So Worthy My Love (50 page)

“ ‘Ye heard ill,' he spat in his funny twisted tongue. ‘There be no mutiny on a Hansa deck. Never been, never will! ‘Twas just some English bloke Hilliard caught a-spyin' in the Stilliards.'

“ ‘Aye,' I says, ‘ye'll bring Drake and his dogs down ‘pon ye, takin' an Englishman from his own sod like that.'

“ ‘Bah,' he sneered, gathering up his coins.” Sheffield waxed rich in his mimicry of the guard. “ ‘T'ey neffer know he's gone.' The man would give me no more and left me.”

Elise sat forward on the edge of her chair, encouraged by his tale. “What did you notice about the man who was shackled? Was he tall? Thin? Dark-haired? Even-featured?” To each of these Sheffield nodded, and her hopes strengthened. “Tell me, by chance did you notice if the man was wearing
a large ring of onyx and gold on his first finger?”

Sheffield paused a moment in thought and finally shook his head. “That I cannot say, mistress. He was chained with his hands before him, but as far as I can remember he wore no ring at all.”

Elise's shoulders slumped slightly as she struggled against the grip of disappointment. The ring would have been a sure way of identifying her father, but now she could not be certain who the man really was.

“Surely they would have taken such a ring from him,” Justin pointed out.

“Of course,” Sheffield agreed, wanting to see again that spark of hope he had briefly glimpsed in the sapphire eyes.

“If my father is truly here . . . and if he is still alive”— Elise spoke the words slowly as she fought the invading grayness of doubt and uncertainty—“then the only likely place he would be is somewhere in the dungeons of the Hansa.”

“Nicholas might be able to help find him,” Justin offered.

The deep blue eyes lowered cautiously. Maxim had warned of any attempt to involve Nicholas, and she had to be careful, lest she give Justin some encouragement in that endeavor. “Is there anything more you can tell me, Master Thomas?”

“Nay, mistress.” Sheffield sadly shook his head. It fair broke his heart to disappoint her. “I wish I could fill your sails with a sterner wind, but I fear what I've given you is precious feeble indeed.”

“Had you given me a gale, sir, I'd have followed it to the ends of the earth.” Elise straightened and
met his gaze directly. “But to what end?” Her hand flipped from side to side. “Is he here? Is he there? I've followed my quest in a dozen different directions to no avail. Do you give me a new one? Surely I'm no worse than I was before, and you give me some hope that he is near.” She slid her hand beneath a fold of her gown, then withdrew it and extended her closed fist to him. In some bemusement Sheffield stared at it and raised questioning brows. “Here, take this,” she encouraged, her fingers opening. “ ‘Tis something for your time and trouble.” The sovereign seemed overlarge in her small hand. “For venturing forth on this miserable eventide.”

“Ah, nay, mistress. You do me shame. ‘Twould be ill-done, indeed, were I to take even a farthing for laying a father's hand to his daughter's. What I've given you is naught but the dregs of the smallest hope. You've shared your warmth and I've listened to the sweetest English tongue since me own good mistress passed away. I bid you good eventide, mistress and kind sir. I'll be about my way.”

Justin let the man out and came back to lean against the doorjamb of the chamber portal. Elise sat staring into the fire, hardly aware of him regarding her. He contemplated the slight tugging of small, white teeth against a bottom lip and the rubbing of one slender thumb against the other as she clasped her hands together. He could almost see her mind struggling against a flooding tide of helpless frustration.

“What are you thinking of, Elise?” The question was quietly spoken, barely reaching across the
space between them. He had grown fond of the girl since her arrival and wanted to see her happy.

Elise looked up at him and for the first time discovered beneath that facade of carefree gaiety a young man filled with concerns. She laughed softly in an attempt to hide her own. “There are times, Justin, when a woman must keep her musings to herself.”

Justin watched her turn away, and there was no further indication of her restlessness as she folded her hands demurely in her lap, though he could well surmise she was dissecting piece by piece the information Sheffield Thomas had given them. Becoming deeply involved in his own ponderings, Justin moved past her chair to stand before the hearth and stare into the frolicking flames. “Once more,” he mentally sighed to himself, “Hilliard's repute takes on the blacker shade of midnight . . . skulduggery, theft, and piracy. Indeed, what shallow right has the man to lay an acid tongue to Drake's deeds? What Drake has gained in battle on the high seas, Hilliard has acquired through treachery and murder.”

It had been as evident to Sheffield Thomas as it would be to any who had to confront the same problem. Hilliard, through the Hansa, held sway and power over the officials of free Lubeck. There was no use to seek justice through that course. Long ago Justin had come upon that truth. Visions of a hangman's rope bending Hilliard's neck or a headsman raising an axe above his large head had faded when he realized the futility of such dreams, but another aspiration had come in their stead. With each passing day the desire grew stronger within Justin to see
Hilliard's ponderous jowls quivering with fear as his blade slid keenly beneath the man's breastbone to sunder that evil heart.

Elise roused from her musings to consider Justin for a quiet space, somewhat reluctant to break into his ruminations. He stood in a gallant pose, his weight on one leg, his other knee slightly cocked, his hands folded behind his back. She could see no trace of the flippant, jesting youth, for now he seemed taller, broader of shoulder, and more of a man than a moment before.

Briefly she glimpsed a slight twist of a satisfied smile curving his lips, and then she recalled his sudden interest when Sheffield Thomas had mentioned Hilliard. It came to her that Justin's performance as callow youth would effectively divert the attentions and suspicions of his elders, which left him free to roam and wander where he would. He had a remarkable knowledge of the Hansa, at least locally, and of Karr Hilliard, certainly more than could be explained by mere passing fancy.

Before her thoughts could bear the fruit of a question, Justin faced her and, with a show of casual interest, spoke in a most solicitous tone. “Why do you suppose Maxim went to see Karr Hilliard? Would it have been to inquire after your father?”

Elise met his gaze with a shrug, meaning to play the simple youth herself as she struggled not to show her distrust. “Perhaps, but I cannot say with any certainty that his visit was for that purpose. He gave me no reason, nor did I feel he needed to.”

Justin saw her sniff lightly and regard the back of her hand in silent reproof. He smiled behind the
hand that rubbed his cheek, realizing he had touched a tender chord. “My pardon, Elise, I meant no unkindness.” He pressed on as if musing. “ ‘Tis just that Hilliard only gives his time and his favors to those who might be of benefit to him. What has he to gain from Maxim?”

“Very little, I would imagine,” she replied cautiously. “Maxim can lay claim to neither his properties nor his wealth. He is virtually penniless, and as far as I know, he is quite free of allegiances save that of restoring his honor.”

“And yet Hilliard has called upon him. ‘Twould be unlike the man to invite Maxim into his lair for the single purpose of answering inquiries about your father. Nay, there must be something more.”

Elise arched her brow, feeling the prick of his prying. If he was suggesting that Maxim was in league with such a man, the brash youth was about to be set back upon his heels. “Perhaps you'll enlighten me, Sir Justin. You seem to know Karr Hilliard quite well yourself. What would you say was his reason for bidding Maxim come?”

Justin settled in a chair across from hers and, propping his elbows on the wooden arms, musefully folded his fingers together. He observed her haughty, but guarded, manner for a long moment before he gave answer. “Of late, Hilliard has been ranting about Drake taking his ships and of Elizabeth giving the man letters of marque condoning piracy on the high seas. Now Hilliard beckons an Englishman to his chambers? Of course, he is a deposed lord . . . but he is familiar with the English court. I ask you in turn, Elise, what would your judgment of such a meeting be?”

Elise lifted her chin, taking offense as she chafed at the direction of his reasoning. In a tightly controlled voice she inquired, “How is it that you know Karr Hilliard so well, Justin? How can you draw such conclusions unless you are closely familiar with the man?” Justin was aware of her advancing disdain and smiled blandly. He had been impressed, even infatuated by her beauty from the first moment of their meeting, but he had also sensed a strong attraction between the maid and the Marquess. Her reaction supported his suspicions that she doted on the Englishman, but the questions remained. Was this man, by his reputation an accused traitor, involved in something far worse than either of them could imagine? “I know Karr Hilliard because I've observed him closely for some years now. There were circumstances linking Karr Hilliard with the death of my father. Indeed, I believe either he or his henchman, Gustave, was directly responsible for my father's murder.”

The shield Elise had begun to raise as protection against his probing questions lowered with the enrichment of knowledge. “Then you understand my worries.”

“Very well, I'm afraid.” Justin gazed down at the floor as he fought back a thickness in his throat. His father's death still troubled him even after these many years. “Hilliard has rare use for living Englishmen. Whatever Maxim's intent, he treads on dangerous ground.”

Fretting openly now, Elise wrung her hands as she wrestled with her imagination. “You mean he could be lying dead somewhere?”

“They found my father stuffed in a wine vat,” Justin informed her morosely. His curiosity still persisted, for he could feel no sympathy for a traitor and a murderer. Why was Maxim interested in Hilliard and what did he have to interest the Hansa master? “Sheffield Thomas will likely find himself in a similar situation if he's not careful. Who knows what fate awaits Maxim?”

“Speak no more!” Elise cried, springing to her feet. She glared at him through mounting tears. “Do you take delight in frightening me when I know not where my cherished ones are? I cannot bear it!”

“Mercy, Elise,” Justin soothed as he went to her. He would have laid his arm comfortingly around her slender shoulders. “Forgive me. I did not mean to be cruel.”

“What am I to do?” she sobbed, moving away from his intended embrace, as she drew perilously near to that dark, rank cavern of utterly consuming fear. “Nicholas said there was a Hansa meeting this eventide. Surely Hilliard has plans to be there and would be done with Maxim by now.”

Justin dropped his arm and stepped to the fire, stung by her unspoken reproof. This Maxim was a bold enough fellow with the maid, but what were his true colors? Except for Nicholas's ramblings, he knew nothing of the man and felt a sharp pang of jealousy at Elise's unflagging faith in him. Another thought pricked his consciousness. Hilliard was often disposed to calling a meeting at the
kontor
for no apparent reason except his own gratification. He indulged himself in the idea that his power was that of some exalted sovereign and the Hansa masters
the subjects over which he reigned. At times he would boast of his schemes, while veiling them in such a way as to portray a feigned innocence. He often sought tacit approval from the local masters on diverse matters, stroking their ego while he cleverly disguised his real intentions. If a stir was later raised for an evil deed done, then he could simply declare that he only acted as a Hansa agent and under their express direction. It could even be his wont
this eventide to bring before the Hansa some excuse for hiring the Englishman. All one had to do was discern the dark side of his reason.

A brief bow to the maid accompanied his plea, “Will you excuse me, Elise? I must venture out for a time.”

“But where are you going?” she questioned anxiously. Surely no sane man would venture out on such a cold night unless the matter was of considerable urgency.

Justin paused as he considered what his answer should be. He could not tell her of his need to penetrate the
kontor
or that somehow he meant to confront Maxim and lay bare the roué's intentions. Thus he gave her in varied form what she had given him earlier. “There are some things, my dear Elise”—his smile was brief and stiff—“a man should not tell a woman.”

Elise listened to his footsteps in the hall as he made his way to his temporary chamber, and she turned back to stare into the flickering flames as a small frown flitted across her brow. The premonition was strong within her that his leaving was not meant for Maxim's good. He had made it obvious
he distrusted her husband. Perhaps, the thought intruded, he even intended to do him harm.

Elise flew from the room and, catching up her skirts, raced up the stairs in something less than a genteel fashion. She knew what she was about, and she would not be stopped. Whether she was right or wrong about Justin, she had no choice but to follow and find out what he was up to. She had seen a chest of his old clothes in the bedchamber Maxim was using and had every intention of putting a few of the garments to use.

Hurriedly Elise doffed her clothes and hid them in Maxim's chest. She bound her breasts as flat as she could by wrapping a wide cloth several times around her chest and pulling it tight. She hastily slipped into a loose shirt and dragged a woolen tunic over it. Two layers of heavy stockings and a pair of loose breeches would help obscure the womanly curves of her hips, while banning the cold. Stuffing her loosely coiled hair beneath a leather skull-shaped hat, she drew the ties securely beneath her chin and knotted them tightly. Her worn hide boots served her purpose well and, with woolen rags tucked inside, would keep her feet warm and soften her step.