by Anne Herries
His father had threatened him with the demons of hell if he did not mend his ways, but Miguel did not believe in heaven or hell—only in the horror of that dark place.
‘Not the woman,’ he said. ‘Gold, if you will—but not the woman. She is mine. Father wants her for my bride. You know that, don’t you? He would not be pleased if you gave her back.’
God forgive him, Montana thought as the sickness churned in his guts. He knew it well and had argued against it from the start. He had served his master well and faithfully, but this wickedness was beyond all that had gone before. He thought of the young woman he had just welcomed to this house and the fate that awaited her as this monster’s bride.
‘Nothing can be done until Don Manola returns,’ he replied coldly. ‘There will be no wedding until my master is here to see it done properly.’
‘Get him back,’ Miguel muttered. ‘Don’t bother me. I have other things to do—more important business.’
The steward watched as Don Miguel walked away. Who knew where he went to when the sickness was about to come upon him—or what he did? It was better simply to look the other way.
But could he look the other way when it came to the matter of the wedding?
Chapter Twelve
‘Why did you save me?’ Sir Edward asked in a voice that was little more than a whisper. He gulped greedily at the water in a cup being held to his cracked lips. ‘Why have you shown me such kindness, such devotion? You must know I am your enemy—that I would see you hang if I could?’
‘I hope we shall not always be enemies, sir,’ Nicholas replied gravely. ‘Indeed, I would have us friends—for Deborah’s sake, if no other.’
‘My child—how dare you speak to me of her?’ Weak though he was after two days lost in a fever, Sir Edward struggled to sit up and to glare at the rogue who had snatched her. ‘What have you done to her? Where is my daughter? I swear I will kill you if you have harmed her!’
‘Rest easy, good sir. She is safe at my home,’ Nicholas said. ‘She has promised to wed me and we hope for your blessing.’
‘Over my dead body!’ Sir Edward fell back against the pillows, his strength spent. ‘Never, never shall I consent.’
‘Neither Deborah nor I would welcome your death, sir. Indeed, I know it would sorely grieve my lady to be estranged from you. It has caused her much distress to know you must be anxious for her sake.’
‘Your lady? By God, sir! You take too much for granted.’
‘The marriage contract is already signed. The wedding was to take place two days after my return, but may wait easily until you are well enough to give the bride away. I know Deborah would be happy if you were to stand by her side in church.’
Sir Edward’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you telling me she consents to this of her own will?’
‘She does—and will tell you so herself.’
‘I thought you took her for a ransom—or was there more to this?’ Sir Edward frowned. ‘This quarrel between you and Don Miguel is of long standing, I believe. My daughter was but a pawn in some plan of revenge.’
‘Not a pawn, sir,’ Nicholas said swiftly. ‘I never meant to give her to the Spaniard. Heaven forfend! I took her away to save her from a fate worse than death. I know it to have been a reckless act and I do sincerely beg your pardon for any pain I caused you. I ought in all conscience to have come to you and told you the truth…’
‘Indeed you did, sir! It was a wicked, cruel thing you did to snatch a daughter from her father. I thought her lost to me forever—mayhap dead.’
‘She was never in danger—I beg you to believe that I would protect her with my life. I was afraid you would not listen—and I could not bear that Miguel Cortes should defile Deborah as he has others.’
Sir Edward closed his eyes. His head was aching and he felt ill, both in body and mind.
‘You are not well, sir. We shall continue this discussion another time, when you are feeling better.’
‘No, no, I am listening. Pray tell me everything.’
He listened in silence as Nicholas told him of Isabella’s murder and of other things he had learned since, which he had told to no one else because they were too horrible to speak of except when it was needful.
‘The man you have described is the devil incarnate.’ Sir Edward crossed himself and shuddered as he struggled to come to terms with what he knew must be the truth.
‘Miguel Cortes is not a lunatic, though I suspect he may lose control at times. When himself, he is clever, cruel and evil—with the cunning of a serpent that creeps up unseen on its victim. I once called him a fool to his face and he killed the woman I would have wed. Knowing this—could I let a woman I admired above all others go to him as a bride?’
‘You should have told me, that was your duty.’ Sir Edward looked hard at him and something in Nicholas’s eyes suddenly made everything clear. ‘You could not risk my being too stubborn to listen. You loved her—Deborah. You took her because you loved her.’
‘I did not like to admit it even to myself,’ Nicholas acknowledged with a rueful smile. ‘But it is true. I love her with all my heart and did so from the moment I first saw her. I had vowed never to marry until Isabella was avenged but, though Miguel Cortes has escaped me yet again, I shall wed your daughter, sir. Revenge is nothing but bitterness and in sweet Deborah Ann I truly believe I have found my salvation. So I shall wed her as soon as it can be arranged.’
‘With or without my blessing?’ Sir Edward demanded.
‘I would have it for her sake,’ Nicholas replied. ‘But she is mine and I cannot let her go.’
Sir Edward nodded. He too had known such a love. A reluctant smile touched his mouth. The man was undoubtedly a rogue, but perhaps… He was about to speak when the cabin door was thrust open and Pierre entered.
‘We have just sighted the Antoinette,’ he said, his expression anxious. ‘There is an urgent message. Henri wishes to come aboard…’
‘Henri?’ Nicholas stared at him, an icy coldness trickling down his spine. ‘Henri has brought the Antoinette to meet us? I ordered him to guard the château and my lady with his life. How dare he disobey me?’
‘My God!’ Sir Edward gave an anguished cry. ‘I had forgot. While you were absent, Don Miguel went to your home to seize my daughter. If your trusted lieutenant is here…’
Nicholas was reeling from the shock. How could it be that Henri was sailing to meet them—had signalled that he had an urgent message?
‘If that monster has my daughter…God help my child…’ Sir Edward put a hand to his eyes and gasped. ‘God forgive us all…’
‘We shall get her back, I swear it.’
‘If Don Miguel is as evil as you told me, it might be too late. Better perhaps that she should die than live with such shame…better for us to forget she ever lived.’
‘Never!’ Nicholas cried, face white, eyes dark with horror. ‘I shall find her and do what must be done.’
If he killed her and then himself, at least she would not be trapped in a living hell.
Sir Edward had fallen back against the pillows and was moaning, severely distressed. Nicholas pitied him but could not stop to comfort him.
His thoughts were grim as he went on deck. He had never felt so angry or so desperate in his life. How could his plans have gone so awry? It was not possible for the Spaniards to have sprung a surprise attack—even if they had crept up in the dead of night they would have been seen. Surely his own men had not run like craven cowards? He could not believe that—and yet something must be wrong or Henri would not at this moment be sitting in a boat being rowed towards the Siren’s Song.
‘What do you mean—she went of her own free will?’ Nicholas stared at the man he had until this moment considered his best friend. ‘Damn you! I do not believe it. She would never have gone with that monster willingly.’
‘I urged her to ride away, but she would not be swayed—and then my horse was shot from under me and I was knocked unconscious as it
rolled on me. I did not witness what happened next, though…’ Henri hesitated as he saw the fury in Nicholas’s eyes. ‘I was told that she went with them willingly. She did not fight them, Nico—and I have been told that they treated her with respect rather than as a hostage.’
Nicholas swung away as the pain ripped through him. She had broken her word to him, persuading Henri to ride to the beach in the hope of escape… Yet she could not have known the Spaniards would be waiting. Unless he had been betrayed by others… No, no, it could not be! He would not believe that she had left him willingly.
He was tortured by his thoughts, which would turn him against even those he loved and trusted most. Damn that green-eyed wench for deceiving him! She had bewitched him with her smiles and the taste of her lips…she deserved her fate!
‘He has but one day’s start on us,’ Henri began. ‘I was not able to follow immediately, for my wits were wandering some hours. Our ships are faster. If we make good time we may be able to overtake him while he is still at sea.’
‘No! She chose her bed—let her lie on it,’ Nicholas said and swore furiously. ‘Why should I risk good men’s lives for a lying witch?’
Henri stared at him, shocked into silence momentarily. What had happened to this man he loved as a brother? Then, all at once, his own anger erupted. ‘May God strike you down if you let this happen. Damn you, Nico! I shall go alone if you will not come with me. Whatever your private quarrel with Mistress Stirling, you cannot condemn her to a living hell with that brute—or you are not the man I thought you.’
Nicholas stared at him, wanting to strike him, but then the truth of his words began to penetrate the mist of pain and disappointment in his head, and he knew that Henri was right. If Deborah had gone of her own will, it was because she did not believe Nicholas when he told her Don Miguel was a monster—and he had only himself to blame. He had snatched her from her father and forced her into a situation where her only choice was to marry the man who had besmirched her reputation.
He recalled the way she had melted in his arms, the sweetness of her lips, and knew that he could not stand by and see such softness and beauty destroyed. His love wrenched at him, twisting like a knife in his belly as he asked, ‘Why did she leave me, Henri? How could she prefer that evil creature to the life I offered her?’
Henri saw the pain in his eyes and pitied him. ‘I do not know,’ he said softly. ‘My memories of those last moments before I went down beneath the horse are hazy. I know she hesitated—but I cannot recall what she said to me just before the shot that felled me. Yet in my heart I do not believe she wanted to leave you.’
Nicholas smiled at him regretfully. ‘I have not asked if you were badly hurt—forgive me?’
‘Bruised—and dazed for some hours,’ Henri said ruefully. ‘But, in truth, I believe I deserved more for my carelessness.’
‘Why did you take her to the beach? You knew the risk.’
‘She was restless—as was I,’ Henri confessed. ‘I thought the ride would settle us both. Forgive me. I believed it safe enough. You had done all that was needed to protect the château. We had ample time to escape if…’ He faltered and Nicholas frowned.
‘If she had not stubbornly refused to go with you?’ He was suddenly tortured by pictures of Deborah subjected to the vile attentions of the Spaniard. ‘No matter! Whatever the reason, she must not be left to her fate. You were right, Henri. We must go after them.’
Deborah glanced at her reflection in the small hand mirror Anna had brought for her use. She saw that her hair had been dressed in the Spanish way, the crown pulled flat with clusters of ringlets at each side of her head. Her gown had wide panniers, which felt heavy and cumbersome, and was not as elegant as the gowns the French seamstress had made for her.
‘Thank you,’ Deborah said and smiled at the old woman, who had been kind to her. ‘You have done your work well.’
Anna was apparently satisfied, for she gave Deborah a toothless smile and chattered away in her own language. As a knock came at the door, she put a finger to her lips and shook her head as if to warn Deborah to be careful. It seemed even the servants here disliked and distrusted their master’s son.
However, when the door was opened, Deborah saw that it was Don Manola’s steward. He too had changed his clothes for the evening, but was as plainly garbed as before, though the stiff ruff around his neck was edged with silver lace.
‘I came to escort you to dinner, Mistress Stirling. I believe we shall be alone this evening. Don Miguel hath business that detains him elsewhere.’
‘What kind of business?’ Deborah detected something in his manner. ‘Pray tell me, señor—what kind of a man would they see me wed?’
Carlos Montana hesitated, then offered his arm to her. ‘Walls have ears, Mistress Stirling. We shall talk in a little while. I have taken the liberty of having our meal served in my master’s apartments. It is not as large as the banqueting hall and more comfortable. My master often dines there when he wishes to be private.’
‘You are considerate, señor.’
He smiled at her but said nothing until they were inside a small room, which was panelled with dark wood and had shelves for books and rolled parchments; there were, besides, a heavy table, two carved chairs and several coffers banded with iron. The table had been set with plates of silver, goblets and an engraved wine ewer, also a water jug.
‘We shall not be disturbed until I order our meal to be served,’ Montana said. ‘Will you take wine, my lady?’
‘I thank you, no. Water will serve.’
‘You may trust me—the wine is not drugged.’
‘I have thought from the first that I might trust you. I seldom drink wine, señor.’
‘As you wish.’ He poured water into a goblet and handed it to her, helping himself to red wine. ‘You wished to know what I can tell you about my master’s son?’
‘Yes, please.’ She raised her clear gaze to meet his steady grey eyes, studying him for a moment. He was a man in his mid years, neither particularly attractive nor ugly, but with an air of decency about him that marked him out as an honest man. ‘I have thought…at times…’ She took a deep breath. ‘Tell me, señor—is Don Manola’s son insane?’
His expression was unreadable, giving nothing away. ‘Has he harmed or frightened you?’
‘No—though I saw something in his eyes that made me fear he would ere long.’
‘Don Manola is a good man,’ his steward said. ‘But he was wrong to seek this marriage. He wants an heir—it is an obsession with him, you understand—but it is not fitting. The sickness may be passed on to yet another generation if he allows this abomination to take place.’
So she had been right! The Don was ill in his mind, even though at most times he seemed in command of his wits.
‘The Don knows of his son’s…sickness?’
Carlos Montana sighed and looked grave. ‘In all my years of service we have never disagreed save over this one thing. I cannot understand why he is so determined to have his own way. He must know that this merely compounds the original sin.’
‘What sin?’ Deborah asked, but the steward shook his head, unwilling to elaborate.
‘Of that I may never speak,’ he replied sorrowfully. ‘I have served my master well and faithfully and hope to do so until one or both of us are dead but…I cannot stand by and see this wickedness go on.’
‘You mean—you will help me?’ Deborah’s voice rose as she stared at him in sudden hope. ‘You will help me to escape from this place?’
‘Hush, lady. Even here we cannot be certain no one is listening. Don Manola’s flagship has been sunk in a battle with the Marquis de Vere. I expect to receive a demand for my master’s ransom at any moment…’
Deborah’s heart jerked wildly and she felt a surge of excitement. The Don’s ship sunk! Then Nicholas had won his battle. He would come for her. Surely he would try to get her back? Oh, please God, let him want her back! He must, he must!
; ‘What do you plan, señor?’
‘If, as I believe, Miguel hath the sickness on him, we may not see him for several days. As soon as news comes of my master, I shall offer your return for his.’ He saw her frown and gave an apologetic shrug. ‘My life is here, lady. I must have good reason to let you go or risk Don Manola’s displeasure.’
‘Supposing Don Miguel recovers before you receive the ransom demand? I beg you, señor. Help me to leave now, tonight, before it is too late.’
‘Forgive me, I may not—but I can control Miguel. He fears his father’s anger and in Don Manola’s absence I rule here. I could, if need be, have him chained, shut away from the world and no danger to himself or others—that is within my power.’
Deborah nodded. ‘I sensed that you had some authority. His men fear him, but you do not.’
‘His men have cause enough, but Miguel does not dare to raise his hand against me. He knows that would be an end to his father’s patience. The Don would have him shut away.’ The steward smiled. ‘Do not be afraid, sweet lady. I shall protect you until the time comes for you to leave. I pledge my life that that monster shall not lay his bloodstained hands on you.’
Deborah accepted his word. He was prepared to do so much and no more. There was nothing she could do or say that would persuade him. His first loyalty was to the master he served.
She looked at him anxiously. ‘Have you heard anything of my father, señor?’
‘Nothing as yet, lady. I believe he was expected to join my master at Cadiz, but I do not know what happened after that.’
‘I cannot bear to know nothing of him. I am uneasy, señor. I do not think I can eat anything.’
‘You must eat,’ Montana said. ‘You will need your strength to sustain you through the hours of waiting.’
‘Yes, I thank you, señor. I have eaten little since I was taken from France.’ She had almost feared to eat or drink lest some foul poison contaminated the food. She sighed, realizing that she must do as this man said for she had no other friend here. ‘I shall be patient since I must.’
