Knight's Captive

by Holt, Samantha

  The man’s thick grey brows rose. “Our men number at only one and fifty. How are we to ensure they do not escape?”

  “The commander is an honourable man I believe. However, he was lost when the ship went down. I have hopes that he survived but had no chance to find out as much.”

  “And the woman?”

  “His daughter. It is essential she is looked after properly. And essential she does not leave this house. I trust not this woman. She was prepared to die rather than leave her father.” If she survived her ordeal. Henry tilted the ink pot on his desk and eyed it with dissatisfaction. “Has the physician been sent for?”

  “Aye, Kate sent Bram.”

  “Let us pray she survives long enough to see him,” he muttered to himself. “When Bram returns, send him down to the barn to see if there is word of the commander and my lieutenant, and inform them I’ll be there shortly to oversee the capture. As soon as I have sent word to London of our success here, I’ll ride down myself.”

  “Very well, sir. May I suggest you eat and drink first?”

  Henry tried not to give Fredericks a steely glare. He was no babe, he didn’t need mothering. The man had been trying to look after him ever since his father had passed.

  “I have little intention of starving.” The man lingered so with an inward groan, Henry poured himself a goblet of claret and tore off a piece of bread to stuff it in his mouth. Around the mouthful he said, “Send someone up with some ink, will you?”

  Fredericks gave him a slow nod—one that had him feeling like the man was humouring him in some way as though he was a young lad playing at being a grown man. He swallowed down the bread and shook his head. Was his life not already complicated enough? Not only was he trying to fill his father’s boots but now he had this odd Spanish woman to deal with.

  Chapter Four

  Darkness. Antonia gripped the bed sheets around her, feeling that familiar panic rise in her chest. She closed her eyes and opened them again but the darkness remained. Why was it dark? She never slept without several candles burning. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths and stare into the darkness.

  Nothing to fear, she told herself. Nothing to...The darkness lessened as her eyes adjusted. Where was she? ¡Dios mío! Her breaths grew thick and heavy again, her body rigid. What had happened? The ship, her father... Si, she remembered that but after...

  The man—Henry. He had taken her in his arms. This had to be his house. She was now under house arrest.

  A prisoner.

  Antonia gulped and tried to draw in air but her throat felt as though it was closing over. Did it have to be so dark? She needed to find a candle and light it, but her body refused to move. If she put out her hands, she’d be able to reassure herself that she wasn’t shut away in a box again, but the room was so small. She peered up at the bed and the thick wood seemed like that of a coffin lid to her. Her pulse pounded so loudly it was on the verge of deafening.

  First, she concentrated on her stiff hands. She unfurled them from the bedding and tried not to sob with fear. The ache in her chest grew more intense. Over the thud of her heart, she was sure she could hear footsteps and the creak of floorboards. He was coming for her.

  Except he wasn’t. Lorenzo was dead. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. Not that the knowledge mattered to her galloping heart. Reason played no part in her imaginings at night.

  With her fingers moving again, she forced her mind to think of her legs. They were achy and weary. Her skin was still cold. Funny how nearly drowning didn’t create nearly as much fear as being trapped in a small, dark room. She drew in a shuddery breath and gave her legs a twitch. There, see, she could move. She kicked again. Lots of room to move. Nothing to fear.

  Antonia sat up in one swift motion. Her head spun a little and she took in the gloomy room. Thick curtains were drawn across the one window and at the end of the room appeared to be a large storage chest. A sob bubbled out of her. It was no good, she couldn’t stay here.

  Jumping from the bed, she nearly tripped as the blankets tangled around her legs. They were trying to draw her back in, trap her. She wasn’t sure if she thought they were the ocean trying to pull her to her doom or Lorenzo dragging her home to lock her away. Either way, she screamed and kicked at them until she was free.

  She hauled the door open and spilled out into a hallway. A sliver of light danced across the floorboards and highlighted the tapestries on the walls. Figures and creatures seemed to jump out at her from them. She put a hand to her chest and spun when a creak sounded at one end of the hall.

  Another creak. She whirled the other way and screamed when hands curled around her arm and thrust her back.

  “No!” she screamed. “Don’t make me go back there...” She tried to tear from him, blind terror whirling through her veins. She couldn’t be locked away again, she couldn’t...

  “Antonia!” he barked at her.

  She stiffened. He was going to beat her, was he not? Beat her and lock her in the box so she could concentrate on the pain and learn from it.

  “Antonia,” came his voice again, but softer this time and different.

  Going still, she dragged her gaze up from the wide chest that filled her vision. Slowly, the fear clouding her vision dissipated. It was not her husband.

  Henry. It was Henry. A wild sob escaped from her throat and she sagged. Any energy she’d had left deserted her.

  “Why are you screaming?” He kept her propped up by the hold on her arms.

  What could she say? That she had thought her husband had risen from the dead? She stared at him numbly, her voice trapped in her raw throat.

  He twisted her around and drew open the curtains with one hand to view her. She wasn’t sure what he could see. Tear-stained cheeks, mussed hair...a wretch probably. His gaze narrowed.

  “Were you trying to get away?”

  She shook her head.

  That other hand came back to her arm and squeezed a little. “Tell me the truth.”

  She shook her head again. Any relief she had felt began to fade and her heart picked up speed once more. Would he harm her for being out of her room? She wriggled but Henry’s hands might have been made from iron. He glanced down at her, his brow furrowing, and eased his grip. His gaze skimmed her from head to toe, lingering on her bare feet then her breasts. She fought the urge to cover herself.

  “You had better return to your room,” he said in a low, low voice that reached down inside her, skimmed past all the fear and tension and did something odd to her stomach.

  “No,” she whispered. Antonia couldn’t go back in there. Not in the dark, not with the box at the end of the bed. She would rather be on that sinking ship again or in the freezing water.

  “Antonia...”

  The warning tone to his voice made her shiver. He took her arm and began leading her back.

  “No!” she protested. “No, no, no. Not in there. Por favor.”

  She thrashed against his hold, trying to pull back. If only she wasn’t so weak. Her legs felt as though she was on the deck of a ship again, wavering back and forth. A hot tear spilled down her cheek.

  Henry released her and eyed her with a sigh. “In English,” he demanded. “What is wrong?”

  She drew in a sniffly breath and rubbed her arm. He glanced at where she chafed her hand over her arm and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Well?”

  “Do not...” She heaved in a breath. “Do not make me going in there, por favour. I beg of you.”

  “Your chamber?”

  “Si.”

  “You cannot stay out here.” He reached for her. “Return to your room.”

  She backed away and a cry escaped her when he reached for her. Antonia flinched and closed her eyes, waiting for the hand to strike her. “No!” she begged.

  “Hell’s teeth.” Henry took her arm and hauled her into another room. The door slammed shut with a clunk, rattling the walls.

  Antonia found herself stumbling back again
st a bed—his bed presumably. Her calves hit the mattress and she toppled backward onto the mattress. Her chemise tangled around her thighs and she stared up at the fierce knight.

  “Cease your noise,” he commanded, “or you’ll wake the whole house.”

  Antonia trembled from head to toe. He had several candles lit here and she saw his features fully. His severe brow remained dipped in annoyance. That dark hair was pulled back again, revealing his strong jaw covered in thick hair. She hadn’t noticed his full lips before. They were in a tight line but that didn’t stop them from being attractive. Even through her fear, somehow she realised he was desperately handsome.

  Foolish woman. An attractive face didn’t make him anything less than her captor and who knew how dangerous he was.

  His expression grew more severe as he cast his gaze over the length of her. She wished she could reach down and tug the cotton over her bare legs but her limbs refused to cooperate. Antonia tensed when he stepped closer. Henry thrust a hand out and she scrabbled back against the wooden headboard. He withdrew his hand and rubbed his chin, contemplating her.

  “Are you ailing?”

  Antonia tried to answer. She attempted to shake her head. What did he want with her? Why had he taken her into his bedroom? Would he—

  “Antonia?”

  “I am not ailing,” she said huskily. “Forgive me, I intended not to scream. I shall be silent, I promise.” She bowed her head. “Do not—”

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He cast his gaze around and stomped over to the coffer at one side of the room. He snatched up a pewter jug and poured some wine before thrusting it toward her.

  Antonia stared at the goblet. Then at him.

  “You must be thirsty.” He lifted a shoulder in a sort of apologetic shrug.

  Hesitantly, she reached for the goblet and curled her fingers around it. She took a sip under his watchful gaze and felt the claret slip down her throat and warm her blood. Her pulse began to slow. Perhaps he wouldn’t harm her after all.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No.” She should be. They’d been rationing their food on the Rosario and she couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten but her stomach felt bunched and the idea of trying to eat made her nauseated. Instead, she took another sip of the wine and eyed him.

  Henry rocked back on his heels and stared back. Unsure what he expected of her, she drained the wine and thrust it back at him. He took it and placed it down on the side. The slight clunk of metal on wood made her jolt. The memory of darkness and confined spaces still lingered in her mind, and it seemed only the slightest provocation made her heart leap. She tangled her fingers into her chemise and tugged it down over her bare legs. She thought she had been on her way to conquering this fear. All she needed was a few candles and she was fine. But this night had proved her wrong.

  “You do not like your chamber,” he stated.

  How could she explain? From what little she had seen, it was well furnished and likely decorated much like his room was with tapestries and painted gold flowers on the walls. Antonia gave a shudder and tried not to recall the darkness closing in around her.

  “You’re cold.”

  Before she could protest, he dragged up the blankets and tucked them awkwardly around her. His hands brushed her thighs, and her skin pricked. The scent of castill soap washed over her and she had to force herself not to inhale deeply. He must have bathed after bringing her back here.

  When he straightened, she couldn’t help but meet his gaze. She drew in a sharp breath at the darkness in his gaze. It should have been intimidating—frightening even. But something about his uncertain movements softened her to him.

  He stroked his beard and considered her. “I’ll get some food,” he said abruptly and stomped out of the room.

  The candles flickered with the sudden movement, and Antonia stared at the spot where he’d been. The golden glow soothed her and the warmth of his blankets began to loosen her limbs. She shifted back to rest her head against the headboard and eyed the red canopy above. This room was much bigger than the one she’d been in but if it was dark, she knew she’d be swallowed up by panic.

  Antonia let her gaze trace the swirling golden flowers painted on the wall. How long would she be here? What would he do with her? She didn’t think anyone would pay a ransom for her. Only her father—and he was a captive too. However, the king would want her father and his men back so she would be sent back with them she assumed.

  Henry ducked into the room, holding a platter of bread and what looked to be dried figs. She gulped. He seemed to take up all the air in the chamber. The walls closed in on her and not in the way they usually did. Now the grey haze of panic has vanished, she was able to study him properly. His loose shirt hung open a little at the neck and he wore chausses. He must have taken the time to slip them on. Thank the Lord. How would she have felt confronted by his bare thighs?

  He placed the platter next to the wine jug, picked up a few figs and chunks of cheese and passed them over. Her fingertips brushed his, sending a tremor through her. And not one of horror. She swallowed hard and tried to murmur a gracias but no sound came.

  Standing over her, he watched—no, waited—for her to eat. She cautiously plucked up a fig and nibbled on the end of it. The tangy sweetness eased the dryness in her throat and a slight pang of hunger struck her. He nodded with satisfaction as she popped the whole thing into her mouth.

  “M-must you stand over me so?”

  He blinked at her, unfolded his arms and scowled. He likely had no idea of the intimidating sight he made. Or mayhap he did. Mayhap he intended to ensure she was intimidated so she did not try to escape. At present, escape was far from her mind. She needed him to take her to her father and she would not be going anywhere at night—not when darkness was all around her.

  “Forgive me,” he muttered, easing his large frame into an ornate wooden chair not far from the foot of the bed.

  It struck her that he barely fit in it. A giddy bubble of a laugh threatened to escape her when she imagined him trying to stand and coming away with the chair still stuck to him. Santa Maria, she must be addled from shock if she could laugh while she was in this precarious position.

  He remained silent while she finished off the food. She tried to keep her attention on the pewter plate in her hand rather than him, but she kept stealing glances at the brooding hulk in the corner. He put a finger to his lips and observed her. It made her chest constrict every time she met his gaze and she had to flick her own away. The man was so large and...intimidating. She should be intimidated. She was, was she not? Why then, did her gaze keep slipping to him?

  Popping another chunk of cheese in her mouth, she eyed the room. Antonia looked to the ceiling to see painted roses there too. Then she let her gaze linger on the intricate carved wood of the bed. So dark in colour, it was almost black yet this did not feel like a coffin. Was it because she knew it was his bed? It seemed too small to hold him. Everything seemed too small for him. This room, even what she assumed had to be a grand house. She was no stranger to large men—her husband had been one of them—but not like this.

  “Do you...” He shifted in the chair and she winced as it creaked. “Do you feel better now?”

  She nodded and skimmed a finger over the empty plate. What to do now? Would he send her back to the room? Would he think her mad for her outburst? She gripped the metal until her knuckles hurt.

  “Do not be afeared, Antonia. I vowed to your father you would not be harmed.”

  “And you always keep your word?”

  “I do.”

  Henry said this so solemnly she had no choice but to believe him. Mayhap he meant her no harm, but what of the rest of his countrymen? What of the queen? And while a man might be honourable enough when his temper was calm, what of when he was angered? She had seen how Lorenzo could go from perfectly placid to violently angry in mere moments. Could she expect that from Henry?

  Whatever the riddle
of his character was, she would keep her guard up. It would not do to let herself be vulnerable.

  “You should go back to your room now.”

  The image of dark wood closing in around her, of those heavy drapes wrapping around her and threatening to strangle her acted like a noose around her neck. She shook her head. “No, por favor.”

  “You cannot stay here.”

  She knew that. She didn’t wish to stay here—in the same room as her enemy. But to go back there...

  “Candles,” she managed to squeak out. Mayhap if there was enough light, the strange room would not seem so daunting. She doubted she’d sleep but at least she wouldn’t be trapped in a nightmare.

  “You need candles?”

  “Si. Lots.”

  A dark brow lifted and he seemed to consider her words before nodding. He stood and snatched up several of the unlit candles from the various surfaces. Then he motioned for her to follow. She climbed out of his bed and wrapped her arms about her. Henry handed her a lit candle. Antonia couldn’t help but hide behind his wide shoulders as they stepped out into the hallway. The flickering candlelight only emphasised the dark shadows of the unknown house and she was all too aware that one puff or a single whistle of wind and the only light source would be snuffed out. Her hands shook.

  Henry pushed open the door to her chamber and began placing the candles on various surfaces. Antonia saw now that there were two already on either side of the bed and two more on candelabrums on the other side of the room. Not enough, however. She needed every corner lit. It was hard enough to sleep in her own bedchamber but to sleep in one she’d never been in—one in which she was meant to be a prisoner—with any darkness was more than she could bear.

  She eyed the shaking candle in her hands. Sometimes she loathed herself for this weakness.

  Henry remained silent as he took the candle from her and lit all the others he had scattered around. She stared at his shoulders as the muscles of his back moved against the linen. Would she feel better or worse if he spoke more? His quiet understanding worked inside her and seemed to loosen the rope of tension around her throat. Or was he simply trying to do his best to ensure his prisoner did not cause any more problems?