So Worthy My Love (70 page)

‘Twas the following Friday when Maxim received a summons from the Queen, bidding him come to London. It seemed that one of her ladies-in-waiting had been found dead at the bottom of a long flight of stairs, and though there were no witnesses to say whether or not her death had been accidental, bruises of the shape and size of a man's fingertips had been found on het throat. The deceased woman was of an age two score and three years, and it was revealed by the weeping attendants that in the last year or so she had on several occasions slipped out to secretly meet a lover.

It was further reported to Maxim that at Newgate gaol, Hilliard had also met with a serious accident. It seemed that sometime during the wee hours of the morning his throat had been cut. None could aver who the culprit was, for the inmates had common cells and every one of them attested to the innocence of the other. Still, there were those who had more coin than usual to bribe the guards, and it was rumored that before the crime took place, a wealthy barrister who no one could correctly name, had come to the gaol to visit a common thief about an
inheritance left to the brigand by a dead uncle. Word had it that the bequeathed sum had been delivered in its entirety shortly after Hilliard was slain, effectively squelching tongues that were eager to wag, if truly a bribe it be.

Elise remained at Bradbury, thinking it would be only a matter of a day or two ere Maxim returned. Anne was of uncommon comfort in his absence, for the bond that had quickly formed between the two women was forged with ties of kinship and heritage. After viewing the portrait of Elise's mother, there remained no smallest shred of doubt in Anne's mind that she had been the granddaughter who was taken. The resemblance was too close to dismiss, and the necklace by itself alone gave undeniable proof they were blood kin. Elise was jubilant over the matter. She had finally found the core from which she had sprung, while Anne indulged herself in watching the budding glory of her offspring.

Nicholas, Kenneth, and the other two men made their excuses after a trio of days had passed since Maxim's departure. They took leave of the manor as a foursome with different destinations in mind. Nicholas and Justin went back to the captain's ship to oversee the loading of new cargo, while Kenneth and Sherbourne returned to their respective homes closer to London. As they made their departure, each vowed with fervent troth that if ever Elise had need of them, she had but to send word and they would return posthaste, no matter the distance between them. Almost sadly she waved them off, knowing that she would see Nicholas and Justin only briefly before they left again for some other
port, and the knights perhaps only a bit more ere they returned to their duties.

In their absence Elise gave herself over to longer hours in the gardens with Anne keeping her company. The two women laughed and talked, sometimes expressing their innermost thoughts, while other times just commenting on the weather or some other inconsequential matter.

It was early in the afternoon of the fourth day of Maxim's absence that Elise put shears into a basket and ventured to the courtyard with Anne. There she snipped off fading blooms and cut flowers for the house. About midafternoon she ceased her labors, doffed her hat and gloves, and settled at a courtyard table with the elderly woman to share tea and cakes. As they chatted, a faint, distant yipping persisted and finally commanded a pause in their conversation.

“Why, that sounds like a small dog,” Anne commented as she held a thin hand to her ear to listen. “What do you suppose a dog is doing here on the Bradbury lands?”

“I don't know, but it sounds like it's coming from that maze of shrubs growing near the pond. Maxim showed me the place before he left.” Elise rose and put aside her napkin. “I'll go and see.”

“Take your shears, dear,” Anne suggested. “The poor little thing might have gotten caught in a thicket or some such.”

Dropping the heavy scissors into her apron pocket, Elise slipped through the sculptured hedge that bordered the end of the courtyard. She was led by the anxious barking across a lush greensward,
and as she approached the place where large shrubs had been planted in a maze, she was encouraged by the nearness of the animal, for his whining seemed very close now.

Elise entered a long, narrow lane bordered on both sides by tall hedges, and at the very end of the aisle of green sat a small, male canine, barking and whining. As soon as he saw her, he leapt up and, with tail wagging, made a dash forward to greet her, but he was brought up abruptly by a leash that was attached to the collar he wore. The other end of the tether was caught somewhere within the shrub that grew nearby. Though the fluffy little dog jumped around and tried to get free, he could not break away. Sitting down again, he wagged his tail and whined forlornly, as if begging her to come release him.

Elise laughed and hurried toward him. “What are you doing here all alone?”

He cocked his head from side to side, as if trying to understand, and she ruffled his curling thatch vigorously behind his ears. “Never mind, little boy. We'll just take you home where you can romp as free as the wind.”

She bent down to free him, then realized the ornate lead had been deliberately tied to a sturdy green stalk near the bottom of the shrub. She frowned in bemusement, unable to fathom why anyone would tether a dog in this place and why they would do so on Bradbury lands.

“You always were fond of those things,” came a voice behind her.

With a gasp Elise whirled around as she came to her feet, of a sudden feeling much like a woman
drowning . . . being sucked under by waves of overwhelming fear. She knew that voice only too well! It was one she had come to dread and hate more than any other. “Forsworth!”

“Why, if it isn't Cousin Elise,” he mocked. “Imagine seeing you this far from home. I'd have thought that husband of yours would have built a tall, stone wall around the house to keep you safe.”

Elise wasted no precious moment with words, for she was immediately aware of the danger to herself. She turned to flee, only to stumble over the dog who was bouncing eagerly at her feet.

Forsworth was a step behind He caught her arm and whirled her around to face him again. His teeth showed in a savage snarl as he swept the backside of his hand had across her cheek. “You won't escape me ever again, you bitch!”

Elise staggered in a white haze of pain for a frozen moment of time, then slowly her mind cleared and she glared up at him in renewed loathing as she wiped the back of a trembling hand across a bloodied lip. A multitude of disparaging titles tempted her tongue, but she held still, well aware that she trod on dangerous ground. This was no chance meeting. Forsworth had deliberately lured her away from Bradbury, using the dog as bait, and from the dusty condition of his leather jerkin and thigh-high boots, he had ridden a far distance to reach her.

“What is it you want, Forsworth?” Her tone did not conceal her repugnance.

The generous mouth twisted in a smug, self-satisfied smile. “Why, Elise, have you forgotten so
soon?” he queried in feigned amazement. “I only want you to tell me where the treasure is.”

“How many times must I tell you?” she gritted out. “I don't know where the treasure is! My father never told me where he hid it! There may not even be any for all I know!”

A heavy sigh gave evidence of his displeasure. “So it's to be that way again, eh? You and me. Arguing and fighting.” He shook his head slowly, as if greatly sorrowed by the idea. “You know it will go hard for you this time. I'm not as lenient as I used to be.”

She scoffed “As if you ever were! You're about as deadly as a poisonous viper, Forsworth. Everyone should be wary when you slither from your slimy hole.”

“Viper, is it?” he snarled. “I'll show you!” His long fingers closed cruelly around her upper arm, and he began to slap her, venting his desire for vengeance. The small dog quickly scurried beneath the shrub, where he whined and cowered in fear, sensing all was not right between these two.

Elise struggled to remain alert beneath the hash battering. She tasted blood in her mouth and clenched her jaw against the painful blows, but still they continued, and she knew she would not be able to withstand much more without slipping into uncaring oblivion. Concentrating had on the moment, she slid her free hand downward into the pocket of her apron. Clasping the heavy scissors in her fist, she snatched them forth and, with a forceful descent, stabbed them into the arm that held her imprisoned. With a pained yowl Forsworth stumbled
back, holding his arm as he gaped in horror at the pair of shears that protruded from his shirt. A slowly widening ring of red spread outward from the wound, darkening the cloth. Grasping the makeshift weapon, he wrenched it out, giving a great cry of pain.

Elise had anticipated the need for swift flight and was already whirling, catching up her skirts. She forced every bit of strength she possessed into her quest for freedom. She heard the thrashing, stumbling advance of her adversary behind her and knew that if not for his pain, he would have overtaken her in a thrice. His muttered threats rang in her ears, and they only gave her impetus, for she could well imagine what would happen if he caught her.

She flitted about a corner, and her breath left her as she crashed headlong into another tall, solidly muscled form that blocked the lane. Her panic knew no reason as she cried out in alarm and struggled blindly against the one who now held her. She could hear the charging Forsworth behind her, coming ever closer.

“Elise?”

Once again she recognized the voice that spoke to her, and she jerked her head up with a gasp to find Quentin's face close above her own.

“What has happened here?” he demanded, frowning sharply as he wiped his knuckles along her bruised cheek.

“Let her go!” Forsworth commanded, seizing her arm. “She's mine!”

Quentin brought a hand down sharply upon his brother's forearm, breaking his hold, and pulled
Elise to safety behind him. When Forsworth tried to follow, he shoved a broad hand against the younger's chest and pushed him back. “Back off!” he barked. “You're not touching her again!”

“I'll beat her to a bloody pulp!” railed his sibling. “I've taken enough from that little bitch!” He thrust his arm forward to display his wound, flinging flecks of blood across his brother's velvet doublet. “Look what she's done to me!”

Quentin turned his lips in repugnance at the beaded droplets that bejeweled his doublet and lifted a hand to flick them away in disgust. “From what I've seen of her battered face, Forsworth, you deserved it,” he observed “And I cannot fault Elise for defending herself. Your manners are about as swinish as an ill-tempered old boar. I swear Mother never taught you anything.”

“I'll take no more of your inane prattle, Quentin!” Forsworth cried. “Now let me have the wench!”

“Need I remind you, dear brother, that the wench, as you call her, is our cousin?” Quentin stressed the question as if he found it necessary to impress a lackwitted lad. “And I, for one, am appalled to see how you've abused her. In good conscience I could not give her over to you, knowing what you'd do. Now desist with this fool's play and be gone from here!”

Forsworth pulled back a fist, intending to let it fly into his brother's face, but with a swift flick of his wrist, Quentin slipped a dagger from its sheath and pressed its point threateningly into the leather jerkin that covered the lean waist of the other.

“Have a care for your life, Forsworth,” he warned direly. “You could have more of your blood spilled right here and now, and I would consider it your just due. I'll not be cuffed about by you!”

“Are you going to give her to me?” Forsworth demanded.

Quentin's ridicule was blatant. “I do believe Elise struck the wits from your head when she hit you that time. Or was she right in saying you were addled before the event?” He dropped a hand on the younger brother's shoulder as if lecturing him soundly. “Go back to where you came from and see if you can staunch that flow of blood ere you bleed to death. I don't intend to give Elise to you. She's in my protection now, and ‘twill be death to pay if you try to take her from me by force. I swear I will slice open your belly ere you take her.”

Forsworth jerked away from the other's touch. “Get your hands off me, you Judas goat,” he snarled and stepped awkwardly away, glaring at his brother. “Be warned, Quentin. I'm coming back for her.”

The elder smiled tolerantly. “As you wish, Forsworth. I've no special love for you that I would mourn overlong at your loss. I always thought we were half-brothers anyway.”

“Meaning?”

An amused grin slowly traced the handsome lips. “Meaning I believe you're a bastard child, Forsworth, of no kin to Bardolf Radborne.”

“Damn you!” the younger shouted “You're calling our mother a slut! An adulteress!”

Quentin shrugged casually. “I always thought you inherited your slow wits from some simple dolt,
and we both know that my father was a man with a good mind.”

“If he was so smart, why'd he let himself be poisoned?” Forsworth sneered.

“What do you mean?” Quentin questioned sharply.

Now it was Forsworth's turn to gloat as he indicated Elise. “Ask her all about it.”

The older brother slowly turned his head until he could see his cousin over his shoulder. “What is he talking about?”

Elise wrung her hands in distress, knowing that Quentin had held his father in great esteem.

“Tell me!”

She jumped at his barked command and reluctantly revealed what she knew. “ ‘Twas rumored in my father's house long ago that Cassandra poisoned both my mother and your father.”

“The bitch! I'll kill her.”

Forsworth chuckled in derision until the elder caught the front of the leather jerkin with such force that it nearly knocked the younger brother back upon his heels. Snarling his rage into his brother's face, Quentin shook him had enough to rattle the teeth in his head