Knight's Captive (12 page)

“Antonia, have no fear. I’m here.”

“Lorenzo,” she said, seeming to look straight
through him. “Don’t hurt me. Not the box. I’ll do anything.”

His jaw went tight. He couldn’t be sure who she
thought he was or why she had switched to English after his words but they sent
a chill through him. Who was this Lorenzo and why did he hurt her?

Taking a calming breath, he eased farther away from
her. The desire to wrap her in his embrace was strong but he recognised it as a
selfish need. In her state, she wouldn’t recognise his actions as ones intended
to comfort.

Softly, he said, “All is well, Antonia. You
won’t be hurt.”

Her eyes fluttered closed at this and the rigid
posture eased. Henry lit the other candles again and bundled up his clothes.
Satisfied she was falling asleep once
more,
he eased
out of the room and retreated to the guest chamber.

There was something more to her fear than trauma
from the shipwreck. He needed to find out what. And he had to know who this
Lorenzo person was. If he was one of his prisoners and he’d done something to
Antonia, he would pay and pay dearly.

“
¡Dios
mío!
,” Antonia spat when she jabbed her hand with her eating knife as she
tried to cut through the bread for the morning meal. Her head pounded a little,
but it wasn’t the wine that made her irritable.

No
, it was Henry.

Henry and that kiss.
And
now he wasn’t even here. Kate had said he’d headed out as soon as the sun had
risen. She couldn’t even confront him or...or mayhap apologise. Though she
wasn’t sure what she’d be apologising for. Kissing him or shouting at him? He
had kissed her first, though.

And she had kissed him back. She supposed she
had probably wanted his kiss for some time. By the time he had her pressed
against the wall, she’d wanted more too. But then he had behaved as though she
didn’t know her own mind. He simply
had
to be honourable, did he not?

“Damn his honour!”

“Forgive the intrusion.”

She whirled at the sound of a man’s voice, her
heart jerking against her ribcage. The priest stood in the doorway, his hands
clasped in front of him with his gaze narrowed on her.

Antonia stood and dropped into a curtsey.
“Forgive me, sir. Kate did not say there was anyone here.”

“There was no one at the door, so I entered
myself.”

It seemed presumptuous but she didn’t say as
much. This wasn’t her house, after all. “Will you have a drink, Reverend?”

“Nay, I thank you. I came to speak with Sir
Henry.”

“He is not here this morn. I think it likely he
has gone to the village.”

He remained in the doorway and in spite of his
fairly small
stature,
it struck her as an intimidating
sight. His dark cloak filled the space and he seemed reluctant to either enter
or leave, as though contemplating his next move.

“You do not know where he is?”

“
No
, sir.
Why
should I?”

“’Tis said you know much, my lady. I do not see
the other prisoners being afforded such luxuries.”

She wasn’t sure what the implication was. Was it
that he thought she was trading herself for these favours?
Mayhap.

Antonia lifted her chin. “I have never asked for
any favours.”

The man stepped into the room in one swift
movement. She gripped the back of a chair to prevent herself from leaping
backward. The narrowed gaze and tight lips made her stomach bunch. The faint
prickle of her skin warned her trouble was afoot. She remembered the same
sensation before Lorenzo struck out or raged at her. Antonia swallowed hard.

“Reverend.”
Henry
entered the room, his imposing form dwarfing the man.

Antonia felt the air leave her lungs.

“Sir Henry.” Reed inclined his head.

“What can I do for you?” Henry asked coolly, his
eyes as hard as stone.

“I came to enquire about the boy.”

“The one nearly beaten to death, you mean?”

“Aye, that one.”

“He has been put to work and is under my
protection. I hope you agree that we don’t wish to see that kind of rioting
again.”

“Nay, of course not.”

“I hope also that you shall attend to the matters
of your church more diligently, Reverend. It seems to me your attention has
been diverted of late.”

A wash of displeasure came over Reed’s face and
he glanced at Antonia. “Some say the same of you, sir. ‘Tis my duty to look
after the spiritual wellbeing of my flock and the devil likes to prey outside
of the church walls.”

Henry’s jaw worked. “Let me worry about the
people outside of the church walls. You stay where you are wanted, Reed.”

Antonia saw the indecision in the reverend’s
eyes. Henry wasn’t a man to be trifled with but it seemed the priest was
growing in boldness.

“I can see I’m not welcome here. Be careful, Sir
Henry. The devil disguises
himself
in many ways.”

“Get out,” he pressed between his teeth.

Reed retreated, dipping his head briefly before
disappearing out of the door. Henry stared at the doorway for several moments
then turned to her.

“Did he threaten you?”

“Not in so many words.” Antonia clasped her
hands together. “There are rumours, are there not?”

“There are,” he confirmed. “But be assured I
won’t let him ruin you, Antonia. ‘
Tis only the ignorant that
believe his word.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’m no innocent, it
matters little. But why do you not do something about him?”

He stroked a hand across his beard and released
a long breath. “I have no say in what happens in the church but I have
requested that he be moved. Now I wait for word from the bishop. Until then I
can only watch and pray he doesn’t incite more trouble.”

“I have no doubt he will not get the better of
you.”

A dry smile slipped across his face. “Do you
not? You think better of me than many do then.”

“Nonsense.
Your
people admire you.”

“Not enough to respect my word over that of a
priest.”

“They shall see him for what he is soon enough. Those
of import take you at your word and can be counted upon to support you should
you need it.” On impulse she took a step forward and rested a hand on his arm.
“You need not do everything alone.”

He patted her hand absently, his blue eyes
crinkling in the corners. Antonia’s chest tightened. In a dark blue doublet,
his cloak slung over one shoulder and his long boots polished to perfection,
she wondered how it was anyone could not hang upon his every word. She’d never
met a man like him.
So selfless, so bold.

The air around them grew heavy. She longed to go
onto tiptoes and brush a kiss across his bristled cheek or to burrow
herself
against that wide chest. But she wasn’t sure she
could take a rejection again so she removed her hand.

“You went to the village?”

“Aye.”
The
creases around his eyes vanished.
“To speak with your
father.”

“Why did you not wait for me? I should like to
see him this day.”

“I had need of a private word.” Henry fixed his
gaze upon her. “Will you tell me of Lorenzo?”

That name from his lips sent a shard of pain
through her, piercing her insides and making her feel as though she wanted to
double over.

“How do you know of him?”

“Last night, in your sleep, you spoke of him. I
came into your room...” he held up his hand “with no intention of seeking
company, I swear. But you thought I was your husband. You screamed and begged
me not to harm you.”

Antonia wrapped her arms around her waist and
swivelled away. “I don’t recall.”

“You were nonsensical.”

“If my father told you all, then you need not
hear it from my lips,” she said huskily.

He came up behind her and clasped the top of her
arms. The desire to lean back into him ate heavily into her muscles but she
kept herself rigid. How could her father tell him everything? He knew she
wanted to forget Lorenzo and everything he’d done to her. The day Lorenzo had
been buried was the day she swore her memories of him would be buried too.

“Why did you not say something?” he asked
softly. “’Tis why you hate the dark, is it not? ‘Tis why you flinch when there
is a sudden movement? Antonia,” regret hung heavily in her name, “I would
have—”

“What was I to say?” she snapped. “I didn’t know
you. How could I know whether to trust you? You are my captor, Henry.”

He twisted her around to view him and the
concern in those eyes made her stomach swoop. “I hoped I was more than that.”

Antonia fought to find a response to that. He
confused her. He muddled her thoughts until she no longer knew what was right
and was what not. Men were not to be trusted—that had been her belief. But she
trusted this man. He had saved her life and protected her father. However, now
he was asking her to bare her soul to him. Could she really do it?

“
Come,
let us walk in
the gardens.” He laid her hand over the top of his and led her out into the
herb gardens.

The fragrance of lavender greeted her. She
peeked up at the morning sun and felt the welcome touch of a light sea breeze.
England might be colder than Spain, but she was beginning to appreciate the
place that her father had intended to become their home. Her heart gave a
little painful throb as if to remind her that she would be leaving soon enough
once negotiations with her king were completed. But that was what she wanted,
was it not?
Her father safe at home in Spain, away from a
place where they would always be seen as the enemy.

She glanced at the man at her side as they
strolled past the square patches of herbs. She skimmed a finger over the
lavender and inhaled the fragrance from her fingertips. Still, Henry waited for
her to reveal all. What a puzzle this man was.
A warrior, a
fighter and a kind and patient man.
If they had met
under any other circumstances...

Antonia huffed out a breath. “Lorenzo was my
husband. Father told you that,
si
?”

“Aye.”

“He was of good family.
Wealthy,
influential.
‘Twas a good match.
I was six and
ten. He was nearly ten years older than me.” She paused to push a strand of
hair from her face and turned to view Henry. “My tale is no different to that
of many women.”

“It matters not.”

“He had a temper. I displeased him on a daily
basis. He would beat me, sometimes with a rod or with leather. When I was
disobedient, he would put me in a box like...” She thrust a shaky finger toward
the window of the guest chamber, “like that one. He would keep me shut in there
for hours. That is why I do not like
pequeño
spaces and the dark.”

Antonia fought the rising panic that bubbled
inside as memories surged through her. Only Henry’s soothing touch worked
through it when he rubbed a hand up and down her arm.

“Your tale should not be a common one,” he said
through clenched teeth.

“Unlike many, I at least was able to escape.
Lorenzo died suddenly one night and I returned with my father. He had hoped
that a fresh start in England would help me escape the memories.”

He nodded slowly. “Your father is a good man.”

“He is.”

“I am sorry I did not treat you better that
first night. You must have been terrified.”

“I was.” She released a soft smile. “I am not
anymore.”

Henry eased away so much of her fear. She
trusted him with so much. 
With her body...and mayhap
more.
If only he would let her demonstrate as much.

Henry
peered at the candle in front of him as it sputtered. A breeze whispered through
the house and he
stilled,
the quill halfway to the
paper. He paused to listen but couldn’t decide what had caused the trickle of
trepidation to skip down his spine. Antonia was in the gardens the last time
he’d looked and most of the household were preparing for the evening.

He twisted to look out of the windows and saw
Antonia crouched by some of the plants. Dusk would be upon them soon. He ought
to tell her to come indoors.

Henry stood and watched her. She pushed her loose
hair behind her ear and a soft smile curved her lips. He curled his hand around
the back of the chair. He’d finally received word of the successful negotiation
of the release of several of the important prisoners including de Valdés. The
Spanish would release some captured English spies in return. The rest of the
prisoners, however, would be his problem for a while longer.
Including
Antonia.

She wouldn’t take well to being parted from her
father.

And Henry wasn’t sure he wanted to let her go.

He tightened his grip on the chair. It was a
damn good thing her husband was already dead or he’d be baying for blood. What
could Antonia have ever done to deserve such a thing? No woman deserved such
treatment but even the most fiery tempered of men could not find fault with
her. God knows, he could have a temper at times but he’d never direct it at
her.

The gentle lilt of a Spanish song reached his
ears when he neared the window. He forgot how he wished her husband had met a
more grisly end than dying in his sleep. He forgot everything but her.

He stiffened. There it was again.
The pricking of the hairs on the back of his neck.
The front
door crashed open and he pushed away from the window to find Richard looking
harried.

“Sir Henry!”

“What is it, Richard?”

“Rioters, sir.
Heading toward the house.
I saw ‘em as I was cleaning up.”

“Damnation.” He moved through the house to grab
his sword. “Hide, lad. Who knows if their ire has cooled
since.
”

“And Miss Antonia?”

“Aye, she’ll not be safe either.” He drew on his
sword belt and cinched it tight before slipping through his sword. He had
little intention or harming anyone but nor did he wish to be unarmed against an
unruly mob.  “Well, get gone,” he said to the boy, “and don’t come out
‘til
it’s
safe.”

He considered the rest of his household. He
doubted they’d come to harm, but he couldn’t risk it. “Kate,” he bellowed.

The housekeeper dashed into the room, her hands
covered in flour. “There’s trouble in the village.
Looks as
if it’s headed our way.
I think it unlikely anyone would wish to harm
you but barricade yourselves in the cellar.”

Her complexion grew pale.
“Aye,
sir.
Will you try to talk to them?”

“I must. The militia will not let the uprising
last long and ‘twill be a bloody business if I do not.” He waved at her. “Get
hidden, Kate. I’m going to keep Antonia with me. I won’t have her used against
you.”

“What of you, sir? Will they not do the same to
you?”

“Don’t go worrying about me. Now go.”

Kate scurried away and he pushed open the window
to call to Antonia. She stood, the sun streaming behind her and beamed at him.
How unlike the fragile woman who had screamed and cried that first
night.
His heart near dropped to his toes. He prayed she didn’t have to
suffer yet more
trauma
, but he couldn’t leave her here
and put the rest of the household in danger. Not to mention he had more hopes
of being better able to protect her with her at his side.

“Come. Make haste.”

Her radiant expression dropped when she heard
the urgency in his voice. She clutched her slightly muddy skirts and hurried
into the room. “What is it, Henry?”

“Rioters.
Headed our way.”
He took her arm and led her through the
house to the stables. It looked as though Richard had had the foresight to
saddle his mount but he wouldn’t take the time to saddle a second. Antonia
would have to ride with him.

“They are coming for me?”

“I know not,” he admitted, “but I’ll not stay to
find out. I need to meet with the militia and ensure this is put down quietly
and calmly. If I leave the men to defend
themselves
,
‘twill turn violent quickly.”

She nodded. “What do you wish of me?”

“Come with me.”

He led the horse out of the stable and mounted.
When he put a hand out for her, she placed hers into his without question. In spite
of the pounding of his pulse making his body tense and ready, the show of trust
sent a rush of warmth through him. He eased her up onto the horse and settled
her across the front of his saddle. Arms enclosing her, he regretted he’d not
done this sooner and in better circumstances.
Torturous, aye,
but worth every moment of having her close.

As he turned the horse, he spotted two of his
men approaching the house on horseback. They brought their steeds to a stop
when he came forward.

“What news?”

“Some prisoners tried to make an escape,” said
one,
breath
coming fast. “Several got away but we
contained the rest. Those who witnessed it started making demands to have the
prisoners removed. They fear the escaped ones will try to harm them.”

Antonia gripped his cloak in a silent plea. He
patted her shoulder. Whatever he could do to ensure no one was hurt—neither
prisoner nor villager—he would.

“We’ll search for them later. For now, we must
deal with the uprising.”

The soldier nodded. “The worst of it is at the
old barn.”

“What of those heading this way?”

“A handful.”

“We’ll go across the headland and take the old
pass down to the barn to avoid them then. We must deal with the worst of it
first.”

“Aye, sir.”

They set off at a furious pace, kicking up clods
of grass as they rode across the top of the cliffs. Antonia gripped him tightly
and he was thankful she was not heavier. He only prayed the villagers wouldn’t
turn their anger upon her. They were growing used to the Spanish woman in their
midst, and the physician and other influential members liked her. But the
priest didn’t and that was dangerous.

He followed the two men down the winding pass
that would lead them to the barn. In the waning light, he saw the glow of a few
torches and the mass of bodies gathering in front of the building. Thank the
Lord his men had already made a stand. Henry only prayed tempers would not fray
and blood would not be spilled.

“Should things get dangerous, fear not,” he
murmured in her ear as they approached the shouting crowd. “I will protect
you.”

Antonia nodded and tightened her grip on him. He
straightened in the saddle and set his expression. He estimated the crowd to be
about twenty strong. It was a small crowd of angry people and little match for
his men but regardless, he didn’t wish to see them harmed.

And they would be if they chose to fight the
militia. These people had no swords or pistols. They had fists and walking
sticks. None were prepared for battle.

It was a sorry state of affairs.

He drew the horse to a stop in front of them,
putting himself between the people the front of the barn. “What is your
quarrel?” he called.

Several voices rang out and he put out a hand to
calm them. “I will hear you but one at a time.”

“They’re taking our food,” a man called.

“All food shall be replaced. Those offering
charity will be rewarded. I made this clear in the beginning.  That has
not changed.”

A murmur rippled through the mob. He narrowed
his gaze and spotted the priest, his head burrowed in a cloak as he made his
way through the people, no doubt spreading poisonous words of discontent.

Damnation. He should have acted sooner with
regards to Reed. He’d been too lenient to be sure.

“What of the escaped men?” a woman asked.

“I would be better able to find them were I not
dealing with this, would I not?”

A slight ripple of nervous laughter ran through
them.

“Return to your homes. We shall capture these
men.” Henry eased his grip on the reins as some of the tension ebbed from the
air. Murmurs ran through the crowd and several people began to break away. He
felt Antonia soften against him.

He dismounted with the intention of speaking
with the commander of the militia but as he did so, a man at the front of the crowd
stumbled. A soldier pushed him back. A mere spark of anger and the crowd
ignited into furious shouts. They surged forward, pushing Henry and his men
back. He looked to Antonia and saw her eyes wide with panic.

Henry pressed the reins into her hand. “Go to
the farm,” he ordered, calling to her over the crowds. Before she responded, he
gave the horse a sharp rap across the rear and urged it on. The horse jolted
and she had no choice but to follow his orders.

He turned his attention back to the mob and his
men. “Avoid brute force,” he urged the men.
“At all costs.”

Palms raised, he called for the crowd to calm,
but his words were lost on them. He recognised some of the complaints to be
echoes of Reed’s words. He had been planting these thoughts in their heads for
too long, it seemed. And now the priest would be responsible for any blood
spilled this day. Henry prayed that did not come to pass.

A fist swung at him and he ducked it, again
lifting his palms in treaty.
Then another, striking him in
the gut.
He fought to draw in a breath. The crowd rushed forward again
and Henry and his men were forced to push back. Grunts, curses and the
occasional feminine screech rang out. He locked gazes with the man in front of
him and saw the sweat on his brow, the wildness in his eyes. He’d seen this
before—the way men of sense lost their judgement when part of a crowd. A deep,
searing ache in his gut told him this day would not end peacefully.

“Keep back and your concerns will be addressed,”
he shouted but his words were lost. There was no reasoning with them now.
“Stand firm,” he ordered his men.

He couldn’t let the people have access to the
prisoners. Enemy or not, they were under his protection and he wouldn’t see
them harmed. For their part, the majority of the Spanish had little idea what
they were fighting for. They were all mere pawns.

Henry cursed and narrowly avoided a blow to the
skull with a walking stick. He snatched the weapon from his assailant’s hands
and used it to press him back. Taking the brief reprieve to search out Antonia,
he ensured she had escaped the crowds. He spotted her safely atop his mount,
free from the horde and making her way up the hillside to the farm.

His breath of relief was exhaled too soon. Like
a beast stalking his prey, Reed followed on horseback. Henry didn’t need to
watch the man to know he had ill intentions. His pulse pounded through his
skull like a warning. Blood boiled through his body and urged him forward. But
the crowd was too thick, too aggressive.

He had to get to her.

With a savage roar, he used the walking stick to
push more people back. He worked on carving through the people, his gaze fixed
upon the spot on the hill where Reed rode up behind Antonia. The mob grabbed
his clothing, tugged on his arms, tried to send him to the ground. A fist met
his face but he barely felt it. Around him nothing existed apart from her.

Have to get to her.

A shout ripped from his throat.
Reed.
The priest snatched Antonia from the saddle and
dragged her onto his own horse. She fought him. Henry saw her fists flail, her
legs kick. He urged her to keep fighting, to stay strong until he reached her.

He felt as though he were fighting a strong
tide. People surged, pushed, shoved. His skin grew hot. Desperation seared
through him and the need to lash out made him grit his teeth. Henry called her
name but there was no way she’d hear him. Sickness roiled in his gut when he
saw the priest strike a blow to her face. She sagged and Reed urged the horse
on up the hill.

By the time he’d broken through, the brawling
had worsened. He cursed. He needed to get to Antonia. He also needed to calm
this fight—and fast. Fist curled, he motioned to one of his men to raise his
musket. Antonia couldn’t be left in the hands of the priest for long. Who knew
what he would do to her.