Authors: Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
Of a sudden Maxim was motivated by a roweling desire to be on his way. Gathering the reins, he swung into his saddle and faced the pair, impatient to be gone.
Nicholas took the obvious prodding in stride and gently squeezed the small hand in silent adieu. Solicitously he tucked the cloak over Elise's skirts before moving away. “Now yu keep a vary eye out for trouble,” he cautioned Maxim. “I vould see yu both again.”
Maxim lifted his hand in a casual salute of farewell and, with a light tap of his heels, nudged Eddy into a slow, high-stepping gait. The girl turned briefly to wave farewell to the lone figure standing in the street, and then settled herself for the long ride to Faulder Castle as his lordship fell in on her right.
The night was still. No slightest breeze stirred the air. It was as if the whole world held its frosted breath. A full moon rising above the hills gave the world a silvery hue dotted with black shadows in places where its light could not reach. Tall trees with thick boughs laden with mantles of white stood stock-still as the snow made a squeaking sound beneath the plodding hooves of the horses. Elise gathered her cloak close about her face and huddled
in its warmth, aware that Maxim held the stallion in check beside the mare. That well-muscled beast was wont to prance and flag his tail like a randy cock in a courtship dance. It took a firm, steady hand to keep him under control, and yet Maxim did it with an ease which could have only come from a practiced skill.
Some distance away Fitch settled his bulk in a niche between the well and the stone watering trough about halfway between the main gate and the door of the keep. Earlier he had watched the long winter twilight deepen until the sky became a tapestry of star-bejeweled black velvet. An orange moon had risen eerily above the hills and had paled as it climbed the ebon ether. It was a time he had dreaded most, the coming of night and the rising of the spirits from their graves.
On the matter of ghosts Spence had accepted the premise that if they existed at all, they were limited to the keep, and so he had wrapped himself in secure innocence and snuggled beneath a pile of furs in the stable quarters. He was soon reaping timber with sawing snores that challenged the mightiest, but not so Fitch. That one had drawn the evening watch, and his thoughts plowed a slower furrow of reason as he pondered a wealth of tales that drifted up from his memory to haunt him. Anxious to vacate the keep after
Herr
Dietrich retired, he had hurriedly banked the fire in the hall, secured the doors, then upon venturing outside had seized an oaken branch as tall as himself and as thick as his forearm. Patrolling the courtyard, he
had seen no wraiths or shades. Still, his imagination had thwarted his attempts to remain calm and stalwart in the face of the ever-elusive foe. Elongated shadows, cast by the brilliant moon, stretched across the courtyard and his hackles prickled with the idea that in each a specter
could be lurking. He glanced up at the stone structure of the castle keep that towered over him like a dark giant and, with a shudder, gathered several pelts close about his shoulders. Whether his quaking was attributable directly to the cold or some inborn fear, he could not say, but he kept a wary eye upon the portal to see if anything unseemly issued forth.
The night was crisp, but the covering warm. Fitch's eyelids grew heavy as the night aged. His head nodded, jerked erect, then sagged again to stay as the staff slowly fell across his lap. His sleep was uneasy, his dreams filled with all manner of wraiths evoked by childhood stories and overheard recountings of much-exaggerated tales.
Torches were set in sconces on either side of the door, and they cast forth a welcoming light into the night, guiding the returning party into the compound. The clip-clop of hooves was muffled by the cushioning snow until they reached a point near the well where water had frozen over the ground, leaving the way slick and treacherous. There, the sharp crunch of Eddy's massive hooves breaking through the icy crust echoed in the courtyard, sounding much like the cracking of bones.
Fitch's eyes snapped open at the sound, but his mind was still encumbered with the dregs of Stygian dreams. Four cloaked and hooded wraiths
astride night-hued steeds loomed before him like some evil horde emerging from the bogs of hell. Their long shadows reached out over him and wavered eerily in the torchlight. Certain that he was about to be seized and slain by the ebon sprites, he let out a wail of pure terror and heaved himself to his feet. Caught between the well and the trough, the forgotten staff resisted the sudden upthrusting movement for a space, then popped free and sailed high into the air as Fitch's feet clawed at the frozen ground. His rapid effort to run yielded amazingly little progress until he tripped and measured his ponderous bulk on the ice in a grunting slide. The descending staff rattled to the frozen ground directly in front of Elise's startled steed, then rebounded in a bouncing, zigzagging advance upon the mare. The animal danced away in wide-eyed panic, jerking the
reins from Elise's hands, and though the slender hands grasped the flying mane, the frightened mare was ready to fly.
Barking out a sharp command that brought Fitch to his senses, Maxim whirled the Friesian about and pressed him close against the mare, forcing her to yield ground. Her front hooves left the ground as she began to rear, and he swept out an arm and, with effortless strength, plucked Elise from the saddle. The mare pitched and bucked her way to freedom until one of the guards caught the trailing reins and led her back, soothing her with softly spoken words.
Maxim caught Elise close against him, feeling her tremble as she looped her arms tightly about his neck.
The fragrance of the auburn tresses filled his mind, and for a brief moment he yielded to an urge
to savor the tantalizing scent more fully by turning his face into her hair.
“Are you all right?” he whispered, moving his lips closer to her ear.
Elise nodded and lifted her head to stare into the shadowed green eyes for a long, perplexed moment. Without comment, Maxim nudged Eddy closer to the stoop. Fitch, chagrined and eager to redeem himself, rushed to lend Elise assistance, apologizing anxiously for the trouble he had caused. Her slippered toe touched the step, and Maxim's arm slid free of her waist as she stood to her feet. He held the stallion to his place and waited until she raised her gaze to his. In the flickering pool of yellow torchlight their eyes met and locked for a long, quiet moment, then his voice seemed to reach out and caress her. “You will grace my dreams tonight, fair maid. Rest assured.”
Elise's confusion deepened and, not knowing what to reply, fled quickly into the great room. Her feet flew on the stairs, and she burst into her chambers with naught but one thing on her mind. The burrs! If ever she regretted an act, then surely it was this thing that she had done to his bed. How would she face him again once he had suffered in her trap? It would have been better had he not been so generous with her. A ride home on the back of that unworthy white nag would have strengthened her desire to see him punished.
Carefully Elise laid the bar across her door, securing the room from any possible invasion. Dragging off her cloak, she paced back and forth in front of the hearth, fretting over what might happen
in the lord's chambers. It seemed an eternity before she heard the distant creak of the balustrade and the scrape of a booted foot on the stairs. It would only be a matter of time now before she would hear Maxim's enraged snarl and possibly the pounding of his fist upon her door. She waited in tense silence, listening to the sounds of the keep. Her fingers were icy cold, and a persistent chill made her shiver. Though she added more wood to the fire, she could find little warmth that would ease her trembling. Time dragged by, and she began to slowly undress. Chill-bumps rose along her flesh as she slid naked beneath the furs, and for a long time she stared at the ceiling, waiting and wondering why she had not yet heard a movement or thunderous outcry from the loftier chambers.
Maxim had slipped off his boots and, in a restless mood, paced the corridor of the upper hall, glancing now and then through the arrow slits into the darkness beyond. He had no desire for sleep. His thoughts ranged like hunting birds of the night and could find no place to roost though they wandered far afield. From every corner of his mind he was assaulted by visions of Nicholas and Elise together. Perhaps he should stand aside, he told himself, and let Von Reijn carry out his courtship unhindered. Had he not expressed his own lack of interest in the girl and given taciturn approval to the swain? Yet with each passing hour he was aware of a growing reluctance to see her wooed by another man. He found it rather bewildering that he was overtaken by a burgeoning urge to reserve that right for himself alone.
Frowning in discontent, Maxim braced a hand against the stone wall and peered through the long, narrow opening of an arrow slit. A cloudy haze, pushed by a rising wind, drifted across the face of the moon, dulling the sky to a blackness bereft of stars. He found no ease in the shades of night for his pensiveness and once again took up his aimless strolling. He was as one caught on the twin horns of a wild dilemma. He could not tolerate the idea of his best friend paying court to Elise. Neither could he justify his own approach as a suitor. He knew that in her mind he was her abductor and chief traducer, the villain in her life. The situation as cast by fate had to be endured until some unforeseen happening would free him of the onerous task.
Nay! Maxim paused in reflection, considering his own part in her abduction. âTwas not an event cast by the winds of fortune! He had devised the plan himself and lent it the credence of a fool, allowing it to be executed in error and to be finished in mutual frustration.
The moon continued its flight across the ebon sky, heedless of his conflict, and gave no notice when he made his way to his chambers. There was only the whisper of his footsteps in the silence of the empty hall. The fire had all but gone out on the hearth when he entered his chambers, and he took a moment to heap kindling and fresh logs upon the glowing coals before he began to undress. Garbed only in close-fitting hose, he stood before the warming fire with legs spraddled apart, as if he braced against the rolling heave of a quarterdeck. His thoughts took up the chase again as he lifted his
gaze toward the paneled wall wherein was hidden the secret door. A vision of his charge lying asleep in her bed came back to him in meticulous recall. She would be lost now in the depths of slumber with her hair flowing over the pillow and her silken lashes resting upon the pale skin. It was a sight a man could hold dear.
Moving to the bed, Maxim braced a hand high upon the carved wooden canopy as his mind roamed boldly to sights he had never seen. Whenever the woolen gown had clung to her form, he had been most attentive, and now-remembered glimpses came together to form a mental image of her lying undraped upon his bed. Her slender body was soft and womanly, her breasts temptingly round and pale-hued, and the long legs trim and sleek.
Shaking his head to thrust away the disturbing thoughts, he took several deep, slow breaths to cool his warming ardor. He rubbed a hand over his bare ribs and glanced about him, half-expecting to see her in the dark shadows of his chamber. Deliberately he turned his thoughts away and prepared his bed, flipping back the top sheet with the furs. He sat on its edge, determined to put her from his mind long enough to allow sleep to come upon him, but he knew it would be a difficult task. She was like a sweet intoxicant that coursed through his senses, awakening his very soul.
Maxim heaved a frustrated sigh and fell back upon the bed with arms upraised. Of a sudden his eyes widened as a thousand needle-sharp pricks cleared his mind, and he came out of bed as swiftly as he had fallen upon it. Turning in confusion, he
whipped back the bottom sheet and swept his hand over the feather tick, frowning as some of the barbs stuck to his palm. He held his hand up where the firelight could provide more illumination and picked a sticker from his flesh. Holding it between his fingers, he cocked an eye toward the door.
“So! The little minx has not yet given up her games,” he mused aloud.
A desire rose up within him to confront her with what she had done right then and there, but he paused and a smile slowly spread across his lips as he thought of a better way. Carefully he replaced the sheets and furs until the bed once again looked undisturbed. Taking a fur-lined cloak from the dressing room, he wrapped it about him and dragged the huge, high-backed chair to the edge of the hearth, where he settled within it. Leisurely he propped his feet up to the warmth. He could play the game as sharply as any fox and slumbering here in easy rest was tantamount to confounding the she-hound hot on his trail.
Morning dawned, and Elise came awake with a start, realizing that somewhere during the night she had fallen asleep listening for the loud explosion of Maxim's temper. Obviously he had not come downstairs to beat upon her door. So now what was she to do, and what should she expect of him? Was it even safe for her to leave her chambers?
Clasping a fur about her naked body, she ran across to the hearth, poked at the coals with a rusty old sword she had found in the keep and then laid a handful of splintered wood upon them. Tucking the
lower edge of the pelt beneath her, she knelt upon the stone and bent down to blow life into the dying embers. A thin trail of smoke curled upward from the heap, then a small flame appeared and fed with ravenous delight upon the dry kindling. She laid several dry logs upon the burning sticks, then sat back upon her heels and watched the hungry flames licking up in frenzied haste The warming fire took the chill from her, and she began to brush out her long hair until the silken tresses tumbled in loose curls around her bare shoulders. In her mmd she saw cold accusative green eyes staring into hers, and she slowly lowered her hands upon her lap to gaze in dismal dejection into the dancing flames. If only Maxim had not purchased the mare for her . . . if only he had not lifted her from the frightened steed
and comforted her against him . . . if only he had not spoken to her so warmly at the front stoop perhaps she would not be so tormented now by what she had done.