ta give me leave, I'd like ta be the one ta take her back an' restore her safe and sound ta her uncle's care.”

Maxim considered the man a long moment, recognizing the heartfelt plea and the longing to right a wrong. “There's another problem that prevents me from letting her go back.”

“What be that, m'lord?”

“Her father was kidnapped, and ‘tis my belief that she would be in grave danger if we returned her to England before he is set free. She has no one there to give her protection other than Edward, and I know what kind of goat he is.”

“Then, ta be sure, m'lord, we must hold her for her own safety.”

“Precisely.”

“Will ye not tell the girl o' the danger?”

“Would she believe me?”

“Nay, m'lord, but she'll hate ye for keepin' ‘er ‘ere.”

Maxim lifted his broad shoulders in a brief shrug. “I've borne the hatred of fiercer foes than she.”

Fitch cocked an eye toward him in dubious doubt. “Humph! Just wait ‘til ye gets ta know ‘er. Ye might change yer mind. I can't say as I've ever seen such a bloodthirsty wench.”

Maxim smiled ruefully as he rubbed the knot on his head. “You have a point there, Fitch.”

“But what o' yer betrothed, m'lord?” Spence pressed.

After a long moment of solemn musing Maxim heaved a sigh of resignation. “Lost to me, ‘twould seem. I cannot go chasing back to England for her. In this, Edward has been victorious. He has his daughter, my properties, and Reland's wealth to add to his coffers. ‘Twill be many months ere I can return to confront him.”

“Aye, m'lord, ‘ere be times when plans go awry,” Spence sighed in sympathy. “But on occasion, when all be said an' done, ‘tis almost as if a wiser hand has held the reins. If Fitch an' meself, by our bumblin', have served ta keep the girl from a greater danger, then I'll be proud o' the deed for her sake, but sorry for yers.”

Maxim remained silent. He could not argue with the wisdom of the man's words, but logic did not ease the dull ache in his heart. Slowly he began to mount the stairs, the soles of his boots grating against the stone as he instructed, “Bring food and ale and a basin of water to my chambers, then leave me be ‘til the morrow. I've need of a good night's rest upon a fresh pallet . . .”

“Ah . . . yer pardon, yer lor'ship . . .” Fitch called, once more apprehensive.

Maxim paused on the stairs and half turned to await the servant's words. He sensed there was more to be told to him, and from the man's hesitant manner, he would wager he would not find it pleasing.

“Ah . . . we . . . ah . . . set ta cleanin' the keep right away, m'lord. We scrubbed the floors in the hall an' the stairs, an' spent some time makin' the mistress's ‘chambers fit . . .”

“Go on,” Maxim encouraged, wondering what the servant's roundabout discourse was leading to.

“Well, yer lor'ship, we were so busy”—Fitch stroked his belly again in nervous agitation—“we had no time ta tidy up yer chambers.”

Maxim stared at his man in some irritation, yet he knew he could suffice with only a clean pallet to lay his weary frame upon. “ ‘Twill have to wait ‘til the morrow then. All I want is some sleep.”

“Ah, yer lor'ship . . .” Fitch continued squeamishly.

The muscles in Maxim's cheeks began to twitch. There was something of a more serious nature that the servant was not telling him. “What is it, Fitch?”

“Ah . . . well, ye see, m'lord . . .”

“Get on with it!” Maxim snapped. “What's wrong?”

“The roof!” Fitch blurted. “We haven't repaired it yet.”

“And what is wrong with the roof?” Maxim barked, growing vexed with the man.

“She's got a ‘ole in ‘er the size o' a large kettle, yer lor'ship. ‘Tain't likely ye'll find much comfort up there in the lord's chambers. Would ye not rather take yer rest down ‘ere by the fire where ‘tis warm?”

Maxim fixed cold green eyes upon the man, and his countenance held no more warmth than his voice. “How long do you think ‘twill take you to repair the roof and make my chambers acceptable?”

“Oh, ‘twould be no more ‘an a good day's labor ta mend the shutters an' the door. Ye see, m'lord, it won't close, an' then there'd be another day or two,
mayhap three, ter patch the roof. An' ‘at's not takin' inta account the cleanin' an' scrubbin'.”

Maxim slowly retraced his steps downward. “I'll sup by the fire, but before I retire, I will expect my chambers to be made adequate for a night's lodging, even if you have to hang hides to protect the bed from the snow and cold. If you fail, you will spend the winter in the stables with Eddy. Do I make myself clear?”

“Indeed, m'lord,” Fitch hurried to assure the Marquess. His mind had already begun to race, taking account of all that needed to be done. There was not a moment to spare. “I'll set ye out a trencher o' meats an' be about it.”

“Never mind. I can serve myself. You have precious little time as it is.”

“Aye, m'lord,” Fitch heartily agreed.

Spence was already running to fetch a broom and a bucket. He had no desire to be a stable companion of Eddy's all winter long. True enough, there was a room with a hearth and chimney behind the stables, but he did not think his lordship meant them to have such comforts if they failed at their task He was not sure what this frigid northland would be like in the months to come, but he had come to favor the warmth of a well-stocked hearth and a well-stuffed pallet to soften a night's sleep.

E
LISE PUSHED BACK
the fur robes, allowing the crisp, cool air that flowed through the chamber to touch her face and shoulders and, with its fresh and frigid touch, to banish the last lingering traces of sleep. The chill draft raised tiny bumps on her skin and turned her breath into vapors of frosty white. The cold penetrated until a sneeze threatened, and though she held a slim finger beneath her nose, the urge grew stronger. She sucked in air in little gasps, and coming upright in bed, she gave vent to a series of small, but forceful, eruptions that left her red-eyed and sniffling.

“A pox on that blackguard!” She collapsed back upon the bed in petulant displeasure, wondering how the great lord of this dilapidated keep was faring in his lofty bedchamber. She had heard him pass on the stairs near her room the night before, and thus far this morning had not heard him descend. It was only right and just that he should suffer more than she, for it was his blundering folly that had caused her to be seized and brought here. He deserved to feel the bite of this wintry morn in such a way that he would never forget. Indeed, if the roof collapsed upon him and left him bruised and battered
amid a pile of timbers and planks, she rather doubted that her desire for revenge would be adequately appeased.

Tugging the fur robes close beneath her chin again, Elise curled up beneath their warmth. The rain and snow and slush of the previous day had frozen into a coating over the windows that glistened and twinkled with the bight of the dawning sun. The brilliant orb failed to warm the chamber with its rays, and though Elise contemplated leaving her cozy haven to dash across to the hearth to lay fresh kindling and logs upon the glowing coals, she delayed the torture, wishing fervently there were servants to come and build a fire. She had always been rather self-sufficient in the matter of her own needs, or so she once had thought, but that had been before coming to this northern clime. She now realized that servants provided for a multitude of comforts, both reasonable and frivolous. Stoking up a dying fire, cooking delicious meals, carrying pails of water for a bath—these were but a few services she had once taken for granted, but now, with the absence of such, she sorely felt the loss. It was just another reason
to protest her captivity, and although she could fend for herself quite adequately, she would make sure in the future that Maxim Seymour heard a multitude of complaints from her on the lack of household help.

She had many more woes to express to him. Not the least of these was the fact that she felt and looked the part of a wild woman turned loose upon the world. The woolen gown was hardly recognizable as a garment a woman might wear, much less a lady.

“All because that lame-witted, love-smitten swain takes it into his head to seize his light-o'-love!” Her eyes narrowed into slanted slashes of piercing blue. “He will pay, and dearly so.

“And as for suffering abuse!” She aired her grievances to the room. “The Radbornes should have taken lessons from that lout! By foolish folly he has far outstripped my cousins' carefully devised strategies on the techniques of torture. ‘Twill serve him right to endure the thrust of my revenge.”

Stifling another sneeze with a slender finger, Elise rose to sit on the edge of the bed. When the urge passed she ran a hand over her arm, feeling the roughness where the chill-bumps rose upon her flesh. Pulling one of the still-warm furs around her shoulders, she considered her predicament. When she undressed the night before, she had foolishly left her clothes on a chair near the now-cold hearth, a fact which now offered her little comfort since it was a goodly distance from the bed.

Tentatively she stretched out a foot, but snatched it back from its first contact with the cold stone floor. Once again she bolstered her courage. After all, it would not be a lasting torment. Gritting her teeth and steeling herself against the frigid air, she dropped the fur and leapt from her snug cocoon. Snatching up her clothes at a run, she made a whirling dash back to the bed and dove under the furs until she was once more cozy and warm. The bundle of clothes was cold against her naked flesh, but under the protection of the covers, she began to don them until at last she was fully garbed. Rising like a fabled bird from its nest, she lifted her face to
catch a warming ray upon it and sat back upon her heels. She combed her fingers through her snarled hair, bringing its long, shining length to the best semblance of order she could attain without a brush or comb. A more careful grooming would have to wait until she could heat water for a bath and move about the room in comfort. She did not relish washing in
cold water, and it was so chilly in the room she was sure that ice crystals had formed in the bucket of water Fitch had brought upstairs for her the night before.

Elise paused as a sudden thought struck her, and she almost leered at the wooden pail as her mind began to race. If ever she wanted to make a man take heed of her threatening words and come to the realization she could not be easily dismissed, then surely there was a way to gain that one's undivided attention. Her last glance at the lord's chambers had assured her the door still hung askew and could not stand as a barrier to her now. If that high and mighty lord was still asleep, then she might deliver her first assault upon that fortress of pride and manly power.

Slipping on her soft hide shoes, Ebise hurried to the hearth and tested the water in the pail. It was sufficiently cold to rouse even the soundest of sleepers from the deepest of slumbers. Taking up the bucket, she went to the door where she paused and pressed an ear against the panel to listen. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, she carefully lifted the inner bar and stepped out into the hall. The loud snores of Fitch and Spence drifted up from below, reassuring her that all was well, at least from that vicinity. The lord's chambers might be a different matter entirely.