So Worthy My Love

  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.

  Elise rubbed her brow again against the sleeve of her woolen gown, then froze as she heard a light chuckle behind her. Her arms trembled with fatigue, but she managed to twist far enough around to see over her shoulder. Maxim, garbed casually with his shirt hanging open to the waist, leaned lazily against the doorjamb. Even as she looked, his gaze swept upward from her well-displayed ankles, past the curve of her hip where the limp woolen cloth clung to her buttocks, along the slimness of her waist and finally rose to meet her accusing glare.

  “The door was ajar,” he explained with a shrug. “I heard the . . . ah . . . struggle and wondered if all was well with you.”

  “ ‘Tis not! So don’t stand there grinning like a fool! Come and help me!” The last was a desperate plea as she feared at any moment she might collapse under the strain.

  Maxim was there without pause, stepping onto the chair behind her and reaching up to take the rod from her trembling grasp. He held it easily in one hand while he twisted the bracket into alignment with the other, and though Elise felt almost smothered by his nearness, she still sought to help and lifted a fold upward to ease the weight. He was so close he seemed a part of her, and to remain calm and quiescent while their bodies touched was without question the most difficult task she had ever had to perform.

  Maxim leaned forward to drive a loose peg home with the heel of his hand, and Elise warmed as she was made boldly aware of his chest pressing against her shoulder and the light caress of his loins against her buttocks. The heady smell of him, a clean masculine scent, shot like tiny hot darts through her senses and evoked a rush of pleasure that flooded through her. She had never experienced such heat, and though it was completely foreign to her, it was at the same time strangely exciting. He paused, and after a moment she glanced around to find his attention riveted downward over her shoulder. Following his gaze, she discovered the bodice of her gown gapping away from her bosom, displaying a generous portion of her full, blushing breasts.

  Elise snatched her arms down and, in a bit of temper, continued the movement with one elbow, driving it into his hard ribs, then, like a fairy sprite, she snatched away and leapt to the floor, jerking her skirts free of the chair. Had the tapestry, man, rod, and chair ended in a tumbled heap, she would have considered it a well-deserved justice.

  “You’re a lecherous lout! A true roué of the first water!” she accused with flaming cheeks. “I must be on guard at every turn! I cannot trust you!”

  The bracket held as Maxim lowered the rod into its cradle, then he turned with a wayward grin and stepped lightly to the floor. He slid the chair back to the hearth and came to stand before her, settling his hands on his hips. “My dear Elise, ‘tis not a matter of trust. I’ve made no advance upon you, but what you display I’m more than willing to view. ‘Tis the same with most men when they have a chance to admire a comely maid so wonderfully made.”

  “You spy upon my person like a rutting hind!” Elise cried. She was very conscious of his height and, where the shirt sagged open, the crisp furring of golden hair that covered his muscular chest. She was stirred by the manliness of him, which played upon the womanliness of her, but she crushed the wayward feelings behind a determined frown. Clenching her fists tightly, she lambasted him further. “You do indeed need a wife to ease your lusts upon.”

  Maxim’s mouth twitched with barely bridled humor as he arched his brows in mock surprise. “Is marriage then your proposal, fair maid?”

  Vibrant sparks flared in the blue eyes as Elise gasped in outrage. “Certainly not!”

  Chuckling, Maxim shrugged and crossed the room, waving a hand over his shoulder. “You have only to ask, and what you seek will be done.”

  “I did not suggest that you wed me!” she ground out with an angry snarl.

  Maxim peered back at her” with a twisted grin. “I was referring.to such tasks as what might be performed here today, but if you have a need, I suppose I might consent to wed you, considering I’ve compromised your reputation by having you brought here.”

  “You, sir, would be the last person I’d exchange vows with!” she exclaimed. “You’re . . . you’re despicable!”

  “Perhaps.” Casually he traced a finger along the molding of the door. “But I would know how to treat the woman I was wed to.”

  Elise scoffed at his statement. “How? By carrying her off to your chambers and
refusing to let her go? She would be as much of a prisoner as I am now or what you intended Arabella to be!”

  “I’d be a most attentive husband,” he assured her with a warm twinkle in his eye. “And you, fair maid, would not oft be in want of a companion on a long winter’s night.”

  “Are you suggesting that I would be lonely married to Nicholas?” she asked incredulously.

  “Nicholas would be a good husband to you . . . when he is in port,” he replied casually.

  Elise cocked her head to the side and peered at him dubiously. “And can you assure me you would be ever at my side?”

  “I cannot promise when fate might decree otherwise, fair maid, but when duty does not demand my attention, I would seek you out in all haste and eagerness.”

  Elise looked away in the guise of impatience, but she was confused by his words, the glow in his eyes, and the warmth of his voice. How could she believe he would be an ardent husband to her when they both knew he was in love with Arabella? But then, a man had no need to be in love with a woman to take his pleasure of her. ‘Twas all he wanted, nothing more.

  She turned back to give further argument and was surprised to find him gone. He had left without a whisper of a sound. In his absence the silence seemed to shout at her, and there was within her a desire to have him back with her. To be sure, their arguments were far more titillating than conversation with the four walls.

  “What is he about?” she mused. “Does he only seek to make a mockery of me?” She threw an accusative stare toward the door. “ ‘Twould no doubt amuse him greatly to woo and, should I yield, use me, then put me aside when his humor has run its course.” Thoughtfully she rubbed the tip of a forefinger behind an earlobe. “I’d rather not play the simple fool in his frolic. Nay, ‘tis ever true that the game is far, far sweeter when played by two.”

  Still, she was disquieted. All the places where they had touched still burned as if she had been branded by the flaming heat of his body. How could Arabella have forgotten the excitement of this man’s presence and accepted so soon after his purported death the bullish attentions of Reland Huxford? Where was the woman in Arabella that she had not mourned the loss of such a man for at least a decade or more?

  Elise kept to herself and remained in her chambers for the rest of the day, even refusing to go down for the evening meal. She did not trust her jumbled thoughts to withstand the barrage of soft persuasions Maxim could heap upon her. She might well succumb like any weak-minded maid bent on self-destruction.

  A lame excuse sent down by Spence soon brought the master of the keep knocking on her chamber door. “Spence reports you ill,” Maxim called through the portal in response to her inquiry. “Have you need of a physician?”

  “Heaven forbid! I’d sooner die in peace than be poked and prodded by a quack who cannot understand a word I say!”

  Maxim folded his arms across his chest and smiled. At least the maid had strength for her usual shrewish retort. “I shall send Herr Dietrich up with a tray of food for you,” he said, and leaned nearer the door as he questioned, “Should I have him find some scales of a dragon or a root of a hemlock for you to boil in your cauldron, my lady?”

  Maxim could well imagine the lass glaring at the door with feet spread wide, arms akimbo and blue eyes flashing as she gave him two for one in reply.

  “Aye! Bring me that and more! Eye of newt! Tongue of bat! Heart of mourning dove! Touch your ears, my lord! Do they lengthen? Feel your nose! Is it growing long and furred? Do your hands and feet take on a likeness of hooves? Does a mule’s tail cleave your buttocks? Witch, indeed! Were I one of those, you would even now bear the markings of your asinine wit! Get thee hence, Sir Brute, ere I set my pot aboiling in the faintest hope that some such deed could be brought about.”

  His reply came softly through the door. “I am well-assured then, fair maid, that you are once more found of fair health and good temper.”

  After an amused chuckle all was silent, and Elise knew he had gone from her door. His absence did not lessen her irritation.

  “Witch, am I!” she fussed as she snuggled down into her bed later that night. “I vow ‘twould serve him right to feel the sharp pricks of the barbs this night.” Despite her words, she spent a sleepless night in restless tossing, and though the winds howled and swirled about the castle in a merciless eddy, she could lay her thoughts to naught but the agonizing memory of Maxim’s touch and, if not that, then the expected eruption of his rage when he discovered her trap.

  Morning came, and though Elise listened long and carefully for the scrape of footfalls on the stairs before she eased the door open, she was much taken by surprise when she left her chambers and found Maxim leaning against the wall near the stairs. To all intents and purposes, it seemed as if he awaited her.

  Immediately on the defensive, she slowed her approach as she eyed him with some apprehension. Any moment she expected to be taken to task for what she had done, and braced herself for the assault of words. Strangely a wide smile broke upon his countenance.

  “Dreadful poor luck,” he sighed and shook his head sympathetically. “You becoming sick”

  Elise quickly averted her gaze from his probing eyes. “I’m in very fine health now.”

  ‘”Are you sure?” he persisted, stepping near. Placing a forefinger beneath her chin, he lifted it and considered her closely as he turned her face from side to side to assess her color. “I hope the storm didn’t keep you awake.”

  “Somewhat,” she replied stiltedly. She had given little notice to the turmoil outside when the one on the inside held her attention. “Did you . . . ah . . . sleep well, sir?”

  “Alas, no. After we made the repairs to my roof, Fitch laid so many logs on the fire, I found it too warm in my chambers. I took a pelt and slept in the hall. I could have sworn the man was trying to burn the whole forest in my hearth.”

  Elise brightened inwardly at the thought of another day’s reprieve. Perhaps there would yet be a chance to whisk away the burrs before they were found. “I’m sure Fitch thought he was being helpful,” she offered, and continued lamely, “He overdoes it sometimes.”

  “Aye, ‘tis true. The man means well, but I’ll have a care henceforth and lock my door to keep him out.”

  Elise’s hopes were momentarily dashed, but she plucked up her spirits as she ventured, “I was going to try and clean your chambers. I’m sure after yesterday’s repairs the rooms are in need of a good dusting.”

  “Fitch straightened everything last night so you needn’t trouble yourself.”

  “ ‘Tis no trouble at all, I assure you.”

  “Nevertheless, I cannot allow it. You’ve been ill, and I’ll not see you take to your bed again.”

  It seemed futile for her to argue with him, and for the moment she accepted defeat. In the next days, however, Elise began to have her suspicions. No man in simple day-to-day life could have as many excuses for avoiding his bed as Maxim Seymour appeared to have. She could more readily believe he was biding his time until it met his mood to seek vengeance upon her.

  Outside the frigid stone of Faulder Castle, the storm raged on. The winds swept the snow in soaring arches from the tops of the walls, and only narrow paths were etched out in the drifted courtyard, laboriously shoveled where necessity dictated.

  Elise anticipated another such excuse when she ventured downstairs on the fourth day, and she sat with a sweetly sympathetic smile as he voiced it, then replied, “How sad it is, my lord, that you’ve been so far removed from your bed this week. Why, the way you’re avoiding your pallet, one would think you’ve formed an aversion to it.”

  “True, it’s given me little ease of late,” he agreed thoughtfully. “No doubt I’ve grown restless being imprisoned here by the weather.”

  “Aye,” she sighed. “Captivity has a way of wearing on one. ‘Tis certain the captain will not be coming today as he intended.” There was only the slightest note of disappointment in her voice.

  Maxim stared
at her long enough to gain her attention. “On the contrary, madam, Nicholas will be coming,” he informed her bluntly, then strode to the front door and threw it open to observe the day. Though the leaden sky still hung low and ominous, it was void of the white, drifting flakes, and the wind had calmed to a bare shade of its former fury. Slamming the door closed again, he came back to the hearth and warmed his hands before the fire. “Aye, you can be certain at this very moment Nicholas is on his way.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Elise was more than a trifle skeptical, considering the storm had covered the ground with a thick layer of snow and the north winds had added a frosty nip to the air. “Surely the man has more sense than to venture forth on a day like this. Why, the storm could rekindle at any hour.”

  Maxim considered her for a lengthy moment, then approached the table. Setting a booted foot atop the bench, he braced an elbow on the raised knee and deliberately rested his chin in the supported cup of his hand. There was a devilish twinkle in his eyes and a smile of the same ilk played about his lips. “I will wager the man will be here ere the sun has tipped the noon hourglass.”

  Elise’s mind raced as she considered his challenge, and she was loath to give it weight.

  “I will wager,” he continued in the same measured tone, “a night in my bed . . .”