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.
Sounds good. I love your historicals!
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