Knight's Captive

by Holt, Samantha

  “I have caused you trouble?”

  “No more than I expected.”

  He allowed his gaze to trail over her. This day she wore forest green. Again, the gown was simple—cut to reveal this lacy chemise below at the sides and elbows. The way it followed the gentle curve of her hips made him want to slip his hands over those same curves and pull them tight against him. She might be slender but there was no mistaking the way her breasts strained against the fabric. Whoever Kate had borrowed the gown from was not so blessed as Antonia.

  And of course, when he skimmed his gaze down, he recalled those long legs now tucked away under the wool. Henry snapped his gaze back up.

  “Why did you not just put me with the other prisoners?”

  “I could not guarantee your safety.”

  “And that is of great import to you?”

  He scowled. Was it so hard to believe that he would not wish a woman under his care to come to harm? Had he not already proved as much by saving her from drowning? It should not aggravate him that she had doubts about his character. After all, she hardly knew him.

  “I would not see you harmed. I would not see any of the men harmed if I can help it and I vowed to your father that I would keep you safe.”

  She nodded slowly and strolled around the table to sit. He followed suit and turned his attention to the morning meal, but the tension that drifted through the air and coiled itself around him like an adder stole his appetite. Yet it was not the uncomfortable tension he’d felt before—the one borne of uncertainty. His altercation with the priest had at least done one thing—reassured him of his actions.

  Nay, the tension came from a sizzling awareness that ran between them. She had wanted him to kiss her. Hell fire, she had wanted more. He likely could have continued kissing her until she was nothing but a mass of quivering limbs and then he could have taken her with ease.

  But just as he would protect her from those who would wish to harm her, he would protect her from himself. Henry was past the days of bedding any woman who showed interest and in truth, he’d lost interest himself. None of the serving girls or wenches who had paid him attention had sparked his desire.

  God’s blood, it would have to be his prisoner that would ignite it again, would it not?

  “The priest spoke of your uncle...”

  He clenched his jaw tight and hissed out air between them. Why would the ghost of his uncle forever linger over their family?

  “My uncle was killed for heresy when I was but a boy.”

  “That is awful.”

  Henry lifted a shoulder. “Many men and women have suffered the same. My father managed to distance himself and prove his loyalty. He worked hard to regain our family honour. I only hope I can continue to do so.”

  “Your conduct in this capture will surely prove your honour.”

  “The successful return of the prisoners—and yourself—will ensure my family’s name is no longer linked to my Uncle’s treachery.”

  “Is practicing another religion really treachery?”

  He stared her down. “In this country it is. Catholics still practice but they are wise enough to stay silent on the matter.”

  She sighed and rubbed a finger across the table. “’Tis sad that men and women have to lose their lives over the love of God.” Antonia lifted her head. “Can I visit with my father today?” she asked.

  Henry tried not to reveal his surprise at her asking so meekly rather than demanding. It might have only been two short days since he had taken her into his care, but he had grown used to the way she spat demands at him.

  “Of course. I must check on the holdings to the east of the village and speak with the farmers so I can take you on my way.”

  A tiny smile graced her lips, making him forget his fears. He gripped the table lest he find himself toppling backwards. It had to be the first time she had smiled and her beauty near stole his breath. The smile creased the corners of her eyes, enhancing their slightly exotic shape. And the way those lips curved made him want to taste them all over again. He swore he could almost feel them touching his all over again.

  It took all his control not to stare at her the entire time they were sitting at the table together. She sat to his right with several chairs between them. He couldn’t even claim she was too close for comfort. Still, he eyed her profile and watched those long lashes dash over her skin every time she glanced down. Once or twice, their gazes connected and she looked quickly away.

  By the time they were ready to leave, the overnight clouds had cleared. It must have rained the previous night but he doubted the farmers would complain. Puddles filled the bumps and ruts of the path leading to the house but they’d had an unusually dry summer.

  Something else for him to worry about. He hoped their harvest would not suffer for it.

  The mounts were waiting for them as requested. Antonia took a moment to greet the horse again and the sharp scrape of envy on his insides made itself known. Envious of a horse. His wits really were addled by this woman. He’d have to make a better attempt at keeping his distance.

  After this day, that was. First he had to escort her to her father and then she’d have to accompany him to the holdings. He dare not leave her alone, firstly, for fear of what someone might do to a Catholic in their midst and secondly, because he still did not trust her.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Si.”

  With the image of her proud and beautiful atop one of his favourite horses burning in his mind, they headed toward the village and the physician’s house. It didn’t take them long to navigate the path to the seaside village but it was long enough for him to peer back several times and admire the way the wind blew her hair free from its tight braid and how another smile reached out to him when she glanced over the headland and took in the view. With the skies clear, they had a fine sight of the cliffs stretching down to meet the rolling seas and the sun reflected off the water, giving it an almost ethereal blue colour. Henry paused and waited for Antonia to join him at his side.

  “Beautiful, is it not?”

  “Si.”

  That smile again. Hell fire, it seemed to shoot straight for his heart.

  “I had been told England was wet and grey. I didn’t expect anything like this.”

  He chuckled. “England is wet and grey a lot. Clearly you missed the rain last night. But it has its moments.”

  “I should be very happy to live in a place like this. I would not even mind the rain.”

  Those words rang in his ears. It was folly to think of her staying. What would he do with a Spanish Catholic for Christ’s sake? She belonged in Spain where the weather was warm and Catholics were plentiful.

  And her life would not be in danger because of her religion.

  “You would tire of the weather soon enough. ‘Tis much colder here.”

  “You forget my father had hoped for us to settle here.”

  Aye, he had forgotten. He hadn’t received word of the progress of the Armada yet but their retreat meant the battle to protect England was all but won. The Spanish had failed in their attempted invasion and as such, many plans would be changed.

  “I confess I cannot understand why you should wish to settle here rather than remain in your own country with your kin.”

  “My familia is small—just my father and me. I have little waiting for me back home.”

  “You are not betrothed?” The words surprised him. It hadn’t occurred to him until just now that she might be pining for a man. But if she was, she would be eager to return, surely? He waited, breath held for him to deny the existence of any such man.

  “No. I am a widow.”

  Damn, he had been lusting after a woman who was likely grieving for her husband. That explained why she wished to come to England. She likely wanted to escape the painful memories of him.

  “I am sorry.”

  “Do not be.” She offered him a bright smile and that arrow she’d pierced his heart with plunged deeper. “
Come, I am eager to see my father.”

  It took Henry a few moments to realise she’d set her horse into a trot and was riding ahead of him. He caught up before they reached the physician’s and he noted the wary looks she garnered from the villagers. If what the priest said was true, they didn’t like having a Catholic woman in their midst. He would also have to make it clear that they would be rewarded for their charity to the Spanish. They might be enemy but they were still people. He wouldn’t see them starve to death.

  When they dismounted outside of the two-storey house, he took the reins from Antonia. “Go to him. I’ll wait outside.”

  She gave him a grateful smile and entered the building. Henry had opted to remain outside because he did indeed want to give her time alone with her father but also he needed to see what the general mood was like. If trouble was stirring, he needed to be aware of it.

  Tom, the baker strolled past and seemed genial enough when he greeted him. He spoke with Alice and her two boys but none of them spoke of any discontent. However, he noticed a few furtive looks in his direction and heard the odd whispered word. He’d have to warn his men to be on their guard at the barn. It need only take a tiny spark to ignite trouble and someone like the priest was just the sort of set the flame burning.

  Antonia ducked out of the house not long after he’d finished speaking with the blacksmith who had also stopped by to see if his services were needed. He noted that the lines of fatigue around her eyes had eased.

  “All is well?”

  “Si. He was very tired. He has been given...” She waved a hand as she searched for the word. “Poppy tonic?”

  Henry nodded. “Aye, for the pain. ‘Twill mean he sleeps through the worst.”

  “Si. But he is doing well.”

  “That is good to hear.”

  “I need to visit the farms.” He motioned to the cliffs above them. “’Tis but a short ride.”

  They made their way back up the hill and past his house. The red building always intimidated him as a boy. Even living in it, he found it too big and in spite of his size and strength, he still didn’t feel large enough to fill it. It seemed empty, even with his household staff.

  A mud track, wide enough to fit carts down, ate a path through the green fields toward the farms. A scattering of trees and the odd stone wall signalled divisions between fields but most of the land was open and vast. He inhaled the salty air and took a moment to enjoy being out from under the watchful eyes of the village.

  When they came upon the first farmhouse, its shutters peeling and worn from the wind that blew across the headland, no one came to greet them—not even a stable hand. He frowned and led their horses to the stables to set them away himself.

  “’Tis nearing midday. I’m surprised no one is around,” he commented to Antonia.

  She peered around and pointed. “There, is that them?”

  A hand to his face, he narrowed his gaze. “Aye, that looks to be Mr Palmer and his stable hands.”

  Who knew what they were doing out by the old stone wall but they’d find out. He strode over to the men and as they neared, he finally understood why they had seemed to be dashing about the place. A pig must have escaped the sty and they were trying to catch her.

  One of the lads made a dive for the speedy animal and fell onto the damp ground, coating his shirt in mud. He heard a giggle behind him and couldn’t help but smile too.

  “Mr Palmer, having troubles?”

  “Aye, old Bess is refusing to make her way home,” the farmer told him. “What brings you this way, Sir Henry?”

  He watched the pig shoot in the opposite direction to the stable hand. The farmer’s son tried to block it, but the animal was having none of it and slipped past him only to pause as though taunting him.

  “She’s fast for an old girl,” Henry commented. “You’re aware of the prisoners at the old barn, aye?”

  “Aye, aye. Mary told me a thing or two though I’ve not been down to the village in several days. Too much to do up here, see?”

  “We’ve three hundred mouths to feed.”

  The old farmer grimaced. “That’s more than lives in the village.”

  “Indeed.” He chuckled as the pig made a dash toward Antonia and she jumped out of the way.

  “You want to grab her when she comes past, lass,” Mr Palmer declared.

  “I’ll be offering coin to those who aid the prisoners and I’ve sent word to Plymouth to ask for extra supplies. Can I count on your aid?”

  The man tapped his chin and considered this. “You know you can always count on my aid. But tell me, Sir Henry, can I count on yours?”

  He lifted a brow. “Of course.”

  “You’re a big lad and that there is a quick and strong pig...”

  Henry resisted the urge to press his fingers to his temples. He eyed the squirming beast of an animal as she slipped from the young stable hand’s grip and scarpered off again.

  “Aye, you can count on my aid too.”

  He glanced at Antonia, and her lips quirked. At least someone found his predicament amusing. He eased forward with cautious steps as the pig grazed, seemingly oblivious to him and the two other boys encircling her. But as he sprung forward to snatch her, Old Bess bolted and slipped between his legs. Henry bit back several insults.

  Moving forward again, this time the pig headed toward Antonia, forcing her to jump aside while it hid behind her skirts.

  “I thank you for your help, my lady,” he said with a twisted smile.

  She laughed. “I cannot help it if she likes me, and we ladies must stick together.”

  He circled Antonia and signalled for the lads to come to the other side of her. He lunged but his foot went from underneath him as it hit wet mud. He fell hard, spraying mud up Antonia’s skirts and thoroughly coating himself. Winded, he rolled over and stared up at the sky while the pig ambled off in the other direction. When he looked to Antonia, a great burst of laughter escaped her. The sound warmed his insides.

  Before he could think on it, he’d reached for her skirts and tugged. She gave a cry and came toppling down on top of him. More mud sloshed over him and splattered her clothing. She lifted her head, her eyes wide, her mouth open while drips of dirt clung to her hair.

  Inwardly, he cursed. What had he been thinking?

  However, her eyes crinkled and another peal of laughter rang from her. His anxiety broke and he chuckled when she flung a handful of mud at him. Henry snatched her around the waist and hauled her farther into the mud. She tried to wriggle away but only succeeded in tangling her legs with his. As her gaze met his and the feel of her body under his hands and practically wrapped around him registered, the world about him blurred.

  The farmer be damned. The lads be damned. The pig definitely be damned. All that existed was this mud-covered, laughing woman with her dark eyes crinkled in amusement, her laughter ringing in his ears and her body flush against his. Her smile slowly dropped and he saw her lips part. The same awareness had come over her, he knew it. He could practically hear her deepening breaths and feel the way her body softened into his. He gripped her tight, fearful of her tearing away from him.

  “We caught ‘er!”

  The lad’s cry tore Henry from the moment. He eased his hands from her and Antonia slid herself off. Coming to his feet, he offered her a hand and gave her an apologetic look.

  “Well, looks like we didn’t need your help, Sir Henry,” the farmer declared as the two boys carried the squirming pig to the farm. “And you got filthy for naught.”

  Henry wanted to respond that it was not for naught. He’d shared a moment with Antonia that had seared him to his core. He’d looked into her eyes and seen so much. She’d anchored him for a brief moment and he’d no longer been washing about in the storm.

  He wanted to feel that again.

  “Forgive me, Mr Palmer, but we’d better be bidding you good day.” He grimaced as his mud-splattered shirt clung to his body. “My door is always open should y
ou need anything. Though you can catch the pig yourself next time.”

  The old man chuckled. “Aye, aye.”

  “And I can count on your aid?”

  Arms folded across his wide chest, Mr Palmer nodded. “Indeed. If it helps keep the peace and some extra coin won’t go amiss.”

  “I thank you. Good day.”

  “Good day, young miss,” the farmer said to Antonia.

  A flush appeared on her cheeks. So far, all the villagers had ignored her or sent worried looks her way so he understood the cause of it.

  “Good day, Mr Palmer,” she said softly.

  Did her lilting voice charm the farmer just as it did him? He suspected so if Mr Palmer’s softening eyes and wide smile were anything to go by.

  Henry ran his gaze over the filthy woman at his side and shook his head. He really did not need to be so distracted by his prisoner, muddy or not.

  “There is a well not far from here.” He motioned inland. “The farmers use it for the animals. We can clean the worst of the mud off there.”

  She nodded eagerly and lifted the hem of her skirt to inspect the worst of the damage. “Kate will not be happy.”

  “She’ll not scold you, ‘twas my fault.” He began the walk back to the stables, aware of his clothing sticking to his body.

  By the time they fetched the horses, the mud on his face had dried and was beginning to crack. He grimaced and glanced at Antonia. He had to wonder what he’d been thinking. She had no gowns of her own and he thought it a fine idea to pull her into the mud?

  Henry led Antonia to the well. It sat on an ill-frequented road that had once headed to an old village that had eventually been abandoned some twenty years ago. Now only the farmers used the well for their animals.

  He dismounted, tethered the reins and turned to aid Antonia down. She needed no help—he already knew she was a fine horsewoman—but guilt gnawed at his insides over his treatment of her. Gripping the rope, he hauled up the bucket and propped it on the side before unfastening his doublet. Antonia shifted from foot to foot and eyed him through wide eyes. He let his brow furrow and motioned to the bucket.