Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] (42 page)

Albert swallowed, though his mouth felt dry. It was his wife whose life was threatened. A fact that bothered him not at all. He didn’t like to be so easily controlled by his brother. As if they were still children.

Albert may have grown taller and stronger, but he feared defying Sinzen. No matter how often Nicolette told him he could.

~ ~ ~

Not so much as a glimmer of surprise crossed Kanakareh’s bronzed features as he opened the door. But then Maximilian Hawke expected as much from the Seneca brave. The man’s steadfast calm was nearly legendary. Which was only part of the reason Max frequently tried to fluster him.

But this was not one of those times. Arriving at their rendezvous a day late and covered with mud from the road was due to accident rather than design.

“Well, do you intend to admit me or must I stand here dripping on the good tavern keeper’s hall floor?”

The door swung wider, then closed behind him. “I expected you to be here when I arrived—was not that your plan when you rode off ahead of the coach?”

Max shrugged out of his dirt-encrusted jacket. “’Twas. Unfortunately the horse I rented at the last inn had other ideas.”

“You allowed the horse to throw you?” There was a change in expression now. Amusement tilted Kanakareh’s wide mouth.

Not that Max could blame Kanakareh for this reaction. Riding was as much a part of Hawke as breathing, which was one of the reasons he’d chosen to abandon the coach that carried his trunks in the first place. After days of bouncing around in that poorly sprung contraption, he’d decided to rent a mount and enter Breslovia’s capital astride. Instead he lumbered in during a chilled rain that had turned the roads into a quagmire.

Max moved closer to the fire in the grate. “Perhaps we should keep this incident between us.” A needless admonition. Kanakareh could be counted on for his discretion and loyalty, as well as his unflinching expression. He had proved himself to Hawke many times since their first meeting.

When the warmth began seeping through his damp shirt, Max took a moment to glance about the accommodations arranged for them. His dark brows lifted. “I am pleasantly surprised.” The room where he stood was a large, well-appointed sitting room with tall windows marbled by the incessant rain. Several doors opened off it to the right. “Are the other rooms as fine?”

“Nearly.”

“Perhaps we shall enjoy our stay in Breslovia after all.” A fleeting memory of the beautiful goddess from the previous night was interrupted by a knock at the door. “I see the landlord is prompt.” He pointed the buxom maid to a bedroom door, then followed as she instructed several young boys in the arrangement of the brass tub. More boys followed with pails of steaming water.

By the time the tub was full and the boys gone, Max had stripped off his soiled waistcoat and shirt. A fact the maid did not miss. Her sloe eyes traced the contours of his broad chest, and her smile broadened.

“Yell be need’n help with your bath, I’ll wager.” She allowed her gaze to drift down to his muddy boots, then slowly up the soiled breeches. “And I’m just the gel who can help ye.”

“I’m quite certain you could,” Max said with a grin. The girl was pretty enough, and it wasn’t difficult to read the meaning in her dark eyes. She fluttered her hands toward her bodice as if to show him how small and delicate they were, despite her lot in life. And Max fought a surge of temptation. Kanakareh could retire to the tavern below to break his fast while Hawke enjoyed the skimming of those deft hands over his body.

With a sigh he shook his head. “Nay, though I do appreciate the offer. I imagine my bath will proceed at a quicker pace if I see to it myself.”

Her lips parted. “If you’re sure, govenur...”

“Regretfully, I am.” Max dug in his waistcoat pocket and tossed the girl a gold coin, which she caught and examined only long enough to discover its worth before stowing it between her ample breasts.

“Me name’s Missy, govenur. If there be anything I can do for you—”

“I’ll be sure to send for you,” Max declared as he guided her from the room. When he turned back Kanakareh only shook his head.

“What?” Max met the Indian’s stare. “I sent her away, didn’t I?” Catching the heel of his boot in the bootjack by the hearth, he pried one foot loose. “Besides, she’s harmless enough.”

“I doubt that could be said of any female where you’re concerned, Hawke.”

Max shrugged, then pulled off his other boot. “You make me regret ever telling you that sordid tale about the Earl of Northford’s wife.” When Kanakareh simply folded his arms and retired into the sitting room, Max continued. “I was young and a bit irresponsible.” He peeled off his breeches and climbed into the tub, making a sound of contentment as the warm water sloshed around his hips.

“All right,” he called into the other room when Kanakareh still made no response. “Perhaps I was more than a bit irresponsible. Cuckolding your commanding officer is not the best way to advance one’s military career.” He sank down farther in the water. “I know things were looking pretty grim before I received this royal summons, but I have a feeling about this.” Cupping his hands, Max tossed water in his face.

“You had a
feeling
about the French regiment at Cross Creek.”

“And we won, didn’t we?” Max blinked toward the open door between the two rooms to see Kanakareh staring at him.

“All right, perhaps I did manage to stop an arrow. But all in all I think it was a good campaign.” He had been commended for his actions that kept the French and their allies, the Huron, from swarming over a small fort protecting the headwaters of the Ohio. He’d been promoted too.

Max rubbed his palm across the puckered scar on his thigh. It was still tender. But no more so than the memories of what happened later. When the lies and allegations had begun circulating about him. When his military career... such as it was... had come to an ignoble end.

“What did you say?” Scooping soft soap from a crock Max set about scrubbing his lean body. He would not dwell on the past.

“I only questioned what has troubled me since you received the letter. What could the Grand Duke of Breslovia want with you?”

“I don’t know.” Max rarely questioned fate. He only knew that the royal summons was greatly appreciated. Since his forced resignation from the British army he and Kanakareh traveled from place to place, most recently staying at a friend’s villa in Italy. But by the time the message from Breslovia had arrived, their welcome was wearing thin.

And there weren’t many options open to him. Returning to England was out of the question. His father had made it clear he wished no part of his wayward son. Though not court-martialed, even a hint of treason was too much for the Duke of Belmead to tolerate.

Max had considered signing aboard a ship bound for the Caribbean, and trying his luck there. But the prospect wasn’t that appealing. And now, thanks to the Grand Duke Albert of Breslovia, perhaps he wouldn’t have to. At least not for the present.

Max stood, realized he couldn’t reach the towel and stepped from the tub. Wet footprints marked his path as he crossed the room. “Were you able to discover anything about Breslovia’s army?”

“There is none.”

Max flicked the linen toweling behind his back. “None?” Admittedly he knew little of this small country nestled in the foothills of the Alps. It wasn’t strong militarily, or he would have remembered something of it from his education. Much of the other information the tutors had poured into his head was forgotten.

“There is local militia and the Imperial Guard. Their duty is to protect the Queen and her family.”

“Queen?” This was the first Max had heard of this. “I thought the kingdom was ruled by the Grand Duke.” He swiped the towel across his chest. The shirt he pulled over his head absorbed the remaining water droplets.

“There is a queen.”

Though Max couldn’t see him, he could imagine Kanakareh’s expressionless face. “And no army.”

“Breslovia prides itself on its neutrality, in all conflicts.”

Wonderful. A peace-loving country with no army. Sounded like heaven... unless you were a soldier.

Searching through the chest Kanakareh had brought in from the coach Max found breeches and weskit. Gone were the days when he could afford a valet.

“Is that all you learned from gossiping with the locals?” he called through the open door. The only response was a grunt which could have passed for a laugh. Gossip was hardly the term used to describe how Kanakareh came by his information. He simply said nothing. Most people assumed he could not speak their language and talked around him as if he were no more than a piece of furniture.

Max found this amusing since he knew of Kanakareh’s ear for languages—the brave had picked up French from the Huron and spoke it better than Max who’d been tutored in it by a Frenchman his father hired.

“I find it preferable to discover what I can about a situation before walking into it.”

“I quite agree,” Max mumbled. It was a wise philosophy. Unfortunately, it was one that Maximilian Hawke, second and disowned son of the Duke of Belmead, rarely seemed to follow.

~ ~ ~

By the time the appointed hour to meet with the Grand Duke arrived, Max was groomed and garbed in a suit of blue silk only slightly less grand than that of the footman who showed him into the gold and crystal anteroom at the palace. If he could have worn his regimentals Max would have felt more at ease. But that was no longer an option.

Max pushed up out of the gilt chair and, hands folded behind his back, strode the length of the room.

He tried not to delude himself... at least not too much.

Besides a penchant for pleasing ladies—a questionable talent at best—Max’s only attribute was soldiering. And that was open to speculation depending upon whom you spoke with. Certainly Lord Northford had nothing good to say about Max’s ability to lead men.

So why had the Grand Duke of Breslovia sought him out, not to mention sent him a sizable purse of gold? Why had he asked him to travel to the capital, Liberstein, with all haste? Max was still pondering these questions when the mirrored door opened and a powdered doorman in scarlet livery bade him follow.

It had been years since Max lived at Salisbury, the county seat of the Duke of Belmead. But even after being sequestered in the wilds of North America, he remembered what luxury was, and he’d never seen anything quite as splendid as this palace. The floors were marble, the ceilings intricately carved and painted. And everywhere you looked there was gold.

The walls in the wide hall were covered with frescoes in deep, rich colors. Vivid green meadows. Autumn-crowned trees or white-crowned mountains of such scope and beauty Max felt the air to be crisp and frosty.

Such were the vistas that greeted him as he followed the footman through the wide passage. But it wasn’t until he passed the crystalline mural of a waterfall that he was tempted to pause... to reach out and touch.

It was the waterfall from last night. He recognized it even though he’d viewed the lacy willows and sparkling water only in misty moonlight.

The scene brought memories racing back. The smell of damp earth. The woman’s silky skin. Her taste. The feel of her body enveloping him.

Until this moment Max had nearly convinced himself last night was a dream. A conjuring of his mind. The perfect fantasy. How else could he explain to himself the beautiful goddess who had appeared from nowhere to give herself to him with such passion?

“Ah, so you’re a lover of the arts as well as a military man. You are Maximilian Hawke, I presume?”

Max glanced around to see a porcine man smiling at him through fleshy folds of fat. “I am,” Max replied, adding a hasty “Your Grace” as he noticed the man wore the robes of a cardinal.

“I am Cardinal Sinzen. Shall we join the Grand Duke? The mural was painted by Marcel Rubert,” he explained while they continued down the hall. “It is a masterpiece, don’t you think?”

“I fear my appreciation of art is limited to what appeals to me.”

“And that fresco does?”

“I’m fond of waterfalls.”

“Ah, then perhaps you can visit this one someday. It’s on the palace grounds I believe.” When Max said nothing the man gestured toward an open door to the right. “I believe the Grand Duke awaits us.”

If the Grand Duke was interested in Max, or anything other than surveying himself in the tall gold-framed mirror, Max would have been surprised. His Highness was tall, with even features women probably found appealing and a mouth seemingly curved in a perpetual pout. He nodded and lazily lifted his fingers when Max presented his best bow. Then he settled into a large scarlet-cushioned chair.

Cardinal Sinzen indicated a seat to Max before resting his wide form on a settee. “We, the Grand Duke and I, are pleased you could accept our invitation to visit Breslovia.”

“Thank you.” Max leaned back in the chair. “Though I must admit I’m a bit perplexed about why you asked me to come.”

Cardinal Sinzen’s face wrinkled in a smile. “Ah, some of that refreshing candor for which you’re known.”

Max merely lifted a brow.

“My comment surprises you?”

“Amuses perhaps.” If he was known for his candor at all, Max doubted many described it as refreshing.

“As it happens the Grand Duke and I are forthright as well. You’ve made a long journey, and you deserve to know why.” Sinzen paused, steepling his short stubby fingers.” We would like you to be the commander in chief of Breslovia’s army.”

What? Max leaned forward, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “I don’t believe I understand.”

“It’s quite simple.” This from the Grand Duke, who appeared bored and seemed to wish the interview over. “We need someone to build up and train the locals, and we... that is, my brother seems to think you are the man to do it.”

Brothers? These two were brothers? Max took note of that as well as the sharp look Cardinal Sinzen shot the Grand Duke.

“What His Highness says is essentially true,” Cardinal Sinzen said in a tone that implied he wouldn’t have worded it in the same manner. “Breslovia’s army lacks leadership. Leadership you can provide.”