So Worthy My Love (57 page)

“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, catching 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 . . . ?”

“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.

T
HE 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 the 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.