And Henry had not.
Not yet at least.
He rode some way ahead of her before pausing and waiting for her to catch up. She found herself a little breathless from the ride but invigorated and determined. She would find her father. He had to be alive. If he was not, she wasn’t sure what would become of her. They would return to Spain soon now that the invasion had failed. Their original hope had been to settle in England but their confidence in their forces had been for naught.
But if he wasn’t alive, what then? She had no home, no wealth. Her husband’s wealth had been returned to the crown because she had never borne sons and her father’s would do the same. Her dowry would afford her a meagre living indeed.
Soft sand kicked up around her as they made their way onto the beach. The harbour they had been brought into could be seen in the distance and a few men milled around. Several small boats she assumed were fishing boats were out near the horizon. With the exception of the few bits of driftwood on the beach, there was no sign that a beautiful ship had sunk only the day before. Indeed, it seemed as though the invasion had never happened. After so long trapped in the hull of a creaking, damp ship with scant rations, the fresh air and good food should have been a welcome relief.
And they were in some ways. But living as a prisoner—a prisoner to this man no less—had her stomach bunched in knots.
Antonia scanned the beach as it curved around the headland. Great rocks sat at the base of the cliffs and several deep, dark caverns were carved into it. Would her father be hiding mayhap? He wouldn’t wish to abandon her, but if he thought he could reach her and escape, she suspected he would do as much. What if he was taking shelter in one of those?
Or else he could be dead. Her heart squeezed at the thought but she couldn’t let herself dwell on it. If she did, the tiredness and confusion would overwhelm her and that would not do. She had been trying hard to be brave ever since Lorenzo’s death. If she was to regain her confidence, it would not do to give into despair.
Henry slowed again, allowing her to catch up.
“You really think he could be so far along?”
“The current had driven the wreckage this far. It’s possible your father could have been too.”
Possible but not probable if his grim expression was anything to go by.
“My father is strong. He could have swum against the current.”
“He is strong, aye, but with a broken leg?” He shook his head slowly. “You should prepare yourself for the worst.”
The worst. Had she not already been through the worst? A mother lost to illness, a vicious husband, his death and the turmoil it brought, capture by her enemy...Now she was to lose her father too? Had she sinned so very badly to have these things forced upon her? Her father always told her that God did not give them more than they could handle, but now she was not so sure.
“Damnation.”
She twisted to eye Henry and then to see what he was looking at. A group of men were on the beach far ahead. They were crowded around something—or perhaps someone. She heard their shouts from where they were.
“Papa!”
Henry spurred on his horse and she followed suit. As they grew close, she saw a scuffle had broken out. It had to be him. But these men, were they attacking him? Henry reached them before she did and a flutter of blue caught her eye before she could come upon them. She slowed the horse and paused to eye it. There, behind a pile of tumbled rocks was the glint of blue again. And then there was a whistle. But it wasn’t a bird. She drew the horse to a halt. That was her father.
Her heart jumped into her throat. It had been a game they played when she was a child. He’d hide and imitate a bird call and she’d hunt him out. Father was trying to signal to her.
Antonia glanced at Henry as he slid off the horse and stepped into the fray of men. Whatever or whoever they were fighting over, they might give her the chance to find her father and escape. She spurred her horse into action and drew her to a halt before the rocks. Not willing to take the time to see what Henry was doing, she clambered over the sharp grey shards and had to mask a cry of delight.
“Papa.”
“Antonia. Come, quickly now.”
He was laid between the rocks, his clothing damp and covered in sand. He had aged so much.
“Have you been here all night?”
“Si, most of it.”
She drew off her cloak and put it over his shoulders. “Come, the knight is not far from here. We must make our escape.”
He gripped her hand. “You are well? Unharmed.”
“Si, si.”
“I knew he was honourable. You should stay with him, Antonia. I shall make my own escape then come back for you when ‘tis safe.”
“Your leg...”
“Si, ‘tis broken.”
“Then you will not get far alone.” She kneeled by him and slipped her arm behind him. “Put your arm on my shoulders.”
“You shall not be able to lift me, little Antonia.”
She gritted her teeth. She would lift him, no matter what. How could she leave him in such a state? And what would become of him if she did?
“Come, Papa, we shall find somewhere to shelter. Mayhap we shall find someone to take pity on us.”
“We’ll not find pity here.”
Antonia tried not to grimace. He could well by right. The English people were happy with their Protestant queen. Unless they found some Catholics to take them in, they would find no help. And any Catholic would likely not risk harbouring them for fear of being branded heretics.
“We shall worry about that later. Come now.”
She heard his breath hiss through his teeth as they came to their feet. Peering over the rocks, she noted Henry had become embroiled in the disagreement. She couldn’t hear what he was saying as they spoke too fast for her but one of the men was thrusting an angry finger at him. A sliver of guilt slipped down her throat. He had rescued her from trouble. Should she not do the same?
But when she looked to her father—the man who had taken her away from Lorenzo and ensured he never touched her again—she knew she could not.
Chapter Six
Henry hoped Antonia had been wise enough to keep her distance. The stash of silverware that had washed up on shore was surely not worth her getting hurt.
It was not worth him getting hurt over either but he had a duty to separate these men. He stepped into the fray, barely missing a wild swing from the two main brawlers. Sand coated their clothing and vicious curses fell from their lips.
The fight spread rapidly until most of the men were exchanging blows while scrabbling in the sand to pluck up the silverware. A fist slammed across his face, sending his vision blurry, then a knee struck his abdomen and he doubled over. He didn’t think anyone was intending to strike him—he didn’t think much. He couldn’t. The fighting was fast and furious. By the time he’d extracted himself, he felt the warm trickle of blood seeping from his nose.
Henry swiped it away and scanned the beach for Antonia. Had she taken shelter for fear of being harmed? Her horse stood by the large rock fall at the base of the cliffs, shifting impatiently, its reins looped around a rock. He peered back over his shoulders at the scuffle that appeared to be slowing and shook his head. Antonia should have been his priority, not these men.
He retrieved his own mount and marched over the soft sand to the horse. “Antonia?”
But no one rushed out to meet him as he hoped. He scanned the rocks and cursed. A flutter of a cloak—his own damn cloak—caught his eye some way ahead. Foolish woman. What was she thinking? Did she not realise she’d find no aid here? The villagers were already angered at having to give up the old barn to the prisoners.
Wasting no time, he mounted his horse and galloped after her. Wind whipped through his hair as he pushed the horse hard and fast. Heat gathered beneath his skin and his breaths came quickly. Damn her. Had he not been a kind captor? Had he not damn well fished her out of the sea? And this w
as how she repaid him?
As he neared, he realised exactly why she wasn’t running but merely walking and that someone else wore his cloak. De Valdés. She must have found her father while he was trying to break up the scuffle. Hell’s teeth, he was the fool. He should have known not to bring her. But he couldn’t resist her pleading.
Hell fire, he’d shown nothing but weakness toward this woman.
At their slow pace, he caught up to them easily. Antonia’s father gave a small shrug of his shoulder as if to say fair enough, you caught us. Henry doubted he believed they could escape as it was. Antonia, however, glared at him as though he had done gravely wrong.
Henry dismounted and stalked over to her. Her father slipped an arm from her shoulder and lowered himself to the ground. Henry paused to greet the older man. “You’re alive then.”
“Si, though not in the best condition.”
“Your leg...”
“’Twill mend.”
Henry turned his attention back to the woman who had so aggravated him. “What were you thinking? Where would you have gone? Your father has a broken leg! He needs a physician.”
He clamped his hands to his side lest he grab her and try to shake some sense into her. Not only would her father not take kindly to him manhandling his daughter, but he’d never lay a finger on a woman.
Two spots of dusky colour darkened her cheeks. Her eyes flared. “Am I to just stand meekly by while you lock away my father? Should I resign myself to whatever fate you have intended for him?”
Arms folded, he glared back. “I know not what you think I intend for your father but be assured his fate under my care is far more preferable to anything awaiting you out there.” He thrust his hand in the general direction of the cliffs. He moved closer and lowered his voice. “I had hoped I had proved myself to be honourable. I wish neither you nor your father harm.”
The fire in her eyes dwindled at this. Her gaze dropped to his lips and he noted the slight drop of her shoulders. Antonia tucked her lip under her teeth and nodded. “Will you help him?” she asked softly.
“Aye. Of course,” he replied a little abruptly.
That she doubted he would sent another whirl of hot aggravation through him. Damn this woman. She muddied his instincts.
He turned his attention away from her and back to her father. He seemed in good shape for having had a dip in the ocean and likely being exposed to the cool air all night. Thankfully the night had not been too cold or else he might have been in worse condition. His leg, however, needed rest and splinting at least.
Antonia hovered over him while he checked de Valdés over. Her concern simmered through the air, putting him on edge. He stood and drew her to one side. “Your father needs proper help. If he walks on that leg, it could do real damage and it won’t heal. I must fetch aid.” He touched a finger to her chin, raising her gaze to his. “Can I trust you to stay here and not attempt anything rash? If you move him, you risk making him lame.”
She nodded slowly. “I will not move him.”
“Good.”
Henry removed his finger from her chin and curled his hand, all too aware of the tingling sensation running from his fingertip up his arm. As he climbed onto his horse, he glanced back at her to find her watching him. Her raven hair fluttered in the wind, wrapping around her features, and she pushed it back. The jolt of his heart surprised him and he tried to push down the sensation while he dug his heels into the sides of the horse and made for the harbour.
By the time he’d returned with several men and a cart, the image of her still hadn’t faded from his mind. Even while they loaded her father onto the vehicle, he could not stop himself from stealing glances at her. Low down in his gut something burned—something he hadn’t felt for a long time. Something he didn’t think he ever really had felt. Not simple lust—he’d burned through enough lust in his younger years—but something else. And it was far too dangerous.
He gave instructions to his men to have de Valdés taken to the physician and he should have simply mounted his horse to follow. Instead, he found himself pausing to speak with Antonia. Grey shadows lingered under her eyes.
“He will be well. You should return to the house and rest. I will have one of my men escort you.”
“No. I wish to be with him.”
“There is little you can do.”
She lifted her chin. How this woman went from a trembling, crying slip of a girl to this, he knew not. Her dark eyes dared him to argue with her. He paused to consider what his father would do. Likely have her dragged back but on that point, Henry would not sacrifice his principles. His father might not have thought twice about manhandling a woman but he’d already been too harsh with her the previous night and it ate into his gut. He couldn’t do that again.
“Very well, but we shall stay only until his leg is set and he is resting.”
“Good.” Her hard eyes softened. “Gracias, Sir Henry.”
Henry waved away her thanks and they followed the cart on horseback. It took some time for them to make it to the smithy’s. The physician waited outside for them and Henry helped carry the commander into the dank and smoky blacksmith’s. Antonia tugged at his arm.
“’Twill not need amputation, will it?”
“I don’t believe so, but we must be prepared for the worst.” If needs be, the smithy was well used to performing amputations and helping set bones. Even if de Valdés didn’t need his leg removing, they needed the man’s strength and experience with broken bones. He clasped her upper arm gently and guided her out of the gloomy hut. “You don’t need to see this.”
She tried to tug from him but there was no strength behind it, as though all the energy and fire had gone from her. “They’re going to take his leg, are they not?” she said quietly.
“Nay, but if it needs setting ‘twill be painful.”
“I should be with him.” Dark eyes shimmering with tears tore at his chest like a woodpecker slowly making its way through the bark of a tree.
“Nay. He will not thank you for it. No father wishes to be seen weak and in pain by his daughter.”
Her throat worked and she wrapped her arms around herself. Henry had the strangest urge to add himself to the bundle she’d created by curling his body around her and keeping her safe and warm.
“You are probably right.” Antonia offered a weak smile.
Hand still on her arm, he eased her away to sit on the stone wall that lined the edge of the path. Behind them, the sea brushed the sand in gentle waves and a few birds scattered themselves over the stone wall, searching for scraps. He bade her to sit down and placed himself next to her.
“He will be well. He is a strong man for his age.”
“He is,” she agreed, twining her fingers together and staring at them.
Henry reached over and pulled her hand into his. The movement startled her, if her wide eyes were anything to go by. It near astounded him. He was surprised he didn’t topple off the wall when their hands connected and he closed his fingers about hers. But his need to offer her comfort had erased any sense. So he held her hand until the physician ducked out of the hut.
Chapter Seven
After a brief supper of cold meat, bread and honey and knowing her father was in good care at the physician’s cottage, Antonia had conceded bed was the best place for her if she was to be at all useful to her father on the morrow.
Of course, she thought it unlikely she would sleep in spite of how weariness ate into every part of her as she ascended the stairs with Henry behind her. The pounding in her head was nothing compared to the pounding in her heart. Why did he affect her like this?
They paused outside of her room and she turned to face him. She owed him something—an apology or a gracias mayhap. She wasn’t sure what exactly. He turned her thoughts inside out. Ever since that touch to her face—no, earlier—she had been unsure how to deal with him. Then he had taken her hand and offered her more comfort than he could have known. The only other man to t
ouch her with such tenderness had been her father.
“Rest, now,” he murmured, “and you can see your father on the morrow.”
She nodded and tried to summon some words. How was it that in the golden candlelight with shadows haunting his expression and fatigue under his eyes, he made her breathing thick and heavy? Why was the urge to throw herself against that broad chest and feel his hands on her body so strong? Had she learned nothing after Lorenzo? Antonia did not know this man. Nor should she want to. He was English and her enemy and captor. Nothing good would come of finding out more.
That knowledge didn’t stop the tiny voice of curiosity whispering inside her. Who was this man? Why did he swing from brash and commanding to soft and tender in an instant?
Their gazes clashed for the briefest moment before she cast her own down. If she had thought breathing was hard before, she’d been wrong. Now each breath had become heated along with the rest of her body. She felt aware of every heartbeat, every intake of air and yet separated from her body. Her limbs didn’t exist, her body was soft and yielding. He need only scoop her up and she would fall against him—completely at his whim.
“Well, I shall bid you good night.”
“Henry.” The breathy quality to her voice made it sound distant and detached, as though it was not even her speaking.
He paused in turning from her and both brows lifted while he waited.
“I...”
Gracias, thank you. Touch me, hold me. None of it would be hard to say. The former would not be foolish either. Yet none of those words would come. It sounded too much like dependence on a man and that she could not do.
“The coffer in my bedchamber. I...can you remove it por favour?”
“The coffer?” He stared at her blankly for a moment.
“Aye, at the end of my bed.”
He heaved a sigh and stalked past her into the chamber. She followed and suppressed a shudder at the sight of it. Henry glanced back at her and she knew he’d noticed her reaction. In the daylight she was better able to face the sense of horror these things overwhelmed her with but at night, with only candlelight for company, boxes, small spaces... anything of the sort made her want to run away and never return. Even now the desire to flee made her feet twitch.
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