Devoted to the Spanish Duke

by Sasha Cottman

  Diego’s words set Lisandro’s nerves on edge. What exactly did he know about Lisandro’s past that would have allowed him to form that sort of opinion?

  “I am but a simple wheat farmer,” Lisandro replied, keeping his voice steady.

  Diego, to his credit, met and held Lisandro’s gaze. “But you were more than that when you helped force the French to release the king from imprisonment. I have heard a whisper that you worked with the English during the war. Do I need to go on?” asked Diego.

  It was common knowledge that Lisandro had been personally thanked by King Ferdinand for his efforts in returning him to the Spanish throne. But Lisandro’s clandestine dealings with the British were not something he was keen to make public.

  He held up his hand. “Enough. Let us agree that I have a history of dealing with difficult situations and leave it at that, though I do find it somewhat strange that you are the one who has come to me for help rather than your father. From the way you have disguised your family coat of arms on the travel coach, I take it that the Duke of Villabona doesn’t know you are here.”

  Diego looked back toward the entrance of the garden before turning and stepping in close. “I fear that someone in my father’s house is involved in Maria’s disappearance. And they must have been working with someone in Zarautz in order to coordinate the kidnapping of my sister. I don’t know who or how, but I feel it in my bones. A loyal family advisor, Señor Perez, was attacked when my sister was taken, and that also gives me great cause for concern. The man was found dazed and wandering the beach several hours after Maria disappeared. If whoever is behind this outrage is prepared to attack an honorable old man such as him, who knows what else they will do to my family? I think it imprudent to involve my father at this juncture. Too many eyes are watching him.”

  “Then why not pay the money? While what they are asking for is a king’s ransom, the kidnappers must know that your father will be able to find it,” replied Lisandro.

  “If only it was that simple. This is not the first ransom note we have received. An earlier amount was already paid. When we delivered it to the head priest at the cathedral in Bilbao, instead of handing over Maria, he gave us the second demand. The unfortunate man was most apologetic,” said Diego. The young man tugged the hat from his head and raked his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and screwed up his face.

  Lisandro doubted Diego could look any more uncomfortable. He must have swallowed a great deal of pride before deciding to come cap-in-hand to his enemy, asking for help.

  “My father has fallen out of favor with the king. I have a horrible suspicion that powerful men are behind all this—men who don’t care whether Maria is returned safely to us or not.”

  You, poor man. I cannot begin to imagine what you must be going through.

  Pity for the son of his enemy filled Lisandro’s heart. No one deserved to suffer the way Diego de Elizondo had.

  “My father would beat me if he heard me say this— but Don de Aguirre, I think you are a man of honor. I am begging you to help save my sister.”

  Lisandro had dealt with kidnappers before; he even had friends who did it professionally in return for a hefty fee. But the tenuous state of his own finances wouldn’t enable him to get very far if he had to pay his way in order to find Maria.

  “I am not sure how much use I would be, considering the situation between our families,” he replied.

  “If you want money, name your price. I will pay whatever it takes to get Maria back,” said Diego.

  Lisandro scrubbed at his face with his hands. For some odd reason, the thought of taking money from his foe didn’t quite sit right with him.

  But this might be an opportunity to gain something else of greater value than just money. Perhaps even finally put an end to this ridiculous feud—and create a bond between us.

  “You have been honest with me, Diego, so it is only right that I tell you my purse is almost threadbare, and I will need money to fund this mission. As to any other payment—I don’t want your gold. My reward price, which is not negotiable, is that if I manage to rescue Maria, you allow me to attempt a friendship with her.”

  Diego frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  How do I put this? Hmm.

  “I found your sister to be both beautiful and enchanting; she and I made a small connection that night on the terrace at Palacio de Narros. A connection that I would like to see grow,” replied Lisandro.

  Realization appeared on the other man’s face. He let out a low whistle. “That’s a high price you ask of both my family and Maria.”

  If Lisandro did manage to find Maria and bring her home, there was every chance that at some point in the journey, the two of them would find themselves alone. A young unwed, Spanish noblewoman could easily lose her reputation if that ever came to light. A reputation which would only remain secure if she somehow found a way to marry her liberator.

  Of course, if he put his mind to it, he could find ways to avoid being alone with her. But perhaps he wouldn’t; and in doing so Lisandro could turn the situation to his advantage. Gain the opportunity to get to know Maria. And she to change her mind about him.

  Say yes. Let her and I discover what could be possible between us.

  “Diego, I promise I will do everything I can to find your sister. Whatever else comes after that, you have my solemn word that Maria will be given as much choice as possible,” he said.

  Diego nodded. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a gold chain. A religious medallion hung on the end of it.

  Maria was wearing that the night of the ball.

  “This is Maria’s. She usually wears it but must have forgotten to take it with her when she went for that ill-fated walk on the beach. If you find her, give this to my sister. She will know who sent you.”

  Lisandro nodded. It made sense for him to have something to give to Maria to let her know that he was working on behalf of her family. Considering the long, dark history between the Aguirre and Elizondo clans, he could see how it would be hard for her to trust him without some form of proof that he was not in league with her kidnappers.

  Lisandro beckoned toward the nearby gazebo. “Come, sit—tell me everything you know. However insignificant it may seem, do not leave out a single detail. It may mean the difference between getting Maria back or holding a rosary service for her.”

  Later that day, Lisandro sent Diego home in his unmarked coach with a solemn promise that he would do all he could. After accepting a bag of silver coins and bidding Maria’s brother farewell, Lisandro went in search of his mother.

  If he was about to go and rescue his potential future wife, the dowager Duchess of Tolosa should at least have fair warning.

  Chapter Four

  While Zarautz was the playground for the Spanish royal family and other nobles, it also had a dark underbelly. Lisandro knew all the immoral and foul places where the local criminals gathered. After taking a room at a quiet and respectable inn, he made for the less savory part of town.

  For Maria to have been taken from the beach in broad daylight, the kidnappers must have had help from someone in Zarautz. Someone who knew the tides and also where she could possibly have been that morning. Locals would have had to be involved. And the longer Lisandro thought about it, the more Diego’s words of worry about people close to the Elizondo family being complicit in Maria’s disappearance made greater sense.

  He didn’t believe in happy coincidences; he had more faith in the power of a handful of coins. Those and a sharp sword were what usually got people talking.

  Lisandro chose a grimy seaside tavern close to the villa where the Elizondo family had stayed during the wedding celebrations as the first place to scout for clues. As he walked into the inn, he dipped his functional hat toward the innkeeper, then settled himself at a table toward the back. His plain travelling attire of long black coat and dull brown trousers drew little attention from the other customers, which was exactly what Lisandro wanted
.

  Nursing a glass of brandy, he waited.

  The patrons of the establishment slowly but surely got deeper into their drinks over the course of the night. The drunker they got, the louder and looser of lips they became.

  He had just set his second gently nursed glass of golden heaven onto the table when a voice rose above all the others.

  “You bloody Spanish are hopeless at handling your ships. How many times did your Armada try and invade merry old England? Too many times.”

  Lisandro searched for the loudmouth. There was a group of rowdy drinkers not far away. In their midst rose a man in a dirty red shirt. He climbed onto the table and held out his arms. It wasn’t his clothing or behavior which caught Lisandro’s attention—rather, it was his badly scarred face.

  Someone at the Englishman’s table swore at him in Spanish, and the rest of the gathering all laughed. The man clearly understood the jest. “Hijos de perros,” he replied.

  His friends obviously didn’t mind being told they were sons of dogs as they all lifted their glasses and toasted their companion.

  The man reached into his coat pocket and proceeded to rain coins upon the heads of those seated at the table. A roar of approval and cheers rang out.

  “Come on, drink up, my amigos. Lots of lovely Spanish dollars. There is plenty more where that came from!”

  Lisandro froze. Why would a poorly dressed Englishman be throwing money around? Most sailors barely scraped by, so who was this scarred man?

  And he talks of Spanish dollars, not pesos. Just like in the ransom note.

  While he didn’t believe in coincidences, Lisandro most certainly believed in good fortune. Zarautz was a sleepy fishing town; few ships from other areas docked there. Any sort of foreigner could seem out of place.

  The noise level in the drunken group steadily grew louder. If Lisandro had not been such an experienced operative, he would have continued to watch the boisterous Brit, but over the next hour his attention slowly shifted and focused on another man seated at the table.

  This reveler was well in his cups and had slowed his rate of drinking to the point where Lisandro reckoned on him lagging three glasses behind the rest of his friends. When the man shifted along the bench and struggled to his feet, Lisandro pulled his hat lower.

  “Buenas noches!” the man cried.

  “Go on, bugger off,” replied the Englishman.

  The man staggered to the front door and out into the street. The jeers and foul farewells of his friends followed in his wake.

  It was a tense five-minute wait for Lisandro before he slowly rose from his seat. He pulled the collar of his coat up and turned his head away as he passed by the raucous group of drinkers and made for the exit.

  Outside, he looked up and down the street, searching. Then his gaze landed on his prey. The staggering drunk was further up the lane, a short distance away.

  There you are.

  Following and interrogating drunks was never a fun task. They had a tendency to throw up when stopped and questioned, but they were always easy to track. An alcohol-addled mind made for slow going.

  Lisandro caught up with the man a hundred yards on from the tavern and quickly pulled him into a nearby doorway. It was far enough away from the inn that anyone else leaving would not see them.

  “My friend, you have had much to drink,” said Lisandro.

  The man grinned. “That I have, señor. Much wine. Much brandy.”

  “You sound like you have been celebrating. I hope it was good news.”

  The drunk leaned back against the inner wall of the building’s entrance and stuffed his hands into his coat pocket. “A job well done, as my friend from Inglaterra would say. And a job that paid well.”

  He pulled a handful of coins out of his pocket, proudly showing them off. Several of the coins fell with a clatter onto the stone flagging. A folded piece of paper fluttered behind them. Before the man had the chance to react, Lisandro bent and retrieved the items.

  The coins were handed back; the paper was not.

  “Do you think your friend might have some work for me? I could do with a spot of coin,” said Lisandro.

  The man shook his head. “You don’t want to get involved with people like me—and especially not with Mister Wicker. Besides, this was a once-off. There is not a lot of call for kidnapping, even in my line of work.”

  “Oh, come now, my friend—there is always someone who needs to be kidnapped. Spain has lots of castles in which to hide a wayward prince or a noble daughter,” said Lisandro with a laugh.

  He got a low, dirty chuckle in response. “You are wrong. The farther away from home you can take them, the better. Only a fool would risk keeping a prize captive in Spain.”

  Lisandro froze.

  When the ransom note had said Maria was far away, he had naturally assumed she was still somewhere in the country—possibly further south, closer to Madrid. Had he been wrong?

  “Well, I had better be off. If I am late home again, my wife will make me sleep in the stables,” said the man.

  Lisandro reluctantly let the man go. Roughing him up would serve no purpose and it might put his accomplices on notice. Besides, he had no solid proof that these were the people who had taken Maria. At the moment he had only his instincts and a handful of small clues on which to go.

  Yes, but what are the odds of some other noblewoman having been kidnapped?

  This had to be fate. Diego’s thoughts about a local connection possibly being involved made sense, as did his own growing suspicions about the scar-faced Englishman. All Lisandro’s attention now focused on Mister Wicker.

  Remaining hidden in the doorway, he retrieved the piece of paper he had quickly stuffed into his pocket and unfolded it.

  Señor Alba and the special cargo sailed on the evening tide. Keep quiet about Plymouth and you will get the rest of your money when the ransom is paid. W.

  “Oh Maria,” he muttered. Maria de Elizondo Garza had been kidnapped and stolen away to England.

  Lisandro screwed the paper up tightly in his hand and made a silent vow.

  I will find you and I will bring you home.

  Chapter Five

  The endless hours of darkness followed by rough, grasping hands forcing vile liquids down her throat had melded into one long nightmare for Maria. Where she was and with whom, she had no idea. The only thing of which she was certain, from the constant lull from side to side, was that she was onboard a ship.

  “Drink.”

  It was one of a handful of words he ever spoke to her; the main form of communication favored by her abductor was rough manhandling. Her short intervals of consciousness usually consisted of Maria being dragged from her bed, head still covered by the sack. She was forced to drink, then use a bucket for her ablutions before she was shoved back onto the rough mattress where darkness would descend once more.

  Her only source of comfort were the memories of her mother and the promise Maria had made in those rare, precious moments between long stretches of insensibility.

  Mamá, I shall find my way home. We will be together again.

  And then came the day when she woke to silence.

  The bed no longer rocked, and the roar of waves was gone. Her hands and feet were still bound, but the coarse rope had been replaced by softer binds. Ones which did not burn her skin.

  Unfortunately, her head, remained covered by the sack. Small pinpricks of light filtered through the small holes in the hessian.

  At least I can finally see more than just darkness.

  “Hello?” she whispered.

  Her word, though muffled by the hessian, echoed in the quiet of the room. For the first time since she had been attacked on the beach, Maria sensed she was alone.

  Tears pricked her eyes as she remembered those final moments. Of the cries of pain from Señor Perez and seeing him struck violently and falling to the ground. She sent a prayer to heaven, hoping against all hope that he may have survived the vicious assault.
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br />   She was still alive, and that was something to hold onto. Whoever had taken her clearly had plans.

  If they wanted you dead, they would have killed you already.

  The rattle of a key in a lock caught her attention. Footsteps accompanied the clink of chinaware and glasses. The soft thud of wood meeting wood had Maria guessing that a tray had been placed onto a nearby table.

  Skirts shuffled toward her, followed by a disapproving ‘tsk.’ This was something different and unexpected. Her new jailer was definitely female.

  Hands tugged at the sack over her head, lifting, pulling it free. Hope flared. Finally, she would be able to see again.

  “Oh!” she cried as blinding daylight pierced her eyes.

  Maria turned her head away, wincing as the overwhelming newness of sight assailed her senses. It took several minutes before she was able to focus properly. Only then did she attempt to look at the woman.

  A plump matron dressed all in gray stood beside the bed. Hands on hips, she appeared totally nonplussed at Maria’s behavior. “Now, the master says you need to be eating,” she said. Her gaze ran over Maria’s trussed up body, and she shook her head. “How the devil am I supposed to feed you? Honestly, anyone would think this lot had never staged a bloody kidnapping before.”

  Maria’s English wasn’t the best, but she understood enough. Any slim chance of her being able to plead for the woman to take pity on her and let her go died. This woman was clearly a willing member of the kidnap gang.

  A second person entered the room—a man wearing a colorful mask. He looked for all the world like he had just stepped out of a ball or the famous carnival in Venice. If her situation hadn’t been so dire, she might have found it amusing.

  “Ella ha comido?” he asked.

  She knew that cruel voice only too well. It had been with her all through the nightmare on the boat.

  The woman huffed. “We are in England, so speak the bloody language. You know I only understand a few words of Spanish, and most of them are insults.”