So Worthy My Love (47 page)

“I think yu not so lonely after all, my friend,” Nicholas observed tersely.

“Would you care to join us?” Maxim offered in quiet, good manner.

The captain's brows lowered ominously as he settled himself upon the opposite bench, and he glared his anger at the Marquess who made no attempt to smile.

It was not a moment Maxim would have chosen to tell the man of their marriage, yet it seemed there was naught else to do. Forming the words in his mind, he would have set himself promptly to the task but for Elise warning him with a small shake of her head. It was then that he turned his head and noticed the men who had served as their escort during their journey to Lubeck taking places at a nearby table. There were at least half a dozen of them, and being countrymen one and all of the good captain, he had no reason to doubt with whom their
sympathies would lie should an argument ensue. Maxim did not consider himself a coward even in the face of so great a threat, but he had the welfare of his young bride to think of.

The men watched with interest as the captain braced his arms upon the planks and glowered at his companion. “Vould yu kindly tell me vhy yu are here vith Elise?”

“Is it not obvious?” Maxim waved a hand to indicate the food. “We're sharing a few morsels.”

Nicholas snorted in contempt, hardly satisfied with the other's answer. “Vhat else did yu plan to share? A bed?”

Maxim relaxed against the straight board planks at his back, but his eyes took on the glint of hot steel. “You defame the lady mightily, my friend, and though I know your plight I scarce can abide such insults. ‘Twas I who drew Elise out this day, and thus ‘tis I who must stand to her defense.” He felt the light touch of her hand upon his thigh and saw her chin lift slightly as her pleading eyes begged him to let her have the responsibility of Nicholas's enlightenment. He mentally bowed to her request. “There is nothing here but the most honorable of intents. I remind you to have a care for Elise's repute and gentle your accusations, at least until I return her home and am free to settle this dispute with you in private.”

“I shall escort the lady home myself,” Nicholas gritted out. “It is vhere I'm going now. And yu . . . my friend”—he stressed the last two words with a sneer—“may keep yur appointment vith Karr Hilliard, and may God have mercy on yur foolhardy soul.”

“Karr Hilliard?” Maxim gazed at the captain questioningly.

“He asked me to send yu to him,” Nicholas answered coldly. “If he does not kill yu”—he ignored Elise's sharp gasp as he continued—“then I may try.” He flung up a hand to indicate the guards. “I have no need of their help.”

“Would you care to set an hour for our meeting?” Maxim inquired almost cordially. “I would not want to miss it.”

“If yu survive the meeting vith Hilliard, ye can meet on the morrow . . .”

“Why so late? Why can we not settle this matter tonight?”

“I have a meeting at the
kontor
this evening,” Nicholas answered tersely. “Othervise I vould accommodate yu.”

“And this appointment with Hilliard? What time is that to take place?”

“About four.”

Maxim rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I was to meet a man this evening. He might have word of Elise's father.” He met her worried stare briefly before turning back to the captain. “Is there a way the meeting with Hilliard might be postponed?”

“Hilliard vaits for no one. Either yu keep the appointment, or yu vill lose the opportunity, such as it is.”

A sigh of resignation slipped from the handsome lips. “And just where is this meeting to take place?”

“In Hilliard's varehouse near the docks.” Nicholas handed over a small piece of parchment upon which he had hastily drawn a map. “This is vhere yu are to meet him.”

Maxim studied the map briefly and then gathered up his gloves from the table. “I've just enough time to escort the lady home ere I must leave again.”

Angrily Nicholas slammed his fist upon the table.
“Yu vill not take her home!”

Though Elise blanched at each word of the captain's outburst, Maxim just smiled blandly and jerked on his gloves as he rose to his feet. “I'm afraid you must order your guards to keep me from doing so, my friend. I brought the lady here, and be damned, I shall take her back!” He gestured Elise from the seat and, when she rose beside him, settled her cloak about her shoulders. She glanced at Nicholas in anxious trepidation, afraid of what he might do, and was thankful that, save for a flurry of disgruntled snorting and muted cursing, he chose not to make a further scene.

Maxim drew Elise with him toward the door and paused a moment beside the innkeeper who had wisely held his silence when the other man had intruded into the privacy of their small table. Pressing a few coins into the man's hand, Maxim spoke a quiet word to him in German, then took his leave with his bride.

“We must hasten,” he murmured, laying an arm about Elise's shoulders as they walked swiftly toward the livery. “I must hie to my appointment with Hilliard”

“You'll be in danger, Maxim.” She searched his eyes pleadingly as he halted beside her and took her hands. “You may even be killed. Must you meet with Hilliard?”

“I've no other choice but to go, my love. Believe me, I would that our wedding night be something
other than this. I set my plan to spend this afternoon alone with you. It seems fate has set my intent awry. Were it of less import, I would stay at your side, yet I can only beg you to have patience and to rest assured that I will not long be denied the joy of making you my wife in truth.” He bent to her lips and, having no care of who watched, kissed her heatedly to seal his pledge. Then, taking her hand into his, he continued on toward the livery.

Maxim tightened the girth of her saddle and lifted Elise upon the back of the mare, but as she reached for the reins he caught her gloved hand and pressed his lips upon her fingers, silently praying that he would return to keep his vow.

M
AXIM PAUSED
in the dark shadows at the bottom of the stairs and carefully assessed his surroundings. The stairs, which might take him threateningly close to danger, began only a short space away and ascended to a short landing which led toward another flight and many more beyond. He leaned back against the wall and drew in a long, deep breath, slowly steeling his nerves. The man he was about to face was at the height of power in the Hanseatic League, at least until the Diet met in the spring. The members, wildly diverse in origins, resources, and opinions, had not seen fit at their last meeting to dispense with their debates and cast Hilliard from their midst. Unless something unforeseen took place, there was no reason to hope the man would be replaced this year either. By their altercating and brooding silence, the voting body sanctioned their delegate's authority, giving tacit approval to his brutish methods. Hilliard had been successful as a merchant captain, and was now even more so as an “enforcer”
of the contracts, laws, and agreements of the Hanseatic League, most of which he interpreted as he saw fit. His power was absolute; he answered only to the Diet and then only in premise.

Laying his left hand upon the hilt of his sword to keep it from swinging wildly, Maxim leapt up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He had donned more sober garments after he returned Elise to the Von Reijns' home and belted on his sword, anticipating the worst. If his marriage to Elise was to be terminated by his death ere the night was out, he was at least determined to fight until the bitter end.

Gaining the upper landing, Maxim turned to take the second flight and, in his progression, swiftly advanced to the third level. Giving no pause, he crossed the last landing and turned the latch of the only door that confronted him.

The portal swung wide, and a densely muscular man paused in the placing of charts in a deep armoire and half turned to face the door. Seeing Maxim, he closed the cabinet and dusted his hands officiously as he approached.

“Do yu vish somet'ing?” His voice was soft, not quite effeminate, yet was belied by a sense of ruthless strength embodied in the strong shoulders and bulging arms. The sinewed hands that folded into each other seemed to rest patiently as the man awaited an answer.

“Maxim Seymour, at your service. I believe
Herr
Hilliard is expecting me.” Maxim delved into the pocket of his doublet and, producing the impression of the seal, passed it casually to the man. The examination was careful, and when the blue eyes lifted again from beneath pale, fringed brows, they had lost their curiosity and conveyed at least the guise of respect.

“I am Gustave,
Herr
Hilliard's . . . personal scribe.” The pause was almost imperceptible. Still,
it was effective in giving the impression that there was a vast range of titles and duties from which he could select. “Come in.”

Maxim tucked his gloves beneath his belt and obeyed the directive, briefly considering the large, solidly muscled hands. To entertain the idea that they were capable of making short work of a man's life was hardly a foolish notion. Indeed, he thought, they were probably very adept at performing such a deed.

“May I take yur cloak?”

Maxim laid the garment over his own arm, denying the man's request. If he had to leave in a rush, it was better to be prepared for a long flight through a frigidly cold night. At the man's deepening scowl, he shrugged and gave the excuse, “I'll keep it beside me if you don't mind. I took a chill coming here, and I may have need of its warmth.”

“I vill tell
mein Herr
yu haff arrived.” Gustave crossed the room and, barely opening a door behind a desk, slipped his barrel-chested frame through the narrow space, yielding the guest no glimpse of the adjoining room.

Maxim turned slowly about as he considered the room wherein he found himself. It was both plain and ordinary, yet strangely messy. Sheaves of manifests, bills of lading, and other documents lay atop a long chest of drawers, which no doubt were filled with more of the same. Though the documents seemed very much in disorder, Maxim guessed that any disarrangement of them would be easily detected.

The sound of heavy footsteps approached the portal through which Gustave had passed, and
promptly the door was swung wide by the man.
“Mein Herr
vishes yu to vait in here for him.”

Maxim passed within, and when Gustave indicated a chair, he draped his cloak over the back of it and settled his long frame within its cushioned comfort, carefully arranging his sword beside him. Gustave retreated into the adjoining room, and the door closed behind him. Though Maxim waited to hear the grate of a key in a lock, none came. He almost breathed a

sigh of relief, but knew the folly of counting his blessings too soon. The contest of wits was only about to begin and would in the end determine whether he left at a leisurely pace or fled for his life.

Leaning his head back, Maxim let his eyelids sink half-closed as he surveyed the luxury that surrounded him, yet every nerve tingled as he sensed that he was being closely observed himself. The chamber was a complete contrast to the former one. Wherever the eye touched, there were rich momentos of a lifetime of travel. Every piece of furniture, every drape, every rug or cushion was of the finest quality and bespoke the prominence and wealth Hilliard had attained. A warming fire crackled in a fireplace adorned with an elaborate marble mantel. Nearby, a large chair, covered with dark leather, stood behind a monstrous desk of rich, satiny woods. This was obviously the apartment of a man of means, for the chamber exceeded the luxury of many a royal office.

When the moments had drawn out into along, quiet space, a door opened with the barest whisper of sound and Karr Hilliard deigned to make his
entrance. He waddled forward to greet his guest. “Ah, Lord Seymour! So goot of yu to come.”

Cocking an eyebrow in haughty question as the enormous bulk of humanity known as Karr Hilliard halted squarely before him, Maxim rose in good manner and responded in kind, “So good of you to ask,
Herr
Hilliard.”

Hilliard's chuckles seemed to set his enormous bulk aquiver. “I vas vondering if yu vould remember me.”

“How could I not? You are lord of the Hansards, are you not?” The slight twisting of his lips could be read as a smile, but only Maxim knew of the derisive sneer he hid behind it.

“Yu honor me, Lord Seymour, but I am hardly a king. I am vhat yu vould call a common peasant in England.” As if he thought he deserved more acclaim, however, he paused a moment to allow some protest and was disappointed when none came. He heaved a sigh. “I am merely a servant of the league.”

Maxim offered a small token of what the man sought. “Then a servant who has gained much respect.”

“It is true,” Hilliard readily agreed. “I am one of the more successful delegates of our Diet.”

“None dare question the truth of that statement,” Maxim declared, knowing he split a fine hair between truth and insult.

His ego much placated, Hilliard chortled in good humor and gestured Maxim back into his chair. As the younger man settled his tall frame between the ornately carved arms of the stately chair, Hilliard
moved his ponderous bulk across the room to a cabinet of sorts built within the space of a window. Inside the compartment, a tapped barrel had been laid within a frame. A wooden grating, the kind that would cover a ship's hatchway, was used as part of an outer cage around the opening. The whole of it was shielded from the elements by oiled canvas which could either be raised or lowered from the inside. The cabinet, subjected to the cold outside, allowed for the chilling of the keg as well as the pewter mugs stored beneath it. When firmly latched, the doors prevented any drafts from invading the chamber, while it kept the heat from reaching the keg.

The High Lord Merchant King of the Hansa, or so Hilliard thought of himself, waddled forward with a frosty tankard filled to the brim with foaming ale and held it out to his guest. “Vould yu care to join me in a cool libation,
Herr
Seymour?”