Knight's Captive (4 page)

He remained silent while she finished off the
food. She tried to keep her attention on the pewter plate in her hand rather
than him, but she kept stealing glances at the brooding hulk in the corner. He
put a finger to his lips and observed her. It made her chest constrict every
time she met his gaze and she had to flick her own away. The man was so large
and...
intimidating
. She should be intimidated. She
was, was she not? Why then, did her gaze keep slipping to him?

Popping another chunk of cheese in her mouth,
she eyed the room. Antonia looked to the ceiling to see painted roses there
too. Then she let her gaze linger on the intricate carved wood of the bed. So dark
in colour, it was almost black yet this did not feel like a coffin. Was it
because she knew it was
his
bed? It seemed too small to hold him.
Everything seemed too small for him. This room, even what she assumed had to be
a grand house. She was no stranger to large men—her husband had been one of
them—but not like this.

“Do you...” He shifted in the chair and she
winced as it creaked. “Do you feel better now?”

She nodded and skimmed a finger over the empty
plate. What to do now? Would he send her back to the room? Would he think her
mad for her outburst? She gripped the metal until her knuckles hurt.

“Do not be afeared, Antonia. I vowed to your
father you would not be harmed.”

“And you always keep your word?”

“I do.”

Henry said this so solemnly she had no choice
but to believe him. Mayhap he meant her no harm, but what of the rest of his
countrymen? What of the queen? And while a man might be honourable enough when
his temper was calm, what of when he was angered? She had seen how Lorenzo
could go from perfectly placid to violently angry in mere moments. Could she
expect that from Henry?

Whatever the riddle of his character was, she
would keep her guard up. It would not do to let herself be vulnerable.

“You should go back to your room now.”

The image of dark wood closing in around her, of
those heavy drapes wrapping around her and threatening to strangle her acted
like a noose around her neck. She shook her head.
“
No
,
por favor
.”

“You cannot stay here.”

She knew that. She didn’t wish to stay here—in
the same room as her enemy.
But to go back there...

“Candles,” she managed to squeak out. Mayhap if
there was enough light, the strange room would not seem so daunting. She
doubted she’d sleep but at least she wouldn’t be trapped in a nightmare.

“You need candles?”

“
Si
.
Lots.”

A dark brow lifted and he seemed to consider her
words before nodding. He stood and snatched up several of the unlit candles
from the various surfaces. Then he motioned for her to follow. She climbed out
of his bed and wrapped her arms about her. Henry handed her a lit candle.
Antonia couldn’t help but hide behind his wide shoulders as they stepped out
into the hallway. The flickering candlelight only emphasised the dark shadows
of the unknown house and she was all too aware that one puff or a single
whistle of wind and the only light source would be snuffed out. Her hands
shook.

Henry pushed open the door to her chamber and
began placing the candles on various surfaces. Antonia saw now that there were
two already on either side of the bed and two more on candelabrums on the other
side of the room. Not enough, however. She needed every corner lit. It was hard
enough to sleep in her own bedchamber but to sleep in one she’d never been
in—one in which she was meant to be a prisoner—with any darkness was more than
she could bear.

She eyed the shaking candle in her hands.
Sometimes she loathed herself for this weakness.

Henry remained silent as he took the candle from
her and lit all the others he had scattered around. She stared at his shoulders
as the muscles of his back moved against the linen. Would she feel better or
worse if he spoke more? His quiet understanding worked inside her and seemed to
loosen the rope of tension around her throat. Or was he simply trying to do his
best to ensure his prisoner did not cause any more problems?

Either way, she appreciated that he didn’t scold
her or roll his eyes at her need for light.

A dangerous sensation indeed.
She
shouldn’t appreciate anything about her captor.

“
Gracias
.”

“Do not move them,” he ordered. “’Tis dangerous
to sleep with so many candles alight but they should be well enough where they
are.”

She nodded. Her father had the same fear. He
worried she might burn to death in her bed but to her mind, it was almost
preferable to the nightmares that haunted her. She’d rather take the risk than
suffer those horrors every night.

He eyed her, his gaze running up and down her
form before he gave her an oddly courteous dip of his head. Antonia was suddenly
aware of every part of her body from head to toe. It felt all too much like he
might have run his hands up and down her rather than his gaze.

“I shall bid you good evening.”

“
Si.
Good
night.”

She watched him leave and waited until she heard
his feet pad across the floor and his door shut. Was it her imagination or had
she heard the bed ropes creak? Surely with two solid walls between them, she
could not but it didn’t stop her picturing him slipping out of his chausses and
revealing thick, strong thighs.

Antonia shook her head and started to move the
candles. She was careful not to place them near the curtains but there were too
many shadows still. The dark wood-clad walls and matching bed and furniture
didn’t make the room look much more comforting than it had when it was entirely
dark and that coffer at the end of the bed...She sucked in a breath and held
it. Could she be brave enough to move it?

Taking a step forward, she froze.
A noise.
Scratching.
No
, it
couldn’t be. She was imagining things. Her heart began to pick up speed. She’d
have to open it. She eyed the chest and tried to persuade her limbs to move.
She couldn’t very well stand there all night and what if...It was a foolish
thought, but she had to know.

In one swift movement that had blood rushing
through her ears, she lifted the lid and stepped back. No one leaped out of it.
There wasn’t someone trapped inside it. Not like she had been. Of course there
wasn’t. She peered in it to see it full of blankets and sheets. What a fool.
Why would this man have some poor woman shut away in a chest?

Stepping carefully around it, she settled on the
bed and tucked her legs up in front of her. Arms wrapped around them, she
prepared herself for a long night.

The room
didn’t seem nearly so daunting in the daylight. With the curtains drawn back
and gentle sunlight slipping over the dark wood and luxurious fabrics, Antonia
could almost wonder at why she had been so terrified. But, of course, she knew
her fears were not rational and that they would be back tonight.

She propped her hands on her hips and eyed the
coffer. That would have to go, however. Mayhap she could drag it out herself or
ask one of the male servants to remove it. She wouldn’t spend another night
sleeping with a box like that. She yawned. Not that she had slept. Exhaustion
ate into every part of her but the thought of seeing her father had forced her
to get up and dressed.

Voices drifted up from below somewhere, and she
paused. She recognised Henry’s low tones immediately. Her stomach did a little
tumble. She couldn’t forget what he’d looked like last night—his hair
messy
and around his shoulders—and then this morning, with
it tied back, in a well cut jerkin that emphasised his broad chest. He was such
a large man, with huge hands and a severe expression. She
should
be
scared of him...

Somehow, she wasn’t.

He was outside, she realised as she listened
carefully. Almost fearful he might catch
her,
she
tiptoed over to the window and eased it open. Antonia peered down and spotted
him beneath her window. From here she saw only his wide shoulders, emphasised
by the leather jerkin and the loose linen of his shirt blowing gently in the
wind. She couldn’t help recall those arms keeping her afloat while he murmured
words of reassurance.

Her weak heart begged her to trust him. But he
was her captor and...

She focused on his words. Her father—he was
speaking of her father.

“We checked all the prisoners. He’s definitely
not amongst them,” the man with whom he was speaking said. “Will said they were
separated in the water.”

“Where is Will now?”

“Down at the barn, Sir Henry.”

“I’ll speak with him shortly. If de Valdés is
still alive, we need to find him,” Henry said to the man.

If
he was
alive?

Antonia whirled away. Her head spun. Before she
realised what she had done, she was flying down the stairs and out of the rear
door of the manor house. She stalked over to Henry, forcing him to turn his
attention to her.

“My father is dead?” she demanded.

“Nay—” He glanced at the other man who edged
away and dipped his head before vanishing around the corner of the building.
“Missing.”

“You told me he was well.” She took a step
closer and jabbed a finger into his chest. It had little effect on the firm
muscles under thick leather. “You lied to me.”

He lifted his brows and peered down at her. “I
was not very well going to tell you he was missing and cause you further
distress.”

He said this so curtly, so reasonably, as if she
was entirely in the wrong. It only incensed her further. Her father could be
injured somewhere and he had her believing she could take her time to eat some
food, clean up and get dressed. He had lied to her with such ease. How dare he?
Her heart beat in her chest so quickly that she struggled to draw breath.

“I am distressed now, does that please you?”

His scowl deepened. “Why would it please me? I
thought it best you did not know yet.”

“Why should you—” she jabbed his chest again and
his gaze darkened “—decide what is best for me? What say do you have over me?”

He folded his arms, preventing her from poking
him again. Antonia gulped and remembered the size of this man. He towered over
her, forcing her to crane her neck and the way he crossed his arms made his
muscles bulge against the seams of his shirt. The quick pounding in her chest
grew heavier, almost sickening.

“I am in charge of your welfare. I am...” He
gave a huff of annoyance as if reluctant to say whatever it was that was coming
next. “I am your captor and you are on enemy land. I have no wish to treat you
ill but you would do well to behave yourself.”

She tried not to cringe at those words. Had
Lorenzo not uttered those words to her many times before striking out? She
attempted to remain firm in her stance.
Behave, Antonia. Why can you not
behave? Why do you make me hurt you?
But no matter how much she tried to be
the wife he wanted, she always failed.

“Asking for the truth is not misbehaving,” she
said breathily, having to push the words past a heavy chest.

Henry gave a grunt. “I shall find your father,
fear not. Return to the house.”

With that, he turned, effectively dismissing
her. The memories swirling through her mind vanished and hot annoyance rushed
back through her. She would not let him keep her apart from her father. If he
needed her, she had to go to him.
¡Dios mío!
, she hoped he was alive.
What would she do without him? He was the only man she could trust.

Antonia followed after him as he marched across
the path leading through the rear gardens and to a door in the back of the
house. She hadn’t had a chance to explore the house and had she been in a
better mood, she might have admired the formal arrangement of the herbs and
attractive flowers.

He ignored her though she imagined that was
easily done for a man of his size. A slender woman like her would never
normally pass his notice. After all, a man of his stature and power need never
look upon a mere woman. Like with so many men she had encountered, she was
merely an annoyance to him.

He strode into the house and she entered what
turned out to be an armoury. Blades, axes, spears and shields covered the walls
and several muskets sat in a glass cabinet. She gulped. This man fit well in
such a room. She could imagine him at war, cutting down his enemies with ease.
After all, she had already seen his bravery on the
Rosario
. There were
not many men who would face down fire and a sinking ship with such courage.

Courage that she could almost
admire.
After all, he had entered the burning ship to rescue her father.
But his current treatment of her made her forget his actions. She couldn’t very
well judge him on one act. Did she not know how changeable men were? How they
could swing from charming and brave to angry and dishonourable in but a moment?

He glanced over his shoulder at her, barely
giving her a look—a reminder of her insignificance perhaps—then retrieved a
sword belt. He strapped it around his hips and drew her attention to that part
of him. Her stomach tumbled wildly at the sight of those steady fingers
expertly tying up his belt.
But from nerves or from something
else?
She was a fool if she was swayed by his attractiveness. A handsome
face meant nothing and she would never let herself by influenced by something
so
fragile as good looks.

“Sir Henry,” she pleaded.

He ignored her and reached for a long blade.
Steel glinted in the meagre light slipping through the long windows on one side
of the room.

She licked her lips and tried again. “Henry.”
She said it firmly though her body shook a little. To speak with such
familiarly and hear his name slipping off her lips startled even her. But it
worked. His head jerked in her direction as he slipped the sword into the belt.
“I wish to come with you.”

Shaking his head, he adjusted the sword and
glanced at her again. She thought he might give in. There was a slight drop of
his shoulders as though resigned but he shook his head again and said, “Nay.”

Then he made for the door at the end of the
armoury and moved with purpose through the house once more, leaving her tagging
along like a lost puppy. When he reached the hallway—a part of the large
building she actually knew—he snatched a mantle from some hooks on the wall and
tossed it over one shoulder. He pinned it in place, and a lump lodged in her
throat. If he were not her captor, she would be impressed by the figure he
struck.
Dashing, bold, brave.
Even with the severe
dips in his brow, he was the sort of man of which girls dreamed.

Not her, however. She had learned well enough to
stay away from men.

“Take me with you,” she demanded again. “
Por
favour
, I shall be no
bother
. I shall not
misbehave. I wish only to see my father.”

“You nearly drowned, Antonia. It would be remiss
of me to have you do anything other than rest.”

Damn him, did he have to speak so reasonably, as
though he actually cared for her welfare as anything other than a prisoner? She
drew up her chin. “If you refuse to take me, I shall look for him myself.”

Henry whirled around, sending his cloak swishing
about his shoulders. “Need I remind you that you are a prisoner here? I wish
not to lock you away but I will if I must.”

“You would not.” Her voice wavered as did her
confidence. In truth, she had little idea what he might do to her. He could
place her in irons or have her locked away somewhere if he wished to. But he
hadn’t so far.

And she prayed he would not.

“If...if he is dying, I would wish to be with
him,” she tried.

Henry squeezed the bridge of his nose. “We have
much coastline to search. He could well be washed up on the many miles of beach.
‘Twill
be
a long day’s search.”

“I care not.”

“You did not sleep last night,” he stated.

“
No
.”

And he must not have either if he was aware
she’d been awake all night. It shouldn’t touch her but it did. Had he been
awake, thinking of her? Was it simply fear that she might escape or something
else? She couldn’t make this man out. Chivalrous and bold one moment and gruff
and commanding the next.
As changing as the sea.
And
she was powerless against him. His ever-changing moods could batter her against
the rocks if she was not careful. She needed to shore up her defences against
him and be brave.

“That does not mean I cannot aid you. Think you
that I shall sleep while you are gone, fearing for my father’s welfare?”

His jaw worked. “You shall only hinder me. If
you care aught for your father’s welfare, you shall wish for me to find him
quickly.”

“I take it your men have been searching for
him.”

“Aye.”

“Think you he might be evading capture?”

“Mayhap.”

Or he was at the bottom of the ocean. That was what
Henry’s dark look said. But she was not so sure. Her father had to be alive
surely or else she would know it. He had looked after her since she was a
little girl and then after Lorenzo’s death.

“If he is, think you he will not be more likely
to give
himself
up when he sees that I am safe and
well?”

Now she heard his teeth grinding as he
considered her. “You can ride?”

“
Si
.”

“Fast?”

“
Si.”
She
nodded eagerly.

He skimmed his gaze up and down her, taking note
of her simple gown and borrowed boots. She knew she could ride well enough in
this gown—even if it was not a riding one—and she was a fast rider. Her father
had always indulged her love of horses. She wouldn’t hinder him, not when her
father’s life was at stake.

“Very well.
Do you
have a mantle? There is a chill coming off the sea today.”

She shook her head. The housekeeper had only
given her the dress, borrowed from one of the serving girls. All her other
belongings had gone down with the ship. She had little, so she didn’t grieve
for them but there had been some beautiful gowns in amongst them. What would
Henry think if he saw her in one? Would he treat her differently?

He unfastened the cloak he had so diligently
placed over his shoulder and handed it over. “Put that on and I’ll request a
horse to be saddled for you.”

Before she could utter her thanks, he had
strode
out of the door, leaving her clutching the warm wool.
It smelled of him—of soap and something else. Something that tugged silently at
her insides and made her
think
of warm embraces and sweet
kisses.

Of course, those things did not really exist in
anything but the mind of a woman. Lorenzo had been free with his kisses and
sometimes even his embraces, but there was always malice and manipulation
behind them. All the other men she had met had been the same. Before her
marriage, their eyes had been on her dowry and little else. Each kiss to her
fingers and any flattering words were all to do with what they could get from
her.

She wrapped the cloak about her, forced herself
not to inhale the scent. Henry had uttered few kind words and had offered no
kisses. But he had offered her this—for no reason but to keep the chill away.
Was it a selfless act or did he too have some other motivation?