Either way, she appreciated that he didn’t scold her or roll his eyes at her need for light.
A dangerous sensation indeed. She shouldn’t appreciate anything about her captor.
“Gracias.”
“Do not move them,” he ordered. “’Tis dangerous to sleep with so many candles alight but they should be well enough where they are.”
She nodded. Her father had the same fear. He worried she might burn to death in her bed but to her mind, it was almost preferable to the nightmares that haunted her. She’d rather take the risk than suffer those horrors every night.
He eyed her, his gaze running up and down her form before he gave her an oddly courteous dip of his head. Antonia was suddenly aware of every part of her body from head to toe. It felt all too much like he might have run his hands up and down her rather than his gaze.
“I shall bid you good evening.”
“Si. Good night.”
She watched him leave and waited until she heard his feet pad across the floor and his door shut. Was it her imagination or had she heard the bed ropes creak? Surely with two solid walls between them, she could not but it didn’t stop her picturing him slipping out of his chausses and revealing thick, strong thighs.
Antonia shook her head and started to move the candles. She was careful not to place them near the curtains but there were too many shadows still. The dark wood-clad walls and matching bed and furniture didn’t make the room look much more comforting than it had when it was entirely dark and that coffer at the end of the bed...She sucked in a breath and held it. Could she be brave enough to move it?
Taking a step forward, she froze. A noise. Scratching. No, it couldn’t be. She was imagining things. Her heart began to pick up speed. She’d have to open it. She eyed the chest and tried to persuade her limbs to move. She couldn’t very well stand there all night and what if...It was a foolish thought, but she had to know.
In one swift movement that had blood rushing through her ears, she lifted the lid and stepped back. No one leaped out of it. There wasn’t someone trapped inside it. Not like she had been. Of course there wasn’t. She peered in it to see it full of blankets and sheets. What a fool. Why would this man have some poor woman shut away in a chest?
Stepping carefully around it, she settled on the bed and tucked her legs up in front of her. Arms wrapped around them, she prepared herself for a long night.
Chapter Five
The room didn’t seem nearly so daunting in the daylight. With the curtains drawn back and gentle sunlight slipping over the dark wood and luxurious fabrics, Antonia could almost wonder at why she had been so terrified. But, of course, she knew her fears were not rational and that they would be back tonight.
She propped her hands on her hips and eyed the coffer. That would have to go, however. Mayhap she could drag it out herself or ask one of the male servants to remove it. She wouldn’t spend another night sleeping with a box like that. She yawned. Not that she had slept. Exhaustion ate into every part of her but the thought of seeing her father had forced her to get up and dressed.
Voices drifted up from below somewhere, and she paused. She recognised Henry’s low tones immediately. Her stomach did a little tumble. She couldn’t forget what he’d looked like last night—his hair messy and around his shoulders—and then this morning, with it tied back, in a well cut jerkin that emphasised his broad chest. He was such a large man, with huge hands and a severe expression. She should be scared of him...
Somehow, she wasn’t.
He was outside, she realised as she listened carefully. Almost fearful he might catch her, she tiptoed over to the window and eased it open. Antonia peered down and spotted him beneath her window. From here she saw only his wide shoulders, emphasised by the leather jerkin and the loose linen of his shirt blowing gently in the wind. She couldn’t help recall those arms keeping her afloat while he murmured words of reassurance.
Her weak heart begged her to trust him. But he was her captor and...
She focused on his words. Her father—he was speaking of her father.
“We checked all the prisoners. He’s definitely not amongst them,” the man with whom he was speaking said. “Will said they were separated in the water.”
“Where is Will now?”
“Down at the barn, Sir Henry.”
“I’ll speak with him shortly. If de Valdés is still alive, we need to find him,” Henry said to the man.
If he was alive?
Antonia whirled away. Her head spun. Before she realised what she had done, she was flying down the stairs and out of the rear door of the manor house. She stalked over to Henry, forcing him to turn his attention to her.
“My father is dead?” she demanded.
“Nay—” He glanced at the other man who edged away and dipped his head before vanishing around the corner of the building. “Missing.”
“You told me he was well.” She took a step closer and jabbed a finger into his chest. It had little effect on the firm muscles under thick leather. “You lied to me.”
He lifted his brows and peered down at her. “I was not very well going to tell you he was missing and cause you further distress.”
He said this so curtly, so reasonably, as if she was entirely in the wrong. It only incensed her further. Her father could be injured somewhere and he had her believing she could take her time to eat some food, clean up and get dressed. He had lied to her with such ease. How dare he? Her heart beat in her chest so quickly that she struggled to draw breath.
“I am distressed now, does that please you?”
His scowl deepened. “Why would it please me? I thought it best you did not know yet.”
“Why should you—” she jabbed his chest again and his gaze darkened “—decide what is best for me? What say do you have over me?”
He folded his arms, preventing her from poking him again. Antonia gulped and remembered the size of this man. He towered over her, forcing her to crane her neck and the way he crossed his arms made his muscles bulge against the seams of his shirt. The quick pounding in her chest grew heavier, almost sickening.
“I am in charge of your welfare. I am...” He gave a huff of annoyance as if reluctant to say whatever it was that was coming next. “I am your captor and you are on enemy land. I have no wish to treat you ill but you would do well to behave yourself.”
She tried not to cringe at those words. Had Lorenzo not uttered those words to her many times before striking out? She attempted to remain firm in her stance. Behave, Antonia. Why can you not behave? Why do you make me hurt you? But no matter how much she tried to be the wife he wanted, she always failed.
“Asking for the truth is not misbehaving,” she said breathily, having to push the words past a heavy chest.
Henry gave a grunt. “I shall find your father, fear not. Return to the house.”
With that, he turned, effectively dismissing her. The memories swirling through her mind vanished and hot annoyance rushed back through her. She would not let him keep her apart from her father. If he needed her, she had to go to him. ¡Dios mío!, she hoped he was alive. What would she do without him? He was the only man she could trust.
Antonia followed after him as he marched across the path leading through the rear gardens and to a door in the back of the house. She hadn’t had a chance to explore the house and had she been in a better mood, she might have admired the formal arrangement of the herbs and attractive flowers.
He ignored her though she imagined that was easily done for a man of his size. A slender woman like her would never normally pass his notice. After all, a man of his stature and power need never look upon a mere woman. Like with so many men she had encountered, she was merely an annoyance to him.
He strode into the house and she entered what turned out to be an armoury. Blades, axes, spears and shields covered the walls and several muskets sat in a glass cabinet. She gulped. This man fit well in such a room. She could imagine him at war, cutting down his enem
ies with ease. After all, she had already seen his bravery on the Rosario. There were not many men who would face down fire and a sinking ship with such courage.
Courage that she could almost admire. After all, he had entered the burning ship to rescue her father. But his current treatment of her made her forget his actions. She couldn’t very well judge him on one act. Did she not know how changeable men were? How they could swing from charming and brave to angry and dishonourable in but a moment?
He glanced over his shoulder at her, barely giving her a look—a reminder of her insignificance perhaps—then retrieved a sword belt. He strapped it around his hips and drew her attention to that part of him. Her stomach tumbled wildly at the sight of those steady fingers expertly tying up his belt. But from nerves or from something else? She was a fool if she was swayed by his attractiveness. A handsome face meant nothing and she would never let herself by influenced by something so fragile as good looks.
“Sir Henry,” she pleaded.
He ignored her and reached for a long blade. Steel glinted in the meagre light slipping through the long windows on one side of the room.
She licked her lips and tried again. “Henry.” She said it firmly though her body shook a little. To speak with such familiarly and hear his name slipping off her lips startled even her. But it worked. His head jerked in her direction as he slipped the sword into the belt. “I wish to come with you.”
Shaking his head, he adjusted the sword and glanced at her again. She thought he might give in. There was a slight drop of his shoulders as though resigned but he shook his head again and said, “Nay.”
Then he made for the door at the end of the armoury and moved with purpose through the house once more, leaving her tagging along like a lost puppy. When he reached the hallway—a part of the large building she actually knew—he snatched a mantle from some hooks on the wall and tossed it over one shoulder. He pinned it in place, and a lump lodged in her throat. If he were not her captor, she would be impressed by the figure he struck. Dashing, bold, brave. Even with the severe dips in his brow, he was the sort of man of which girls dreamed.
Not her, however. She had learned well enough to stay away from men.
“Take me with you,” she demanded again. “Por favour, I shall be no bother. I shall not misbehave. I wish only to see my father.”
“You nearly drowned, Antonia. It would be remiss of me to have you do anything other than rest.”
Damn him, did he have to speak so reasonably, as though he actually cared for her welfare as anything other than a prisoner? She drew up her chin. “If you refuse to take me, I shall look for him myself.”
Henry whirled around, sending his cloak swishing about his shoulders. “Need I remind you that you are a prisoner here? I wish not to lock you away but I will if I must.”
“You would not.” Her voice wavered as did her confidence. In truth, she had little idea what he might do to her. He could place her in irons or have her locked away somewhere if he wished to. But he hadn’t so far.
And she prayed he would not.
“If...if he is dying, I would wish to be with him,” she tried.
Henry squeezed the bridge of his nose. “We have much coastline to search. He could well be washed up on the many miles of beach. ‘Twill be a long day’s search.”
“I care not.”
“You did not sleep last night,” he stated.
“No.”
And he must not have either if he was aware she’d been awake all night. It shouldn’t touch her but it did. Had he been awake, thinking of her? Was it simply fear that she might escape or something else? She couldn’t make this man out. Chivalrous and bold one moment and gruff and commanding the next. As changing as the sea. And she was powerless against him. His ever-changing moods could batter her against the rocks if she was not careful. She needed to shore up her defences against him and be brave.
“That does not mean I cannot aid you. Think you that I shall sleep while you are gone, fearing for my father’s welfare?”
His jaw worked. “You shall only hinder me. If you care aught for your father’s welfare, you shall wish for me to find him quickly.”
“I take it your men have been searching for him.”
“Aye.”
“Think you he might be evading capture?”
“Mayhap.”
Or he was at the bottom of the ocean. That was what Henry’s dark look said. But she was not so sure. Her father had to be alive surely or else she would know it. He had looked after her since she was a little girl and then after Lorenzo’s death.
“If he is, think you he will not be more likely to give himself up when he sees that I am safe and well?”
Now she heard his teeth grinding as he considered her. “You can ride?”
“Si.”
“Fast?”
“Si.” She nodded eagerly.
He skimmed his gaze up and down her, taking note of her simple gown and borrowed boots. She knew she could ride well enough in this gown—even if it was not a riding one—and she was a fast rider. Her father had always indulged her love of horses. She wouldn’t hinder him, not when her father’s life was at stake.
“Very well. Do you have a mantle? There is a chill coming off the sea today.”
She shook her head. The housekeeper had only given her the dress, borrowed from one of the serving girls. All her other belongings had gone down with the ship. She had little, so she didn’t grieve for them but there had been some beautiful gowns in amongst them. What would Henry think if he saw her in one? Would he treat her differently?
He unfastened the cloak he had so diligently placed over his shoulder and handed it over. “Put that on and I’ll request a horse to be saddled for you.”
Before she could utter her thanks, he had strode out of the door, leaving her clutching the warm wool. It smelled of him—of soap and something else. Something that tugged silently at her insides and made her think of warm embraces and sweet kisses.
Of course, those things did not really exist in anything but the mind of a woman. Lorenzo had been free with his kisses and sometimes even his embraces, but there was always malice and manipulation behind them. All the other men she had met had been the same. Before her marriage, their eyes had been on her dowry and little else. Each kiss to her fingers and any flattering words were all to do with what they could get from her.
She wrapped the cloak about her, forced herself not to inhale the scent. Henry had uttered few kind words and had offered no kisses. But he had offered her this—for no reason but to keep the chill away. Was it a selfless act or did he too have some other motivation?
When she stepped out of the front of the house, Antonia noted that a brisk breeze did indeed carry across the headland. From behind the shelter of the house, she had been unaware of the salty scent whispering across the cliffs. The day proved clear with a few puffs of white clouds like soapy bubbles drifting across a watery surface. Antonia had never been to England before. She had heard it was cold and wet. Yet, in spite of the slight chill in the air, the country did not seem nearly as grim as she thought it might be.
Mayhap she could almost understand why her father had insisted they start a new life here.
She strode down the front path and paused at the two stone walls that stopped either side of it. This was her prison. There were no gates or iron bars. Only honour and duty kept her here. No shackles or guards. Yet if she left, she would be abandoning her father. After being imprisoned by one man, the desire to dash forward and run until she could run no more warred inside her. But she would never abandon her father.
“Antonia?” Henry called behind her.
She twisted and began to head back to the house. His scowl was etched deep indeed by the time she came back to his side as he held the reins of two horses in one hand.
“I hope you will remember that you are on enemy lands here. The English do not take well to those who would try to invade them. You may be under house arrest b
ut you are also under my protection here.”
Protection? Si, protection indeed. This man was so fierce and warrior-like that she could see no man wishing to go up against him. But who was to protect her against him?
She ignored his words and opened a palm for the reins. He handed them over and she paused to stroke a hand over the pale mount. The beast nuzzled her palm and she allowed herself a smile. “Her nombre? Her name?”
“Swift Foot.”
“I hope she lives up to her name.”
“She will. I hope you can keep up with me.”
“What benefit is it to you to find my father? Surely you are not searching the lands for every drowned Spanish man?”
“Not every Spanish man is the commander of a ship.”
“And that is it, is it? He is more important than the rest because of his position?”
“Antonia, if you are searching for other motivation, you shall find none.” He moved past her and climbed into the saddle with ease. “Now make haste. We have much land to cover.”
She took a few moments to gain her bearings. To see him nimbly climb onto the horse set a fluttering sensation low in her belly. And now his strong legs clung to the animal while long black boots emphasised the sheer size of him. When she turned to her own horse, her limbs felt shaky. It could be from fatigue. It had to be, surely? It took her several attempts to mount the large horse—it being a few hands bigger than the ones she was used to. When she was finally on, Henry did not wait. Instead, he kicked his horse and set off at a blistering pace.
She tried to keep pace with him while they made their way down the winding paths. Long grass swished in the breeze, carrying with it speckles of pollen and sand.
Had she been looking for other motivation, she wondered. And if so, why? Did she hope he might actually care for the welfare of his prisoners? He had, in some ways, cared for her. He’d offered her drink, food, warmth and a safe place to stay for the remainder of her captivity. However, that was what almost any man would do with his honour on the line. He could not be seen to be treating a female prisoner with anything other than respect. Behind closed doors, however, he could do as he wished.
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