Knight's Captive by Samantha Holt

father too? Had she sinned so very badly to have these things
forced upon her? Her father always told her that God did not give them more
than they could handle, but now she was not so sure.
    “Damnation.”
    She twisted to eye Henry and then to see what he
was looking at. A group of men were on the beach far ahead. They were crowded
around something—or perhaps someone. She heard their shouts from where they
were.
    “ Papa !”
    Henry spurred on his horse and she followed
suit. As they grew close, she saw a scuffle had broken out. It had to be him.
But these men, were they attacking him? Henry reached
them before she did and a flutter of blue caught her eye before she could come
upon them. She slowed the horse and paused to eye it. There, behind a pile of
tumbled rocks was the glint of blue again. And then there was a whistle. But it
wasn’t a bird. She drew the horse to a halt. That was her father.
    Her heart jumped into her throat. It had been a
game they played when she was a child. He’d hide and imitate a bird call and
she’d hunt him out. Father was trying to signal to her.
    Antonia glanced at Henry as he slid off the
horse and stepped into the fray of men. Whatever or whoever they were fighting over, they might give her the chance to find her father and
escape. She spurred her horse into action and drew her to a halt before the
rocks. Not willing to take the time to see what Henry was doing, she clambered
over the sharp grey shards and had to mask a cry of delight.
    “ Papa .”
    “Antonia. Come, quickly now.”
    He was laid between the rocks, his clothing damp
and covered in sand. He had aged so much.
    “Have you been here all night?”
    “ Si , most of it.”
    She drew off her cloak and put it over his
shoulders. “Come, the knight is not far from here. We must make our escape.”
    He gripped her hand. “You are well? Unharmed.”
    “ Si, si .”
    “I knew he was honourable. You should stay with
him, Antonia. I shall make my own escape then come back for you when ‘tis
safe.”
    “Your leg...”
    “ Si , ‘tis broken.”
    “Then you will not get far alone.” She kneeled
by him and slipped her arm behind him. “Put your arm on my shoulders.”
    “You shall not be able to lift me, little
Antonia.”
    She gritted her teeth. She would lift him, no
matter what. How could she leave him in such a state? And what would become of
him if she did?
    “Come, Papa , we shall find somewhere to
shelter. Mayhap we shall find someone to take pity on us.”
    “We’ll not find pity here.”
    Antonia tried not to grimace. He could well by
right. The English people were happy with their Protestant queen. Unless they
found some Catholics to take them in, they would find no help. And any Catholic
would likely not risk harbouring them for fear of being branded heretics.
    “We shall worry about that later. Come now.”
    She heard his breath hiss through his teeth as
they came to their feet. Peering over the rocks, she noted Henry had become
embroiled in the disagreement. She couldn’t hear what he was saying as they
spoke too fast for her but one of the men was thrusting an angry finger at him.
A sliver of guilt slipped down her throat. He had rescued her from trouble.
Should she not do the same?
    But when she looked to her father—the man who
had taken her away from Lorenzo and ensured he never touched her again—she knew
she could not.

Chapter
S ix
    Henry
hoped Antonia had been wise enough to keep her distance. The stash of silverware
that had washed up on shore was surely not worth her getting hurt.
    It was not worth him getting hurt over either
but he had a duty to separate these men. He stepped into the fray, barely
missing a wild swing from the two main brawlers. Sand coated their clothing and
vicious curses fell from their lips.
    The fight spread rapidly until most of the men
were exchanging blows while scrabbling in the sand to pluck up the silverware.
A fist slammed across his face, sending his vision