Knight's Captive
Authors: Samantha Holt
Knight’s
Captive
Samantha Holt
2015 ©Samantha Holt
All rights reserved. No part of
this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles
and reviews.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of
Contents
Torbay, England 1588
The acrid scent of gunpowder mingled with that
of sweat and vomit. It was no worse than on
his own
ship, the
Swallow
, but the bitter tang of defeat hung about the air.
After a long and tiresome battle, men on both sides were weary, hungry and
demoralised. However, Henry’s men were revived by the capture of the
Rosario
.
The Spanish, not so much.
Their loss etched their faces into deep
grooves. The English had taken the ship without firing a shot. Drake had
levelled a canon at the floundering galleon and they’d surrendered. Henry
couldn’t imagine conceding so easily. A fight to the death seemed preferable to
him.
He motioned to Will. “Lieutenant, escort these
men to the deck. We’ll begin unloading them. The Old Barn will be used to hold
them whilst we make negotiations.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Henry eyed the remaining Spanish men as they
huddled in the gloom of the hull. The officers and the captain remained tall
and proud but the rest were a sorry lot. Likely pushed to fight for a cause
they didn’t understand, he concluded. Most would be illiterate, God-fearing
people. He’d heard tell that the Spanish had believed their invasion of England
and disposal of the heretic queen would be easy enough. He imagined many of
these men lacked the ability to imagine anything other than victory.
And now he was in charge of their defeat.
While the other ships chased off the rest of the
Spanish, Henry would see to it that these prisoners of war were kept secure
until their return had been agreed.
He clasped his hands behind his back. He didn’t
expect trouble from many of them and, if he kept them fed and warm, he doubted
they’d even consider rising up against him, but he would not give them the
chance to. He’d already proved himself in battle and this was his opportunity
to regain his family’s honour for good. If he could bring in a decent sum for
these men and conduct himself well, all thoughts of his uncle’s treachery would
be forgotten.
Shuffling footsteps and the creak of wood
accompanied the barked orders as the men were escorted up onto the deck. The
commander, de Valdés, drew Henry’s attention as he tugged one of his
lieutenants aside. He narrowed his gaze at the man and the young boy while they
made a harried exchange in Spanish.
“
No!
” the boy exclaimed, wrenching
himself away from the commander.
Henry strode over. “Is there a problem?” He
tried to catch a glimpse of the boy but the shadows hid his features under a
hat.
“
No
, Captain. But,
por favour
, you
must show
la clemencia
to my—”
“
Papa, no.”
Turning his full attention to the boy, Henry
shook his head. He reached out and snatched the hat from his head in one swift
movement. A startled, feminine cry rang in his ears.
A woman.
She shied away, refusing to meet his gaze. When he thrust her hat back at her,
she jerked and her father put a protective arm around her.
“I will not harm you,” Henry assured. “I will
not harm her,” he repeated to de Valdés.
Henry skimmed his gaze over the woman and tried
to ignore the pang of something uncomfortable jabbing him in the back of his
mind. Something that said she was remarkably beautiful for a woman who had been
living on a ship for so long and was wearing men’s clothing. Her shirt and
breeches flattered a slender figure, but now that he was close, he didn’t know
how he’d missed those breasts pressing against the linen under an open doublet.
There was no way any other man would have mistaken her either so he had to
assume the commander had brought his daughter on board willingly.
What sort of a man brought his daughter to war
with him?
Her dark gaze finally connected with his. Framed
by long lashes, the same inky black as her hair that was currently tied back by
a strip of fabric, they seemed to reach down inside him and make his knees
ready to buckle. He, who had faced down the invasion of England by the
Spanish
. He, who could not claim to have felt anything other
than the thrill of impending victory as he stood on the deck of the
Swallow
. A mere woman threatened to bring him to his
knees.
He cleared his throat. What to do with her? He
couldn’t very well put her in with the other prisoners. Even with the
protection of her father, he could not be sure she would be safe. Not to
mention the thought of this wary-eyed woman in the dank confines of the barn
surviving on whatever limited supplies they could give them made his stomach
churn. Damnation.
“What is your name?”
Her eyes widened further. In the gloom, the
whiteness around her dark pupils seemed pronounced. They created a vision of
innocence against her dusky skin and raven hair. She gathered her hands
together and he saw her body stiffen, as if she was readying herself to run. He
felt a little as if he was trying to sneak up on a boar, and the instinct to
pounce struck. However, he kept his hands clasped behind his back and tried to
make himself appear small. Not really a possibility with his stature, but he
could at least try.
“
¿Qué es su
nombre?
” he tried again.
Her long throat worked. “Antonia,” she replied
so quietly he had to lean in to hear her. “My name is Antonia.”
In spite of the volume, her husky voice washed
over him. He made his decision there. He couldn’t let this woman rot in the old
barn. He might regret this but... “Sir, I shall be taking your daughter into
custody and putting her under house arrest,” he informed her father. “She shall
be under my protection.”
The man nodded with satisfaction. Clearly he
didn’t want her locked up with three hundred men either. However, Antonia
gripped his arm.
“
Papa, no
.”
“I trust you are a man of honour? You shall protect
my daughter,
no
?”
Henry nodded solemnly.
Honour?
Honour was what made him rise every morning. He lived, breathed and ate it.
Without honour, a man was nothing and he knew too well what it was like to lose
it. His uncle’s heresy had ensured that he had spent too long without it.
“I swear it.”
De Valdés murmured some words to his
daughter—words he couldn’t catch—and urged her forward with a push. Tears
shimmered in her dark gaze before she lowered her lashes. Henry motioned for
her to go ahead of him but she remained frozen. He went to place a hand to her
back, and she flinched.
Damn, the woman was terrified. He shook his
head. No wonder. She had no place in the middle of war.
“Antonia, you shall be safe,” he said softly.
She barely lifted her gaze to meet his before
nodding and shuffling forward. He followed her up and tried not to watch her
movements. How he hadn’t realised she was a woman sooner, he knew not. She
moved with delicate grace, her hips swaying slightly as though used to wearing
wide gowns. Though slender, there would be no mistaking her for a boy. He could
only blame his preoccupation with ensuring the movement of their prisoners ran
smoothly.
A breeze blew over him as they came up onto the
deck. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he paused to peer down
the stairs. As he did so, a bang ricocheted through the air. His ears rang with
the echo. He gripped the railing and a jolt seemed to ripple through the ship.
Beneath him, the vessel rose up and then sagged. His prisoner stumbled and fell
back into him. If he hadn’t been holding onto the ship, they both would have
tumbled down the steps.
“Damnation.” He’d recognised the sound all too
well.
A gunpowder blast.
And it sounded as though it
had come from deep in the hull. Somehow, someone had lit some gunpowder.
Perhaps they were trying to prevent the galleon from being captured.
He gripped Antonia’s arm and dragged her to the
edge of the ship. He peered over the side but saw no damage or water rushing
in. That didn’t mean there wasn’t any. A blast like that must have done some
damage and the
Rosario
had already
been crippled by an earlier collision.
He motioned to one of the men. “Get down there
and check the damage. And get the rest of the prisoners off now!”
Before the man could scurry off, Will hastened
to his side. “Water coming in, Captain. She’s floundering. We don’t have long.”
Antonia wriggled against his hold so he
tightened his grip. He scraped a hand through his hair. Thank the Lord they had
already unloaded the majority of the prisoners. Now he only had the small
amount of crew and the remaining Spanish captives to worry about. Of course,
they were the most valuable and most likely to be ransomed. He could forget
about restoring his honour if he let them die.
“Get the prisoners on deck quickly. We need to
load them onto the boats now. And cut the tow rope. I’ll not have her take our
ship down with her.”
They were off the coast of Plymouth, but it was
deep enough to ensure their ship went down with it. A group of important
prisoners lost and a ship sinking would be a fine way to ensure he never
stepped foot in court again.
The woman pulled at him again and he cursed. He
motioned to the men loading the boat. “Take her.”
She shook her head vigorously and ripped from him.
He lunged for her but missed. The ship gave a sudden lurch, sending her
sprawling sideways. Henry positioned himself with his feet spread wide to
counteract the tilt. When he reached for her, wood groaned and his stomach
curdled.
He understood that sound. There was no time. A
tingle raced through him. His heart beat a tattoo in his chest.
The ship seemed to come apart beneath his feet.
It propelled him forward and he snatched whatever part of Antonia he could grab
to haul her close. His fingers met a bunch of fabric, and he yanked her to him
and drew her to her feet. She tried to get away again but he was prepared this
time and wrapped his arms about her.
“We need to get off.”
She shook her head.
“My
father!”
Smoke was beginning to rise out of the hull. Men
poured onto the deck, but he couldn’t see her father. His men frantically
ushered them over the side of the ship to the waiting boats. He stepped around
the steadily growing cracks in the wood and grimaced as the mast swayed and
creaked. The ship didn’t have long.
He shoved Antonia into Will’s arms. “Ensure she
gets into a boat.” He turned his attention to the dark-eyed woman. “I’ll get
your father.”
She nodded, her lips pulled into a tight line of
fear. Henry turned away before he could regret his decision.
Will
would
see her to safety. The gut-sickening sound of men’s cries sliced
through him, like a baby’s wail calling to its mother. It wasn’t the first time
he’d heard sounds like that, and yet it still made him stiffen and
determination burned in his belly. He’d been tasked with capturing these
Spanish and he’d damn well do it. None would burn or drown on his watch.
Henry raced down the stairs and covered his
mouth with his arm. Smoke made his eyes water. Ghostly creaks rattled through
the ship. She was taking on water though it hadn’t reached the deck below. He
could hear the sea swallowing her, drawing her down to her doom. But the fire
hadn’t been doused. Heat touched his skin and he suspected that not far beneath
him could be a raging inferno.
Several men pushed past him—his own men. He
peered into the gloom and stalked past the canons. The ship gave another
shuddering moan and tilted aft. He gripped some rope hanging from the roof and
forged forward.
“De Valdés!” he called, almost choking on a lungful
of acrid smoke. When he neared the galley, he paused. Over the sound of the
foundering ship, a cry for help reached his ears. He pivoted and raced to the
fore, narrowly avoiding tripping over loose shot and ropes. There, near the
front, was Antonia’s father—pinned by a strut of wood that must have fallen
from the roof.
When he peered closer, he noted de Valdés wasn’t
the only one caught. A young officer had also become trapped. Henry grimaced.
He didn’t look alive.
Henry wasted no time in gripping the plank at
one end and dragging it from the commander, wincing from the effort. His
muscles pulled in protest, his lungs burned with exertion and smoke inhalation.
He cast it aside and did a cursory inspection of the lad.
Dead,
for certain.
“Can you walk?” he called to the older man.
He nodded, dragged himself to his feet and
propped himself against the rear wall. Even in the gloom, pain dug deep grooves
in his features. Henry suspected a broken leg. God’s teeth, they didn’t have
time for this. He snatched the man’s arm, flung it over his shoulder and they
made their way all too slowly to the stairs.
A moan rumbled through the ship. She tilted
farther, heeding their progress yet more. He practically dragged the commander up
the steps and they both took a moment to swallow gulps of fresh air. Henry
surveyed the deck and saw most had abandoned ship.