So Worthy My Love (44 page)

Therese's eyes shone with pleasure as she eagerly nodded. “
Ja!
It is so. Nicholas alvays remember us vherever he go.”

T
HE MOON ROSE HIGHER
in the star-bedecked ebon sky as the midnight hour drew nigh. A snow-laden mist, swept in by the cold night air, drifted down Lubecher Bucht from the Baltic to slowly engulf the city beneath a salt-tainted blanket. Maxim Seymour paused outside the door of the Von Reijn house and carefully scanned the empty streets that converged on the one where the house stood. Drawing up the hood of his cloak, he selected a forward direction and set off with purposeful gait. He hurried along for several blocks, then, turning a corner, ducked into the nearest alley to wait silently for a space. Once certain that no one followed, he continued on his way, his long strides rapidly devouring the distance. After a short passage of time, he halted in the shadows of a narrow lane and surveyed the area he now found himself in. Across the street the Lowentatze loomed tall and dark on the indistinct border of the waterfront, rising to a height of four stories before reaching its gabled, steeply pitched roof. A weatherworn
sign which hung from an iron bar identified the place as the inn he sought, bearing the red letters of the name in a curved arch above a single paw print of a lion.

The erstwhile Marquess cast another cautious glance along the thoroughfare and, assuring himself that it was deserted, made haste to cross the distance. Pausing beside the door, he listened for a moment, but no evidence of habitation issued forth. He slipped within the hall, then pressed back into the darkness that enveloped the entrance. Only a few candles illumed the common room, which was empty save for a spindly lad who earnestly plied a straw broom to the rough-hewn planks of the floor. The boy was bent to his labor and gave no sign he was aware of another's presence.

Maxim reached out and tugged at the lanyard of a small brass ship's bell that hung on a post near the entrance. The clangor seemed loud and strident in' the silence, yet the lad gave no heed as he continued moving a growing pile of dirt and trash across the stubborn floor. Maxim jerked on the lanyard again, and this time a grumbling voice answered from somewhere beyond the first level.

“Ja! Ja! Ich kommend!”

The sound of slow footfalls drifted from the bowels of the inn, then a huge, stoop-shouldered man came to stand in the doorway at the rear of the common room. Peering toward the entrance, he ambled a few paces closer, then paused as he spied the insistent intruder.

“Bitte, kommen Sie naher,”
the innkeeper bade, beckoning to Maxim invitingly.
“Wir haben leider sehr selten Gaste bei uns.”

“Actually I'm not a guest,” Maxim answered, and saw the man's eyes grow suddenly wary and a slight bit fearful. Maxim fished a coin from the
pocket of his jerkin and, with the ifick of his finger, set the single gold sovereign spinning on the top of a nearby table.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
the man asked guardedly, making no move to take up the coin.

“I was given to understand that you spoke English,” Maxim countered.

The innkeeper's eyes regarded him furtively from beneath beetled brows, as if by dint of will he would read what was in Maxim's mind, and yet he gave no hint of a yea or a nay.

“Ist jemand da, der Englisch spricht?”
Maxim queried, glancing around for evidence of another on the premises who spoke English.

“Wie heissen Sie?”
the rotund man finally inquired.

“Seymour . . . Maxim Seymour.”

The man lumbered forward until he reached the table and, picking up the coin, inspected it closely until satisfied one side bore the face of the English queen and, on the opposite side, all the markings which identified the stranger as the one he had been told to expect. A grin widened his lips and he flipped the coin in a high arch to Maxim who caught it with a sweep of his hand and swiftly pocketed it.

“Well, milord! I guess ye be the one, alright.” The innkeeper chortled as he relaxed. “Me name's Tobie.”

Maxim glanced at the boy and posed the question, “What of him?”

“Aw, don't ye be troublin' yerself 'bout him none. The lad has no hearin' an' is gifted with a simple way of mind. ‘Tis safer that way.”

“What of the men I'm supposed to meet?”

“Master Kenneth an' his brother come up from Hamburg 'bout a week ago an' said ‘at a gentleman'd be arrivin' soon. When I saw yer signal, I fetched 'em here. ‘Ey're upstairs waitin' for ye.”

“What of your other guests?”

“Ah, precious few there be, milord. None of 'em's the sort what would give heed to anythin' a body does here. ‘Ere be me friends, more or less.”

Thoughtfully Maxim contemplated the innkeeper.
“Sie Sprechen sehr gut Deutsch,
Tobie. How is that you speak it so well and abuse the English language so poorly?”

Tobie hooked his fingers in his rope belt and rocked back on his heels as he pondered the question. “Well, milord, I figgers it's safer lettin' those what would think me an ord'nary common English bloke. A high-up lord like yor'self'll likely lose yer head o'er this, but meself, sir? Well, I'm thinkin' maybe ‘ey won't use me as an example . . . if'n ye knows what I means, sir. I says ‘tis better ter be a little safe than dead sorry.”

“You can hide behind your churlish tongue if you choose, my friend, but if worse comes to worse, I rather doubt anyone will take time to separate the classes. We'll all be lined up and executed as quickly as they can drop a headman's axe.”

Tobie grimaced and rubbed his throat, as if already feeling the sharp blade. “Yer words ain't a mite comfortin', milord.”

“The truth rarely is.”

Maxim slipped quietly into the Von Reijn house and moved with silent tread up its stairs and through
its halls. He paused a moment at the open portal of the chambers he had been given, feeling as if something was out of place. Slowly his eyes swept the length and breadth of the antechamber, carefully probing the darkness. The fire had burned low in the hearth, and all that remained of the logs were broken pieces of charred wood glowing red and black on a bed of gray ashes. The dying coals created no more light than a tiny aura of red and gold, hardly banishing the shadows in the hearth, much less the chambers. In the night-shaded room it was difficult to discern fact from fantasy. The furnishings were merely ghostly shapes and indistinct blurs that had taken on a slightly blacker hue. A tall-backed settee which stood before the hearth was the only thing even remotely distinguishable, only because it was partially silhouetted against the glow of the coals. He could detect nothing that seemed out of order, but a
feeling nagged at him that he was not entirely alone.

Closing the portal behind him, Maxim swept off his cloak and laid it over his arm as he made his way into the adjoining bedchamber. As in the anteroom, the log that had once blazed in the hearth had diminished to little more than a charred strip of burning embers.

Tossing the cloak over the back of a chair, Maxim approached the massive four-poster and touched a spark from a tinderbox to light a taper on the bedside table. The glow spread, illumining the chamber, and for a moment he considered the huge bed, anticipating the comfort he would find between its feather ticks and fluffy quilts. The comforters were invitingly turned down to reveal sun-whitened
sheets edged with hand-tatted lace. It was the fresh scent of them that reminded him of Elise when he had watched her spread a sheet to dry over a large shrub in the courtyard. Other, more savory memories came to mind, but he banished them, lest they rend what was left of his meager slumber.

Maxim sighed and dropped wearily to the edge of the bed and began tugging off his thigh-high boots. When he rose again, he had doffed his doublet and shirt and was garbed only in the narrow-fitting, waist-length stockings he sometimes wore instead of the padded breeches. He shivered as an icy chill swept his naked back, reminding him of the dwindling warmth of the dying embers.

Soon he had rekindled a blazing fire in the hearth. It radiated a welcoming warmth across the room, and though his eyes swept to every corner, he did not discover the reason for his mild disquiet. Returning to the antechamber, he lent himself to a similar task of stoking up the fire there. Kneeling before the hearth, he raked the live coals together and laid on fresh kindling and seasoned logs, bringing to life again a cheery fire that soon crackled, sizzled, and hissed in warm exuberance.

Maxim rose to his feet and stared for a long, contemplative moment into the growing flames, enjoying the heat as he reflected on the recent information he had gleaned this early morningtide and the plans which the three of them had made. He would have little time to press his courtship of Elise while they were in Lubeck, and that gave him no pleasure, for his absence would give Nicholas the advantage of seeking her out.

A long sigh intruded into his thoughts, and he turned in surprise, wondering who had come into the room. His eyes quickly scanned the shadows near the door, finding no evidence of another's entry, then a slight movement caught his attention, and he dropped his gaze to the settee. There, curled in sleep beneath a fur throw, was the one he had come to desire. Her face was barely visible above the dark covering, though her hair spread out around her in loosely curling tresses. Its deep, auburn hues were set aflame by the rich glow of the fire whose light reached out to touch her delicate features. The heavy brush of silken lashes lay on cheeks rosy and fair as her softly sighing breath slipped through temptingly parted lips. She stirred, turning her profile upward as she flung an arm over the fur covering, and his breath caught and held as the bodice of her robe fell open, revealing a most enticing view of fully ripened breasts. The plunging neckline teased him as it threatened to slip away entirely from the
creamy flesh and bring to his starving gaze the pink, pliant peaks. Though the sight inflamed his passions and started the blood coursing through his veins, Maxim could not convince himself that she had braved his chambers for a lover's tryst. If he knew the maid at all, he would say her reasons involved her father.

As if in response to his musings, the long lashes fluttered slowly open, and when she turned her head on the small pillow, he found himself gazing down into the sapphire depths. She stared at him calmly, as if her thoughts were readily at her disposal and not dazed by the confusion of slumber.

“I wanted to talk with you . . . so I waited . . .” Her gaze passed slowly down his naked chest to the narrow stockings that clung boldly to the manliness of him. He made no attempt to hide evidence of his arousal, which prompted Elise to check her own appearance. With flushed cheeks she gathered her robe together and hurriedly explained, “I must've fallen asleep.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the settee and would have fled from the room in painful chagrin, but Maxim eased her embarrassment by presenting his back and throwing another log into the fire.

“Why did you come?” he asked over his shoulder.

Her voice was small and timid. “Nicholas said you might be the one to help me find my father . . .”

Maxim laughed briefly. “Nicholas has a way of thrusting aside your questions by deliberately intimidating others. You can't believe everything he says.”

“I know he was making light of it all.” Elise twisted her thin fingers in roweling disquiet. What must Maxim think of her for having sought him out in his chambers dressed as she was? She should have fretted less about pleading for his help and given more heed to her state of
deshabillé.
Now he could only be repulsed by her apparent forwardness. “I should not have come,” she mumbled timorously. “And yet, I thought you would be the one to help me.”

“Actually . . .” Maxim paused a moment, wondering if he should encourage her. “I spoke to a man a short time ago . . . he might've been mistaken . . .
but he thinks he saw a man who could've been your father.”

Elise came to her feet, her courage returning as her hopes burgeoned. “Where?”

Maxim waved his hand in a casual gesture and went to pour himself a shallow draught of mild wine. “I don't know if you should give the matter much heed, Elise. The man wasn't sure if it was your father.”

She quickly crossed the space that separated them, and Maxim faced her as she laid a hand on his forearm. “But it might've been, Maxim. It might've been.”

“I'll certainly make other inquiries . . .”

“Was he seen here in Lubeck?” she queried anxiously.

Maxim took a short sip of the wine. “The man I spoke with said he was at the dock one early morning when an Englishman was escorted by members of the Hansa down the planks of a ship . . . in chains.”

“Then Nicholas might be able to help us find . . .”

“Nay!” The word was issued firmly, and Maxim stared down at her as he spoke, as if to instill in her the importance of leaving Nicholas out of the matter. “You cannot involve him, Elise.”

“Involve?” She repeated the word in confusion and, searching for his meaning, carefully questioned him. “Do you mean he cannot be trusted to help us?”

Maxim shook his head, very much in a quandary over how he should explain. The last thing he wanted to do was to paint the captain as a villain in her
eyes. To suggest that the man was capable of such a thing might seem a deliberate defamation of his character, especially while he was waiting for Elise to make up her mind.

Setting aside his goblet, Maxim gently took her hands into both of his as he compelled her to understand. “Nicholas is my friend, Elise. He's also a member of the Hansa . . . as his father was before him. Despite his denials, the law of the league has become his way of life. If he had to choose his loyalties, I've no idea to which side he would go. I say ‘tis better not to force the issue. If we confide in him, we may regret it. If we keep him uninformed, he'll not be tempted to give us away.”