A large hand clamped over Elise’s mouth, stifling her cries before she was lifted from her feet by a sturdy arm. Against her struggles to escape, she was carried up the remaining steps and whisked effortlessly down the hall. At the small chamber door, the stranger stepped aside to let Spence unlock and throw it open. Ramonda whirled from the window where she had watched so expectantly and stared in roweling disappointment as the one she had hoped to see fleeing on the street below was hauled back into the room. Wildly tangled torrents of auburn hair masked the girl’s face, but Ramonda had no need to see the creamy visage to be crushingly aware that her ploy had failed.
The stranger cursed suddenly and snatched his hand away from the sharp teeth that tested the flesh of his palm. He set the slender maid to her feet and then jerked back abruptly as her small fist swung around with vicious intent. Catching the fine-boned wrists, the man gathered them together and gripped them easily in one hand against her furious efforts to yank free.
Elise flung her long hair back from her face, sending it spilling down her back, and glared into the ice-blue eyes that fairly sparkled with humor behind a fringe of pale lashes. The man was dressed as wealthily as a lord, wearing velvet doublet and puffed breeches of dark blue corded with threads of gold. Slowly his gaze descended, sweeping boldly down the length of her and stirring forth a blush to her cheeks as his appraising eye paused momentarily upon her heaving bosom. When he looked into her face again, his grin had widened in obvious approval.
“Now I understand,” he murmured as if to himself and, in a somewhat louder voice, introduced himself. “Kapitan Von Reijn of the Hanseatic League, at yur service, urouwelin.” His speech was curiously marked by the flavor of the Teutonic tongue. “Or if yu’ve a vish to be better acquainted . . . Nicholas, to yu and to my friends.”
“You . . . you jackanape!” she snarled in rage. “Let me go!”
“Nein, nein.” Captain Von Reijn waggled a long finger chidingly in front of her slim and winsome nose. “Not until yu are made safe behind a locked door.”
Glancing at Spence, he jerked his head, sending the man out to help Fitch who was bumping his way back up the stairs. Shortly the frazzled Fitch entered the room, backside first, dragging the chest behind him.
“Step aside now,” Spence bade from the other end. When his companion lumbered limpingly aside, he gave it a last hefty shove into the chamber.
Grimacing, Fitch hitched himself around to slam the door, and there he leaned, mopping the glistening sweat from his reddened face. His hat was oddly crumpled and from beneath its edges, his hair stood out on ends, as if he had been frightened by a screaming banshee on his flight down the stairs.
“Yur pleasure, vrouwelin.” Captain Von Reijn grinned as he released his captive.
“A curse on all of you!” Elise railed as she snatched away. She rubbed her wrists and sneered at the captain. “And you! For all of your fine clothes and fancy twisted tongue, you’re no better than these blackguards who do your bidding.”
“Of course,” Nicholas agreed and chuckled at her darkening glare. “Ve are a very select group, are ve not?”
“Oh, indeed.” Elise’s tone clearly conveyed her sarcasm. “Very select . . . for Alsatia.”
“Yur kindness overvhelms me, vrouwelin.” Nicholas swept her a flamboyant bow.
Ramonda sidled nearer the door, hoping to take her leave as inconspicuously as possible, but the Hansa captain suddenly bestowed his full attention upon her. “Vere yu not promised a purse for keeping this maid secure?”
“The lil’ twit bashed me noggin,” Ramonda charged, rubbing her head. “Ye can sees for yerself ‘at she’s a witch. She waited ‘til me back was turned an’ ‘it me from behind.”
Elise tossed her head and scoffed at the twisting of the tale. “Well, me dearie,” she mimicked, “the way ye left the door wide open, I thought ye were askin’ me ta leave.”
“Ye lie!” Ramonda shrieked, drawing an arm back to strike the girl, but the cold, deadly dare in the deep, jewel-blue eyes made her pause. Though the twit was not heavily muscled, there was something in those eyes which promised dire recompense if she was attacked. Fitch had found cause to be wary of the girl, and in view of that fact Ramonda thought it unwise to test her fortitude. Rather, it would be better to let the matter cool, and hopefully all would be forgotten before it was reported to his lordship.
Captain Von Reijn had raised no hand to halt the threatening blow, but watched the two women with amused interest until Ramonda’s gaze faltered and finally lowered in defeat. He chuckled softly as the woman turned her back to the smaller maid and began petulantly picking up the food from the floor.
Reaching down to the chest, Nicholas loosened the hasp and lifted the arched lid, then frowned as he ran a hand over the wooden interior. “Unfit though it be, it vill have to do.”
In mild curiosity Elise peered into the interior of the piece and asked with rampant scorn, “For your treasure, milord?”
The captain chuckled at her gibe and returned a question to her. “Vhat is yur guess, vrouwelin?”
Elise plucked at the clothing she was presently wearing and remarked with satirical snideness, “I can hardly believe you brought it to accommodate my vast wardrobe.”
“It is neither for my treasure nor for yur raiment,” he replied, “but yur conveyance to my ship.”
Elise laughed in a derisive display of humor until she realized he was serious, then she stared at him agog. “Sir! You are either daft or well-besotted! Come, let me smell your breath, for I would know which it be.”
“I am quite sane, vrouwelin, I assure yu,” he stated. Suggestively he caressed the end of a belaying pin which he had tucked in his sash. “And though I am not one to mistreat a lady, yu will go vhether avake or sleeping. The choice is entirely yurs.”
Elise raised her brow in an arrogant arch and met his gaze squarely, trying to dominate him as she had Ramonda. The captain’s gaze never flinched or wavered, though his lips twisted slowly upward. His interest in this fetching, but troublesome, wench was growing apace with his admiration of her undauntable spirit.
The longer Elise stared, the wider his grin became until it was she who turned aside in confused discomfiture. Noticing the food Ramonda was gathering on the trencher, she found an excuse for delay. “I have not eaten for some time,” she protested. “Indeed, ‘twas so long ago I am hard-pressed to recall just when it was.”
Eagerly Spence held up a finger to interrupt. “Why, ‘twas last eventide, mistress, by the river . . .” His memory came swooping back in vivid detail, and the mental image of himself being dragged end over end behind the boat brought a crimson stain to his face. The blush deepened when the captain bent a stare of wide curiosity upon him.
Fitch was every bit as eager to please. He seized the trencher from Ramonda and, setting it on the table, lifted the bread. Dusting the small loaf off against his well-stained jerkin, he placed it on the rumpled napkin, then, with the cuff of his sleeve, he carefully wiped several particles of grime from the hunk of cheese before he laid it beside the bread. With a sheepish smile he held out the food to her.
Elise stared at his offering in mild repugnance, and it was the captain who finally took it. He gathered the four corners of the napkin and, with deft fingers, knotted them together before presenting the bundle to her.
“My apologies, vrouwelin. The hour grows late, and I must return to my ship before dawn. If yu are of a mind, yu may dine in yur sedan.”
“Am I allowed to know where you are taking me?” she asked coldly. “And why I must be carried about in this thing?”
“ ‘Tis a matter of precaution. No one vould think it amiss if ye place a chest aboard my ship, but if ve vere to carry aboard a struggling damsel, it might arouse unvanted interest.”
“And then?” she demanded, as an oppressive feeling of doom descended upon her. Ships were for sailing, either to other towns or to other countries. The question of her destination was paramount in
her mind and burned to be spoken. “Where are you taking me after I reach your ship?”
“I vill tell you our destination after ve set sail.”
“But you intend to take me from England, do you not?” she pressed.
“That is correct.”
“I’ll not go!” she cried in a rising panic.
“Yu have no choice, vrouwelin. I’m sorry.”
Elise bestowed on him a glare of such heat and intensity it should have reduced the Hansa captain to cinders, but Nicholas merely inclined his head toward the chest again in an unspoken directive and awaited her compliance with a firm, commanding stare. Grinding out a stream of mumbled threats, Elise slapped the bundle from his grasp, sending it flying, and stepped into the chest. She rapped her knuckles on the hard wooden sides and cast a derisive sneer toward her small audience. “Faith! You’ve provided such comforts, I may not survive the journey.”
“Entschuldigen Sie,” Nicholas apologized, sweeping a quilt from the cot. He folded the piece and laid it over the bottom, then tossed a pillow atop the heap. Cocking a brow, he crossed his arms and stared down at her expectantly. “Anything else, Englisch?”
Averting her face, Elise sniffed primly and reluctantly lowered herself upon the quilt. The hide shoes were placed in her care before the captain squatted beside the chest.
“Now, vrouwelin, I vould ask yu to give me yur solemn oath . . .”
“You are daft!”
Nicholas ignored her interruption. “Give me yur vord yu vill not attempt to alert anyone’s attention to this chest, and I vill refrain from using a gag and ropes to bind yu. For the most part yur cries vill not matter, but should there come a moment, I vant yur assurance yu vill remain mute until ve are safely aboard my ship. It vill be more bearable for yu if yu are allowed some freedom.”
“Again, what choice have I?” she asked bitterly. “You could let this thing become my coffin if you so desired, and what objection could I make?”
“None,” he answered simply. “But I vould make a pledge to yu in return to see yu safely aboard my ship as long as yu keep yur vord.”
Her eyes were cold as steel as she looked into the pale blue orbs that rested upon her. “I have a care for my life, sir, and ‘twould seem I must give you my oath to preserve it.” She inclined her head stiffly. “ ‘Tis done then. You have my word.”
Gently pressing her head down, Nicholas lowered the lid, and as her limited space darkened Elise took note of several patches of light where small holes had been bored through the chest to allow for the passage of air. At least she could take some solace in the fact that the first intent of these miscreants was not directed toward snuffing out her life by suffocation.
The hasp was secured with a lock, and Spence and Fitch looped ropes about the chest to form a sling of sorts to enable them to carry the cumbersome piece with more ease down the stairs. Nicholas quickly opened the door and made certain the way was clear before moving aside. Spence stepped to the front of the chest to bear the weight, while Fitch guided its passage from the rear, and together they slid their burden to the top of the stairs and peered down the flight as they considered the task at hand. Fitch was understandably concerned after his recent experience. He wiped his sweaty palms against his jerkin and, seizing the handle, lifted the chest on end with a single heave, then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth as he heard a loud thump and a muffled screech of pain followed by a lengthy string of unintelligible words. The tone was hot enough to convey the girl’s rage, and with a great deal more caution they proceeded down the stairs.
On the lower landing Captain Von Reijn slid past the two men and, with belaying pin in hand, opened the door a crack. Once again he made sure the passageway was empty before he moved aside. Receiving his nod of assurance, Fitch and Spence snugged the ropes across their shoulders and, lifting the chest, steadied it between them with their hands.
Elise could feel their short, jogging steps as they hastened down the hall and eventually out the door. There was a pause on the cobbled thoroughfare and a swoop upward, ending in a head-jarring thump as they lifted the piece to a higher elevation. Elise started in surprise as the ropes were dropped across the top, and from the rattle, jolt, lurch, and sway, she guessed the coffer was being pushed in a small handcart. Her suspicion was further borne out by the erratic path they wove amid much hushed and urgent cursing and hastily given directions. At the complete mercy of the men, she could only wince at the bumps and brace herself against the sides as she tried to avoid more serious damage.
There was a hurried plunge, first downward and then level, and for a short distance the cart moved along speedily, then suddenly, without warning, the wheel fell into a rut, bringing the conveyance to an abrupt halt. The chest had no such restrictions. It lurched forward to a sudden accompaniment of anxious shouting, and for a breathless space of time it seemed to Elise that her world teetered on the brink of an unknown precipice until the chest finally settled back into the cart. Hearing the loud, audible sighs of the men and a nearby splash, she decided it was better for her to remain ignorant of all that had just transpired. A brief vision of the coffer sinking slowly into the dark, ebon depths of the Thames reinforced her relief.
Once more the chest swung upward, and then with much wheezing and short, halting steps it was carried down a walk that sounded hollow beneath their footfalls. The movement ceased with a final jolt as the chest was placed aboard what Elise assumed was a small craft, possibly the same boat in which they had sailed into London. She heard the slow lap of water against the sides and, a moment later, the steady creak of oars as they pulled away from shore.
It seemed like hours elapsed before the thump of wood on wood and the muffled exchange of voices intruded into the silence. The chest was tilted from side to side, then a wrenching sound came as it was hoisted upward, seemingly into the very heavens. When it was lowered again, the chest was put through another series of gyrations, which left Elise braced rigidly against the interior. At long last it came to rest upon a solid floor, or so it seemed to Elise until she heard a slow creaking, such as a large ship might make as it lay anchored in the main stream of the river. Once more the chest was lifted by the men, but this time the passage was short and in a moment or two a heavy door closed behind the party. After a few fumbling thumps against the exterior of the chest, a thin shaft of light appeared as fingers slid beneath the lid and lifted it.
Elise raised a hand to shield her eyes from the unaccustomed glare of a lantern that was held close above her. Beyond its light she could see the dark shapes of the three men who bent over her and, beyond them, the low-raftered ceiling of a ship’s cabin. The men seemed incapable of movement as they stared down at her, yet her own vituperation overshadowed everything else. With an angry grunt she managed to heave her shoulders up and twist an arm beneath her. Her legs refused to comply as she fought to extract herself from the restrictive space of the cramped chest. Brushing tumbled tresses from off her brow, she raised a vengeful glare to blatantly accuse each of them.
“If ever I should chance upon any or all of you being flogged to the bare bone”—she spat the words out in a half-monotone that singed the ears of those who listened—“I would ransom my most precious possessions to serve tea and scones to your tormentor, so he might be well refreshed and wax eager in his labor.”
She levered herself upward, but her numb legs remained twisted beneath her. It was Nicholas Von Reijn, most bright of mind and perception, who moved first to assist her. Spence was a half-measure behind him, and Fitch eagerly pushed forward to lend aid. Before Elise could accept or reject their assistance, she was almost assaulted by the sudden plethora of helping hands, all seeking to pry her free at the same time. She was nearly plucked from her composure before the captain brushed the others aside. Placing a strong arm beneath her back and sliding another underneath her knees, he lifted her from the chest and stood her gently to her feet.
The awakening circulation in her legs was comparab
le to the sharp, stinging prickles of a thousand needles, and as Nicholas released her from his firm grasp, Elise teetered unsteadily, as yet unable to stand alone. Quickly he slipped an arm about her shoulders and half-supported her against his broad chest.
“Yur pardon, vrouwelin.” His warm breath brushed her cheek “Here, let me help yu.”
Elise was abruptly aware of his overzealous assistance and the crush of his brawny arm about her. It brought to mind a possible reason for her capture, and a sense of panic overtook her. With a screech she flung up her arms, thrusting herself away from him, and staggered back a few stiff-legged steps until she came up against a desk. A gnarled oak staff leaned against it, and as she struggled for balance, her hand brushed the smooth knob of the weapon. Or so it became for her. With a defiant snarl she snatched the stick and brandished it, sweeping a wide, wicked arc in front of her, setting them all back upon their heels. Disheveled, ragged, and filthy, Elise braced herself against the desk, looking very much like a savage woman with her auburn hair straggling in long tendrils across her face and a smudge darkening the tip and side of her nose. Her eyes blazed defiance at her three stout-hearted foes, and in the same half-snarl, half-monotone she warned them all, without distinction for rank.
“Sirs . . . or gentlemen . . . or worthless scum of whatever gutters you sprang from, listen well, I bid you. I’ve been most poorly used and abused these hours past. Mauled and pawed! Trussed up like a roasting goose!” Her outrage gained ground as she listed the offenses. “Tossed over a shoulder like some common baggage! And thence, against my will, taken from my home and brought here to this . . . this . . .” Her eyes swept the cabin in search of a name to lay to the place wherein she now found herself and left the sentence hanging for want of an answer. Her gaze blazed afresh. “For this deed, perhaps some of you will soon be rewarded, but I warn you . . .” She waved the cudgel threateningly. “If I am so rudely touched again . . .”—her eyes pierced the captain through—“or violated in any fashion, I swear to you that your payment will come at once, be ye Grand Duke of England or surly knave! And though I may die in the levying, I shall extract a dire tax from any who dare lay a hand to me!”