Knight's Captive

by Holt, Samantha

  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.

  “I have to return, Henry.” The words threatened to rip out his heart.

  “You cannot. If you’re accused...”

  “I cannot leave my father to face that alone, and how can I bring yet more trouble to your doorstep? I’ve caused enough problems as it is.”

  He took her other arm and hauled her close. Using one hand, he pressed back her damp hair, caring little for the villagers who had paused to watch them.

  “Do you wish to return home? Do you wish to leave me?”

  She shook her head and he spotted tears welling in her eyes. His heart thudded like canon fire in his ears.

  “Then I will do whatever it takes.” He cupped her face in her hands. “I’m not letting you go, Antonia.”

  A small sob bubbled out of her lips and she threw her arms around his neck. He buried his face in her hair before drawing back to kiss her. He had no doubt they had many problems to overcome yet but that she wanted to remain with him was enough.

  “I love you.” He kissed her. “I’m not letting you go,” he repeated and kissed her again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tears welled in Antonia’s eyes when her father pressed a kiss to her head. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly. He had done so much for her—saved her from a violent marriage, brought her to England and helped her find another man who loved her just as much as he did. She swallowed the lump in her throat as he eased out of her hold.

  “I must away, sweet Antonia. The villagers cannot see me leave.”

  She nodded. The only way they could conceal her father’s fate would be if he left now, before the sun rose. The early hour would ensure none saw him begin the long journey to Scotland. And there he would find shelter with Henry’s cousins who had agreed to take him in.

  “I shall see you soon.”

  Antonia nodded again. She knew she would but Scotland was at the other end of the country and her father could never return to Dorset. Not once Henry had sent word of his death to her countrymen. No one would ever look for Don Perdro de Valdés again nor would the finger of blame for Lorenzo’s death ever land on him. For that, she couldn’t be more grateful. Henry had ensured her father’s safety and the king had no care to see her returned, as worthless to the crown as she was.

  He kissed her again. “Forgive me that I cannot see you wed,” he whispered. “I would not hasten away if I did not think Sir Henry to be deserving of you. I know he shall look after you in my stead.”

  “Si, he will.”

  “I love you, Antonia. I shall send word when I am safe.”

  “I love you too, Papa.”

  Henry appeared in the doorway of her bedchamber. “’Tis time,” he said softly.

  Her father nodded, gave her one last kiss and squeezed her hand. Henry motioned for him to head downstairs before stepping into the room and taking her into his embrace. He wore no doublet so the thin linen of his shirt allowed her to feel the strength and warmth of him. Somehow, he knew exactly what she needed. She suspected he always would.

  When he drew back, he swiped a thumb under her eye to wipe away the dampness and placed a light kiss on her lips. “I will ensure your father leaves safely. I shall be back in but a moment. Will you not get some more rest?”

  He guided her toward the bed and she let him ease her down. Through misty eyes, she watched him check the candles. She marvelled at those broad shoulders and the obvious strength in them. Admired the way he kept that strength in check and only ever used it for good. How could such a man touch her so gently? She would forever be grateful for meeting someone like him.

  “Rest,” he told her before leaving the room.

  Antonia pulled her chemise down her legs and wrapped her arms around them. That little bubble of fear that always remained trapped in her chest after dark had eased, lessening each night that Henry joined her in his bedchamber. For three sennights as they worked to have the prisoners returned, she had slept by his side.

  But on this night, they would be husband and wife.

  The ache in her throat vanished. She would see her father soon enough and this day she would marry the man who had saved her life countless times. Though he might have captured her, he’d actually freed her from being trapped by the memories of what Lorenzo had done to her.

  A while later, when the first rays of dawn began to slip in between the curtains, the door eased open and Henry stole in. She shuddered and giggled when he put his cool hands on her to draw her down on the bed next to him.

  “Forgive me.”

  He smelled of sea air and soap. She slipped a hand under the open neck of his shirt and touched the coarse hair and hard muscle there. A small groan escaped him when she reached her other hand down between them to cup him.

  “Antonia,” he warned.

  Emboldened, she went further and pressed under his braies. He filled her hand and she felt the pulse of his desire.

  “Antonia,” he said through gritted teeth. “I intended only to rest with you. We have a busy day ahead.”

  “I do not believe you need the rest.”

  “Nay, but you do.”

  “I am stronger than I look.”

  He gazed at her and pushed a hand into her hair. “I’m aware of that.” She clasped around his arousal again and his eyes closed briefly. “Do you not wish to wait until our wedding eve?”

  Antonia smiled. “Henry, we
know each other in every way possible now. Why wait?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I am trying to be honourable but, hell’s teeth, you make it hard.”

  Stroking him slowly, she kissed the side of his jaw, relishing how his beard tickled her lips. “You will always be honourable to me. Giving your lover what she needs now is not dishonourable.”

  A smile broke across his face and she failed to resist brushing a fingertip across the curve of his mouth. She loved to make her strong warrior smile.

  “So, Antonia—” he leaned in to drag the lobe of her ear between his teeth, making her shudder, “—what you are saying is that ‘twould be dishonourable not to give you what you wish?”

  “Si, most dishonourable.”

  His lips continued their journey down her neck. He eased her fully onto her back and drew apart the ribbons of her chemise, exposing the curves of her breasts. Bold blue eyes met hers, sucking the breath from her. How was it possible for her to be so lucky?

  “I intended to comfort you,” he murmured against her skin.

  “And this is not comfort?”

  “I didn’t come here for this.”

  And still he was trying to prove his honour to her. She shook her head to herself. Someday, she would show him that taking for himself was not always a matter of being dissolute. But for now, she would enjoy the way he soothed away her concerns for her father with his touch and how he kissed her as though she was the most precious thing in the world.

  Antonia raked her nails over his back while he used his teeth to tease her nipples through the cotton. Arching her back, she closed her eyes and savoured the sweet jolt it sent through her. Henry pressed a hand underneath her and held her up like an offering. He burrowed his nose under the cotton and she gasped his name when his mouth closed fully over one nipple.

  “You taste so good,” he murmured, his voice making her skin tingle.

  Peppering kisses on the hollow between her breasts, he used a hand to hitch up her chemise and stroke her leg. Then he hooked it over his hips and rocked into her. His hardness against her soft folds made sparks light behind her eyelids.

  Eyes open, she flung her arms above her head, giving herself up to him. He could take everything as far as she was concerned. Her body, her soul, her heart. He could have it all. Soon he would, in the eyes of the law, but she wanted him to know how willingly she did so.

  His hands rasped along her thighs, bunching her chemise as he pushed up and up, grazing her hips, her ribs, the sides of her breasts. Henry pulled the garment over her head and threw it aside to admire her. She tugged him down to her and wrapped her legs around his hips.

  “Hell f—” The word broke when she rubbed herself against him.

  He had to know. She was his. All his.

  He tore away abruptly, leaving her cold and disappointed. But when he fumbled to tear his shirt and clothing off, her body grew hot again. Antonia wriggled against the bedding, clasping the sheets in fists as muscle and sinew became revealed. Between her legs, desire pooled. Her breaths grew heavy. It was hard to comprehend how much she wanted him. All she knew was that every part of her craved him. Craved his touch, his body, his words.

  He kicked away his clothes and put his fists to the bed. He stalked. Like a beast. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as he covered her body with his, holding himself up on both hands. She reached for his arousal and found it damp. Unable to resist, she put her thumb to her mouth and tasted his essence. His eyes grew dark, unfathomable.

  Antonia hardly comprehended the next few moments. Only that his mouth connected with hers at the same time that he thrust her legs up so that they hooked over his shoulders. Their teeth clashed, he even nipped her lip, and then he was buried deep inside her, deeper than she thought possible. He slid in easily given her aroused state but the sudden invasion still startled her. He thrust again, making her cry out against his brutal kiss. Whirling sensations built so rapidly inside her, she hardly knew what to do. So she clung onto the bedding beside her and let him make use of her body.

  And, Santa Maria, what use he did make. Every lunge brought her closer and closer to a peak she knew would simply drown her. She’d never seen him like this, his eyes wild, his breaths harsh. He stuttered words of her beauty and how much he loved her but they were broken words, mingled with harsh groans. Even though she was beneath him, taking whatever he gave her, a sense of power broke over her. She had done this to him.

  Soon she forgot the power or the surprise. The tide swept her up and she twined her hands in the sheet and tilted her head back. The bed creaked and thumped with each powerful thrust. Her cries sounded distant but at the same time louder than ever before. She could hardly bring herself to care that the household would likely hear every single one.

  Antonia trembled from head to toe and Henry gave her no quarter. He took and gave in equal amounts, his muscles bunching. She closed her eyes and felt the trickle of tears escape them when the bliss grew to new heights. It took one more strong press of his hips for her to come undone and he claimed her body completely.

  “Hell, Antonia...”

  She opened her eyes and saw the cords in his neck stand out. He closed his eyes and his strong pace faltered. He stroked inside her, once, twice then buried himself deep to fill her. Stroking his arms, she savoured the connection and tried to gather her breath while warm flutters of pleasure continued to pulse through her.

  Henry stilled and opened his eyes. Their gazes locked. His expression dropped. He shifted to touch her cheek and she felt him brush away the tears that had gathered. He eased away quickly.

  “Henry?”

  “Did I scare you?”

  “Nay.”

  “Antonia, you need not lie to me.”

  She shook her head and urged him to lie back so she could straddle him. Fingers skimming down his chest, she gave him a tender smile. “Do I look like a woman scared?”

  “Nay, but—”

  “I love you, Henry. I trust you. With my heart and my body. I know you shall never do wrong by me. ‘Twas simply...” She sucked in a breath and eased down to rest her head against this chest. She listened to his pounding heart for a few moments before lifting her head to kiss his jaw. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  He kissed the top of her head and held her close. “Nor I,” he admitted. “Nor I.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The streets were filled with villagers as Henry escorted Antonia from the church. Pride made him stand a little taller than usual. Good wishes rang out and flowers were flung their way, scattering over the thankfully dry road. He swung his gaze briefly her way and tried not to grin like a damn fool lest the villagers think him addled. Antonia squeezed his hand and he glanced again. His heart bounded against his chest when their gazes met.

  He’d never seen anything more beautiful. With her hair coiled into an elegant arrangement, strewn with ribbons and fresh flowers, she revealed her noble blood, yet the earthy beauty beneath ensured no one forgot the woman she was. To the villagers, she had become the woman who’d helped rid them of the Spanish prisoners and a woman of knowledge. Over the past few sennights, she had become increasingly involved with the physician’s work. It had certainly helped ingratiate her with the locals.

  To him, however, she was more than that. He could never quite put it into words but all he knew was that he’d die for her.

  His wife.

  Henry stilled when he spied four conical helmets making their way through the crowd to the church gate. On instinct, he eased Antonia behind him, shielding her with his body. The group of four men stepped through the gate and one came forward, dipping his head in greeting.

  “Sir Henry.”

  He narrowed his gaze and recognised the man as one of the soldiers from Torquay who’d aided with the capture of the Rosario. “De Montford. How can I be of service?”

  “The monies owed to the crown were sent over and taken to London several days ago.”

  Henry let his br
ow furrow. To ensure the safe return of the prisoners, they had used de Valdés’ money to pay the ransom. Antonia’s father had willed the money to aid the prisoners in the event of his death. Someone must have raised suspicion. He felt Antonia’s hand curl about his upper arm.

  “I am glad but you need not have come all this way to inform me as much.”

  “The Spanish are asking for de Valdés’ body to be returned,” de Montford said gravely.

  “Impossible.”

  “Sir?”

  “He was cremated.”

  “Indeed.” de Montford’s mouth thinned.

  “We could hardly bury him in Protestant ground, now could we?”

  “Aye,” the priest came up beside him. “We couldn’t have him buried here so we scattered the ashes down on the beach.”

  Henry managed to keep the surprise from his face. None but the physician knew of their plan to claim Antonia’s father was dead and ensure he never had to return to Spain and face judgement for Lorenzo’s death.

  De Montford blinked at the priest and nodded slowly. “I see.”

  “’Twas a fine ceremony,” someone else commented. Henry didn’t see who it was but he had to tighten his jaw to keep from grinning. A few murmurs concurred.

  “Your people seem to have taken a liking to the Spaniards,” the soldier commented to Henry.

  Henry laughed and shook his head. “Nay, not at all. They are glad to be rid of them as am I. You know well how much trouble we had.” He put a hand around Antonia’s waist and drew her close. “They do like one, however. Please meet my ladywife, Antonia. Daughter of Don Pedro de Valdés.”

  Mollified, de Montford dipped his head. “I am sorry for your loss, my lady, and may I offer my congratulations on this joyous day.”

  “You may, gracias.”

  Sensing any danger had long departed, Henry perfected a stern look. “Is that all? As you can see, this is an important day for us all and I think we are all ready to celebrate after these past few months of hardship.”

  “Aye, sir. Forgive us for intruding.”

  “I hope we’ll not be hearing more on this matter,” Henry said tightly. “Antonia has been through enough.”