Knight's Captive (14 page)

Pausing
on the threshold to the main bedchamber, Antonia took a moment to appreciate
the sight of Henry without his shirt. She admired the lines of his arms and the
slight scattering of hair across his chest. However, the linen bound around his
arm and torso made her heart pang. He was a strong man, she assured herself. No
small cut would bring him down.

The sunlight spilling through the windows of the
chamber silhouetted Henry against the cloudy glass. With his long hair loose
and touching his shoulders, she itched to push her fingers into it and recreate
that all too short kiss. She’d suggested the physician see to him there rather
than in the guest chamber because of the better light but in truth, she also
wanted him comfortable to ensure a quick recovery.

The physician spotted her and motioned her in as
he packed away his belongings.

“Are you well?” she asked as she hastened in.
“Is he well?” she asked Mr Willis.

“Aye, well enough.
A mere
scratch for a man of Sir Henry’s size.”

Henry gave her a look that told her he had said
as much. She ignored his smile and eyed the linen bandages.

“Will you allow me to change the strips?”

Henry opened his mouth, but the physician spoke.
“Aye.
You’re in good hands here. Should he show any
sign of fever, send for me, but I think it unlikely. A strong herb bath in a
few days will draw out any impurities.” Willis put a hand to Henry’s shoulder.
“You have a fine woman here. She’ll look after you well. Would that I had
someone like her to help me every day, but I suppose you’ll be returning with
your father soon.”

She met Henry’s gaze, unable to avoid noticing how
he stared at her. “Aye,” she said softly even as the word pained her. His eyes
seem to echo that pain. Was it possible he didn’t wish to be parted from her
any more than she did from him? He hadn’t spoken of love but that kiss and the
desperation when he’d thought her harmed...

He broke the connection first. “How are things
in the village?”

“Good, Sir Henry.
Calmer.
The announcement this morning that there will be extra funds to continue taking
care of the prisoners has mollified most. And now that the reverend is no
longer putting words in their ears, I think you shall have no more trouble.”

“
Aye,
let the courts at
Torquay deal with him now. I am grateful to have washed my hands of him.”

“As are many of us,” the physician agreed.

Antonia suppressed a shudder and Henry took her
hand to curl his fingers in between hers. It would take some time before she
forgot that yet another man had tried to harm her, yet her fear melted with his
touch. He read her so well, understanding her fears and knowing how to comfort
her perfectly. In this man, she had found so much.

“Well, I shall bid you good day.”

She gave a little dip of her head. “Good day, Mr
Willis.”

Antonia waited until he had left and shut the
door behind him. She came back to Henry’s side where he sat upon the bed and
lifted his arm to inspect the bandage. He let out a sharp hiss when her fingers
connected with his chest.

“Forgive me, did I hurt you?”

He shook his head and his deep blue gaze locked
onto hers.
“Nay. ‘
Tis your touch...”

“My fingers are too cold?” She straightened and
tried to tuck her hands by her sides but he grabbed one and tugged her close so
that she stood between his thighs. He opened them wider, allowing her to slot
completely between them.

“Your touch is like torture.”

“I...”

“Sweet, sweet torture.”
Slipping his hands around her, he smoothed his palms up the back of her gown
and down again to just above her rear.

“Henry, you are injured,” she protested even
though a faint tingle of excitement began to trill through her.

“Aye, and in need of your
attention.”
When he lifted his gaze to her face and likely
saw the astonished look on her face, he dropped his hands away. “Forgive me.”

“
No
.” She took both hands and placed them
firmly about her. “
No
, never apologise to me for being yourself, Henry.
You are a fine, fine man.”

Antonia pushed her fingers into his long hair
then down to graze along his hairy jaw line. He closed his eyes and released a
faint groan.

“Pure torture,” he murmured and brought his
hands down to cup her rear.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the bold move,
at the way her body seemed to sing with pleasure at the touch. Heat flooded
down between her legs and a desperate, pounding ache started up like the beat
of a drum inside her.

Hands in his hair again, Antonia brought her
mouth down on his. Gently, she savoured the taste of his firm lips and how his
fingers tightened their grip on her bottom. Antonia sampled the seam of his
lips and the inner corner. A shudder wracked his huge body. Emboldened, she
deepened the kiss. When his tongue met hers, she couldn’t help but release a
moan of satisfaction.

Henry shifted back and coaxed her closer, urging
her to straddle him. She settled on her knees and drew in a sharp breath when
her body met his hard arousal. He gazed up at her, running his fingers over her
face and down her neck.

Eyes fluttering
closed,
she savoured the rasp of his fingers against her skin, relished the way he let
one tip linger on the hollow of her neck and across her collarbone. He dipped
that finger between her breasts and she gripped the bedding beside him. Her
nipples pressed against her simple gown and she found herself silently uttering
thanks for the lack of material between them. She could feel him hot and heavy
against his braies, throbbing and desperate with desire for her.

Never had she felt so strong and powerful.

Henry had given her that.

She rocked her hips against
him,
feeling sparks of pleasure burn deep inside. He hissed her name and pressed his
lips to her chest. Head tilted back, she gave herself up to his mouth while she
continued to rock.

“Antonia, my God,” he said through clenched
teeth while his kisses grew unsteady.

He placed one at the side of her neck, under her
ear, to her chin, to her other ear. Her body grew hot and prickly, her
movements more frantic. Sweet bliss began to simmer through her. Henry’s hands
found her hips and he urged her on, faster, harder.

Antonia stiffened. A surging wave hit her, then
again. It washed through her until she was languid and tingling from head to
toe. Henry urged her against him with a hand to her back and he kissed her
forehead before lying her down next to him.

He twisted to rest the back of his fingers
against her cheek and stroke softly. She found herself captured by his gaze as
he stared down at her.

“This need go no further. I will understand.”

She shook her head. She wanted it to go further.
To know him in the most intimate way.
Whatever the
future held, she needed to know what it would feel like to make love with this
man. Whether he loved her or not, he cared deeply for her. Her love would make
it enough.

“Your injury,” she whispered, touching the
linen.

“You would have to kill me to prevent me from
touching you. That is, if that is what you wish?”

“Oh
si
.
Touch
me.
Por favor
.”

In answer to her plea, he skimmed a hand over
her chest and down. She rose and fell with his touch like waves on the ocean.
Henry gripped her skirts and began to haul them up, baring her legs to his
view. Those coarse fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and
she drew in a deep breath, holding it until he came down to kiss her.

While his kisses made her breathless and hot,
his touch made her writhe and moan. He teased as though he had all the time in
the world, as though she was not a gunpowder keg ready to ignite.
Up her thighs and down, touching the crease at the very top before
retreating.

“
Mio
Dios
,
touch me,” she begged.

Antonia thought he might deny her. Thought he
might continue to tease if the way he drew back and grinned at her was anything
to go by. But her bold warrior surprised her. Within instants, his finger was
at her juncture. Before she could register the feeling of such an intimate
touch, he had buried it in her wet folds.

She arched and stiffened. She gripped his arms.
He muttered several words that were too quiet and quick for her to catch.
Henry’s gaze caught hers and he pushed that finger deeper while watching for
her reaction. The sweet
invasion made her want
to cry
out and at the same time keep the sounds quiet and private, to savour the
pleasure deep inside her and never let it go.

A second finger joined the first, stretching her
beautifully. He seemed determined to bring her to the edge while watching every
moment. She let him. Antonia gave herself up and rocked her hips while he
curled his fingers and touched a spot deep inside her. He pressed a hand under
her head and made his mastery of her body complete when he circled his thumb
over the sensitive spot on her sex. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and
cried out his name.

Once she’d gathered her breath, he withdrew his
fingers and stood to finish undressing. It took mere moments for him to reveal
himself and she forced herself to push up on her elbows to get a fine view. She
hardly thought it possible but a deep, longing pang resounded inside her at the
sight of all that muscle completely revealed.

And then he was upon her again, kissing her
deeply, hungrily. Gone was the patient, honourable man. The one who replaced
him—the elemental, bold man—thrilled her. She’d seen many sides to Henry and
she loved them all deeply. Here was the man who threw himself in front of
vulnerable people, who rescued people from burning ships without a thought. And
now he would take her in the same courageous way.

Henry lifted her skirts and settled between her
legs. He urged fingers through her hair and tilted her head back enough to take
her mouth hard. A hand sought out the laces at the front of her gown, loosening
them until he could coax a breast out of the confines of the gown and chemise.
He dropped his head briefly to take a nipple in his mouth but not for long.
When she pressed her hips up into him and felt the soft touch of his arousal
against her folds, she knew there was no going back.

He inched in, stretching her, filling her. To be
so closely joined with him made her heart sing. She wrapped her arms about him,
wary of his wounded arm and closed her eyes at the feel of his rough chest
against her exposed breasts. The only thing that would have made it more
perfect would have been had she been fully naked. Either way, she wouldn’t have
changed it for the world.

Once they were as close as two people could get,
he withdrew and pushed back into her. He groaned her name and she stroked her
hands across his hair, his back, in a bid to memorise every part of him. She
took his sounds of pleasure and held them close in her heart. Though a building
bliss grew deep inside her, she ignored it. For her, this was about him, about
giving him every part of her without the deafening cacophony of her climax.
Antonia gripped his rear and urged him on, deeper, harder.

He gave her a shaky kiss and his muscles
bunched. So much restrained power sent a whirl of anticipation through her
stomach. No fear or worry haunted her. In Henry’s arms, she could be herself
and know that he would do all he could to take care of her.

“Antonia...forgive—”

She cut him off with a firm kiss and held him
deep within her with her hands to his buttocks. His body tensed and unfurled
with a great shudder. Heat spilled inside her and she watched his expression
give way to the pleasure. Antonia took a moment to close her eyes and simply
enjoy the moment.

When she opened her eyes, regret lingered in his
gaze. She couldn’t bear for him to utter more words of apology so she kissed
him tenderly. It worked to silence him. Henry withdrew and eased onto his back
with a barely suppressed groan. She shook her head at his foolhardiness but she
couldn’t bring herself to be cross with him for making love to her while
injured, not when it had been like that.

He extended an arm and motioned for her to lie
next to him. Curled up against his side, she stroked a hand across his
impressive chest and drew in the musky scent of him.

“Ah, Antonia, what am I to do with you?”

She had no answer for him. Her father was due to
return home, and she with him. She was a Catholic in a Protestant land and
Henry had many responsibilities. There were many things she wished for him to do
with her, but she didn’t know if any of them were possible.

Waking
up in pain wasn’t pleasant.
Waking without Antonia, even more
so.
Henry eased to sitting and put a hand to the bandage around his
ribs. He’d forgotten all about the pain when he’d been buried inside her, but
he shouldn’t have given in really. It was likely he’d extended the time it
would take to heal.

Not to mention he’d taken any last shred of
honour he had and thrown it to the wind. Hell fire, he’d even spilled inside
her. Right now, his child could be taking shape in her body. The image appealed
too much. He’d taken so much from her and left her with that possibility. He’d
left her without choice.

Henry scrubbed a hand over his face and forced
himself out of bed. She’d been with him in the early hours. Even now, he was
aroused but he’d managed to resist making love to her again. After everything
she’d been through, she deserved more. She deserved more than the possibility
of being with child out of wedlock
and
forced into
marriage to a man in a strange country and being torn from her family.

When had she left him? He peered around the
bedchamber as though it might give him some sign of when or why she had decided
not to wake with him. Had she truly opted to go to the guest chamber? Her
courage pushed a smile across his face. She was a far cry from the terrified
girl who had first come to his house.

He climbed out of bed with all the agility of an
old man. His muscles were stiff and he was paying for his brawl with Reed. If
only he was in better health, he might have shown Antonia such pleasure that
she wouldn’t have wanted to leave his bed. Except, of course, he didn’t wish to
do that, did he? He wanted to treat her with respect and courtesy.

However, the voice deep inside him told him he
wanted to hear her cries of pleasure again, but this time he wanted to hear
them repeated and he wanted to taste her arousal and feel her shaking limbs. He
wanted to bring her to the brink over and over. Mayhap she had been disappointed
with him and had made her escape when she could.

God’s blood, what if he’d reminded her of her
husband?

Ice water ran through his veins. He strode over
to the ewer and cleaned his face and body before dressing with as much haste as
he could muster with his injuries. Tying back his hair, he scraped his fingers
through his beard to neaten it and pulled on his long boots. He needed to find
her and ensure he hadn’t scared her. He’d never forgive himself.

Then he had to speak with her father. The man
might want to call him out in which case he’d willingly surrender himself. He
certainly wouldn’t be responsible for killing Antonia’s father. But they had to
plan for the worst—Antonia carrying his babe.

When he entered the dining room, he scowled at
the empty seat where she should have been. “Kate!”

The housekeeper hurried in, wiping her hands on
her apron.
“Sir?
What is it? Do you need the
physician?”

“Nay, I don’t need the physician,” he snapped.
“Where is Antonia?”

“She went to the village. Needed some herbs, she
said.”

Henry gritted his teeth.
“On
her own?”

“Nay, John took her down.”

He thought of the strong servant and gave a
reluctant nod. Still, unease sat in his gut at the idea of her being in the
village with only a servant for protection.

“I could hardly restrain her myself, Sir Henry.”

He gave a distracted wave. “Aye, I know. She’ll
not go anywhere, but until these prisoners are gone, I fear tempers will still
give way.”

Eyeing the morning meal, he dismissed it and
sought out his cloak. He tied it and stepped out of the house. The day was mild
and a chill hung in the air. They would be heading into colder weather soon
enough and that would make returning the prisoners all the harder with rough
seas. Rain hung on the horizon, grey and thick like wood smoke. He would bet
Antonia didn’t have a cloak on.

“I must check all is well at the barn,” he told
Kate as she followed him out.

“And to check Antonia is well?” she asked, the
faintest smile on her lips.

“Well I’ll not leave her alone to be sure.”

“She has John.”

Henry shook his head. “She’ll be safer at my
side.”

Kate nodded and her grin grew. “Aye, I do not
doubt it. She’s a lucky woman.”

Before he could respond, she turned back into
the house. What did his housekeeper mean? He strode toward the stables and
rested against an empty stall while Richard saddled his horse.
Lucky?
Antonia had become a prisoner in a strange
land,
she had been nearly drowned and taken prisoner by a
mad man. Then he had taken her into his bed and spilled inside her. He didn’t
think Antonia would consider herself lucky whether she loved him or not.

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and tried
to ward off any warm sensation in his chest at the remembrance of her words. So
she loved him. Did that make any difference to their situation? He couldn’t see
how it would. He still had to take a step back and allow her to decide her
fate. Love couldn’t come into it.

Even if the creeping sensation running over him
and burrowing deep into his heart told him he felt the same.

By the time his horse was saddled, the rain had
moved over the manor house. Though light, it seeped through his thick cloak and
dampened his hair until it stuck to his face. He pushed the strands of hair
back and made his way down toward the old barn. Antonia would have to wait.

He greeted the lieutenant and checked on the
conditions of the prisoners. Some were ill but most were in good health.
Unfortunately it was inevitable they would lose some to sickness in such close
confines but the increased sum of money from Torquay would ensure they could
continue to feed them well. If only the Spanish would claim their men and take
them home but of course, they didn’t much care for the poor sailors and
peasants who made up the majority of them.

All was quiet as he rode into the village. He
waited for mutters of how he’d been too lenient with the rioters or murmurs of
discontent but none came. One of the local women approached and he paused to
speak with her.

“I must thank
ye
, Sir
Henry, for yer actions the other day. My boy got caught up in the fight and I
dare not think what might have happened had ye set yer men upon them.”

He shook his head.
“Would that
it had not happened at all.”

“Yer father would have strung them up or slaughtered
them all.” She paused. “Forgive me, I should not speak so. But as a mother, I’m
grateful to
ye
.”

Henry offered her a small smile and bid her good
day. He doubted he had won all the villagers over in the space of a few days
but it appeared events had calmed the population somewhat. Whatever their
thoughts of him, he would never become like his father. Seeing the horror on
Antonia’s face as he tried to kill Reed was enough to prevent him from ever
wanting to be that barbaric. Justice would be served at the local courts and he
doubted Reed would get away with kidnapping Antonia and attempting to kill him
easily. In all likelihood, the man might be hung anyway.

But it wouldn’t be by his hands.

He pulled the mount to a stop outside the
physician’s house. The scent of lavender broke through the odour of the pigs
outside the house next door. Henry tethered his horse and dipped his head in
greeting as one of the villagers herded a handful of sheep down the muddy road.
The poor creatures looked about as wet and uncomfortable as him.

Antonia was in the kitchen, chopping some herbs,
when he entered. She had her back to him and wisps of pollen floated about the
air. With only the light of two candles on the fireplace, she appeared ethereal
and golden. What little grey light slipped in through the small window did
nothing to dissuade his heart from pounding at the sight of her. Her dark hair
hung down in a long braid that made him want to untie the leather and see it
spilled about her bare shoulders. She swayed as she chopped and he could make
out the curve of her rear against the green wool of her gown.

Henry curled a fist and drew in a breath through
his nostrils.  He coughed, dragging his gaze up away from where he so
longed to touch her.

Antonia whirled. A grin broke across her face.
“Henry.”

“You shouldn’t have come alone, Antonia.”

“John came with me.”

He grunted. He was beginning to get mightily fed
up with hearing of the servant. “Where is he?”

“Went to collect some candles
from the chandler.
I cannot very well come to harm here.” She
brushed her lavender-covered hands down her skirts.

“You could have waited,” he grumbled.

“You needed your rest,” she replied softly. “And
I had need of some herbs to ensure you heal properly. You shouldn’t even be
riding or getting wet.”

“I told you, ‘twas a mere—”

“Scratch.
I
know.”

Henry shifted on his feet. He didn’t wish to get
angry with her, after all she had come down to the physician’s for him, foolish
woman. However, the itching desire to stride over, draw her close and kiss her
until she forgot her name made him tense and on edge.

He needed to speak with her father.

“Is your father abed?”

“He is upstairs,” she confirmed.

“When you are done, I’ll take you home—to the
manor, that is.”

She nodded and turned her attention back to the
herbs but not before he noted the faint flicker of sadness in her gaze. By God,
he hated himself for making her feel like that. Did she feel used? Worried?
Whatever she felt, he wanted to obliterate that sadness and replace it with
nothing but utter pleasure. If she was his for the keeping, he’d make her feel
treasured at every moment.

He made his way up the wooden steps to the top
of the house and ducked in through the open door of her father’s chamber. The old
man was sitting on a heavily carved chair, surrounded by cushions, with his leg
on a footrest. For a man of his age, he appeared remarkably well.

“How goes it, sir?”

De Valdés placed his book down and motioned to
the chair opposite. “Good morrow to you, Sir Henry.”

Henry eased into the chair and tried to swallow
the knot in his throat. How would he tell this man he’d taken advantage of his
daughter?

“I haven’t had the chance to speak with you,” he
started, “of your return.”

Antonia’s father nodded. “I had heard
arrangements were being made for the officers. I, too, wished to speak with you
on that matter.”

“I am pushing for the release of all your men.”

“
Si
, but ‘tis easier to
negotiate for the release of the wealthy ones.”

“Indeed.”

“Antonia is to return too?”

“Aye.”

Instead of there being any sign of contentment
or happiness, the man’s expression grew grim. “She cannot return.”

Henry leaned forward.
“Sir?”

“I cannot let it happen. Who knows what will
happen to her if she does.”

“I don’t understand.
Her
husband’s family?”

The man lifted a shoulder.
“In
a way.”
He settled back against the chair and traced a finger across the
gold lettering on the book before meeting Henry’s gaze. “I told you of what
Lorenzo did to Antonia. I told you that he was a powerful man. And that she was
only free of him when he died. What you do not know is that he did not die of
natural causes.”

He narrowed his gaze on de Valdés. “You killed
him?”

“What would you have done if you found out that
your daughter was being beaten and tortured?”

“I would have killed him.”

De Valdés gave a humourless grin. “We are of the
same mind. I knew that the first time I saw you. After word of his treatment
reached me, I came to visit with Antonia. She confessed all. I had him
poisoned. No one knows of this, not even Antonia, but it could be traced back
to me. If it is, it puts both of us in danger.”

“That was why you brought Antonia with you.”

“
Si
.
Talk
of the suddenness of Lorenzo’s death began circulating. He was an ill-liked man
and it wouldn’t have taken long before the servants spoke out of his treatment
of Antonia and soon enough there would be fingers pointed at her. I had to get
her away from that danger.”

Henry gripped the arm of the chair. “She cannot
return.”

“She cannot,” her father agreed.

A squeak at the door made them both turn.

“Antonia.” Henry jumped out of his chair when
she turned and hastened downstairs. He cursed and followed after her, catching
up with her outside. He gripped her arm and twisted her to face him. The rain
fell heavily, plastering strands of her hair to her face and sticking her gown
to her body.