So Worthy My Love (73 page)

Nicholas shot to his feet and slammed down a sheaf of papers he had been perusing. The oath that escaped his lips was such an unkind reflection on the parentage of the perpetrator of the deed that it gave Justin a very brief moment of pause. The two of them launched into a veritable frenzy of activity, igniting
Herr
Dietrich's curiosity, and though the afternoon was growing late, ere another hour's passing they were ready and gone with the cook following along at his own insistence.

Sir Kenneth was at his estate north of London, attending to a multitude of neglected affairs when the courier from Maxim arrived. He broke the seal of the letter and read the contents, then by way of the same courier, sent word off to Sherbourne. Taking the stairs three steps at a time, he crossed the landing and stormed into his chambers where he began to select the garb and weapons he would take.

Edward Stamford was the only one at the Radborne manor who managed to find the sweet relief in his dreams after Maxim returned to outfit himself for the journey and it was revealed that Elise had once again been kidnapped. The light tread of Arabella's footsteps on the stairs did not draw the attention of the household as she terminated
her short visit there. She rode back to her husband's estate and, calling for a barge to be readied, prepared herself for a trip to Bradbury and beyond.

The twice-wed, once-widowed Cassandra indulged herself in what had become her favorite pastime of late, berating her sons who had not had the foresight to occupy themselves with duties beyond her sight and hearing. She was sure that either Elise or Arabella had gone to the officers of the court to seek a warrant for her arrest and was reluctant to venture forth from her current residence lest she be recognized and arrested. Her confinement chafed sorely on her need to range afield and secure support for the style of life to which she had become accustomed. Thus she vented her spite on her offspring and, try as they might, neither one of them could find an appropriate excuse to credit his absence.

‘Twas much to their mutual relief that a shaggy messenger arrived and slowly, painstakingly repeated the words that the nearly illiterate Forsworth had bade him deliver. When he had finished, Cassandra rose from her threadbare couch and began to pace the floor. After a while the man lifted a finger to catch her attention.

“Ah . . . yer pardon, me liedy, but ‘is lor'ship was kind ‘nough ta promise me a farthin' or two for me troubles.”

Cassandra glared at the bold peasant for a space, then smiled and informed him sweetly, “Well, ‘tis good that he did. The next time you see his
lordship
Forsworth, you must remind him of that fact.”

Both of the sons in attendance snickered behind their hands and the disappointed messenger found his own way out. As the door closed behind him, Cassandra wagged a finger at the brothers and warned sternly:

“Listen to me! That measly Quentin has taken it into his mind to wheedle away our treasure for his own!” She smiled with such obvious evil intent that the hair crawled on the napes of both sons. She began to pace again and mumbled her musings aloud as she orbited the couch. “Forsworth said he followed Quentin and his small band of hirelings ‘til it was plain they were taking Mistress Fine-and-Haughty to Kensington Keep . . .”

“That tumbledown castle?” one of her offspring scoffed. “They'll do good to find shelter from the rain there.”

“Nevertheless,” Cassandra continued, tossing a brief glare toward the one who intruded into her speech, “that's where they've gone.”

“Why would Elise go with the likes of Quentin?” the other son inquired. “What does he have that we don't have?”

Cassandra's eyelids lowered until mere slivers remained for those pale gray orbs. Through that meager space she locked a disdaining stare upon the unwise son who had posed such a question. “You imbecile! She didn't go of her own free will! He took her! Carried her off by force, with his band of brigands giving him aid!”

“Oooeee! I bet that made her mad!” chortled the younger of the two. “Elise's got a temper hotter than a smithy's furnace.”

Again the elder presented a serious question to his mother. “Why would Quentin want to take our cousin off to Kensington Keep when he berated us for taking her? He said himself she probably didn't know where the treasure was. If he believes that, what does he expect to gain?”

A moment of silence passed as Cassandra debated the question, and then a sudden light of understanding dawned. She snapped her fingers and faced her uncomprehending whelps. “He's had Ramsey all along! He was the one who took him! He must have! And now, thanks to my very good son, Forsworth, we can set him back upon his heels.”

“What are we goin' to do?”

Cassandra barely made a full lap around the couch when she paused with a command. “Fetch some muskets and get ready to ride.”

The pair collected their wits, a brief enough task to be sure, and the more serious one boldly dared another inquiry. “Where are we to get any horses?”

“Steal them if you have to, but get them!” railed the woman, and dismissed them with a flourish of her hand. “Now get out!”

The two brothers collided in their haste to obey, and the younger sprawled to the floor, tangled in the other's legs. Grinding her teeth in snarling vexation, Cassandra set her hands upon her narrow waist and strode forward to swing an expensively shod foot against the rising backside of the graceless one.

“Can't you do
anything
without falling over yourself?”

* * *

The first evidence of Elise's capture had come by way of the small dog who had scampered to the house in answer to Anne's call. He had barked and whined until she roused the household to perform a search of the distant labyrinth, and a short time later a pair of bloodied shears were brought back from the narrow lane. Recognizing them as the pair Elise had taken, Anne collapsed in a dead faint.

Fitch and Spence immediately took to horse to follow the trail left across the greensward where the horses' hooves had churned up the sod. Signs of their passage led them northward toward the lane, and once upon the road, the pair raced along, keeping a sharp eye toward the ground beside the lane to watch for a place where the band of riders might have left it. A double issue of stout, cloth-yard shafts filled the quivers slung upon their backs, and sturdy longbows were carried alongside. Spence bore a mace at his side with a pair of muskets tucked into his belt, while Fitch had chosen to outfit himself with a long-handled war axe and a brace of pistols. Their purpose was deadly, and their glowering eyes bespoke of their desire to serve vengeance on any who would do their mistress harm.

Maxim arrived at Bradbury sometime near midnight and paused only long enough to equip himself and saddle Eddy, then he rode out, not daring to stay overlong in the chambers he had shared with his wife. The weight on his chest was too great, the ache too deep.

The mists and vapors stirred by the cool night roiled in the low glades and hung motionless in the
copses, but Maxim rode on like a venging nightshade. A pair of muskets was tucked in his belt, augmented by heavier dragoons lashed to his saddle. The long, everfaithful, two-edged rapier hung at his side, and at the small of his back beneath his doublet, a slender dagger.

It was shortly after the rising sun had broken free of the horizon that he finally paused beside a well and gave rest to Eddy. He was there when a trio of riders came over the hill and, laying his hand to the hilt of his sword, Maxim stood and prepared to draw it forth. It was a moment before he recognized the pale hair of Nicholas Von Reijn and the two who accompanied him.

“Ho, Maxim!” the captain shouted, reining his mount to a halt. The animal chafed at the tight restriction enforced upon him by the bit and danced in a nervous circle as Nicholas posed the question, “Vhere are ve bound?”

“West!” Maxim answered, swinging into his saddle. With a shout the captain touched his heels to the flanks of his steed. “Let's go!”

The villagers turned in alarm as the flying hooves thundered past on the road, and they gawked in awe as the four sped over the next hill with cloaks flying widespread behind them. Plumes of dust flew up in their wake to obscure their rapidly diminishing forms, and the rumble of their flight dwindled to an eerie silence ere the sounds of early morning returned.

It was shortly after midday when they paused on a hill to scan the countryside that stretched out before them. A pair of mounted riders raced ahead,
and even from a distance the lean and stout forms of Fitch and Spence were easily discernible. With a shout Maxim brought the two men to a halt, and whirling their mounts about, the servants waited until they were joined by the four. Now they were six who rode together with a single purpose.

Near nightfall Maxim's small force reached the edge of the forest above a ridge. They made a camp and settled in to wait the coming of light. It was perhaps an hour later when Fitch, who had drawn the first watch, roused the sleepers with a low-voiced warning. “Someone's comin'. Two riders mayhap.”

Maxim gave a quick glance at the night sky. A gusty nor'wester had blown in and ran its ethereal fingers through the tops of the tall oaks. A low scudding of clouds accompanied the wind and drifted over the face of the moon. He belted on his sword and gave quick orders that sent the members of his small band along both sides of the lane.

They did not have long to wait before a pair of dark shadows came riding along the lane. A grumbling comment from one of the riders intruded into the silence of the night and brought Maxim out of hiding. He stepped onto the road and waited their approach with arms akimbo.

“Ho! Sir Kenneth!”

The knight's horse was already skittish, and when he glimpsed the dark apparition that stood before him, he balked and did a sudden spin about, nearly unseating the travel-worn man. Kenneth barked a loud curse as he fought the frightened steed and finally managed to settle him down.

Sherbourne chortled and, pressing his mount near, clapped his friend on the back. “Only another reason for you to geld that stallion, my friend. One day he's going to spill your brains out.”

Sir Kenneth cautiously dismounted with a mumbled, “Not ere I spill his.”

Sherbourne came to earth with more grace and approached Maxim with long, swift strides. “We came as soon as we could,” he assured him, clasping his lordship's arm in camaraderie. “Do you know where she's being held? Do you have a plan?”

“Nay to both,” Maxim sighed, “but when I know the answer to the first, then I'll know where to go with the second.”

Chill raindrops began to slash down, and the men sought shelter in a protected niche beneath an outcropping of rock. Kenneth built a small fire, over which Dietrich prepared a fast, but palatable, meal, and the men gathered in the meager shelter to counsel and take nourishment.

T
HE PLACE OF MEETING
had been carefully selected. It was a wide, clear valley with a small stream meandering through it. A narrow stone bridge provided access across the water, but beyond the cluster of trees that marched along the hillsides, there was not so much as a clump of brush to hide behind from there to the water's brink. The bridge could not be approached from any direction without a traveler being seen for a goodly distance. Even so, it would have taken either an utterly fearless or foolish soul to have crossed the planks of the bridge. Great gaping holes marred its footing where the underlying timbers had rotted away and the buttressing stones had tumbled away.

The sun rose high to mark the meeting hour, and still Maxim waited on the ridge beneath the shadows of the trees. His companions kept themselves well-hidden beyond a thicket, and from there they could observe the happenings of this first meeting. The green eyes flicked from one end of the valley to the next as Maxim searched for some sign of the kidnappers. Finally eleven mounted men came into view on a distant ridge. They rode along its edge for a time before one cloaked and hooded rider broke
from their ranks and made the descent into the valley. In response Maxim urged Eddy down the hill and halted him near the bridge. His adversary drew nigh the opposite end and reined his prancing horse around as his eyes skimmed the distant hills, then he pulled the steed up with a jerk.

“So! We meet at last, Lord Seymour,” Quentin called almost pleasantly.

Maxim allowed a stiff nod to accompany his answer. “I'm here at your bidding.” His own gaze raised to scan the ridge and the riders who waited there. “I believe you have taken someone who belongs to me. Where is she?”

“Safe . . . for the moment.” Quentin adjusted the hood to keep his face carefully concealed as he took full note of the cold, steely glint in the green eyes. He knew this was not a man to play games with. The Marquess was deadly serious. “Have you the treasure?”

“ ‘Twill take a pair of days getting here. And of course, you'll not be given the chests unless my wife is returned . . . unharmed. Now how do you intend to conduct the exchange so each of us will be content?”

Quentin lifted his gaze to scan the wooded ridge behind Seymour and found no evidence that he had been accompanied to the place. Still, he was not going to underestimate one of such formidable reputation. “I'll give you the father,” he explained, considering the nobleman again. “He will be tied to this bridge and left bound and gagged. You may ask him if his daughter yet lives and if he knows where she is. He'll be able to answer both with a nod. You'll
open the chest of gold and display its contents, then close and secure it with a rope. My men will have their muskets aimed at you as you toss the rope across the bridge. If you should make any attempt to come across or release Sir Ramsey ere I've inspected the treasure myself and before my men and I have reached the safety of the ridge, you both will be shot. Your wife is no more than a couple of hours' ride from here. I figure by the time you get there, I should be well upon my way.”