Nicholas removed his hat, uncovering the thatch of pale hair, and spoke the address softly, as if it had become a special name for her. “Vrouwelin?”
Elise gasped as she whirled about, and she stared at him awestruck, unable to believe how pitiful her luck had been. To be discovered by Captain Von Reijn, of all people!
Nicholas tilted his head to the side as he peered down at her, and a slow smile curved his lips. “Could it be that yu’ve escaped yur captors and are now considering possible vessels for yur passage home?”
Angrily Elise glanced away, presenting her profile to him. “You would hardly believe me if I told you nay, so why should I answer you at all?”
“Precious few ships vill be leaving vith vinter coming nigh upon us, vrouwelin.”
She tossed him a glare for his unwelcome information and, lifting her nose in the air, stared stonily into the distance.
The captain ignored her lack of verbal response and queried, “Vhere did yu leave Fitch and Spence?”
The small, pert chin briefly rose to designate a direction. “Down there arguing over which one of us was going to eat.”
Nicholas raised a brow in curious question. “Is there a problem?”
“Nothing that a fatter purse and better cooks would not solve,” she retorted. “His lordship, bless his soul, left the managing of his purse to a pair of slackwits. They have precious little coin left to last until his return, and neither of them have any talent as a cook.”
“His lordship’s credit is good with me,” Nicholas offered. “Vhat do they have need of?”
“Everything!” Elise replied laconically. “Beginning with a place to live!”
A soft chuckle shook the broad shoulders of the man. “It can hardly be as bleak as all that. I’m vell acquainted vith the manor his lordship rented. ‘Tis a very fine place.”
“Ha! The only place we’re in is Faulder Castle, and that is far from town and not so fine!”
“Faulder Castle?” A moment passed as the captain’s amazement slowly ebbed, and then he heaved a hearty guffaw of amusement. “So, Hans Rubert has gone and done it! Stung his lordship behind his back, he did! Vell, he’ll soon see the folly of his greed. His lordship vill not take kindly to this.”
“If he ever returns,” Elise jeered.
“ ‘Tis good to see yu again, Englisch,” Nicholas stated, salving his longings by betting his gaze feast upon her beauty. “And I vill make a bargain vith yu. Ja?” His voice lowered and the Teutonic roots rode heavy on his turn of vowel. “If in the spring yu still insist upon returning to England, I vill take yu home on my ship.”
Elise’s surprise was evident as she faced him. “Do you promise on your word of honor?”
Nicholas smiled. “Ja, I pledge my troth to yu that I vill do this thing.”
“And what will you charge for the voyage?” she queried carefully.
“I’ve no need of yur money, vrouwelin. Yur companionship vill be payment enough.”
“I’m able to pay,” she replied stiffly. She disliked making any compromise that would indicate a willingness to accept his attentions. “I’ve no need of your charity.”
“Keep yur money, vrouwelin, or better yet put it vhere yu might receive some usury vhile yu’re here.”
“And who would I look to for that?” Elise scoffed. “Hans Rubert?”
“I have a feeling Hans Rubert vill be having some difficulties in the days ahead. Nein, vrouwelin, I vill do such a service for yu, and to prove that yu can trust me I vill even use the contents of my own purse until there is a profit. Just tell me how much yu vish to invest.”
Elise studied him a long, thoughtful moment and decided he could be relied upon to be honest, at least in the matter of her wealth. From inside her cloak she withdrew a leather purse in which she had placed a third of her wealth. The remainder was securely tucked beneath her farthingale. “Here are fifty gold sovereigns to do with as you may. In one month I shall expect a return of my investment at a goodly gain. Is that too short a time, Captain?”
Nicholas tossed the bag in his hand as if judging its weight, then his lips slowly curved into a smile. “It vill be enough time, vrouwelin. In fact, I already know who has a need for it.”
“Cap’n Von Reijn!” The shout drew their attention to Spence as that one ran toward them waving his arms. He was followed closely by Fitch who chugged along behind and grinned in bold-faced relief.
“Ye found her!” Fitch declared the obvious with glee. “Oh, sainted mother! I nearly lost me wits when I see’d she’d taken off.” He grasped a handful of Elise’s cloak firmly in his pudgy fist. “She won’t ‘scape us again. I’ll make sure o’ that. We’ll keep her locked away ‘til ‘is lor’ship comes, ‘at we will.”
Elise cast a jaundiced glare in Fitch’s direction, displaying a back of appreciation for his statements. By rights his flesh should have withered beneath her glower, but he seemed oblivious as he accepted a weighty purse from the captain.
“This should take care of yur needs until his lordship returns,” Nicholas said with a grin. “I’m sure the matter of Faulder Castle and Hans Rubert vill be settled very shortly.” He turned to sweep a bow before Elise. “Goten Tag Englisch. Yu vill be hearing from me in a month’s time.”
A smile lifted the corners of Elise’s mouth, and she inclined her head to acknowledge his statement. “A month’s time then, Captain.”
Chapter 8
THE FRONT PORTAL burst open with a mighty gust of wind, and amid a swirling haze of snow a tall, cloaked figure swept inward as if borne by the force of the blustering gale. White flurries whirled about him in a frenzied eddy, blowing into the hall before the door could be slammed against the violence of the wintry night. The man swept the hood back from his head and faced the hearth where Spence and Fitch gawked back at him in surprise. His thick, pale-streaked hair had been clipped short, and the beard that had once adorned his bony jaw was no longer in evidence. For a moment the pair seemed incapable of movement, then with a dawning recognition they leapt to their feet, nearby overturning the trestle table at which they had been dining, and scurried across the room to welcome the man.
“Lord Seymour! We barely knew ye wit’out yer beard,” Fitch choked through a mouthful of charred rabbit he had been struggling to swallow. Grimacing, he gulped down the mass and continued more clearly. “Ta be sure, m’lord, ‘tis relieved we are ta see ye! Rumors had it ye’d been lost at sea.” Feeling the ominous weight of the Marquess’s close perusal, Fitch self-consciously averted his face to hide the red scrape that marred his cheek “At least, ‘at was what we’d been told.”
A tawny brow jutted up in sharp curiosity when Spence, the bearer of a large lump upon his brow and a blackened swollen eye, stepped close to receive his lordship’s snow-dampened cloak.
“What is this?” Maxim queried, shrugging out of the garment. “The pair of you look as if you’ve been beset by a band of rogues. Have you been scuffling over some pittance of an argument again? Or can it be that the two of you have foolishly tried to hold this tumbledown keep until I was here to claim it? God’s truth, it would have been better had you let it be taken. ‘Tis a sorry place indeed and a poor excuse for a shelter. Why are you here and not at the manor house I rented?”
Anxiously wringing his hands, Fitch explained with a lame shrug. “We went ta fetch the keys from ‘Ans Rubert, m’lord, just like ye said ta do, but the agent said he’d heard y’ed been drowned at sea an’ gave the place ta his newly widowed sister.”
“And the purse I gave him to hold the house in my name?” Maxim’s voice sharpened with irritation. “Where is that?”
Unable to meet the sharply probing green eyes, Fitch retreated, making a hasty descent of the pair of steps. “ ’E gave me no coin, m’lord, but said this castle was ours for as long as we wished ta stay.”
“The devil, you say!” Maxim thundered and pressed forward, causing the men to stumble back in nervous trepidation.
“We hadn??
?t a ken what ta do, m’lord!” Spence rushed to allay his lordship’s rising temper. “ ‘Twas no fit place ta bring a liedy, ta be sure, but ‘til Captain Von Reijn gave us a purse, we had precious few coin with which ta pay the rents on a better place.”
“I shall attend to Hans Rubert in my own good time,” Maxim promised. “ ‘Twas well that Captain Von Reijn met my ship when it came into port and gave me directions here. Otherwise, I would have never found you. The captain offered no explanations. He only told me there was a problem. Is this the extent of it?” A frown of concern touched his face. “What of the lady? Is everything well with her?”
“Aye, m’lord.” Fitch rolled his eyes toward his companion as if reluctant to speak on the matter of their charge. “We can assure ye she’s both hale an’ hearty.”
“Aye, ‘at she be,” Spence eagerly agreed. “The young mistress be as chipper as the first light on a spring morn.”
“Then what has happened that the pair of you show me bruised and swollen faces?”
The two quickly directed their attention elsewhere, one to brush the snow from the cloak he held and the other to hold up a hand invitingly toward the hearth.
“Come warm yerself ‘fore the fire, m’lord,” Fitch cajoled. “We’ve vittles ta share, though I canna say they’ll be ta yer likin’.” He lumbered across the room to drag a large, tall-backed chair to the end of the table where the Marquess could be near the warm hearth and beckoned him to draw near.
Maxim was suspicious and observed his men closely, wondering what they were trying to hide. They were about as nervous as children caught in some mischief. “Well?” he barked. “Have your tongues grown lame? I would know what has happened here.”
The two jumped in sudden alarm, and the fretting Fitch was the first to relent. “Tis the young mistress, m’lord. She took us ta task ’cause we locked her in her chambers an’ wouldn’t let her out.”
Maxim laughed at the very idea. “Come now, I would hear a better tale than that.” The possibility that such a display of temper could come from the mild and meek beauty he had known would not settle down in his mind, yet his men seemed very sincere about the matter.
“Truly, m’lord, after she tried ta escape from us in ‘Amburg, we brought her back an’ bolted her chamber door ta keep her from runnin’ away,” Fitch explained. “Why, the way she let on, we was a-feared she’d taken on a devil.”
“She set ‘pon us in a rage, she did,” Spence joined in. “A-heapin’ curses on us an’ throwin’ everythin’ she could a lay hand ta. Fitch, ‘ere, was bringin’ her a servin’ o’ vittles when she laid a piece o’ firewood alongside ‘is ‘ead an’ tried ta scamper out the door. An’ meself, sir. She poked me in the eye when I caught her an’ then slammed the door on me ‘ead when I took her back in her chambers. ‘Twas clear she wanted no part o’ being locked up.”
“And the lady? She was not injured in all of this?” Maxim’s urgency demanded their answer be the truth.
“Nay, m’lord!” Spence was anxious to deny the possibility. “She’s just a bit put out wit’ us, ‘at’s all.”
Maxim was sorely tempted to dismiss their story as wild exaggerations, but by rights he could not do so until he had a chance to delve into the matter. This tale of violence did not match with his vision of the fragile beauty he had known so well.
“I shall see to the lady myself.” He crossed the hall and leapt up the stairs two at a time, displaying an impatience to appease his curiosity. On the second level he strode down the hall and halted before the thick oaken door. A light frown flitted across his brow as he noticed a heavy latch had been attached to the outer face of the portal to prevent it from being opened from within. Again his recall of a delicately formed, brown-haired maid cast the need for this restraint totally at odds with his perception of one who was serene and pleasant to be with. Had he missed something in his earlier observations?
There would, of course, be no explanation to salve his confusion until he questioned the maid. He rapped his knuckles lightly against the plank. “My lady, are you robed? I would have a word with you.”
Silence answered his plea, and after several repeated attempts to obtain her response, Maxim lifted the latch and pushed the door open. The chamber appeared empty, and he stepped within to have a look around.
“Arabella? Where are you?”
Elise had pressed herself against the wall behind the door and had been well-prepared to launch an attack upon this foolish mortal who had dared enter her chamber. She had frozen when the warm and vibrant voice stirred memories of a darkened stairway at Bradbury Hall, and she stepped from hiding, lowering the small hearthside stool she had intended to smote the visitor with. Though the man was now dressed in the manner of a wealthy lord and the beard was gone, there was no mistaking the handsome rogue.
“What the deuce . . . ?” A sharp frown quickly creased his brow as his eyes came upon her. “What are you doing here?”
“ ‘Twas you!” The sapphire-blue eyes fairly flashed with sparks of indignation. “ ‘Twas you who bade them take me! And all the while I thought . . . aarrgh!”
In the next instant the stool was hauled back and swung with all the impetus of her outraged fury behind it. Maxim jerked back to avoid the clumsy weapon, and though he stared in utter amazement at the seething girl, the stool came around again with the same dire intent. The need to disarm the maid seemed of vital importance to his continued good health, and he reached up, plucking it easily from her grasp.
“Where is Arabella?” he demanded sharply. His eyes swept quickly to every corner of the chamber, but the one he sought was nowhere to be seen.
“Arabella, is it?” Elise snarled the question venomously. So! He had bade his men to fetch Arabella, and they had caught her instead. Her fair lips curbed with contempt as she continued. “No doubt Arabella is wherever a good wife should be found . . . at her husband’s side . . . most assuredly in England.”
“In England?” The door of Maxim’s understanding burst wide, igniting the fires of his rage. He recalled this vixen all too well. When he would have rushed to Arabella’s side to soften the shock of her abduction with an explanation, the meeting with this wench and her recognition of him had necessitated a change in plans. Now she was here, where his former betrothed should have been, a fact which he was certain the girl was somehow responsible for, whether by design or misfortune. “Why are you here?”
With a flippant shrug Elise flung a hand toward the door. “Ask your men. They were the ones who took me.”
“They were instructed to bring Arabelba here,” he informed her brusquely. “What are you doing here instead?”
“You dim-witted buffoon!” Elise railed back “Can you not hear me? If you would have the answer to that question, seek out your henchmen! That simple pair of dolts were waiting for me in Arabella’s chambers. The next thing I knew I was being carried off!”
“I’ll throttle them with my bare hands!” Maxim ground out. Spinning on a heel, he stormed from the room, flinging the door wide. His voice thundered ahead of him as he leapt down the stairs three at atime. “Fitch! Spence! Dammit, where are you?”
The two had left the hall and were about the same distance from the front portal when his shout halted them. Scrambling back, they hit the opening at the same time, somehow managing to wedge themselves into the narrow space. A cacophony of loud curses and clamor arose from the entrapped pair before they managed to extricate themselves. Gasping for breath, they hastened back to the Marquess who had paused in the middle of the hall. With fists braced firmly on his waist, he fixed them with a dark, ominous scowl that fairly sundered their feeble attempts to smile. His voice began as a low thundering rumble. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
The pair stumbled back as the last words were blared at them, and they looked at each other in wary confusion. The soft whisper of footsteps compelled them to lift their worried gazes to the girl who slowly descended the stone stairs. The smile that curved her
lips was one of sublime pleasure, as if she anticipated what was forthcoming. What venom had they stirred in the maid’s heart that she should countenance their comeuppance?
The two glanced between his lordship and the girl and were quick to note the absence of the blissful smiles of lovers reunited. The Marquess was genuinely enraged, there was no doubt. Those green orbs fairly burned with rage, while the muscles twitched tensely in his lean cheeks. By long association they knew that small movement boded ill for all concerned.
Glancing over his shoulder at the girl, Maxim made a request in a tightly controlled tone. “Would you be so kind, madam, as to tell us who you are.”
Elise continued her leisurely descent with all the aloof dignity of a great queen. “I am Elise Madselin Radborne.” Her voice, though soft, was given resonance by the echoing chamber. “Sole descendant of Sir Ramsey Radborne, only niece of Edward Stamford, and first cousin to his daughter, Arabella.”
The servants’ jaws went slack, and they gawked at Elise as if loath to believe what she had just announced. They turned in lame appeal to the Marquess, realizing at last the reason for his wrath. He was staring at the girl, as if he too were surprised by what she had revealed, but that well-kindled emotion of anger had by no means diminished when he faced his men again. He inquired in a growling whisper, “Now do you understand what you’ve done?”
“Please, m’lord,” Fitch entreated. “We didn’t know!”
“You should have made sure!” Maxim’s sharp tone sliced through the room. “Did I not tell you what she booked like . . .”
“Aye, an’ we were sure ‘twas this one.”
“Brown hair, I said!”
Fitch lifted his hand as if to draw his lordship’s consideration to the long, tumbling tresses that fell over the girl’s shoulders. “An’ is this not brown, m’lord?”