So Worthy My Love (71 page)

“You bastard, I'll scrub your face from one end of this lane to the other if you don't stop that!”

Forsworth's humor was effectively squelched, and he gritted through grinding teeth, “I'm no bastard!”

“You're no brother of mine!” Quentin shoved him away in disgust. “Get out of here!”

“Not without Elise.”

“Be gone from here!”

The younger started at the command, then his eyes went beyond his brother to fix the lady with a glare. “I'll make you sorry you were ever born, slut.”

Elise did not try to hide her revulsion for the man. “My regret has always been that we were born blood kin. You can be assured I'll take hope that we're not kin.”

“Watch for me,” he warned. “I'm coming back to get you.”

“Watch out, or she might get you first,” Quentin scoffed.

Forsworth jeered at his brother's humor. “You needn't worry about me, brother. I'll not give this bitch another chance to sink her nails into me.” Then with a final sneer, he turned and ran off down the lane.

A sigh of relief escaped Elise as Quentin faced her, but she realized by the pained look in her cousin's eyes that he was hurting inside. “I'm sorry about Cassandra and Uncle Bardolf.”

“I should have expected as much.” He heaved a sigh, calming himself. “There've been times when I've wished she wasn't my mother.”

Elise laid a gentle hand upon his am and murmured in gratitude, “Thank you for being here when I needed you.”

Quentin swept her a solemn bow. “The pleasure has been all mine, madam.”

“But why are you here?” she inquired, somewhat perplexed. “How did you manage to find me?”

“I went to the house and was told you were out in the garden. When I went to look for you, I saw
where you'd been working, and then I heard the dog barking.” He glanced back at the whining animal. “ ‘Twould appear that Forsworth has left you a present. Do you think he brought it to make amends?”

“Not likely,” Elise answered dryly and, wiping her bruised and bloodied cheek on her apron, went to where the animal strained at the leash. The wagging of the short tail quickened as she loosened the tether and freed him, but he wove an eager, crisscrossing path in front of her skirts as she tried to walk.

A slow grin twisted Quentin's lips. “Forsworth was going to present that dog as a present to the Queen, but he's never been able to gain an audience with her. He was hoping she would be so fond of his gift, she would bestow a title on him.”

“Clever woman, the Queen, to deny him access to her court,” Elise commented, then looked up at her cousin with a querying brow raised. “Did you come for a visit?”

The smile faded from Quentin's face as he took on a serious demeanor. “I came to tell you that I've discovered where your father is being held prisoner.”

“Where?” The question was expelled from her lips in a breathless rush.

“I'm afraid I'll have to show you. ‘Tis too hard to explain.”

Elise fretted anxiously. “Maxim isn't here, and I promised him I wouldn't leave the house unless well-escorted.”

“Rumor is in the wind that the kidnappers are getting ready to move Ramsey, perhaps to send him
out of the country again. ‘Twould appear that every wasted moment is another stroke against us. Even now he may be en route to a waiting ship. If you take time to secure an escort, we may be too late. I've sent a message to Lord Seymour in London, making him aware of everything that is happening.”

“But how will Maxim know where we are if I go with you?”

“He knows the countryside well enough to find the place where I told him to meet me. I can lead him the rest of the way.”

A small frown betrayed Elise's bemusement. “But what benefit will my presence be to my father? How can I possibly help him?”

“You can tell the kidnappers that the treasure is on its way, that your husband will be bringing it to buy your father's freedom.”

A strange prickling shivered down Elise's spine. From far off, she could hear Anne calling her, and with great care she asked, “Why would Maxim bring the treasure?”

“I've heard it said that he knows where it is. It only seems right that he would want to ransom Ramsey with it.”

Though Elise would have denied the possibility of Quentin being the kidnapper, the question screamed at her. How could he otherwise know? How could he have received such information about Maxim and the treasure if not by way of the Queen's attendant telling him?

“I hear Anne calling me. I'd better go and tell her I'm all right.” Cautiously Elise kept her steps slow as she turned away from him, explaining, “Besides,
I must change my clothes and have my mount saddled. I'll meet you at the house.”

Quentin followed on her heels. “I took the liberty of having your mare saddled for you, Elise. She's tied with my mount nearby. You must come with me now, or all will be lost.”

“Really, Quentin, I must change my clothes,” she insisted, trying to control the quiver in her voice. “Anne will be worrying about me.”

He laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder, setting her heart to thumping wildly. “I must insist you come now, Elise.”

She bolted into a run, startling Quentin by the sudden change in her manner. Realizing he had somehow blundered, he cursed and raced after her, easily overtaking her. He clasped both arms about her waist and, swinging her off her feet, clamped a hand over her mouth as he pressed his face near her ear. “Whether you struggle or not, Elise, you're coming with me. I need you to talk some sense into your father. He's been too stubborn for his own good.”

Her reply was lost beneath his hand, and she fought against him with every measure of her being. It pained her terribly to believe that Quentin was the hated kidnapper, for she had truly liked him, and she could only marvel at how thoroughly she had been fooled.

I
F
M
AXIM HAD ONCE
considered the fair Elise a thorn in his side, then Quentin must have compared her to a sharp stave. It took most of his strength and all of his resolve to bring her under control without setting up an alarm at the distant Bradbury Hall. He jerked his hand away from her mouth with a curse and stared almost in amazement at the neat curve of teeth marks left in the fleshy part. In the next instant she drew a breath to scream, and visions of a venging horde descending upon him from the house promptly filled his head. His need for haste in subduing the birthing squall was frustrated by her thrashing head and overactive teeth. Finally he jammed a kerchief into her resisting mouth and then sucked on a frayed knuckle. He caught up the long apron she wore and wound it around her arms and hands until those flailing and clawing members were both restrained. With a small knife he cut off a length of the apron tie and used it to secure the gag which she was wont to spit out.

Laboring against the resistance of this most uncooperative and tenacious sprite, Quentin lifted her in his ams and had to fight to keep her within his grasp as he made his way through the shrubs. She
writhed like a slippery eel that refused to yield and gave his greater strength a severe testing as she kicked and twisted in a frenzied effort to escape.

“Dammit, Elise! Keep still!” he barked when he nearly dropped her.

A wild thrashing of her head accompanied her mumbled reply, and he knew he wasted his breath. His band of men stared in awe as he stumbled forth from the tangle of shrubs with a strangled oath, the best he could manage after receiving the full, backward thrust of her arm against his throat. He coughed and wheezed in air through his bruised pipes, seriously questioning his decision in going alone to get the maid. He soon found lifting her to the back of her steed was no less of a problem. The moment he turned away to fetch a cord to bind her with, she slithered down to the greensward. He stretched out an am to catch her, but she ducked beneath the horse's neck and raced away as fast as her bonds would permit, much to the amusement of his men. Chasing her down, he scooped her up again and this time received the full thrust of her elbow to the jaw. He staggered in a daze for a moment, feeling as if his brain had just been jarred loose, and stumbled back toward the steed. He restored her once more to the saddle,
then wrapped her skirts with the rope until she could scarcely move her legs. Taking no chances, he wound it around her waist and the pommel until she was lashed securely in place. Still, when he chanced to meet her glaring gaze, he read her unbridled hatred and her promise of dire recompense, should the opportunity present itself.

Quentin took the reins and, wrapping them about his hand, stepped into the stirrup of his own saddle, just as Elise kicked her mount hard with her heel. The confused mare did a skittering, sideways scamper, nearly dragging Quentin across the back of his mount. By dint of will, he regained his balance and settled into the saddle. Reining his mount close against hers, he raised his quirt and slashed the innocent mare viciously across the face. One glance at his sweating, snarling visage warned Elise that his fragile temper was close to the breaking point, and she would be better off biding her time under a meeker bent of spirit.

It was a long ride, and the afternoon light dulled as the sun lowered behind clouds in the western sky and slowly spread a reddish glow across the land. Elise knew only that they traveled in a general westerly direction. They made a short camp beneath the shelter of some trees and rose again well before dawn to continue their journey. It was close to evening of that day when they topped a long ridge that overlooked a shallow, boulder-strewn valley. Perhaps a furlong or so beyond the ridge the earth rose again to form a knoll, upon which squatted the tumbled remains of a deserted castle. Her first glimpse of the crumbling edifice reminded her of Faulder Castle, but in comparison, the other keep would have possessed a semblance of grandeur. This was hardly more than a shell of a place. Only a single tower at the far side raised its weather-beaten battlements above the crumbling walls as if in bold defiance of the elements.

Dusk had already begun to settle upon the land when they passed between two piles of rubble that
evidenced the general location of a onetime gate. A pair of guards rose from the shelters to challenge them with crossbows at the ready. Quentin swept back the hood of his cloak to identify himself and dropped a hand to his thigh as he rode past, seeming pleased by the alertness of his men. As she watched him, Elise had the sudden suspicion that she had seen him in a similar pose somewhere else, but the impression was fleeting, and she turned her gaze to the handful of men gathered around a warm fire. Quentin snapped an order to them, and they hastened to douse the flames and stamp out the coals until all evidence of a fire was gone.

Quentin dismounted and, tossing the reins of his mount to one of his men, came to free Elise from the bonds that held her in the saddle. He lifted her down, but when her feet struck the ground, her knees buckled beneath her. He caught her and would have swept her into his arms, but she snarled her denial through the gag. With stubborn effort, she heaved herself away from him and leaned against the side of the mare.

Quentin smiled indulgently and reached out to free her gag. “Now behave,” he cajoled as she glared at him. “ ‘Tis not in my mind to hurt you. I only want your company for a while, until your husband hands over the treasure.”

“Where's my father?” Her words came out mangled by a dry, parched mouth.

“He's near,” Quentin assured her. “No need for you to fret. He's in . . . ah . . . reasonably good health.”

Elise disdained his bland smile. “I don't know what tempted you to ever do this horrible thing, Quentin. To think that you were once my favorite
cousin. Now it comes to me that I'm not a very good judge of character.”

“You know I've always been fond of you too, Elise.” He lifted his wide shoulders in an indolent shrug as she gave him a dubious stare. “If not for me, Hilliard would have killed your father when they caught him spying on us in the Stilliards. When I argued that he was worth saving because of the treasure he had hidden, they dumped him on one of Hilliard's ships and took him off to Lubeck. If not for my threats to call a halt to the plot against the Queen, he'd probably still be there . . . or dead. Hilliard was not a very patient man. Ramsey would not have long withstood his torture.”

“If you truly saved my father's life, then I must be grateful,” Elise replied stiffly. “But you've brought havoc down upon yourself by keeping him prisoner and by taking me.”

“I've heard of your husband's reputation,” Quentin acknowledged. “ ‘Twould have taken a man of such daring to pluck Hilliard from his well-guarded nest, but I'm more wary. I've no intention of letting him know where or who I am.”

“He'll find out. You can be sure of that,” Elise warned.

“Then the game will become dangerous to both of us. He has what I want, and I”—he smiled ruefully—“have what he wants. An even exchange seems in order. Otherwise, the innocent shall suffer, and that I've no stomach for.”

“No stomach for murder?” she queried with a delicate brow arched in doubt. “What of your mistress? What of Hilliard?”

Quentin heaved a laborious sigh. “When my life is threatened, I must take certain measures to guarantee my safety, though in truth they are against my nature. Still, what I've done to others, I'd be reluctant to do to you.”

“But you'd still kill me if you had to,” she jeered.

“Come along,” he bade solicitously, tugging lightly on the rope. “I've answered enough of your questions.”

“You won't get away with this, Quentin. If you harm my father, they'll be after you . . .”

Quentin gave a sharp tug on the rope, causing her to stumble on the smooth stone as he pulled her along with him into the tower. “Really, Elise, all those dire warnings are not going to do a bit of good. They tend to weary me.”