“’Tis but a scratch.”
She reached up to use her sleeve to dab at his lip and his blue gaze locked onto hers. It said, don’t. Don’t touch me or you shall regret it. Except she was beginning to wonder if she really would regret it.
She ignored his warning look and pressed the wool to the cut and murmured an apology when he winced. “What happened?”
“After a brief scuffle, all is well. Most of the villagers had dispersed by the time I came back.”
“And none were hurt.”
“None. It seems Willis was behind the shots—a mere distraction ‘twas all.”
Antonia went onto tiptoes to try to dab away the blood from his cheek, but she couldn’t quite reach and he ducked away from the touch. “’Tis well enough, Antonia,” he said softly. “Are you well? Were you frightened?”
“A little,” she admitted. “But only for you.”
He muttered a soft curse before twisting to view Richard. “And you, lad? Are you harmed?”
“Nay. Milady here tended to me, thank you, Sir.”
Henry lifted one brow and gave Antonia a tilted smile. “You are quite the nursemaid, it seems.” He offered her his hand to help her down from the rocks. “Come, let us return to the house. Richard, you shall come with me. I’ve a mind to put you to work in the stables.”
“Is that a good idea?” Antonia asked. She was already aware the priest was displeased with her remaining in Henry’s home—would it anger people further if he also had a boy they considered a traitor staying there too?
“Don’t question me, Antonia,” Henry snapped and she jerked back. He grimaced and took her hand again. “Damnation. I only mean, I will not let him come to harm. I could never forgive myself.”
She nodded and felt that familiar warmth suffuse her heart. She was beginning to wonder how she could have ever mistrusted this man. “I understand.”
His responding smile reached down deep inside her. Perhaps what he did not know was that she was starting to understand more than he realised. Here was the true nature of the man—not the gruff, commanding one. And she liked this man very, very much.
Chapter Ten
Tension hung thick in the air when they entered the village the next day. He wasn’t sure bringing Antonia with him had been wise. She garnered too many resentful looks as they rode to Willis’ house. His skin prickled beneath his shirt, and he fought the need to wrap his hand around the pommel of his blade. Had it not been for the physician’s interference the previous day, he couldn’t be sure what might have happened.
He’d seen this sort of thing before—the way the crowd got swept up and how tempers flared and even usually placid people allowed themselves to be overtaken by the need for blood. There had been several incidents when his father had been alive of clashes between the few openly Catholic members of their communities and his father had put down those uprisings with a great show of force.
Mayhap he should have gone for his men and responded with violence but the thought of harming the people he was meant to care for turned his stomach, not to mention he refused to abandon young Richard. He had the heart of a lion but not the body of one. However, he was young and with training and time, he suspected the lad would make a formidable and courageous member of the militia.
He glanced at the woman riding proudly atop her rouncey. He shook his head. No sign of that nervous, terrified young woman remained now. Except he heard Antonia pace at night, the floorboards creaking with her footsteps, and he knew she still struggled to conquer her fears when night fell. If only he understood how to reassure her and recover from the horror of the ship sinking.
To think she had stepped out and put herself in danger too. Hell fire, he really needed to figure out how to control the woman. He should keep her locked away as he’d always intended but whenever she asked something of him, he felt his knees weakening and his insides slowly turning to dust. His resolve melted when it came to Antonia.
And still no word on what to do with the prisoners. If their stay here continued for much longer, their supplies would run out and he would have more problems than a few angry villagers.
They came up outside Willis’ house as clouds began to roll in off the sea and a light drizzle began. Henry peered at the headland and noted a heavy cast to the sky farther ahead. They were in for a storm mayhap or at least some heavy rainfall. That would please the farmers though mayhap not the villagers who would struggle with their daily chores in the foul weather.
Dismounting, he paused to aid Antonia down. He expected her to ignore him, but she placed her hands on his shoulders and allowed him to slide her to the ground. He gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw hurt. With a light sheen of rain on her face and her hair drawn back into a tight braid, he found his gaze tracing the contours of her face and inevitably skipping between her eyes and lips.
Lips that he dearly wanted to taste again. Eyes that he could stare into for an eternity. He grimaced inwardly. His father would have scolded him for being weak to even think as much had he been alive. Warriors did not long to stare into a woman’s eyes.
Henry set her back and motioned for her to enter the house. He needed to begin visiting the villagers and making arrangements for extra supplies for the prisoners. Much longer on the meagre rations they’d already been given and he’d have a lot of sick men on his hands. If they contracted any disease, the villeins would have more to worry about than starvation.
“I shall call back for you before noon should all go well.” He gave her a stern look. “Do not give me any reason to take away such privileges.”
She lifted her chin a little. “Have I not proved that I am trustworthy?”
“While your father is sick, aye.”
Her lips curved slightly but why that amused her, he knew not. “Good day to you, Henry.”
“And you.”
He turned before he could be tempted into staring at her for any longer. He’d first go speak with the priest—a task he was not looking forward to. But the man had refused Richard sanctuary and if the lad had died, it would have been on his head. He couldn’t allow him to continue in this manner. If he had to request the man be removed and replaced, he would. His threats had not been idle talk.
Before he had walked even five paces from Willis’ cottage, Antonia shouted his name. He spun around, pulse pounding, his hand to his pommel. Ready to defeat whatever danger she had come upon.
But this danger needed no defeating. Antonia stalked toward him, her movements jerky and furious.
“Where is my father?” she demanded.
“What do you mean?” Henry demanded.
“He’s been moved! How could you do that?” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “He is still sick. He’ll die if he’s not properly looked after.”
Henry took a moment to process her words. “Moved? What in God’s name are you speaking of?”
“Mr Willis said your men came early this morning and took him away.” She clapped a hand over her mouth and held back a tiny sob before removing it. “Are they going to harm him? Santa Maria, torture him?”
He grasped her arms to bring her attention back to him as her words grew rambled and her accent stronger. “Speak slowly now. What has happened?”
She glared at him. “Like you do not know. I suppose you thought I would forgive your mistreatment of him because you saved my life, well you are wrong!”
“Mistreatment? When have I ever given you cause to doubt me? Have I not been a merciful captor? Hell fire, Antonia, I hate to think what might have happened to you had your ship been captured on any other part of the coast.”
“Do you wish him dead? Does it suit you to have one less man of import to worry for?”
“Antonia,” he pressed through his teeth, aware his temper was increasing. “I have no wish to see your father harmed. Now where did Willis say he had gone?”
“He did not say. Your men took him early this morning.”
“My men...” He released her
and swept a hand over his hair to clasp the back of his neck. “Damnation, there is treachery afoot.”
She stared at him, hands propped on her hips for several moments. “You...you did not order him moved?”
“Nay, of course I did not. How would it benefit me to mistreat a man like your father? I need him, Antonia. He can help me control the rest of the prisoners. Not to mention the queen would not like to hear that he has been mistreated. She will want to return him to Spain after negotiations have been made.” He heaved a sigh. “Did you really think me capable of such a thing?”
“I—” Her cheeks darkened a little.
“Return to the cottage. I shall find out what has happened,” he ordered wearily. He suspected he knew. Someone had suggested to his men that her father needed moving and he knew who was most likely to turn traitor. If this was not a sign of how little respect he commanded, he knew not what was. His father would never have had such problems, but what was he to do? Have the men thrown in the stocks? Have them lashed?
His father wouldn’t have thought twice. Henry paused to watch Antonia meekly duck into the cottage. He didn’t need to think twice either, he realised.
***
Under the golden glow of the candlelight, Henry pondered his missive and nodded with satisfaction. The root of the problems had indeed been the priest as suspected, but he hadn’t confronted him yet. Let the man worry for a while what he would do to him. No doubt he knew that Henry had moved Antonia’s father back to Willis’ with strict orders for him to remain there.
A prickle danced down his spine and he glanced at the doorway to see Antonia lingering there.
“What is it?” He tried not to sound grumpy but failed. He shouldn’t let himself be affected by her opinion of him but he was nonetheless.
She lifted two bottles of wine and entered. She had avoided him for much of the day and remained silent in his company. “Peace offering, is that not what you say?”
He let a grin tug at his lips as she took two glasses and slipped into the chair next to him before pouring a large glass of the red wine. He eyed the bottle. “Spanish?”
“Of course. Only the best. ‘Twas found amongst the wreckage it seems.”
“How did you come upon it?”
“Richard gave it to me.”
His smile dropped. The young lad had been set to work in the stables, but he’d noticed his gaze following Antonia around. It didn’t matter that he was young and of no interest to her—it still riled him.
“You have charmed that boy it seems,” he said coolly before taking a sip of the wine.
“I think he is more charmed by you, Henry. He spoke of naught but your bravery.”
Henry shook his head and savoured the tang of the wine on his tongue. “’Twas not bravery, ‘twas folly. I put us all at risk.”
“You saved Richard’s life and no one was harmed.” Her gaze dropped to his lip where evidence of the punch to his face remained. “Well...”
He touched his lip and gave a wry grin. “Almost no one.”
She tipped back her goblet and took a long draw of wine before placing it down and eyeing him. “I am sorry that I doubted you. Had I taken a moment to think...” She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on a palm. “Sometimes I do not think. I am sorry.”
Henry stared into those dark, possessing eyes and felt a little like she just sucked some of his soul from him. And damn if he didn’t like the feeling.
“I understand that well enough,” he said dryly. He couldn’t claim to have thought through his actions yesterday.
“So you forgive me?” She stared at her wine before draining it and pouring some more. “You are not angered?”
He shook his head. It wasn’t in him to keep hold of annoyance. “I am not angered.”
A look of relief swept across her face, and she poured him some more wine. Antonia glanced at the missive. “You are writing of the priest?”
“Aye.” He wondered if he should be annoyed at her inquisitiveness but in truth, he longed to discuss his problems with someone—even a woman. “He was behind your father being moved. He persuaded my men ‘twas what I requested. The reverend’s influence is too great and his motives are immoral. He has been behind trouble before and I cannot let it continue.”
“Trouble?”
“Aye, with people like Richard and his family.”
“Because they are Catholic?”
Henry emptied his wine and bit back a sigh as the warmth threaded its way through his body. He tried not to show his surprise when Antonia did the same and refilled their glasses. “We are a Protestant country now but ‘twas not long ago our queen was Catholic as you well know. We cannot go against our queen, but there are many who will not let go of their religion easily.” He curled a hand around the pewter goblet. “Nor would I expect them to,” he added.
“What of you?”
“My father became a Protestant as soon as Her Majesty was crowned.”
“So you were raised as one.”
“Aye.”
“Why then does Mr Reed dislike you so?”
“You think he dislikes me?” Henry masked a smile behind the cup.
“Si, and you know full well he does.”
He lowered the glass and sighed. “There was a young woman...”
“Ha, is there not always a woman involved when men are angry with one another?” She lifted an eyebrow.
“I would have willingly not involved her. Lucy was a sweet girl but I had little interest in her. Not to mention my father had hopes of me marrying someone else—anyone else.”
“A noblewoman perhaps.”
“Aye. Lucy was from a fine family but there was no noble blood in her and they had little influence.”
“Was?”
“She died. Consumption. Not long after her father was taken away for heresy and never seen again.”
Antonia reached over and placed a hand over his. Mayhap it was the wine making him weak, but he couldn’t help turn his hand over so they were palm to palm and wrap his fingers around hers. It felt good to take comfort from another. Or from Antonia at least.
“I am sorry. Did you care for her?”
“I hardly knew her. But that she had her sights set on me incensed Reed. Before he went into the church, he had asked for her hand but she declined him. He has blamed me ever since.”
Antonia tilted her head and he noted her movements were not as steady as they should have been. But then she was a small thing and had drunk much wine.
“I cannot blame her for wanting you over the priest. I think she must have been a very wise woman. You are a good man.”
He couldn’t help but let his gaze linger over her lips as she spoke the words. With the wine warming his belly, he almost felt his guard slipping away. Suddenly he no longer wanted to be this woman’s imprisoner—or protector.
“I am not so good,” he said, his voice low and dark.
Those lips that he couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from parted marginally. She was a clever woman. She had to know what he meant. Had to know he was recalling the taste of those lips beneath his and wishing he’d pressed the kiss deeper. Now he ached for the knowledge of what her tongue would taste like, how she would sound if he gripped her tight and took all he could from her. A deep, gnawing hunger opened in his gut.
He poured another helping of wine each and chucked it back, noting they’d finished two bottles between them. This was dangerous—for her. The wine had eaten into his control and was but a thread away from snapping. Henry rose swiftly and in his haste he knocked the chair on which he’d been sitting. It toppled to the floor with a crash and Antonia jolted. He cursed and went to right it but not before noticing the way she raised her hands as though to protect herself from him.
Henry scowled at those raised palms, and she lowered them slowly before placing them to the table. “You startled me,” she explained softly.
He’d startled himself but why had she cowered from hi
m? She had just been speaking of him being a good man—there was no chance she feared him now, surely?
He offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. “Come, ‘tis late. We must away to bed.”
Antonia stared at him and he realised too late how his words must have sounded—that perhaps he intended to take her to his bed. How simple it would be. She would be swayed with ease. It would take but a few kisses and tender touches and he could have this woman writhing in his bed.
But his honour—yes, his damned honour—would not allow it.
Damnation, there were times when he wished he was not a good man at all. When he would like to take every moral and fling them from the window. Then he could sate himself with this woman and not be riddled by guilt the next day.
She swayed into him, sending blood rushing through his body and down. Her fingers curled around his upper arms. That dark gaze jarred with his. With the golden candlelight skimming her skin and those long lashes dashing enchantingly over her skin, his need deepened—to something more uncomfortable and less basic. A need not only for her body but for something else...
“We are dancing.”
Henry had to take several moments to absorb her words. “What?”
“Look,” she glanced down between them, “we are dancing.”
He took notice of their movements, of their sway back and forth and summoned a tilted smile. They were indeed doing a dance of a sort. A slightly drunken dance, admittedly, but mayhap to another’s eye, it would appear they were two lovers, clinging together and dancing to a troubadour’s song.
“I cannot dance.”
“Surely not?”
“’Tis true. I am no dancer.”
His father had no time for the art of dancing and so then nor did he. He’d never considered he’d been missing out on anything...until now. To take this woman in his arms and charm her with movements would be a great blessing indeed. Or mayhap not. It would only give him one more reason to keep her close to him, to feel that sweet slender body pressed to him.
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