Knight's Captive (13 page)

Antonia
held back a groan and forced her eyes open. The priest hadn’t rendered her
senseless but he’d done enough damage to make her head thick with pain. The
side of her cheek throbbed in protest of her movements. She lifted her gaze to
the thin window of the dark, dank room in which she was trapped, then down to
her bound wrists. Twisting her hands against the coarse rope, she vaguely
recalled Reed wrapping the cord tightly around them until it bit into her flesh
but being too weak to fight him. At some point, she must have fallen asleep.

Henry.
Was he well? Had he been
harmed in the brawl? Her pulse rushed to life and she pushed to her feet only
to fall back down again.
¡Dios mío!
, she hoped he hadn’t been hurt. She
took the time to contemplate the room again, taking in the hard dirt floor
beneath her bottom and the cold, wet wall against her back. A
trickle
of water dripped down the back of her neck, and she
shuddered. Why had he brought her here?

When she peered up, she noticed rivulets of
light slipping in between the eaves of the room. Wherever she was, this was no
home or village building—it was in too poor a condition to be in use. Her
stomach grew heavy and a bitter tang burned the back of her throat. The priest intended
for them to stay hidden.

Antonia lifted her wrists to the thin puddle of
light that spilled onto the floor and forced her sore eyes to focus on them.
The knots were tight and expertly tied. She recognised it as one the men had
used aboard the ship. Using her teeth, she tugged and chewed at the thick rope
but to no avail. When a few mere splinters of twine soiled her mouth, she spat
them out in annoyance and swallowed a frustrated sob.

Her time aboard the Spanish galleon seemed so
long ago now. The promises of a new life by her father no longer rang in her
ears.
No
, instead Henry’s did.
As his touch echoed in
her soul.
She had never been more terrified than when she had seen him
trapped amongst that throng of angry villagers. Not even when Lorenzo had locked
her away.

If she ever saw Henry again...

She sighed. Antonia couldn’t say what she would
do, but she wouldn’t allow him to turn her away a second time.

The door to the vestibule creaked open and she
stiffened, her fists raised. Reed ducked into the room, carrying a leather
bottle and a chunk of bread.

“Release me,” she demanded, even while knowing
her words would have no effect. After all, why tie her up and bring her here
only to let her loose at a mere command?

He shook his head and knelt beside her. Placing
the drink down, he lifted her wrists and eyed the knots. “You’ve been trying to
escape,” he said, eyes narrow and accusing.

“
Si
.
You
expect me to simply await my fate, perhaps?”

“’Twould be wise. If you let the ropes damage
your skin, you could succumb to infection.” He handed her the water to clutch
between both hands.

Antonia took a clumsy drink, aware of her dry
throat. The desire to spit the water in his face didn’t quite override her need
to keep herself alert and healthy.

“Why should you care?”

“I need you alive.”

“And why is that?”

“We are to away to London. There you shall tell
all of Sir Henry’s heresy.”

“I shall do no such thing. Henry is guilty of
naught but compassion.”

Reed snatched away the water and debated the
bread in his hand. He closed his fist about it and crushed it until crumbs
escaped between his fingers. She watched them drop to the floor and mourned the
loss of the food. While Antonia wasn’t hungry yet, she would be soon enough and
she wanted to be strong.
Strong for herself and strong for
Henry.

She had to return to him.

“Compassion for Catholics is heresy,” he hissed.
“His uncle was a heretic and so too is he. The queen will see as much and have
him put to death.”

She shook her head vigorously. “She will see
nothing of the sort. She will not believe your lies.”

“When you are taken to London and stretched ‘til
your limbs cannot hold you any longer, the truth shall spill from your lips and
they shall come for him. You shall be responsible for his death.”

The image sent a shudder through her but when
she looked into his eyes, hooded and dark in the gloom, she knew these were not
the words of a sane man. The queen would not see a Spanish prisoner tortured on
the words of a lowly priest nor would her men go after Henry. And even if Reed
somehow persuaded anyone of her guilt, none would break her.

“Return me home,” she said quietly. There was no
arguing with this man. He was blind to the errors of his ways, likely eaten up
by jealousy.

“’Tis not your home.
You
were never welcome there.”

Antonia considered how it was that a place where
she certainly hadn’t been welcome and may never be, could feel so much like a
home to her. But Spain hadn’t for so long, not since her girlhood. Even after
Lorenzo’s death, he haunted her. His words and deeds lingered too sharply in
her mind. Here, in England—in Henry’s home—they were finally muted. The
acceptance of a few of the villagers and Henry’s care of her had been enough.

“Where are we?”

“An old Catholic church.
It has
been abandoned just as you have. We have no need for your heretic ways.” Reed
stood sharply. “’Twill be dusk soon and the roads will be too dangerous. We
shall continue our journey on the morrow.”

She offered him a pitiful smile. “Then I shall
use the time to pray for your soul.”

“I need no prayers from a Catholic,” he spat
before spinning away and slamming shut the door.

After a few moments, Antonia pushed to her feet.
Though the pain in her face nearly forced her double, she managed to remain
standing. She peered out of the thin window and the ache in her stomach
increased. Dusk was indeed nearing, casting her ghostly fingers over what
appeared to be a thick forest. Soon this small room would be swallowed by darkness
and she would be left alone in it with nothing but her thoughts and fears. Her
chest tightened and blood began to throb in her ears. How would she survive the
night?

Her thoughts turned to Henry, to his bold
courageous ways. For him, she would stay strong.

Antonia paced the room.
Three
paces across, five paces wide.
The door was solid oak and would likely
last years longer than the crumbling walls. There was no escape.

“Antonia.”

Her heart near leaped out of her throat. She
moved to the window and peered out. “Henry!”

In the dim light, she saw the marks of the fight
on his face but he was alive and that was enough for her. He pressed a finger
to his lips. “Where is Reed?”

“I know not,” she whispered. Pressing her
fingers through the window, she found
his own
and he
curled his hand around the tips. “I am glad you are unharmed. I feared greatly
you would be killed.”

“Nay.
A few
bruises and naught more. The crowd dispersed quickly enough once some shots
were fired.”

“The villagers?”

“All unharmed,” he assured her softly. “Forgive
me for taking so long to find you. The ground was hard and the tracks were not
so easy to follow.”

“It matters not.”

“Stand against the wall. I shall come around.”

“Be careful,” she urged.

Henry would not be foolish but Reed was not of
sound mind. Who knew what the man would do when he saw Henry? Henry would fight
with honour. The priest would not.

She flattened her back against the cold rock and
curled her fingers into the stone while listening for footsteps or sounds of a
fight. No scrape of swords being drawn came nor the grunts of men or the
pounding of fists against flesh. The door seemed to explode into a thousand
pieces, much like the
Rosario
when gunpowder tore her asunder. Antonia
held her breath.

Henry strode through the breech and dragged her
into his hold. The strength of Henry’s body revived her and she forgot the pain
in her face or the ache around her wrists.

“Come, he must be nearby. We must away before he
returns.” He lifted her bound hands and drew out a dagger from his belt.

A movement caught her eye. Henry must have seen
her gaze flick to the shadows behind him as he released her and whirled, the
dagger in hand. Too late though. He gave a howl of pain when Reed jabbed him
with his own small blade. Henry staggered back, a hand to his side, and slumped
to the floor.

Eyes wide with horror, Antonia saw the light
glint off the dagger in the priest’s hand. She heard her own cry but it sounded
distant. The priest rushed forward again and Henry lifted an arm. This time the
blade glanced off him but even in the increasing dusk, she saw blood blossom on
his shirt sleeve. Bile rose in her throat. She was upon Reed before she had
realised what she had done.

The man reared as she latched her hands around
his neck and tried to drag him away using the full weight of her body. He
rotated and dropped the knife while he scrabbled at her hands in an attempt to
pry her grip from her. She clung on.

Savage cries rang out, like that of a beast
dying. She had never heard the likes of it. The man was truly mad. He crashed
out into the ragged remains of the church and twisted. Her grip came loose and
she fell to the floor, winded.

“Heathen,” he screamed at her.

Reed pounced on her, crushing what little breath
she had left from her body. His hands were upon her neck before she could put
up any kind of a fight. Her bound wrists prevented her from doing anything
other than wriggle fruitlessly. Antonia kicked out but to no avail.

Dots clouded her vision. She wanted to scream
but no sound came. Her lungs burned. The priest’s wild eyes became the only
thing she could see. Around her, everything else was dark. She gave one last
kick before the circle of darkness closed in.

Pain
seared Henry’s side. It burned through his arm. It tore at his heart. He lunged
for Reed and pushed him off Antonia. She remained lifeless, pale.

Dead?

He turned on the priest. No thoughts of honour
remained. He wanted this man’s blood. Hot, pulsing anger ran through his veins
and he clenched his fists. As Reed pushed to his feet, Henry went for him
again, bringing a fist across his face. Bone crunched under his fist. He
released a grin of satisfaction.

The sting to his side all but melted away.
Nothing existed apart from this man and Antonia’s lifeless body. The need for
vengeance burned bright. He let Reed stagger to his feet. He even allowed him
to exit the church. Better not to spill blood on holy land. And better to let
him think he might have some chance of escape. That
way
Henry could take all the more satisfaction in bringing him down again.

Henry stalked after him with measured steps.
From the way the priest staggered from his blow, he wouldn’t get far. Reed
stumbled over an old gravestone and Henry followed.

“She was an innocent,” he said, feeling the
hotness of his breath.

Reed shook his head, backing away. “She’s a
heretic. You all are. You should never have taken that witch into your home. I
was doing the work of God.”

“The work of God is that of charity and
kindness. Antonia had more goodness in her than a hundred Protestant priests.
You have not a kind bone in your body, Reed. ”

“I serve only to protect my flock.”

“You serve yourself,” Henry spat.

The man inched back farther until his back hit a
tree. He tumbled around it and paused when a splash resounded through the dark
woods. The priest had come upon the old lake Henry had spotted when he’d ridden
here.

God’s blood.
If he’d but acted sooner.
Punished the rioters, removed the
priest from the village, none of this would have happened. Antonia would have
been safe.

“Sir Henry...”

He pushed forward, nostrils flaring, fists
balled. There would be no mercy from him this time, no sign of weakness. Ignoring
the rush of cold water in his boots, he grabbed for Reed. The priest’s cloak
bunched in his fist, Henry slammed him down into the water. Reed spluttered and
scrabbled against his hold, his fingernails digging into his hands and his
weight making the slice on his arm burn.

With a growl, he shoved the man under again,
coming down to kneel in the shallow water, and held him there while water
sloshed about him. Reed came up briefly to suck in air so Henry put his full
weight on him.

“Henry!”

He kept his hold on the priest firm, even as
shock stiffened his muscles. “Antonia!”

She waded up beside him and pulled his arm.
“Leave him.
¡Dios mío!,
don’t kill him.”

Henry’s hold loosened enough for Reed to
splutter to the surface again. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let the man
get away with harming Antonia, with putting the villeins at risk. It had been
simple luck that no one had been harmed during the rioting.

“
No
,” she pleaded, tugging on him again
as he pushed the man under.

This time he wouldn’t let him come up again.

“Henry, this isn’t you. Do not kill him. This
isn’t you.”

Under the increasing moonlight, he glanced down
to see the shadowy outline of the man he was drowning. He saw the trails of
blood dripping down his arm. Henry twisted his head to view Antonia and the
horror on her face. To her, he was perhaps no better than her husband.

Icy coldness washed through him.

He hauled the priest out of the water and
dragged him to the side of the lake. Flinging Reed down, he drew in several
ragged breaths while the priest gagged up water then collapsed.

Antonia came to his side. “What shall you do
with him?”

“Take him to the village. See that justice is
served,” he said quietly. He turned to Antonia and took in her features.
Swelling marred her cheek and her hair was wild. Bruises were already revealing
themselves upon her neck. He pressed both thumbs along either side of her jaw
and lifted her face. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Henry kissed her. He brought his lips down on
hers swiftly. Her bound hands were still trapped between them but it didn’t
stop him from bringing her as close to his body as possible. Holding her tight,
he plundered her mouth and she gasped. The sweet sound urged him on and he took
and took until they were breathless.

When he drew back, he kept hold of her face.
“Did I frighten you?”

“A little.
But
not for myself.”

Reed groaned so Henry reluctantly released her.
“Can you find my dagger?”

“
Si
.”

Antonia marched back toward the church. He
thought he spied a shudder in her body but she behaved with such courage, given
her fear of the dark. When she returned with his blade, he cut the ropes from
her wrists and rubbed the red patches.

“There’s enough here for me to restrain him,” he
commented and began binding Reed’s wrists behind his back.

The man proved to be compliant, mayhap scared of
another dunking or simply drained from his near drowning. Henry hauled him back
to the church and pushed him into the same room in which Antonia had been
locked. The door would no longer lock after he’d burst through it, so he used
an old plank to bar it. It would do for the night and he had little intention
of letting down his guard. He had even less intention of anything happening to
Antonia again.

He motioned to the old altar and made her sit.
His boots squelched and his clothes stuck uncomfortably to him. “We’ll have to
remain here for the night and travel back in the morning.” Henry came down on
one knee and clasped her hands. “I must find firewood and tether the horse
closer. I didn’t dare bring her close in case she alerted Reed,” he explained.
“I have my cloak and tinder box with her. But I must leave you for a moment.”
He looked into her wide eyes, the whites still managing to shine in the shadows
of the church. “I will return. Do not be afeared.”

She nodded but said nothing.  He saw the
fear there and he saw the trust too. He wasn’t quite sure he’d earned it
though.

By the time he’d retrieved his cloak, slung it
over Antonia’s shoulders and got a fire lit, chills began to wrack him. The
pain in his side increased and he winced as he sat beside her.

“Will you let me look?”

“’Tis but a scratch.”

Antonia ignored him and shifted around him to
begin unbuttoning his doublet. Before long she had his shirt pushed up over his
head and his arm lifted so she could examine the wound. She shook her head and
tutted.

“What is it?”

“’Tis deep.
Not a
mere scratch, Henry.
¡Dios mío!
, if you hadn’t turned...”

“If I hadn’t let Reed continue with his
behaviour...” He let out a hiss of a curse. “I shall never forgive myself that
he hurt you.”

“You said it
yourself,
the church has the power over him, not you. What could you have done?”

“I should have killed him. Maybe I still
should.”

“
No
.” She gripped his shoulders and set
her gaze upon him. “You should not. You could not. You are a deeply honourable
man and that is much to be admired.”

He snorted. “Honour did not protect you
tonight.”

“Your honour has protected me this entire time.
Were you any less of a man, I would likely be drowned and my father dead.”
Antonia leaned in to brush a kiss across his lips.
“’Tis why
I love you.”

Henry froze. He searched her gaze to see some
element of falsehood and to be sure she had said as much. He wasn’t sure anyone
had ever uttered such words to him and yet this beautiful, bold woman had.
Something throbbed deep in his heart and he fought to find some reply but
nothing came.

“Now, let us see to that wound.”

Antonia turned away before he summoned the right
response. He eyed her as she tore strips from her gown and gathered a handful
of ash with which to clean the wound. Indecision rioted through him. The desire
to clamp her to him and never let her go warred with the knowledge that she
would have to return home soon and she needed to be with her father, with her
people.

So he didn’t declare his love for her, even as
it warmed his body. Instead, he remained quiet.