Knight's Captive Read online

  Knight’s Captive

  Samantha Holt

  Copyright 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

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter One

  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.

  Except... damn her. He passed her father over to Will. “A broken leg,” he shouted. “You’ll have to lower him down. As soon as he’s in, abandon ship.”

  Antonia was already hurrying to his side from the quarter deck but before she reached them, a crack splintered the air. Henry’s skin prickled. He glanced up and saw the middle mast sway. The ship was now at an angle—slightly back, slightly to one side. The mast began to tilt that way too and as it went, it ripped the quarter deck with it, sending Antonia sprawling. He half-expected her to be swallowed into the bowels of the ship before he stormed up the stairs to her side, but he reached her before the mast fell.

  As the deck splintered into what seemed like a hundred pieces, he snatched his arms around her and dragged her onto the main deck. The ship spit up shards of wood around them. She wasn’t going down without a fight, but she seemed determined to take them with her. Henry glanced back to see Will and de Valdés were gone. He tightened his grip on Antonia and wrapped a hand around the railing. They’d be lucky to make it to the longboats waiting in the water. “We need to jump.”

  “No. My father.”

  “He’s safe.” Henry had no way of knowing that, but he wouldn’t have this woman on the ship any longer. “Can you swim?”

  She nodded.

  He helped her up onto the railing. Her body trembled beneath his palms. “Jump now.” His world tilted further. “Jump!”

  She flew over the edge, her hair streaming out behind her. He couldn’t hear the splash as he tore off his doublet and undid his belt. He flung both aside, regretting that he’d lose his blade. That had been a fine blade. Clambering onto the side, he took a breath and dove.

  Chapter Two

  ¡Dios mío! Antonia surfaced and drew in a gulp of air. The water bit at her skin. Salt burned on her tongue. Why did English water have to be so cold? She shoved her hair from her face and kicked her feet but her boots hindered her. She bobbed under and had to kick out to surface again. She peered up at the ship. The end was now almost submersed and she appeared to be splitting in two. It was like a great beast with jagged teeth, looming over her and threatening to swallow her.

  She forced her cold legs to move. W
here was the Englishman? She tried to swim away from the wreck but an invisible pull kept drawing her back. Fear began to pound through her, making her forget the cold touch of seawater but stifling her breathing and making it harder to work against the lure of the ship. She was going to be pulled under with it, she just knew it.

  At that moment, she regretted her decision to come with her father. Even after their ship had collided with another and had become captured, she hadn’t. She was at her father’s side and that’s all that mattered. She was no longer in Spain where memories of Lorenzo could haunt her. However, she’d never envisioned a watery grave.

  But, no. She would not give in. She had survived her brute of a husband, she would survive this. Antonia would not die in these cold English waters. Using what little strength she had, she fought and kicked against those invisible hands curling around her legs and body, beckoning her to her doom. They drew her under again and again while the groans of a dying ship rattled her ears.

  She spluttered and surfaced only to be dragged under again. But this time firm, solid hands gripped her and hauled her away from her doom. She could hardly tell where was up and where was down now, but she trusted those strong hands to draw her in the right direction. As the pull of the ship lessened, she used her free arm to swim and keep her afloat while she twisted to view her rescuer.

  The Englishman. Of course. The man in charge of her capture. He wouldn’t let a prisoner get away so easily. She had known that as soon as she’d set eyes on him. He had a determined lift to his chin and blue eyes that held such assurance she suspected men would follow him to hell to defeat the devil if he assured them victory.

  He twisted them to watch the leviathan drop into the sea with a gulp and a swirl of water. She’d expected it to go slowly but with the prow of the ship jutting out, it went suddenly in a great rush. Where once a fine Spanish Galleon had been now sat driftwood, ropes and torn fragments of sail. If she’d had the energy to weep, she would have done.