So Worthy My Love (33 page)

A persistent clapping of a shutter drew her to the windows, and she laid her brow against a pane of glass to stare out upon the wintry day. Gray clouds scudded across the eastern sky, chased by the howling wind that swirled through the courtyard like a venging wraith, slapping shutters and scouring the frozen earth of all debris. The skies promised a turbulent day, but the coming storm would be no worse than the one brewing between her and the master of the keep.

Fitch came into view as he left the keep, and a sudden gust of wind took his hat and led him on a zigzagging chase across the compound. With a sigh
Elise returned to the hearth, seeking the warmth that had not yet reached to the far corners of her chamber. She prepared herself for the day, donning her usual drab clothes, and dolefully went downstairs.

Herr
Dietrich glanced up with a jovial smile of greeting as she crossed to the hearth.
“Guten Morgen, frau. Wie geht es Ihnen?”

Elise returned a hesitant nod to his inquiry. What she knew of the Teutonic tongue was enough to fill a thimble. “Good morning,
Herr
Dietrich.”

The cook bobbed his head in acknowledgment and continued plying a ladle to his various pots and kettles, eliciting savory odors that both tempted and tantalized. It had occurred to Elise that
Herr
Dietrich's presence in the hall might offer the safest haven for her since he was loyal to Von Reijn, and for that reason Maxim might be wont to temper his arguments in front of the man. Reluctant to stray too far from that dubious comfort, she puttered around the table.

The moments lagged in their passing, and her nerves tightened until they were as taut as the gutstrings of a harp. Elise waited for some indication from above that would warn her of Maxim's approach, and started at every noise in the castle, sure that he was coming until the sound became distinguishable as something else. Finally she sank into a chair at the far end of the table where she would be well out of Maxim's reach, and silently reviewed half a dozen possible replies to whatever accusations might be forthcoming when he joined her. One by one she dismissed them as inadequate. He would reject her attempts to placate him and dash her efforts beneath a stern rebuke.

A shutter, flapping open with the force of the wind, brought her almost out of her chair, for it sounded like the slamming of a door. With repetition the noise betrayed itself. Folding her arms, Elise braced back into the corner of the large, tall-backed chair, steeling herself for that moment she dreaded. At last an upper door creaked and closed softly, then leisured footfalls were heard on the stairs making their descent. Elise closed her eyes as she listened. The sound was a portend of her approaching doom.

Herr
Dietrich did not notice her distress as he placed a small, steaming tankard of cider, spiced with rosemary and sugar, before her. Thankfully she clasped cold hands about the warm mug and gave a tentative smile up at the man, not knowing the words to convey her appreciation. Her look of gratitude was enough, and the man returned to his hearth, humming a rousing melody to himself

“Good morning,” Maxim bade from the stairs, and when Elise glanced up, she found his smile warm and pleasant. Strangely his eyes were void of that steely-cold anger that could pierce her like the sharpest blade.

“Good morning, my lord,” she replied, giving the usual odd twist to the title that made it more of a slur than a compliment. She regarded him warily over the top of her mug as he strode with purposeful stride across the hall. He halted beside her chair, and cautiously she set the cup on the table. Though she folded her hands primly in her lap, she was well-poised to flee should he threaten.

“You look rested, Elise. Did you sleep well?” he questioned in gracious concern.

“Aye, my lord. Very well, thank you,” she murmured. Casually he reached out and brushed a curl over her shoulder. Her heart gave a sudden double beat as his hand dropped upon her shoulder, and though it rested there with the lightest touch, it seemed to pin her inescapably in the chair. Carefully she asked the question that burned to be spoken. “And you, my lord? Did you sleep well?”

Growing thoughtful, Maxim folded his arms across his chest and lifted his gaze to the rafters before he looked down at her again. “Well enough, I suppose, considering . . .”

Elise steeled herself for his next words. It would not surprise her if he shouted them in her ear.

“My mind was restless.” Maxim gave the excuse smoothly. “And I sought out a chair near the hearth. Alas, the late hour overtook me, and ‘twas there I spent the night.”

Relief was hardly what Elise experienced when he stood so close. “Was there a reason for your restlessness, my lord?”

Lifting a curl, Maxim bent forward to test the fragrance of it and murmured with a slowly widening grin, “I was thinking of you, fair maid, as I promised.”

Her gaze swept upward abruptly to meet his, and she stared at him in astonishment, wondering what game he was playing. “Me, sir?”

Dropping the silken tress, Maxim chuckled and moved to the opposite end of the table where he accepted a mug of cider from the cook. He settled in his chair and replied as he raised the cup to his lips, “I was worrying about what I would have to sell to pay for the clothes you purchased.”

“Oh.” It was a very small word, spoken in a very small voice imbued with disappointment. Slowly Elise let out her breath and was surprised to realize she had been holding it at all. The possible cause astounded her. Had she truly believed he would express some softening of his feelings for her? “You need not trouble yourself overmuch, my lord.” Her reply, tainted with the slightest note of regret, was cool and aloof. “I have no further need of your coin for what I have purchased.”

It was Maxim's turn to be confounded. “How so?”

“ ‘Tis simple enough.” Elise ffipped her hand in a curt, backward gesture, as if to end the discussion. “I have enough of my own to pay for the remainder.”

Maxim stared at her in bemusement. He could not say just what he had done to change her mood, but she had adopted that same defiant mien she had displayed upon his arrival from England. He realized that whatever ground he had lost in this discussion, she had gained.

Herr
Dietrich slid a trencher of food before his lordship and placed another of the same but with smaller portions in front of Elise. Folding his hands beneath his long apron, he stepped back and waited for the fare to be tasted. Each took part in the repast, breaking the morning fast with a light sampling of the delicious sausages, raveled bread, and crisp fruit tarts before bestowing well-deserved compliments upon the cook

“Delicious!” Elise assured the man with a buoyant smile. “Thank you.”

“Es gut,”
Maxim agreed.
“Danke.”

Herr
Dietrich's smile broadened, and once again he nodded his head with enthusiasm. Then he grew serious. Drawing a deep breath and squaring his ponderous shoulders, he forced out the reluctant words. “Tank yu, mad-am . . . sir.”

Elise laughed and applauded her approval, and a pleased
Herr
Dietrich returned to his many tasks, leaving Maxim to resume the conversation. He did so with a perplexed frown.

“You say you have enough coin of your own to pay for the clothes, but how could you have been carrying such wealth on you when you were taken?”

Though Elise lowered her gaze and turned away to let him view her profile, it seemed her nose raised just a snip to convey her lofty disdain. “I've been aided by a friend,” she replied, knowing with keen feminine discernment what erroneous conclusion he and his hunting logic would come to. Let him feed upon that bitter meat, she mused in smug silence, and tendered no further explanation for his comfort.

Von Reijn! The talons of Maxim's reasoning sank deep in the lure. It could only be him! An outright gift? Or in return for . . . ? Maxim's mind rebelled at the thought, and he struggled with himself as a mighty gorge of rage rose within him. “You seem to be quite fond of Nicholas,” he prodded rather tersely. “But I wonder if you'll be content as the wife of a Hansa captain.”

“I cannot see why that should be any concern of yours, my lord. I'm sure you're far too involved with Arabella to care whether or nay I'll be satisfied
with my choice for a husband. You may have had me kidnapped from my home, but no one appointed you my guardian.”

“I feel a certain obligation.”

“Your obligation to me is to see me returned to my home as soon as possible and to provide for what nourishment and necessities I've need of while I'm here as your prisoner. Beyond that, my private life is none of your affair.” With that Elise rose and, bobbing a brusque curtsey, left him glowering into the leaping flames on the hearth.

T
HE WIND HOWLED
like a venging fury against the stone walls of Faulder Castle, probing each crack and gap until it seemed that its icy breath intruded into every chamber and hall. Elise shivered as the frigid drafts stole what warmth the hearths could provide with their roaring fires. Though she gathered a woolen wrap about her shoulders, her fingers were chilled and beneath her skirts her slender feet grew numb with the cold. From the upper reaches of the place there came a repeated slamming as if a stubborn shutter would not latch, then she heard Maxim's voice raised in a bellow of command as he directed a shout from a window to the courtyard below. ‘Twas a brief moment later when Spence and Fitch came stumbling through the front portal on a hefty gust and, spilling their burdens noisily on the floor, threw their combined weight against the door to shut out the stubborn, snow-ladened gale. Both were wrapped in pelts for the short trip from the stables, and beneath a thick mantling of fluffy white
they looked more like hoary creatures from the far north. The two men paused briefly near the hearth to spread their outer robes where the heat would banish the crusting of ice and snow, then Fitch again
gathered a saw and an armful of planks, while Spence hefted a wooden box full of nails, hinges, and other fittings weighted down by a pair of hammers. As he passed Elise, Fitch bobbed a hasty “Good morn'n, mistress,” and continued on his way without pausing for an answer. Clutching their tools and lumber, the pair clattered and rattled their way up the stairs, vying in a constant joust for leadership until at the narrower section of stairs Fitch forged into the van and, heedless of the verbiage Spence heaped upon his back, led the way to the master's chambers. There they found his lordship standing with arms akimbo and feet braced apart behind a narrow veil of falling snow. A sharply jutting eyebrow quickly conveyed his irritation as he slowly raised his gaze toward the ceiling where their
makeshift repairs were being torn apart by the strong gales. Without word or excuse they set to their labors in earnest haste, this time getting assistance and direction from the master of the keep.

While the men labored, Elise addressed herself to the task of cleaning, with the idea of using it as an excuse to gain entrance to Maxim's chambers. She worked diligently in the lower rooms, sweeping, dusting, and scrubbing the furnishings, stairs, and floor. The midday hour came and went, and as she waited for the men to leave the upper chambers for the noon repast,
Herr
Dietrich passed her with a tray laden with food, squelching her plans to secure entrance to the room while they were gone.

Much later, as she poked ragged pieces of cloth around the windows to stop the persistent drafts in her own room, she despaired of ever finding the
upper rooms empty, for the men continued through the late afternoon with their labors. As the hours aged, it became obvious that if she did not remove the spiny barbs from Maxim's bed before he retired for the evening, she would spend another night in anxious turmoil, wondering when he would discover them and explode in anger.

She left the windows, having done as much as possible to stem the flow of frigid air that seeped through the cracks, but she was still very much aware of the strong drafts that persisted in the room. When she searched out the flow of air, she discovered a cold waft coming from around the door which had once been hidden by the tapestry. Her past attempts to open the portal had been futile, and another testing of the door assured her it was quite soundly latched from the opposite side. Whatever held the door closed was sufficient to keep her out of the passage, but failed to hold back the drafts.

Since directing her attention to improving the state of the keep, she had taken much care cleaning the tapestry. She knew the piece was heavy enough to act as a barrier against the cold air, but whether or not she was strong enough to lift it in place by herself remained to be seen, for it was no light cloth to be sure.

By dint of will Elise dragged the rolled tapestry to the base of the wall where it was to be hung. Thence began the epic struggle of slight maid against monstrous tapestry. It seemed whenever she lifted the top, the bottom end was beneath her feet and if she stood far enough away to avoid trodding upon it, she had not the strength to lift it. Finally she had the whole of it draped over her, and its weight
nearly bore her down. She braced her hip against the wall and, with the weight thusly suspended, managed to lift one end of the bar into its bracket near the juncture of the wall and timbered ceiling. She worked backward until she had the other end of the bar firmly within her grasp, but it did her little good, for it came nowhere near its wooden cradle high above her head. She assessed her predicament with some frustration. If she let the whole bar down, the other end would slip or the tapestry would cascade down upon her. A chair stood near the hearth, but, like the tapestry, it was a weighty thing. If she could
somehow manage to reach the chair and drag it close, it would serve as an answer to her dilemma.

Easing away from the wall until the engaged bracket creaked with the strain, Elise held firm to the end she had within her grasp and then stood on one foot, reaching out with a slippered toe and stretching, stretching until she snagged the chair's leg. Flushed with her victory, she drew it close by slow degrees, then, with quick bumps of her hip, pushed it against the wall. She panted for a moment, then took a fresh breath and climbed onto the seat of the chair, while the ominously huge and burdensome tapestry almost brought disaster at several junctures. In a last surge of determination, she thrust upward, then ground her teeth in despair as the bracket flopped loosely and turned awry when she tried to lift the bar over the last curve. She rested for a moment to catch her breath again and wiped her glistening brow on an upper sleeve. She was so close, she was loath to let the whole thing fall and start over again.