Knight's Captive (8 page)

“Beautiful, is it not?”

“Si
.”

That smile again. Hell fire, it seemed to shoot
straight for his heart.

“I had been told England was wet and grey. I
didn’t expect anything like this.”

He chuckled. “England is wet and
grey
a lot. Clearly you missed the rain last night. But it
has its moments.”

“I should be very happy to live in a place like
this. I would not even mind the rain.”

Those words rang in his ears. It was folly to
think of her staying. What would he do with a Spanish Catholic for Christ’s
sake? She belonged in Spain where the weather was warm and Catholics were
plentiful.

And her life would not be in danger because of
her religion.

“You would tire of the weather soon enough. ‘
Tis much colder here.”

“You forget my father had hoped for us to settle
here.”

Aye, he had forgotten. He hadn’t received word
of the progress of the Armada yet but their retreat meant the battle to protect
England was all but won. The Spanish had failed in their attempted invasion and
as such, many plans would be changed.

“I confess I cannot understand why you should
wish to settle here rather than remain in your own country with your kin.”

“My
familia
is small—just my father and
me. I have little waiting for me back home.”

“You are not betrothed?” The words surprised
him. It hadn’t occurred to him until just now that she might be pining for a
man. But if she was, she would be eager to return, surely? He waited, breath
held for him to deny the existence of any such man.

“
No
. I am a widow.”

Damn, he had been lusting after a woman who was
likely grieving for her husband. That explained why she wished to come to
England. She likely wanted to escape the painful memories of him.

“I am sorry.”

“Do not be.” She offered him a bright smile and
that arrow she’d pierced his heart with plunged deeper. “Come, I am eager to
see my father.”

It took Henry a few moments to realise she’d set
her horse into a trot and was riding ahead of him. He caught up before they
reached the physician’s and he noted the wary looks she garnered from the
villagers. If what the priest said was true, they didn’t like having a Catholic
woman in their midst. He would also have to make it clear that they would be
rewarded for their charity to the Spanish. They might be enemy but they were
still people. He wouldn’t see them starve to death.

When they dismounted outside of the two-storey
house, he took the reins from Antonia. “Go to him. I’ll wait outside.”

She gave him a grateful smile and entered the
building. Henry had opted to remain outside because he did indeed want to give
her time alone with her father but also he needed to see what the general mood
was like. If trouble was stirring, he needed to be aware of it.

Tom, the baker strolled past and seemed genial
enough when he greeted him. He spoke with Alice and her two boys but none of
them spoke of any discontent. However, he noticed a few furtive looks in his
direction and heard the odd whispered word. He’d have to warn his men to be on
their guard at the barn. It need only take a tiny spark to ignite trouble and
someone like the priest was just the sort of set the flame burning.

Antonia ducked out of the house not long after
he’d finished speaking with the blacksmith who had also stopped by to see if
his services were needed. He noted that the lines of fatigue around her eyes
had eased.

“All is well?”

“
Si
.
He was
very tired. He has been given...” She waved a hand as she searched for the
word.
“Poppy tonic?”

Henry nodded.
“Aye, for the
pain. ‘
Twill
mean
he sleeps through the worst.”

“
Si
.
But he
is doing well.”

“That is good to hear.”

“I need to visit the farms.” He motioned to the
cliffs above them.
“’Tis but a short ride.”

They made their way back up the hill and past his
house. The red building always intimidated him as a boy. Even living in it, he
found it too big and in spite of his size and strength, he still didn’t feel
large enough to fill it. It seemed empty, even with his household staff.

A mud track, wide enough to fit carts down, ate
a path through the green fields toward the farms. A scattering of trees and the
odd stone wall signalled divisions between fields but most of the land was open
and vast. He inhaled the salty air and took a moment to enjoy being out from
under the watchful eyes of the village. 

When they came upon the first farmhouse, its
shutters peeling and worn from the wind that blew across the headland, no one
came to greet them—not even a stable hand. He frowned and led their horses to
the stables to set them away himself.

“’Tis nearing midday.
I’m
surprised no one is around,” he commented to Antonia.

She peered around and pointed. “There, is that
them?”

A hand to his face, he narrowed his gaze. “Aye,
that looks to be Mr Palmer and his stable hands.”

Who knew what they were doing out by the old
stone wall but they’d find out. He strode over to the men and as they neared,
he finally understood why they had seemed to be dashing about the place. A pig
must have escaped the sty and they were trying to catch her.

One of the lads made a dive for the speedy
animal and fell onto the damp ground, coating his shirt in mud. He heard a
giggle behind him and couldn’t help but smile too.

“Mr Palmer, having troubles?”

“Aye, old Bess is refusing to make her way
home,” the farmer told him. “What brings you this way, Sir Henry?”

He watched the pig shoot in the opposite
direction to the stable hand. The farmer’s son tried to block it, but the
animal was having none of it and slipped past him only to pause as though
taunting him.

“She’s fast for an old girl,” Henry commented.
“You’re aware of the prisoners at the old barn, aye?”

“Aye, aye.
Mary
told me a thing or two though I’ve not been down to the village in several
days. Too much to do up here, see?”

“We’ve three hundred mouths to feed.”

The old farmer grimaced. “That’s more than lives
in the village.”

“Indeed.” He chuckled as the pig made a dash
toward Antonia and she jumped out of the way.

“You want to grab her when she comes past,
lass,” Mr Palmer declared.

“I’ll be offering coin to those who aid the
prisoners and I’ve sent word to Plymouth to ask for extra supplies. Can I count
on your aid?”

The man tapped his chin and considered this.
“You know you can always count on my aid. But tell me, Sir Henry, can I count
on yours?”

He lifted a brow.
“Of course.”

“You’re a big lad and that there is a quick and
strong pig...”

Henry resisted the urge to press his fingers to
his temples. He eyed the squirming beast of an animal as she slipped from the
young stable hand’s grip and scarpered off again.

“Aye, you can count on my aid too.”

He glanced at Antonia, and her lips quirked. At
least someone found his predicament amusing. He eased forward with cautious
steps as the pig grazed, seemingly oblivious to him and the two other boys
encircling her. But as he sprung forward to snatch her, Old Bess bolted and
slipped between his legs. Henry bit back several insults.

Moving forward again, this time the pig headed
toward Antonia, forcing her to jump aside while it hid behind her skirts.

“I thank you for your help, my lady,” he said
with a twisted smile.

She laughed. “I cannot help it if she likes me,
and we ladies must stick together.”

He circled Antonia and signalled for the lads to
come to the other side of her. He lunged but his foot went from underneath him
as it hit wet mud. He fell hard, spraying mud up Antonia’s skirts and
thoroughly coating himself. Winded, he rolled over and stared up at the sky
while the pig ambled off in the other direction. When he looked to Antonia, a
great burst of laughter escaped her. The sound warmed his insides.

Before he could think on it, he’d reached for
her skirts and tugged. She gave a cry and came toppling down on top of him.
More mud sloshed over him and splattered her clothing. She lifted her head, her
eyes wide,
her
mouth open while drips of dirt clung to
her hair.

Inwardly, he cursed. What had he been thinking?

However, her eyes crinkled and another peal of
laughter rang from her. His anxiety broke and he chuckled when she flung a
handful of mud at him. Henry snatched her around the waist and hauled her
farther into the mud. She tried to wriggle away but only succeeded in tangling
her legs with his. As her gaze met his and the feel of her body under his hands
and practically wrapped around him registered, the world about him blurred.

The farmer
be
damned.
The lads
be
damned. The pig definitely
be
damned. All that existed was this mud-covered, laughing
woman with her dark eyes crinkled in amusement, her laughter ringing in his
ears and her body flush against his. Her smile slowly dropped and he saw her
lips part. The same awareness had come over her, he knew it. He could
practically hear her deepening breaths and feel the way her body softened into
his. He gripped her tight, fearful of her tearing away from him.

“We caught ‘er!”

The lad’s cry tore Henry from the moment. He
eased his hands from her and Antonia slid herself off. Coming to his feet, he
offered her a hand and gave her an apologetic look.

“Well, looks like we didn’t need your help, Sir
Henry,” the farmer declared as the two boys carried the squirming pig to the
farm. “And you got filthy for naught.”

Henry wanted to respond that it was not for
naught. He’d shared a moment with Antonia that had seared him to his core. He’d
looked into her eyes and seen so much. She’d anchored him for a brief moment
and he’d no longer been washing about in the storm.

 He wanted to feel that again.

“Forgive me, Mr Palmer, but we’d better be
bidding you good day.” He grimaced as his mud-splattered shirt clung to his
body. “My door is always open should you need anything.
Though
you can catch the pig yourself next time.”

The old man chuckled.
“Aye,
aye.”

“And I can count on your aid?”

Arms folded across his wide chest, Mr Palmer
nodded. “Indeed. If it helps keep the peace and some extra coin won’t go
amiss.”

“I thank you. Good day.”

“Good day, young miss,” the farmer said to
Antonia.

A flush appeared on her cheeks. So far, all the
villagers had ignored her or sent worried looks her way so he understood the
cause of it.

“Good day, Mr Palmer,” she said softly.

Did her lilting voice charm the farmer just as
it did him? He suspected so if Mr Palmer’s softening eyes and wide smile were
anything to go by.

Henry ran his gaze over the filthy woman at his
side and shook his head. He really did not need to be so distracted by his
prisoner, muddy or not.

“There is a well not far from here.” He motioned
inland. “The farmers use it for the animals. We can clean the worst of the mud
off there.”

She nodded eagerly and lifted the hem of her
skirt to inspect the worst of the damage. “Kate will not be happy.”

“She’ll not scold you, ‘twas my fault.” He began
the walk back to the stables, aware of his clothing sticking to his body.

By the time they fetched the horses, the mud on
his face had dried and was beginning to crack. He grimaced and glanced at
Antonia. He had to wonder what he’d been thinking. She had no gowns of her own
and he thought it a fine idea to pull her into the mud?

Henry led Antonia to the well. It sat on an
ill-frequented road that had once headed to an old village that had eventually
been abandoned some twenty years ago. Now only the farmers used the well for
their animals.

He dismounted, tethered the reins and turned to
aid Antonia down. She needed no help—he already knew she was a fine
horsewoman—but guilt gnawed at his insides over his treatment of her. Gripping
the rope, he hauled up the bucket and propped it on the side before unfastening
his doublet. Antonia shifted from foot to foot and eyed him through wide eyes.
He let his brow furrow and motioned to the bucket.

“Here, ‘twill
be
cold
but ‘tis surely better than being covered in mud.”

She nodded hurriedly and moved into action, scooping
up water and scrubbing her face. He couldn’t help but admire the way her skin
glistened once clean. His fingers twitched with the need to skim across the
planes of her cheeks and touch the gentle up-tilt of her nose.