Authors: Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
Elise waved a hand to halt him as she saw his ploy. “I'll accept your judgment,” she interrupted curtly. “In fact, if that be the case, I should hasten to make myself presentable.” She seized the excuse and spun on a heel, calling out, “Fitch! Spence!” When the larger one came running, she hurried to instruct, “I would have a bath at once. Bring hot water to my chamber . . . and some cold to temper it. And hurry!”
Her feet tapped a quick patter on the stairs, and Maxim's laughing eyes warmly followed the rich display of shapely ankles. He silently observed the pair of servants, once loyal only to himself, as they rushed to draw water from the huge kettle kept simmering on the hearth and hie it to the lady's chamber. When Spence came through the hall with a yoke bearing two buckets of cold water, the lord of the castle smiled in amusement and bade Fitch to fetch another, causing that one's brows to jut upward, for the servant knew his lordship had already indulged in a bath earlier that morning.
When all was prepared, the bolt was thrown on the lady's door, and a loud scrape gave witness that a heavy chair was used to further bar the portal. The yeomen watched in amazement as Maxim hefted
the last brimming bucket and began a stealthy climb of the stairs. The pair sighed in audible relief when he passed Elise's door and continued on to his own chambers, then they settled themselves to begging slices of freshly baked bread from the cook.
“The wily knave,” Elise fumed to herself as she slid deeper into the copper tub. “He thinks to play me for a fool and set upon me at a moment to his advantage.”
Safe within the security of her chambers, she leaned forward, savoring the warm currents as the water swirled around her. After a long moment of pure enjoyment, she readjusted the thickly coiled knot upon her head, catching it a bit higher, and began to generously lather her neck and shoulders with a large bar of scented soap, a luxury she had purchased on her last trip to Hamburg. She lay back again and closed her eyes as the liquid warmth washed away the suds and banished the last chills from her body.
It was a splendorous respite, and Elise heaved a deep sigh, moving slightly in the tub to send fresh swirls of water across her . . .
An ice-cold droplet splashed upon her breast, eliciting an astonished gasp from her. Her eyes flew open, and she found herself staring at the underside of an oaken pail even as another drop formed at its edge and plunged downward. Her gaze went beyond the bucket and focused on the smiling face of Maxim Seymour.
Immediately Elise recognized the vengeance he intended to extract and, in a swift movement, bent forward, giving vent to an anguished shriek as she
flung her arms over her head in full expectation of an icy drenching. She waited . . . and waited . . . Opening her eyes and lifting her gaze, she saw that he had lowered the pail and was staring down into the water. One downward glance told her that the soapy water was clear enough that he could see all that he desired to see.
Crossing her arms before her, Elise bestowed upon him a most indignant glare.
“Well?”
she snapped. “Did you come to gape or to take your revenge?”
His teeth flashed briefly in a mocking grin. “My fair Elise, I fear the sweetest flower of vengeance oft fades in the moment of its blooming and becomes a bitter brew. Such beauty is not to be abused lightly, and mercy has its own rewards, not to mention the merits of wise restraint or simple compassion. The opportunity is reward enough. The burrs are stripped and in the hearth.”
“Oooohh!” His mocking pity was worse than the chill draught he had offered. Her hand anxiously sought the bar of soap with mean intent. “You gaping jackanape! How dare you intrude upon my bath!”
Maxim chuckled at her rage and countered with humor. “A lady's bath is as private as a man's bed. Methinks the punishment befits the crime.”
A shrill mewling of rage parted her lips and grew from clenched teeth as her fingers sought the soap. She raised her arm, heedless of her rudely strained modesty as the water swirled beneath her rosy breasts. With a chuckle Maxim gave her a casual salute of farewell before he leapt across the room,
kicked the chair aside, and slammed open the bolt. He ducked just in time to avoid the flying missile which careened off the jamb and flew astray, but as he glanced back he gained a most delightful glimpse of a thoroughly enraged Elise and temptingly round breasts fully na ked to his gaze.
“If your bath needs cooling, my pet, feel free to use the bucket,” he quipped and gallantly blew her a kiss. Elise snatched up a bottle of scented oils from a table beside the tub and drew back her arm to let it fly. Maxim jerked open the door and ran through it, letting the panel intercept the flight of the vial as he slammed it closed behind him.
Elise pushed back into the tub, creating a wave that threatened the limits of the rim, and folded her arms in a frightfully spiteful temper. Her lips formed words that scarcely complimented the lord of the keep. The insults were growled through grinding teeth as she gave vent to her pique, and the loosely bundled hair twitched as she jerked her head this way and that in her venomous oration. At long last she calmed enough to rise from the tub, and absently she began to towel herself dry before she recalled having seen Maxim kick aside her barrier and unlatch the door.
Her eyes flew to the tapestry and widened as she remembered the door concealed behind it. “The prowling beggar! I should have been more wary!”
T
HE SUN HAD LOWERED
behind turbulent gray clouds, but at dawn it had made a brilliant appearance, bringing a welcome respite from the bleak haze that had for the past days enveloped the hilltop dwelling. Nicholas had ventured forth as Maxim had anticipated, having made his way with an escort of horsemen through the snowy drifts and bringing with him gifts of needlework, thread, and a sewing frame for Elise and, for Maxim, a keg of fine aged brew. Elise had been sweetly attentive throughout his visit which had lasted several days. She had hung upon his every word, though behind his back she had been coldly tolerant of his host who regarded her with unswerving fascination. Whenever Maxim was about, she could feel his gaze upon her, and it seemed whenever she glanced his way, her intuition proved to be true. His stare was sometimes questioning, sometimes puzzled, or just thoughtful and penetrating, but whatever his mood, he could hardly be ignored. And though Elise had vowed to remain aloof and pay him no heed, she
had fairly groaned in frustration over her own failure in this endeavor, if it had been his purpose to unsettle her, in that foray he was successful.
Nicholas had said his farewells at the front portal, assuring her that the next time he came out, it would be with a conveyance that would take them to Lubeck. Despite his verbosity, she had had difficulty following his words, for she had been far too aware of Maxim standing a short distance behind her, watching her unrelentingly.
It was later that same evening, after the meal was concluded, that Elise bade Spence to stoke the fire in her bedchamber. In Maxim's presence she bade the servant to put a latch on her side of the hidden door, appeasing her sense of outrage some small degree until she met the glowing green eyes. She settled with her gifts in the solitude of her chambers, leaving Maxim staring down the long length of the table at her empty chair. Long ago he had enjoyed the privacy of a quiet evening alone; now he found his loneliness oppressive. He had become accustomed to the maid's company and even though much of their time was spent sparring, he realized he enjoyed every moment that was shared with her.
Herr
Dietrich had tidied up after the meal and then sought his bed, while Fitch and Spence, having sensed that all was not well between his lordship and the lady, dared no comment as they set to their evening chores. As Fitch readied the master's rooms for the night, Spence made a last pass through the hall with an armload of firewood destined for the lady's chamber.
Maxim quickly contemplated his choices. He could spend the rest of the evening alone or he could seek out the maid's company. He did not pause in making his decision, but immediately rose from his chair. From force of habit, he caught up the
sword that was kept close at hand during the evening hours and, ascending to the second level, followed Spence to Elise's door. There he leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb while the servant stacked wood on the floor beside the raised hearth. A pair of candles burned on the table beside Elise, casting their soft glow upon her face. From where he stood, Maxim could not see the blush that suffused her cheeks as he watched her; he only knew that she had become a sweet nectar he craved to savor.
A lengthy silence dragged out between them as she stretched a linen cloth snugly over a tapestry frame. A tawny brow arched in wonder as he questioned, “Are you intent upon spending the evening alone, or do you mind if I join you?”
The slim nose lifted to indicate her pettish mood as she returned to him a cool stare, absent of smile. “You may do whatever pleases you, my lord. I can hardly tell you where you may go in your own house.” She glanced about her chambers and shrugged as she added, “Such as it is.”
Spence hurriedly took his leave, casting a worried look over his shoulder as his lordship strode past him. The coolly reticent maid peered askance at her visitor and beyond that tall, muscular frame bathed by the golden light of the fire, she looked small and slight. It was in Spence's mind that Lord Seymour had always conducted himself as a proper gentleman while in the company of ladies, and though the pair were ever at odds, he had to trust the man would not lose his temper with the maid as he had the first day of his arrival.
A smile played lightly about Maxim's lips as he dragged a high-backed chair closer to the hearth and settled into it. “I see you've not yet forgiven me.”
“I was not aware that you desired forgiveness, my lord,” Elise answered stiltedly. “You obviously considered your actions well-warranted.”
Casually he waved a hand. “At least I spared you the full thrust of the icy water.”
“Humph!” Dismissing his logic, Elise concentrated on sorting the colored threads and tying them loosely to the top of the frame. For a moment her lovely brows gathered as she came upon a tangled snarl, and a curious light softened the green eyes as Maxim followed her movements and expressions with close attention. Whether vexed or not, she created a most appealing vision of domestic tranquility. The aura of the scene settled on him with a heightening awareness. There was much pleasure to be found in her presence, and the realization came upon him that even with the present rift between them, he enjoyed being with her more than any woman he had ever known. The memory of Arabella had faded to no more than a mere shadow in his past, and he knew that if this one ever opened her arms in welcome to him, he would be hard-pressed to remember any other.
Trying to bridge the gap between them, Maxim made several attempts at drawing her into a conversation, but Elise met his forays with stubborn silence until he finally abandoned the effort. It was obvious she was in an introspective mood and would play the offended damsel until it met her whim to pardon him.
Scourged by her slanted glower, Maxim leaned his head back in the chair and stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles as he rested a booted heel upon the raised stone hearth where the heat could warm his feet. Laying the sheathed sword across his thighs, he folded his arms and closed his eyes, drawing to mind details of that moment when he had stood above her bath and gazed down upon her nakedness. Even if she refused to talk to him, it was not his wont to seclude himself in his chambers or return to the hall, at least not yet. There was more pleasure in seeing her fume than seeing her not at all.
Elise continued separating the threads as she surreptitiously contemplated the man whom she had come to regard as her tormentor. Here was the man who had set his henchmen upon a fool's errand. Here was the man who had called for her abduction and been responsible for all the discomfiture she had suffered. Here was the man who had brought her to a foreign land where she could scarcely understand the simplest of greetings, and had boarishly intruded upon her bath to seek his revenge. And yet, it was his presence that stirred a thousand jumbled dreams in her mind and awakened her to a strange excitement whenever he looked at her.
Slowly the realization dawned that Maxim's breathing had grown deep and regular. Though she knew Nicholas had kept him up for most of the past nights and he had not been allowed much sleep during the captain's visit, the idea that he could be so blasé as to slumber in her presence further aggravated her mood. She felt wounded by his casual dismissal
of her. She was offended, incensed! And the more she considered his crisply chiseled features, the brighter glowed the coals of her resentment until small, snapping sparks began to flare in her eyes. Her mind railed at the insult.
Setting aside her needlework in growing vexation, Elise came to her feet and strode across the room behind him, gathering a shawl closely about her shoulders as a cold draft found her. “The simpleton can hardly be a lord,” she thought shrewishly. “Look at him! He finds his comforts in the crudest hovel, as if he had never known anything better.”
Elise pivoted slowly around and surveyed the dimly lit limits of her bondage. Tall shadows wavered upon the walls and ceiling as a tiny flame dipped and danced upon the tip of the taper. The remains of a log settled in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. The flames dwindled, and it was as if a sneaky, insidious chill encroached upon the darkening chamber to seek her out.
“Pompous oaf!” The words escaped her taut lips as she snatched the shawl tighter about her. She went to the hearth and, seizing a brace of logs, tossed them upon the glowing coals. Eager young flames licked feverishly at the dried wood, and she stepped onto the hearth, turning her backside to the heat as she raised her skirts. As she warmed herself, she took meticulous account of him, until now never having been availed of the chance. Above the turned-down tops of his boots she considered the long, lean, muscular thighs and allowed her gaze to leisurely wander upward over the padded and
slashed breeches covering his narrow hips. There was no question that he garbed himself well and with subtle taste, not following the custom of others of his same gender who selected lavishly embroidered costumes and bejeweled codpieces that made it seem as if the wearer was flaunting his manhood . . . or making much ado about nothing, Elise mused wryly. But then, in all truthfulness, she could not judge this
man in want of anything. Of face and features, she had seen no match for his handsomeness. Of stature, he walked among the tallest and could be the stuff of any girl's dreams.