Tender is the Knight (27 page)

Patrizia glanced at her. “This may take time,” she said. “Are you ready to return to the safety of St. Austell yet?”
Ryan thrust up her chin and looked away. “I’ll go to London alone before I return to St. Austell. But if we don’t find someone by morning, I think we should consider going to another inn.”

Patrizia nodded her head.
“Agreed. I chose this one because it’s closest to the main road. I thought for certain we would find a traveling merchant or bachelor knight.”

Ryan
watched as a red-headed whore sat right down on the lap of a fat, dirty patron and began having sex with him, much to the delight of his comrades. Swallowing the disgust in her throat, she turned away.

“My God,” she breathed. “I cannot believe the horror of this place.”

Patrizia nodded slowly. “It is a sight you will not soon forget.”

“Are all inns like this?”

“No. Some are worse. Some are better.”

“I’d like to find a better one.”

Patrizia could hardly disagree. Since the Wart had thus far proven to harbor nothing but scum, she was beginning to doubt they would find someone reputable. Ryan, having had enough of the stale ale and atmosphere, rose from her seat.

“I’m going outside to relieve myself,” she said. “When I return, I think we should consider leaving. I don’t think we’re going to find anyone respectable here.”

Patrizia nodded her head, though she hoped she could talk Ryan into staying just a little while longer. There was no telling who would walk through the door at any moment in time.

Ryan
gathered her cloak tightly about her, careful not to touch or bump into anyone, as she headed for the exit. The place was crowded and she dodged her way through people, avoiding one of the many nasty dogs that prowled the room. As she neared the heavy, worn door, a drunken man staggered into her, stepping on her foot, and she let forth a yowl. Before Ryan could rebuke the idiot, a man seated near the door leapt to her aid.

“See here, you fool,
you have hurt the lady,” he snapped in a low, heavily-accented voice. Though he was a small-to-average sized man, he shoved the drunk with enough force to send the man sprawling. “Mind your manners or you find yourself wishing you had.”

The drunk was too inebriated to care that he had been pushed and scolded. He rolled about on the floor and was quickly forgotten as the man with the heavy Spanish accent turned to
Ryan with concern.

“Are you all right, m’lady?” he asked in a very smoot
h, very silky voice. “Here, let me help you to sit for a moment. Surely you need to recover from your experience.”

Ryan
shook her head. “No, truly, I’m fine. He did not hurt me.”

The man smiled at her. “Then allow me to escort you back to your husband, m’lady. You should not be alone in this room full of hoodlums.”

He was kind and concerned. Ryan gazed at him; he was older, with a great bald head and skin like leather, tanned and worn from years in the elements. Though he wasn’t conventionally handsome, his voice was rich and full, and he was quite polite and nicely dressed.

In a tavern full of ruffians and derelicts, he seemed very out of place, as did she. It occurred to
Ryan that this was the man Patrizia had been looking for; a traveling merchant with manners and a fierce sense of protection towards a lady. It didn’t even occur to Ryan to be cautious, for she immediately trusted him.

“My husband is
not here,” she said after a moment. “In fact, I am looking to hire an escort to London to be with him. Are you heading in that direction, perchance?”

The man shook his head. “It was not in my plans, m’lady.”

Ryan’s face fell. “Oh,” she said, disappointed. “Then I am very sorry to have troubled you. Thank you very much for coming to my aid.”

She turned to go but he put out a hand. “It was no trouble at all, m’lady. Forgive me for asking, but does your husband know that you are in this vile place attempting to hire an escort?”

Of course he doesn’t!
Ryan didn’t know what to say and the man smiled knowingly. “He does not, does he? Well, I shan’t betray you. Perhaps I can help you after all.”

Ryan
’s beautiful features lit up once more. “Truly? That would be terribly gracious of you.”

The man pulled out a chair for her to sit. “It would be my pleasure, Lady -?”

“D’ Vant,” Ryan said. “The Lady Ryan d’ Vant.”

She didn’t notice how he stared at her, or how
his olive skin seemed to pale. She simply took the offered seat and tried to catch Patrizia’s attention from across the room.

“
D’ Vant,” the man repeated slowly. He seemed rather dazed as he took his chair. “The… Lord of St. Austell?”

“He is my husband,”
Ryan replied, having no idea how stupid she was being about the whole thing. “I did not catch your name, sir.”

He took a couple of long, deep breaths before forcing a smile. “Michael.
Michael Godinez at your service, Lady d’ Vant.”

Ryan
smiled in return. “Thank you. Are you a traveling knight, Sir Michael?”

Miguel
Casteneda de la Pastrana y Godinez gazed across the table into the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It was difficult, given the realization of who she was, to focus.

He had come to the Wart hoping to find someone who knew a servant or soldier in the castle, and thereby possibly work his way into the structure of St. Austell under the pretense of seeking a job.
After receiving the earl’s missive following his siege of St. Austell Castle, he had to find a way into the castle to get close to Lady d’ Vant.  He had spent two days in this dirty little place hoping for just such an opportunity, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he would come face to face with the lady herself. By God, the luck of it!

“I am a merchant,” he stammered. “I have come to St. Austell on business.”

Ryan was confident she had found someone to help her and she was positive that Patrizia would say the same thing. She was very eager to speak with him, to bargain for a travel price, but she really did have to relieve herself and excused herself from the table.   Patrizia happened to see her from across the smoky room and she and Ryan came together several feet from the door.

“There’s a man sitting over by the door who says he can help us,”
Ryan said eagerly. “His name is Michael and he is a merchant. Why don’t you talk to him while I go outside and take care of my business.”

Patrizia could see several people over by the door.
“Which one?”

“He
is older, bald and very olive skinned,” Ryan said. “He sounds Spanish. He seems very nice and helpful. Go and see if he is someone you would approve of.”

Patrizia meandered in the general direction
Ryan had indicated. Ryan, for her part, hurried from the room and out into the cold night. The door had barely closed in her wake when Patrizia, moving cautiously through the crowd, laid eyes on a sight she thought she would never see again.

Her heart stopped; everything was swimming strangely, as if in a dream, and it was an effort to maintain her stance. She thought she heard a gasp somewhere, unaware that it was her own startled cry.

Miguel spied Patrizia the very moment she saw him. He froze, startled, as a myriad of emotions swirled through his chest. At first he thought he might be imagining her, but he knew very seriously that he was not. She was so beautiful, just as her mother had been, and he rose unsteadily to his feet. He wasn’t sure what else to do, though it was obvious that they saw one another and something must be acknowledged.

Patrizia, however, was unable to move forward, yet unable to turn away. She stared and stared until tears filled her eyes and she was at risk of making a fool of her
self.  She felt ill.

“You,” she gasped. “It’s… you!”

Miguel took a step toward her, feeling giddy and fearful at the same time. He wanted to touch her but he was sure she would slap his hand away.

“Greetings
,” he said softly. “What a surprise to find you here.”

Patrizia’s face went from pale to
flushed all in a swift moment. “What are you doing here?”

“Resting,” Miguel lied. “And you?”

Patrizia would not be lulled into a pleasant conversation. There was nothing pleasant about her father’s surprising appearance.

“How dare you sit here and act as if nothing is amiss,” she hissed. “You, who have attacked my town and fortress, sit here as if all is right with the world!”

Even in the midst of his surprise, Miguel was too cool to be pulled into a public display.

“Please,
mija
, sit before you fall down,” he said softly. “It has been a very long time since we last saw one another.”

Patrizia blinked and fat tears leapt onto her cheeks. But she quickly dashed them away, her normally unruffled nature collapsing.

“No,” she said. “I will not sit. I must go.”

She whirled around and he was on her in a flash, his strong hands biting into her arms. The silky voiced father held an undercurrent of terror.
“No,
mija
, sit down with me. You will not make a scene.”

Patrizia jerked against him but Miguel held her fast. His heart was pounding and his mouth was dry, but he knew what was at stake.
He was, if nothing else, observant. He had seen the communication between Ryan and his daughter and his mind was screaming with the shock of his fortune. He could not let Patrizia ruin anything, not now. There was far too much to be gained and, being the cunning man that he was, he knew how to play the game.

“You will sit now, with me, or I will carry you out into the night and make it so that you will wish that you had,” he rumbled in her ear. “Come along, now. That’s a good girl.”
Patrizia was trembling. She knew her father meant every word, the terror of her turbulent childhood enveloping her as if she was living the nightmare all over again. “Please,” she whispered. “Let me go.”

“Of course I will not,” Miguel said evenly, tugging her back toward his table. “You will sit with me now.”

A small stool loomed and Miguel plopped his daughter onto it. Patrizia refused to look at him as he sat opposite her; she was too proud to hang her head, but too terrified to look her father in the eye, so she settled on staring across the room. But there were tears in her dark brown eyes and Miguel stared into her pretty face, emotions rippling through his chest. He was glad to see her, but more than glad that he could once again use her to his ends.

“You look fine and well, Patrizia,” he said softly.

She refused to answer. Miguel reached over to touch her hand but she caught his movement and recoiled. When she gazed at him, it was with venom. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “If you try to do anything to me, I’ll scream to everyone in this room that you are the Pirate Miguel and I can promise they’ll make short work of you!”

She was like a cornered cat. Miguel cooled; gazing into her eyes, he could see that she meant what she said. But he would not let his daughter gain the upper hand. 

“You will not,” he said calmly. “You will not mention to anyone who I am, nor will you tell Lady d’ Vant. To do so would be to clearly invite Lady d’ Vant’s death. Do you understand me?”

Patrizia was shocked but not surprised. Her father could be very brutal and not one to make empty threats. “Why? She has done nothing to you.”

“Nay, she has not. Therefore, the death of an innocent would be tragic, would it not?”

“Tragic?” Patrizia was horrified at his confusing words. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”

Miguel’s dark eyes glittered. “So many questions,
mija
.”

“I must question when you threaten.”

“You must never question your father.”

They were doing battle; thrust, parry, thrust. It was a weaponless, bloodless sword fight but just as deadly. Patrizia was sick to her stomach, feeling as she had when she had been younger and completely under her father’s merciless control. But she was also courageous, and it was difficult for her to back down or concede defeat, even against his tyranny.

“Why would you do this?” she asked again, hoarsely. “She has done nothing.”

Miguel stared at his daughter a moment before a slow smile crept over his lips.  “Nay, she has not,” he repeated quietly. “But you must understand that it is necessary that I escort her to London. And you will help me accomplish this.”

Patrizia was more than confused. “Why is that?”

Miguel had already said too much, he knew. But he had to make it clear that he intended to connect with Lady
d’ Vant and Patrizia would be his liaison. His daughter need not understand his reasons; it was better if she did not.

“Trust me that it is imperative,” he said. “I will do it with or without your help, but it will be easier if you assist me. More painful if you do not.”

Patrizia had no idea why he was so determined. “I will do nothing unless you tell me why,” she countered. “Why is it so important that I help you and why is it so important that you escort her to London?”