So Worthy My Love (24 page)

She lifted no slightest glance upward, but withdrew and closed the window again, ignorant of what
she had given him. He rubbed his icy hands together, as much in glee as in need, and chuckled to himself, feeling a new vitality with which to meet the day. At least now, when he played the challenging hector, he need not think of her as a rude child in need of a thrashing, but could derive pleasure sparring with a wench who was both comely and curved.

Whistling a frolicsome melody, he closed the window and placed a kettle of water to heat over the fire. He washed and carefully shaved the light stubble from his face, then garbed himself casually in suede trunk hose, dark stockings, and a fine white linen shirt. He donned a soft leather doublet over the latter piece and tugged on thigh-high boots, then stepped to the door.

Quite cheery of mood, he left his chambers and made his way downstairs, noting as he passed the hallway near the girl's chamber that her door was now standing ajar. A dull clank of copper kettles drew his notice to the hearth as he descended the last flight of stairs. There he found his charge attending the morning meal. He had for the last several days stayed away from her as much as he could, rising early to hunt or to roam his newly acquired lands and the surrounding territory. For the most part she had also kept her distance, remaining in her chambers or the other end of the hail when he was about. Thus, this morning, it was almost as if he was seeing her afresh and with clearer vision. She was without a doubt a most comely maid, and even clothed in the rough woolen gown, she would have done much to shame women in far richer garb. A
thin strip of frayed cloth gathered her hair in a Grecian style on top of her head, leaving the softly curling length falling in freedom past her shoulders. Such a display
of rich auburn tresses could fuse a thousand impressions into a single thought in a man's mind, and that was how she might look robed only in the glory of her hair. For a moment his mind paused as he regarded the treasure he had recently viewed from his window. Once, in Florence, he had chanced to see Botticelli's
Birth of Venus.
He had admired the artist's talent in creating his subject, but now the memory of that lifeless goddess was brought to vivid life by this more refined and exquisite example of womanhood.

“ ‘Tis pleasing to see you have taken my advice and applied yourself to some meaningful duty,” he needled. “I was sure you could if you would only put your mind to it.”

Elise faced him, and her eyes sparked with well-fired irritation. The desire was in her to tell him how hard she had worked to clean this pile of stone, but if he was so blind and lamebrained not to see that his men needed a strong example and a firm guiding hand, then she would let him stew in his own stupidity.

Dropping hands to slender hips in a petulant stance, Elise gave as good as she got. “What ho! The good master of the house has at last deemed to grace us with his presence this morning. Did you sleep overlong, my lord? I swear I saw the rising of the sun some hours ago.”

“Perhaps one, if that,” Maxim replied pleasantly.

“Well and good! And here be a feast for you, all prepared to meet your royal favor.” She stepped to the
kettle, slopped porridge into a bowl, and dropped the wooden piece with a dull thud on the table before his chair. She smiled tightly. “Your pleasure, my lord.”

“You are most kind, maid,” he countered with a shallow bow. “And indeed, most fair to look upon. I swear, if the ladies at court were to espy your raiment, they would rush out en masse to the clothiers. Your gown fair bedazzles the eye.”

His light mockery touched off a fuse of indignation within Elise. “Aye, they should! As witness to the generosity of my lord.” She swept a slender hand to indicate his long form as he lowered himself into the chair. “Look how he denies himself that others may enjoy his wealth and protection. Why, his clothes must be worth no more than . . .” A long, heavy knife cleaved the air and chopped off a chunk of bread from the loaf that lay on a wooden tray near his arm, drawing a surprised start from him. Maxim turned an incredulous stare upon her, certain he would have lost, a finger had he been a hairbreadth closer. Elise smiled with half-lidded eyes that boldly locked with his until, heaving a casual shrug, she finished, “ . . . a few gold sovereigns, at least.”

Maxim snorted and ignored her for a moment as he tasted his morning fare, then he glanced at her again, curling his lip in repugnance. “Your talents as a cook are indeed lacking, maid,” he berated. “Perhaps a bit of salt will help.”

“Certainly, my lord.” Elise took the bowl from him and faced the hearth. When she stepped back to the table again, she placed the wooden piece carefully in front of him. “Is this more to your liking?”

Maxim caught a tantalizing scent of freshly washed woman as she leaned close, and his eye, drawn to her bosom, saw where the gown gapped away from her to tease him with a brief, but tempting, view of porcelain-perfect skin. The effect of sight and smell was rather disruptive, and he stirred in sudden discomfiture as his blood began to warm.

Elise straightened and, in some surprise, saw that his eyes had followed her movement, as if reluctant to leave her cleavage. Her color heightened, and snidely she asked, “Considering a replacement for Arabella, my lord?”

Maxim scoffed, not willing to give her any quarter. “ ‘Twould be an impossible task for you to accomplish, my girl, so you needn't inflate your vanity overmuch.” Smug with his answer, he lifted a spoonful of porridge to his mouth and sampled the portion, then grimaced in sharp distaste and quickly gulped a long draught of water from his cup.

“Is that enough salt, my lord?” Elise questioned in overstated sweetness. Indeed, sweetness was not what she was feeling toward him at the moment. She was rather regretful that she had not whacked off his finger along with the bread and then rubbed salt in the wound.

Glaring at her, Maxim came out of his chair and, snatching up the bowl, dumped the contents into the fire where it fell upon a log and hissed and bubbled in an obnoxious white glob until it began to char and smoke. He ladled another portion from the kettle, added a tiny pinch of salt, and returned to his chair.

Elise felt the weight of his steely stare and turned aside as he began to eat. Seemingly quite
innocent she began to putter about the hearth, straightening this and washing that. Taking up a broom, she busied herself with sweeping the floor, and for a moment she worked diligently, picking up stools and setting them aside as she brushed beneath them. A frenzy seemed to seize her, as if she became completely engrossed in her labors. At first, the dust rose in small puffs before the broom, but the faster and harder she swung the thing, the higher and wider the dirty cloud became. A billowing, dusty haze soon roiled up around her, becoming more pronounced until it engulfed the table. The Marquess choked suddenly and brought the flat of his hands down hard upon the plank. His bellow of rage nearly shook the rafters.

“Cease, witch!”

Elise obeyed, but directed her gaze over her shoulder and bestowed upon him a look of cool contempt. “Does my lord find displeasure in my work?”

Maxim coughed, waving his hand before his face in an effort to clear the air of dust, and stabbed his finger toward the opposite end of the table. “Sit yourself down, wench!”

“Witch? Wench? Witch?” Her slender nose lifted primly, while her eyelids lowered to partially mask the deep blue orbs that stared at him in aloof disdain. Her eyebrow jutted upward in a piqued quirk. “My lord, you speak to me?”

“Aye!” Maxim barked. “And all like you, be they bitch, witch, wench, or lady!” He spread his hands and glanced upward with an impatient supplication, a gesture Elise would not let pass without comment.

“No good to look there for help, my lord. I declare your copemate is in the nether direction just waiting to roast your foul carcass.”

Maxim peered at her with a jaundiced eye, then slowly shook his tawny head as if sorely grieved. “I told Nicholas, but he would not listen.”

“Nicholas?” Elise's curiosity perked.

“Aye, Nicholas.” Maxim nodded. “He asked if he could pay court to you.”

“Really!” Her tone had definitely sharpened. “And did you give him leave to do so, my lord?”

“He will be arriving today near the noon hour.”

It was Elise's turn to come out of her chair and slap the table with the palm of her hand. “ ‘Twas so good of you to give your consent,
Master
Seymour!”

“I gave him nothing save the best of advice,” Maxim answered casually. “I have no authority to say him yea or nay, but bade him seek your answer for himself. In all honesty I warned him against doing so and to don cuirass, helm, and buckler if he was intent upon the matter and valued his skin at all.”

“Oh, you . . . !” A fiery brightness came into the jewel-blue eyes, while her lips tightened to a pinched whiteness. “You dare bandy my name and abuse my repute with your cronies!
Oh!
”

Her fists were clenched tightly with rage as she, unable to bear his mocking grin a moment longer, spun on a heel and beat a retreat toward her chambers. But if that gawking fool thought the battle won and done with, he was to pay a heavy price for that presumption. She paused on the first flight of stairs
and requested rather sharply, “Could you send Fitch and Spence up with some buckets of water? Plenty of them! I am in a mood to try that copper tub in my chambers.”

It was shortly before the noon hour when Maxim, having returned from another ride that encompassed the borders of his newly purchased lands, passed his chamber windows and, from there, caught a glimpse of Captain Von Reijn's small party coming along the trail toward the castle. He opened a panel to have a better view and chuckled at the sight that greeted him. At times Nicholas had a penchant for being flamboyant, and this matched his best. His attire was as rich as any king's. Indeed, the heavily embroidered chamarre nearly bedazzled the beholder as its gold threads twinkled in the sun. The fur lining apparently kept him from feeling the chill, for he rode his mount as if it were a fine spring day. He grasped the reins in one gloved hand and rested the other fist on his hip where it held the fanciful coat open in such a way as to reveal doublet and puffed trunk hose of dark crimson velvet. His plumed toque sat jauntily upon his head, and even from where he stood, Maxim could see a costly gold chain
adorned with flashing gems hanging around the man's neck.

Mounted guards wearing chest-plates of polished brass rode fore and aft of the captain, and the halberds they bore marked their intent to defend him from any miscreant who would try to waylay him. Following behind the threesome came a rather rotund servant who led a packhorse weighted down with all manner of bundles, casks, and cases. His
own steed was loaded down not only with his considerable weight, but with copper pots and a wide assortment of paraphernalia that clanged and clattered as they approached.

“Behold, the suitor cometh,” Maxim observed with an amused chuckle. Leaving his chambers, he made his way downstairs and went outside to await his guests. He stood on the top step in a bold stance, feet spread wide, and fists resting on his hips, while the brisk wind ruffled his close-cropped hair. The Hansa captain had approached the seemingly lifeless pile of rubble with a look of distaste, and when he espied his host, he spurred his horse into the van and led his party across the moat.

“Maxim!” Von Reijn called in buoyant greeting. “How fares the day vith yu, good friend?”

“Sweetly,” Maxim rejoined. “The morning has graced me with many pleasurable sights to woo the eye.”

“
Ja,
it vas a beautiful sunrise, I must agree.” Nicholas nodded, then glanced about him at the tumbledown wall and structures. “Though ‘tis hard to imagine how yu could enjoy any view from this pile o' stone.”

“A man never knows where he might behold marvelous wonders. Why, it could be right beneath his very nose,” Maxim remarked, with a mind toward the sight that he had glimpsed from his own windows that morning.

“Not in this place!” Nicholas stated with conviction.

Maxim laughed and descended the stone steps. “I see you have chosen to ignore my warnings and
have ventured forth on this hazardous quest of yours. While you are still unmarked and whole of limb, set your feet to ground and come warm yourself before the hearth.”

Nicholas slid from the saddle and tossed the reins to Spence as the pair of servants came running to assist the guests. The captain slowly turned full circle as he surveyed the courtyard, its crumbling stonework and the sagging roofs of the outbuildings. “I had at least hoped to find some shelter for the horses.”

“ ‘Tis there.” Maxim directed the man's attention toward the stable. “ ‘Tis solid enough and out of the wind. Behind it there's even a room with a hearth where your men can find respite. Fitch will see they are given food and a cup or two of ale to stir the blood.”

“Not too much of the ale,” Nicholas advised. “They must be alert for the trip home tonight.”

The portly man seized an armful of pots and pans and rattled and clanged his way into the keep, as Maxim's amused gaze followed him.

“I've brought
Herr
Dietrich, my cook, to assure a vorthy repast for this eventide,” Nicholas explained. “I'm sure there are some here who vill be happy to hear that.”

“Anything is better than salty gruel,” his host grunted dryly. “I have had my fill of it this past week.”

Nicholas chortled and approached with a hand held out in friendship, and Maxim clasped it in a warm, amiable welcome.

“ ‘Tis a heavy escort you keep for only an hour's ride out of the city,” Maxim remarked, inclining his head toward the guards.

“A man cannot be too careful.” Nicholas winked as he confessed, “In truth, I thought it might impress the lady.”