Knight's Captive Read Online Free Page A

rear chamber was the smallest but also the
one closest to his room. From what he had witnessed, the woman was wilful. He
wasn’t sure he could trust her if—when—she regained her strength. He’d be
better off putting himself between her and any escape.
    Henry laid her down on the bed, struck by how
fragile she appeared against the rich carved wood. He flexed his hands. His
body remembered holding her—he suspected it would keep remembering. Only Kate’s
presence prevented him from doing something foolish and dishonourable like
touching her cheek or brushing her hair from her face.
    He looked to the housekeeper. “See that she is
made warm and dry.”
    Spinning on a heel, he strode out of the room,
across the hall and into his chamber. He moved purposefully, drawing clean
clothes from the coffer at the end of his bed and stripping down. Cool air
brushed his skin and he shuddered. Death had been far from his mind today. He’d
been too focused on victory. But Antonia…
    When they’d been in the water, awaiting the
boats he feared would never turn back and find them, she’d been steps away from
it, he suspected. Malnutrition and exhaustion had made the effects of the cold
water ten times worse than what he suffered. His attempts to keep her talking
and awake had worked—at the time. He only hoped she did not succumb now. If her father was alive, he’d be far less cooperative after his daughter’s death.
    Henry grimaced and reached for a linen cloth to
rub his body vigorously. Warmth seeped back into his muscles and fatigue began
to slip away. Not one, but two people’s lives to worry about and around three
hundred men now locked away in the old barn. The local militia and those under
his command hardly seemed enough to handle that amount of prisoners.
    Slipping on dry clothes, he eyed his soggy boots
and rooted out some dry ones. He shoved a hand through his hair and tied it
back. Then he bundled up his water-logged garments and marched out into the
hallway to snag a serving girl. “Get these washed and dried,” he ordered. “And
send Mr Fredericks up. I need him to go to Torre Abbey.”
    The girl dipped and took the bundle from him
before hastening away. He stepped into the hallway and eyed the closed door to
Antonia’s chamber. He paused to listen for any indication that she was awake
and alert.
    Nothing.
    It was purely his sense of duty making his
stomach bunch. It had to be. After all, he hardly knew the woman. Though he wasn’t heartless. He had no wish to see a young
woman die. Women had no place in war and what her father was thinking bringing
her with him, he knew not.
    Brushing aside thoughts of storming into her
room and finding out what was happening, he took the small flight of stairs up
to his office. Nearly a month at sea had put him behind in his duties, no
doubt. The tenant farmers would have many problems awaiting him and his
business dealings had been put on hold as soon as news of the Armada reached
Torquay.
    He eyed the stack of missives on the wooden desk
and blew out a breath. Henry noted the jug of wine and platter of bread and
cheese awaiting him. A smile teased his lips. His staff knew him too well.
They’d guessed he would be straight back to work.
    By the time he’d settled at the desk and taken a
moment to cast his gaze about the room, Fredericks, the estate manager arrived.
    “Well done on your fine victory, sir,” the
grey-haired man said formally as he ducked through the low doorway.
    “We do not have victory yet. Still need to chase
off the rest of the Armada,” he explained. “But I’m confident the navy can do
so.”
    Fredericks nodded solemnly. “And your part is
done?”
    “Aye. The
local militia are to ensure the prisoners remain just that—prisoners—while I
make negotiations for their return to Spain. We have over three hundred souls
to watch over.”
    The man’s thick grey brows rose. “Our men number
at only one and fifty. How are we to ensure they do not