So Worthy My Love (7 page)

The Earl sneered at the smaller man. “Would ye have me do yer bloodlettin', little weasel?”

A sudden sweat dappled Edward's brow, and his lips formed voiceless words for a moment as he searched for an acceptable reply. “I . . . ah . . . cannot defend . . . me daughter, Reland. Me skill with a sword is far too feeble for his lordship here.” He inclined his head slightly to indicate the Marquess. “He's a wolf, Reland, an' ye know a weasel can't best a wolf. Ye're more his match. A bear set against a wolf. ‘Tis the way it should be.”

Placated, Reland stumbled forward a step and stood with legs braced wide apart as he gazed about him with heavily lidded eyes. The Marquess awaited him with sword in hand, and though there remained only a short distance between them, it seemed to Reland that he stared at his adversary through a long, narrow corridor. Imperceptibly everything around him grew darker until there was only a small glimmer at the far end where his enemy stood, and even that light steadily dwindled. He was very tired and weary. His limbs were too ponderous to lift. He had to rest a moment . . . only a moment . . .

Reland Huxford sank to his knees and there, with head bowed low, braced himself doggedly on stiffened arms until, like a mortally wounded bear, he sprawled forward onto the floor.

Edward was beside himself. He ran to Reland and, grasping his sword, held it aloft. “Who'll take up the challenge? Which one o' ye Huxfords'll receive the sword o' his kin?”

No one came forward, and Devlin smirked from the doorway where he leaned. “You have the sword, Squire. You carry forth the challenge.”

Edward gaped at Devlin as if certain the other had lost his wits, but the jeering grin of the younger man made him drop his gaze. He stared down in horror at the weapon in his hands, realizing that no one would come to his defense. With trembling hesitancy he lifted his worried gaze to the man he had dubbed traitor, and though the taunting smile of the Marquess mocked him, he could not find the courage to lift the sword and charge his foe.

Maxim began to chuckle softly, mercilessly lashing the older man's pride. “Come now, Edward,” he chided in a ridiculing tone. “Have you lost your taste for bloodletting? I am here, ready to meet your thrust.”

Fear congealed in Elise's breast and ran its icy tendrils through her veins as she watched the two men. Her heart labored against the dreadful chill of the emotion, for she knew what the outcome would be if the Marquess successfully goaded her uncle into a fight. It was all too obvious that Lord Seymour meant to kill the elder.

Her mind screamed at the injustice of it, and she suddenly realized the only person who could possibly accomplish the feat of stopping Seymour was not in the room.

Whirling in desperate haste, Elise fled the hall and, lifting her heavy skirts to her knees, raced up the stairs as fast as her spinning head would allow. Arabella's chamber door stood ajar, and without pausing to knock, Elise plunged through with her cousin's name spilling from her tongue, but the sound dwindled to a whisper as a flurry of impressions assailed her.

The chambers were dark. Only a meager light shining through the doorway from the adjoining room illumined the antechamber.

The rooms were deathly quiet. Arabella was nowhere to be seen, and no sound came from the bedchamber.

The candles had been deliberately snuffed. The scent of the hot wax still lingered in the air.

Elise felt a strange foreboding as she ran into the bedchamber. There, a lone candle burned, and in the
hearth the golden flames of a fire danced along a charred log, casting across the floor elongated shadows of the tall-backed chairs which stood before it. The velvet hangings of the massive bed were open, displaying the richly embroidered coverlet that was still neatly spread over the feather ticks. Nothing in the room conveyed the welcoming warmth of a bride awaiting her groom.

Stepping out onto the loggia, Elise scanned the courtyard, probing into shadows and doorways. A softly whistled tune caught her attention, and she peered through the lantern-lit gloom until she spied Quentin strolling leisurely toward the hall. She had not seen him leave, but it was apparent by his manner that he was ignorant of what was presently transpiring there. Nor would he go to Edward's aid when he entered. Her cousin was no more fond of the elder than Maxim Seymour was.

Keeping her silence, Elise slipped back into Arabella's bedchamber. If she did not find her cousin soon, Edward would have to face the challenge of the Marquess, and that one would surely have his revenge.

She felt the warmth of the fire at her back, but a sudden eerie feeling sent a shiver sinuating down her spine and compelled her to lift her gaze. There against the far wall, she saw her silhouette cast, but creeping stealthily toward her shadow from either side were a pair of other shapes, large and manly.

The chambers were not empty!

Elise leapt forward, eluding the beefy arms that reached out to seize her. A meaty
thunk
followed as the pair came together, giving evidence that the silhouettes
were more than mere illusions. Where she had stood an instant before, two hefty bodies now struggled against each other, and the mumbled curses of the pair filled the silence.

“Damn ye, Fitch! Ye broke me nose! Let go!”

“She's escapin'! Catch her!”

A tall shape lunged for her, and lightfooted as a frightened hind Elise whirled away only to crash into a pear-shaped bulk. As much surprised as she, the man teetered on one foot while he sought to wrap his thickly thewed arms about her slender form. He knocked off her cap, and in the next instant Elise found her face pressed into the folds of the brigand's roughly woven tunic. It had a wet woolen smell mingled with the strong stench of cooked fish. The encircling arms were strong and forbidding, but she fought against them in desperation, frightened of what might await her if the men took her. She lashed out, catching her hand in the pearl necklace, and distantly she was aware of the precious beads and jeweled clasp scattering across the floor, but the loss of the treasured piece did not halt her struggles as a calloused hand reached forward to muffle her outcry. It was the man who groaned in pain as her teeth sank into his fleshy palm. He snatched his hand away, but as she drew a breath to scream she quickly
found a knotted cloth biting into her mouth.

The sharp heel of her slipper came down hard on the instep of the man's softly booted foot. In the very next instant she pushed with all of her strength against the protruding belly. Suddenly Elise realized she was free, and never being one to faint or yield
without a good fight, she set her mind to full flight, but before her darting foot gained a step, she was smothered in the folds of a drapery torn from a window. The large cloth was promptly wound about her until she was wrapped from head to foot. Frustration and fear fused into rage, and she exploded in a fury of mindless thrashing. A thick arm closed tightly about her neck, bringing the fabric close over her face until she could not draw a full breath of air. The more she struggled, the tighter the embrace became, and when she eased her writhing, the restraint likewise eased. The message became clear. She would be taken one way or another.

“Spence, where ye be, man?” the one named Fitch called. “Let's be gone from ‘ere.”

The sound of hurrying footsteps approached them from behind. “I canna ‘find the lady's cloak . . .”

“She'll ‘ave ta make do wit' what she ‘as. Let's be gone from ‘ere ‘fore somebody comes.”

The thick cord which had held the swag in place at a window was used to bind the drapery about her, then strong arms lifted her and laid her over a broad shoulder. Gagged and trussed up like a helpless goose, Elise could only moan and wiggle in protest as she was carried out onto the loggia and whisked down the outer stairs to the courtyards. Once they came to earth, a sense of urgency seized the two. Her stout captor jogged along for a space, nearly jolting the breath from her, and then slipped through a hedge that bordered the courtyard. Of a sudden she was hurled through the air in a rather wild swoop, and she nearly strangled on the scream that erupted from her chest. It found no release beneath
her gag, and she came to earth with a bounce, thankfully on a thick pile of straw. There was a moment of confused movement as a startled horse awoke and pranced nervously, making Elise aware of the fact that she had been thrown into a cart. The hushed voice of the driver soothed the animal as bundles of straw were heaped
upon her, then the cart jiggled and creaked as the two men scrambled in. They stretched out on top of the straw, and their combined weight pressed her down until she could hardly breathe, much less move. The horse was urged forward, and the cart obligingly followed. The pace was slow, plodding, deliberate, and Elise's spirits plummeted as she found little hope for rescue.

The driver of the conveyance made a wide swing which brought them around to the front of the manse. Though she had lived only a short time at Bradbury, Elise was able to discern the very moment the wooden wheels of the cart rolled onto the front lane, for her ride became immediately smoother. It was here she longed fervently to scream and alert the household to her abduction, but it was a useless wish, for the men had guaranteed her silence. Somewhere over the rattle and creak of the cart she heard the twittering chitter-chirrup of a nightingale, and she thought how strange that on this crisp winter's evening the bird should be so near.

Maxim Seymour paused and cocked his head slightly as he heard the soft chirp. His nod was more mental than noticeable. He looked into Edward's
gleaming, sweating face and murmured with a sardonic smile, “You have a reprieve from the wolf, weasel I now have what I came for, and for that you shall pay dearly.”

Maxim leapt away and cast a quick glance about the hall. Hardly a score of men were capable of pursuit, but some of them would prove reluctant. Those who were loyal to Edward rallied together at his shout.

“He's escapin'! Don't let him get away! He's a traitor ta the Queen!”

Maxim tore a velvet drapery from a window and, swirling it about, flung it into the faces of those who followed, then as they struggled to disentangle themselves, he caught the edge of a long table and overturned it upon the squirming mass. He leapt to the top of another plank and, from there, sent platters of food and flagons of wine sailing down upon them. He seemed in gay spirits as he ran to the doorway and there paused to salute Edward with his sword.

“ ‘Tis time I bid you adieu, Squire. I trust the lot of you will not sorrow greatly over my departure.”

His arm whipped upward, and the sword sailed high to bury its point in a timber of the vaulted ceiling, there to quiver in fading throes. “Farewell, Squire,” he bade with a sweeping bow. “I leave a memento to remind you that I shall return. Gird your loins against that day, or flee and hope I cannot find you.”

Edward lifted his eyes and seemed entranced by the glimmer of light sent abroad by the trembling blade. Slowly the movement died, and when he
glanced about him, Edward realized his foe had departed.

“After him!” he shouted, and glared about him when there was no immediate response to his command. “Would ye have the Queen think we're all cowards 'cause o' one man? She'll have our heads if we make no attempt ta stop him.”

The heavy table was laboriously cast aside, and the men, incongruously bedecked with varied sauces or coyly perched carcasses of roasted blackbird, struggled against each other to get to their feet. In priggish distaste they flung aside the sticky gobs and stumbled after Edward as he charged through the portal.

When they stepped outside, a rattle of hooves drew their attention to the lane in front of the manse. Beneath a canopy of winter-bare limbs that swept upward from the trees growing alongside the road, they could see the dark figure of a man on the back of the black Friesian stallion.

Edward cursed aloud as he watched the rapidly departing pair, then he turned to shout to those who stood around him, “Ta horse! Ta horse! We can't let him escape!”

T
HE SUFFOCATING CONFINEMENT
of her cloth cocoon and the weight of the two men pressing the straw bundles down upon her created a hellish torment for Elise. The cord-bound drapery restricted her movements and held her arms pinned to her sides, but her mind ranged far afield, conjuring a multitude of evil deeds which might be done to her. The unknown dragged out her apprehensions until the low rumble of the wooden wheels rolling over the rutted lane seemed but a distant echo of her wildly thumping heart. Had she been the least bit prone to having fits of unbridled panic, she might have yielded to an upsurging compulsion to writhe and struggle against her bonds, but fear of what these brutish ruffians might do persuaded her to keep still and hold her peace, at least for the time being. It was little more than idiocy to provoke them while she was so vulnerable.

Her ankle and her hip were pressed down hard against the boards beneath her where the mound of straw had thinned and offered little padding. With each jolt of the cart Elise suffered a twinge of pain in both areas. It was easy to surmise that even after a short journey she would be left bruised and aching.
Persistently and by slow degrees she managed to wedge a hand beneath her to cushion her hip and discovered there an opening in the fold of the drape.

Concentrating all her efforts, she wiggled her hand through and began to search the silken cord for the knot that held everything secure, then a distant drumming made her pause. She strained to listen until the sound grew more distinct, and her spirits soared as she recognized the pounding hoofbeats of a swiftly approaching steed. Someone was coming after them! Surely she would be rescued!

Her heart took up a hopeful beat, and she hardly dared to breathe as she waited for the rider to overtake them, but alas, her expectations were cruelly dashed when a sharp jolt bespoke of the cart's departure from the path. The rough conveyance jounced and lurched beneath her and, after several more heaving gyrations, finally came to a halt. The racing hooves clattered past, and a brief moment later another movement jiggled her crude bed as one of the men scrambled down, then everything grew still and quiet around them until the sounds of the night came stealing back. In the waiting hush a growing rumble arose in the distance. This time it became distinguishable as the thunderous advance of a dozen or more horses on the road. The din of the ride was liberally fused with loud shouts and questions, most of which were unintelligible to her constrained ear, but amid the windswept jargon she recognized her uncle's loud bellow.