Knight's Captive (5 page)

When she stepped out of the front of the house,
Antonia noted that a brisk breeze did indeed carry across the headland. From
behind the shelter of the house, she had been unaware of the salty scent
whispering across the cliffs. The day proved clear with a few puffs of white
clouds like soapy bubbles drifting across a watery surface. Antonia had never
been to England before. She had heard it was cold and wet. Yet, in spite of the
slight chill in the air, the country did not seem nearly as grim as she thought
it might be.

Mayhap she could almost understand why her
father had insisted they start a new life here.

She strode down the front path and paused at the
two stone walls that stopped either side of it. This was her prison. There were
no gates or iron bars. Only honour and duty kept her here. No shackles or guards.
Yet if she left, she would be abandoning her father. After being imprisoned by
one man, the desire to dash forward and run until she could run no more warred
inside her. But she would never abandon her father.

“Antonia?” Henry called behind her.

She twisted and began to head back to the house.
His scowl was etched deep indeed by the time she came back to his side as he
held the reins of two horses in one hand.

“I hope you will remember that you are on enemy
lands here. The English do not take well to those who would try to invade them.
You may be under house arrest but you are also under my protection here.”

Protection?
Si
, protection indeed.
This man was so fierce and
warrior-like that she could see no man wishing to go up against him. But who
was to protect her against him?

She ignored his words and opened a palm for the
reins. He handed them over and she paused to stroke a hand over the pale mount.
The beast nuzzled her palm and she allowed herself a smile.
“Her
nombre
?
Her name?”

“Swift Foot.”

“I hope she lives up to her name.”

“She will. I hope you can keep up with me.”

“What benefit is it to you to find my father?
Surely you are not searching the lands for every drowned Spanish man?”

“Not every Spanish man is the commander of a
ship.”

“And that is it, is it? He is more important
than the rest because of his position?”

“Antonia, if you are searching for other
motivation, you shall find none.” He moved past her and climbed into the saddle
with ease. “Now make haste. We have much land to cover.”

She took a few moments to gain her bearings. To
see him nimbly climb onto the horse set a fluttering sensation low in her
belly. And now his strong legs clung to the animal while long black boots
emphasised the sheer size of him. When she turned to her own horse, her limbs
felt shaky. It could be from fatigue. It had to be, surely? It took her several
attempts to mount the large horse—it being a few hands bigger than the ones she
was used to. When she was finally on, Henry did not wait. Instead, he kicked
his horse and set off at a blistering pace.

She tried to keep pace with him while they made
their way down the winding paths. Long grass swished in the breeze, carrying
with it speckles of pollen and sand.

Had she been looking for other motivation, she
wondered.
And if so, why?
Did she hope he might
actually care for the welfare of his prisoners? He had, in some ways, cared for
her. He’d offered her drink, food, warmth and a safe place to stay for the
remainder of her captivity. However, that was what almost any man would do with
his honour on the line. He could not be seen to be treating a female prisoner
with anything other than respect. Behind closed doors, however, he could do as
he wished.

And Henry had not.

Not yet at least.

He rode some way ahead of her before pausing and
waiting for her to catch up. She found herself a little breathless from the
ride but invigorated and determined. She would find her father. He had to be
alive. If he was not, she wasn’t sure what would become of her. They would
return to Spain soon now that the invasion had failed. Their original hope had
been to settle in England but their confidence in their forces had been for
naught.

But if he wasn’t alive, what
then?
She had no home, no wealth. Her husband’s wealth had been
returned to the crown because she had never borne sons and her father’s would
do the same. Her dowry would afford her a meagre living indeed.

Soft sand kicked up around her as they made
their way onto the beach. The harbour they had been brought into could be seen
in the distance and a few men milled around. Several small boats she assumed
were fishing boats were out near the horizon. With the exception of the few
bits of driftwood on the beach, there was no sign that a beautiful ship had
sunk only the day before. Indeed, it seemed as though the invasion had never
happened. After so long trapped in the hull of a creaking, damp ship with scant
rations, the fresh air and good food should have been a welcome relief.

And they were in some ways. But living as a
prisoner—a prisoner to this man no less—had her stomach bunched in knots.

Antonia scanned the beach as it curved around
the headland. Great rocks sat at the base of the cliffs and several deep, dark
caverns were carved into it. Would her father be hiding mayhap? He wouldn’t
wish to abandon her, but if he thought he could reach her and escape, she
suspected he would do as much. What if he was taking shelter in one of those?

Or else he could be dead. Her heart squeezed at
the thought but she couldn’t let herself dwell on it. If she did, the tiredness
and confusion would overwhelm her and that would not do. She had been trying
hard to be brave ever since Lorenzo’s death. If she was to regain her
confidence, it would not do to give into despair.

Henry slowed again, allowing her to catch up.

“You really think he could be so far along?”

“The current had driven the wreckage this far.
It’s possible your father could have been too.”

Possible but not probable if his grim expression
was anything to go by.

“My father is strong. He could have swum against
the current.”

“He is strong, aye, but with a broken leg?” He
shook his head slowly. “You should prepare yourself for the worst.”

The worst.
Had
she not already been through the worst? A mother lost to illness, a vicious
husband, his death and the turmoil it brought, capture by her enemy...Now she
was to lose her father too? Had she sinned so very badly to have these things
forced upon her? Her father always told her that God did not give them more
than they could handle, but now she was not so sure.

“Damnation.”

She twisted to eye Henry and then to see what he
was looking at. A group of men were on the beach far ahead. They were crowded
around something—or perhaps someone. She heard their shouts from where they
were.

“
Papa
!”

Henry spurred on his horse and she followed
suit. As they grew close, she saw a scuffle had broken out. It had to be him.
But these
men,
were they attacking him? Henry reached
them before she did and a flutter of blue caught her eye before she could come
upon them. She slowed the horse and paused to eye it. There, behind a pile of
tumbled rocks was the glint of blue again. And then there was a whistle. But it
wasn’t a bird. She drew the horse to a halt. That was her father.

Her heart jumped into her throat. It had been a
game they played when she was a child. He’d hide and imitate a bird call and
she’d hunt him out. Father was trying to signal to her.

Antonia glanced at Henry as he slid off the
horse and stepped into the fray of men. Whatever or whoever they were fighting
over,
they might give her the chance to find her father and
escape. She spurred her horse into action and drew her to a halt before the
rocks. Not willing to take the time to see what Henry was doing, she clambered
over the sharp grey shards and had to mask a cry of delight.

“
Papa
.”

“Antonia. Come, quickly now.”

He was laid between the rocks, his clothing damp
and covered in sand. He had aged so much.

“Have you been here all night?”

“
Si
, most of it.”

She drew off her cloak and put it over his
shoulders. “Come, the knight is not far from here. We must make our escape.”

He gripped her hand. “You are well?
Unharmed.”

“
Si, si
.”

“I knew he was honourable. You should stay with
him, Antonia. I shall make my own escape then come back for you when ‘tis
safe.”

“Your leg...”

“
Si
, ‘tis broken.”

“Then you will not get far alone.” She kneeled
by him and slipped her arm behind him. “Put your arm on my shoulders.”

“You shall not be able to lift me, little
Antonia.”

She gritted her teeth. She would lift him, no
matter what. How could she leave him in such a state? And what would become of
him if she did?

“Come,
Papa
, we shall find somewhere to
shelter. Mayhap we shall find someone to take pity on us.”

“We’ll not find pity here.”

Antonia tried not to grimace. He could well by
right. The English people were happy with their Protestant queen. Unless they
found some Catholics to take them in, they would find no help. And any Catholic
would likely not risk harbouring them for fear of being branded heretics.

“We shall worry about that later. Come now.”

She heard his breath hiss through his teeth as
they came to their feet. Peering over the rocks, she noted Henry had become
embroiled in the disagreement. She couldn’t hear what he was saying as they
spoke too fast for her but one of the men was thrusting an angry finger at him.
A sliver of guilt slipped down her throat. He had rescued her from trouble.
Should she not do the same?

But when she looked to her father—the man who
had taken her away from Lorenzo and ensured he never touched her again—she knew
she could not.

Henry
hoped Antonia had been wise enough to keep her distance. The stash of silverware
that had washed up on shore was surely not worth her getting hurt.

It was not worth him getting hurt over either
but he had a duty to separate these men. He stepped into the fray, barely
missing a wild swing from the two main brawlers. Sand coated their clothing and
vicious curses fell from their lips.

The fight spread rapidly until most of the men
were exchanging blows while scrabbling in the sand to pluck up the silverware.
A fist slammed across his face, sending his vision blurry, then a knee struck
his abdomen and he doubled over. He didn’t think anyone was intending to strike
him—he didn’t think much. He couldn’t. The fighting was fast and furious. By
the time he’d extracted himself, he felt the warm trickle of
blood
seeping from his nose.

Henry swiped it away and scanned the beach for
Antonia. Had she taken shelter for fear of being harmed? Her horse stood by the
large rock fall at the base of the cliffs, shifting impatiently, its reins
looped around a rock. He peered back over his shoulders at the scuffle that
appeared to be slowing and shook his head. Antonia should have been his
priority, not these men.

He retrieved his own mount and marched over the
soft sand to the horse. “Antonia?”

But no one rushed out to meet him as he hoped.
He scanned the rocks and cursed. A flutter of a cloak—his own damn cloak—caught
his eye some way ahead.
Foolish woman.
What was she
thinking? Did she not realise she’d find no aid here? The villagers were
already angered at having to give up the old barn to the prisoners.

Wasting no time, he mounted his horse and
galloped after her. Wind whipped through his hair as he pushed the horse hard
and fast. Heat gathered beneath his skin and his breaths came quickly. Damn her.
Had he not been a kind captor? Had he not damn well fished her out of the sea?
And this was how she repaid him?

As he neared, he realised exactly why she wasn’t
running but merely walking and that someone else wore his cloak. De Valdés. She
must have found her father while he was trying to break up the scuffle. Hell’s
teeth, he was the fool. He should have known not to bring her. But he couldn’t
resist her pleading.

Hell fire, he’d shown nothing but weakness
toward this woman.

At their slow pace, he caught up to them easily.
Antonia’s father gave a small shrug of his shoulder as if to say
fair
enough, you caught us
. Henry doubted he believed they could escape as it
was. Antonia, however, glared at him as though he had done gravely wrong.

Henry dismounted and stalked over to her. Her
father slipped an arm from her shoulder and lowered himself to the ground.
Henry paused to greet the older man. “You’re alive then.”

“
Si,
though not in the
best condition.”

“Your leg...”

“’Twill mend.”

Henry turned his attention back to the woman who
had so aggravated him. “What were you thinking? Where would you have gone? Your
father has a broken leg! He needs a physician.”

He clamped his hands to his side lest he grab
her and
try
to shake some sense into her. Not only would
her father not take kindly to him manhandling his daughter, but he’d never lay
a finger on a woman.

Two spots of dusky colour darkened her cheeks.
Her eyes flared. “Am I to just stand meekly by while you lock away my father?
Should I resign myself to whatever fate you have intended for him?”

Arms folded, he glared back. “I know not what
you think I intend for your father but be assured his fate under my care is far
more preferable to anything awaiting you out there.” He thrust his hand in the
general direction of the cliffs. He moved closer and lowered his voice. “I had
hoped I had proved myself to be honourable. I wish neither you nor your father
harm.”

The fire in her eyes dwindled at this. Her gaze
dropped to his lips and he noted the slight drop of her shoulders. Antonia
tucked her lip under her teeth and nodded. “Will you help him?” she asked
softly.

“Aye.
Of
course,” he replied a little abruptly.

That she doubted he would
sent
another whirl of hot aggravation through him. Damn this woman. She muddied his
instincts.

He turned his attention away from her and back
to her father. He seemed in good shape for having had a dip in the ocean and
likely being exposed to the cool air all night. Thankfully the night had not
been too cold or else he might have been in worse condition. His leg, however,
needed rest and splinting at least.

Antonia hovered over him while he checked de
Valdés over. Her concern simmered through the air, putting him on edge. He
stood and drew her to one side. “Your father needs proper help. If he walks on
that leg, it could do real damage and it won’t heal. I must fetch aid.” He
touched a finger to her chin, raising her gaze to his. “Can I trust you to stay
here and not attempt anything rash? If you move him, you risk making him lame.”

She nodded slowly. “I will not move him.”

“Good.”

Henry removed his finger from her chin and
curled his hand, all too aware of the tingling sensation running from his
fingertip up his arm. As he climbed onto his horse, he glanced back at her to
find her watching him. Her raven hair fluttered in the wind, wrapping around
her features, and she pushed it back. The jolt of his heart surprised him and
he tried to push down the sensation while he dug his heels into the sides of
the horse and made for the harbour.

By the time he’d returned with several men and a
cart, the image of her still hadn’t faded from his mind. Even while they loaded
her father onto the vehicle, he could not stop himself from stealing glances at
her. Low down in his gut something burned—something he hadn’t felt for a long
time. Something he didn’t think he ever really had felt. Not simple lust—he’d
burned through enough lust in his younger years—but something else. And it was
far too dangerous.

He gave instructions to his men to have de Valdés
taken to the physician and he should have simply mounted his horse to follow.
Instead, he found himself pausing to speak with Antonia. Grey shadows lingered
under her eyes.

“He will be well. You should return to the house
and rest. I will have one of my men escort you.”

“
No
. I wish to be with him.”

“There is little you can do.”

She lifted her chin. How this woman went from a
trembling, crying slip of a girl to this, he knew not. Her dark eyes dared him
to argue with her. He paused to consider what his father would do. Likely have
her dragged back but on that point, Henry would not sacrifice his principles.
His father might not have thought twice about manhandling a woman but he’d
already been too harsh with her the previous night and it ate into his gut. He
couldn’t do that again.

“Very well, but we shall stay only until his leg
is set and he is resting.”

“Good.” Her hard eyes softened. “
Gracias
,
Sir Henry.”

Henry waved away her thanks and they followed the
cart on horseback. It took some time for them to make it to the
smithy’s
. The physician waited outside for them and Henry
helped carry the commander into the dank and smoky blacksmith’s. Antonia tugged
at his arm.

“’Twill not need amputation, will it?”

“I don’t believe so, but we must be prepared for
the worst.” If needs be, the smithy was well used to performing amputations and
helping set bones. Even if de Valdés didn’t need his leg removing, they needed
the man’s strength and experience with broken bones. He clasped her upper arm
gently and guided her out of the gloomy hut. “You don’t need to see this.”

She tried to tug from him but there was no
strength behind it, as though all the energy and fire had gone from her.
“They’re going to take his leg, are they not?” she said quietly.

“Nay, but if it needs setting
‘twill be painful.”

“I should be with him.” Dark eyes shimmering
with tears tore at his chest like a woodpecker slowly making its way through
the bark of a tree.

“Nay.
He
will not thank you for it. No father wishes to be seen weak and in pain by his
daughter.”

Her throat worked and she wrapped her arms
around herself. Henry had the strangest urge to add himself to the bundle she’d
created by curling his body around her and keeping her safe and warm.

“You are probably right.” Antonia offered a weak
smile.

Hand still on her
arm,
he eased her away to sit on the stone wall that lined the edge of the path.
Behind them, the sea brushed the sand in gentle waves and a few birds scattered
themselves over the stone wall, searching for scraps. He bade her to sit down
and placed himself next to her.

“He will be well. He is a strong man for his
age.”

“He is,” she agreed, twining her fingers together
and staring at them.

Henry reached over and pulled her hand into his.
The movement startled her, if her wide eyes were anything to go by. It near
astounded him. He was surprised he didn’t topple off the wall when their hands
connected and he closed his fingers about hers. But his need to offer her
comfort had erased any sense. So he held her hand until the physician ducked
out of the hut.