Tender is the Knight (30 page)

In a matter of seconds her joyful trip had turned deadly and terrifying, and she had been too startled to react.  But her senses came about soon enough and she had pitched herself from the horse, grunting when her injured shoulder came into contact with the ground and further grunting when Miguel had caught up to her and lodged a stinging blow to her face. 

Ryan fought him as much as she was able, but she was still considerably weakened from her brush with death and Miguel was a strong man for his small stature. Tying her hands, he dumped her on the front of his saddle and held her tightly as they traveled.  Weak and distraught, Ryan knew it would not be wise for her to try to run again, not when her lungs were tight and her entire body ached with fatigue.  But soon enough, she would try again, and again until she succeeded. 

Miguel
did not stop for the night; he continued on and by morning, Ryan was seriously ill. Her chest was heavily congested and she coughed continuously, struggling to clear her lungs but too afraid to tell him how terrible she truly felt lest he strike her again.  Soon enough she was running a fever and the rest of the trip passed in a blur. She did not even know how many days they had traveled, only that they had traveled forever.  The next thing she realized, they had stopped, and she had slept exhaustedly for an unknown amount of time.  All that mattered was that she was hot, she could not breathe, but at least she wasn’t moving any longer and the bed she lay upon was warm if not a bit musty. Still, she could sleep unassailed. And sleep she did.

The bleating of goats finally woke her. Peeping open a crusty eye, she saw that the room around her was bright with a soft white light. Goats bleated again and for a split second, she thought they sounded like Bute and she almost called for him. But in the next moment she remembered that her pet was dead, that she was far from St. Austell, and that she was in a great deal of danger. Her heart began to thump loudly against her ribs as she lay there, struggling to acclimate herself to the room, to gather her wits.  Her first conscious thought was of fear, but she fought it; it would do absolutely no good to give in to her fear.  To do so would be to lose hope completely.

She stirred slightly and promptly began coughing. She wasn’t feverish any longer, but she was terribly congested, as was usual. Lifting her head from the musty linens, she glanced around the sparcely furnished chamber; it was dark and chilly, and the rushes on the floor were old. It did not seem dirty as much as simply old and unlived in.

“So you are awake?”
came a deep voice with a Spanish accent. “How do you feel,
mija?”

Ryan
’s blood ran cold.
God, that voice!
  Struggling to sit up, she caught sight of Miguel, a cup of warm mead in his hand, seated in the corner. He smiled at her and the gesture was enough to enrage and terrorize her at the same time.

“Where have you brought me?” she demanded.

His smile remained even though her tone had been sharp. “Someplace safe and secure. You needn’t worry.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You kill my friend, abduct me, and then you tell me not to worry?
You are mad!”

Miguel rose from his chair. “You are my guest, not my prisoner. Soon enough you will come to like this place.” He touched a dusty tapestry near the window, admiring the detail work.
“We shall come to like it together, I think.”

“I
do not want to like it,” she snarled. “I want to go to London where you promised to take me.”

Miguel waved a hand at her.
“Pah, London.  A filthy place, full of beggars and thieves. Why would you want to go there when you can spend your days in beautiful, peaceful Wales?”

“Wales?” 
Ryan repeated in shock. “We are in Wales?”

“Indeed.”

“But… there is a battle going on in Wales!”

“Several, actually.
But we are miles from any fighting.”

Ryan
felt sick, disoriented.  She wasn’t sure how to respond or react. “What place is this?”

“Usk Castle,” he replied. Moving to one of the cloth-covered lancet windows, he tossed back the shade and took a deep breath of the cold outside air.
“Quite nice, truly. Much nicer than I expected.”

Ryan
had no idea where Usk Castle was, other than the fact it was somewhere in the wilds of Wales.  But just as swiftly, she recalled that Dennis would be fighting somewhere in Wales and her heart soared with hope and joy when she thought perhaps he might be somewhere near her.  But she could not let this madman know her thoughts, treacherous as they were. If he for one moment thought she would try to escape again, the consequences could be deadly.  He’d already proven himself a murderer.

“Why did you kill Patrizia?” The question was heavy on her mind.  “She was of no threat to you.”

Miguel’s warm expression vanished.  He moved away from the window, sipping his mead as he contemplated his answer. “Who is to say why we do the things we do,” he said quietly. “But know that I took no pleasure in it.”

“Then why did you do it?”

He looked at her, a deadly flash in his dark brown eyes. “The reasons do not matter. Suffice it to say that you are alive and that should be the only thing of importance.”

Ryan
looked away from him, fighting off the tears on Patrizia’s behalf.  She could see by his expression than any more questions might bring punishment.  He was brutal, calculating, and intelligent. And something else over the course of the passing days had grown quite obvious.

“
You are not a merchant, are you?”

His smile returned, only it was forced. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you had no goods with you. We traveled very lightly. Would not a merchant have wares wherever he traveled?”

“You did not notice that the night we left the Wart?”

“I did,” she said sullenly. “But to be honest, I was so happy to have found someone to take me to London that I did not think to ask questions. And since Patrizia endorsed you, I did not think anything was wrong.”

He cocked a salt and pepper eyebrow. “You should learn to trust your instincts.”

“A lot of good they did me with you,” she muttered. “Would it do any good to ask who you really are?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

He continued to gaze at her, a pleasant expression returning to his face.  “If it will ease your mind, then I shall tell you.”

“I do not know if it will ease it, but at least I shall know.”

“True enough,” he set his cup down and moved toward her on the
bed.  He seemed almost thoughtful. “I am, Lady d’ Vant, Miguel Casteneda de la Pastrana y Godinez.  But I am better known as Miguel the Pirate.”

Ryan
’s eyes widened, so much so that Miguel thought they might pop from her skull.  “Miguel the Pirate?” she repeated in awe.  “But... I do not understand!   You are a
pirate!”

“Indeed.”

“But you maraud on the ocean, not the land!”

“Money knows no topography.”

The look on Ryan’s face was brimming with shock and trepidation. “Is that what this is all about?” she asked. “Money?”

“Of course.
What else did you think it would be?”

She was on her knees on the musty bed, her pale cheeks flushing with warmth. “Are you saying that my father was killed for money, that St. Austell was nearly destroyed for money? Is that
it
?”

Miguel’s good humor faded. “The world we live in is a cruel place, m’lady.  Only the strongest survive, only the wisest prevail. Living your sheltered life,
you have yet to realize that riches are the only thing in this world worth fighting for, or worth dying for. They are the only thing that matters.”

“But Patrizia had nothing to do with money. Why did you kill her, too?”

“She knew too much. It was necessary.”

“How could she know too much? She
did not even know you!”

An expression of genuine remorse clouded Miguel’s face. “Indeed, she knew me. And she was going to tell you who I was.”

It wasn’t making any sense to Ryan. “How in the world would she know you?”

He seemed to soften, to reflect. When he spoke, the words were choked. “Because… because she was my daughter.”

Ryan could hardly grasp the concept. “Your
daughter?”
she gasped. “But… you must be mistaken?”

“No mistake, I assure you.”

“She told me her father was dead!”

Miguel snorted softly. “I am sure she wished that I was.  Nonetheless, it was the first time I’d seen her in four years.  Knowing how she hates me, I could not risk her ruining my plans. I had to do what was necessary.”

“By killing her?”

“Unfortunately.”

Ryan was shaking with the overwhelming prospects facing her. It all seemed so surreal, yet she knew very well that her fears and emotions were tangible.
A man who would kill his own daughter must be a horrible man indeed!
  She knew everything she’d ever heard about the Pirate Miguel had been undeniably true, his evil and brutality far outreaching any rumors.

It was a struggle to stay focused. “Then I hope your troubles are worth it,” she muttered. “Is Uncle Richard paying you well
for all of this?”

A flicker of surprised appeared in Miguel’s deep brown eyes.
“Then you know of the earl. I should have suspected. You seem an intelligent creature.”

Ryan
crawled off the bed, weak and shaken to the core. “I know that I cannot believe a man I have loved like a father has betrayed me.”

“The first rule of Life is to trust no one, not even those closest to you.”

Ryan moved woodenly to the nearest window.  Pushing aside the dank oilcloth, she gazed over the misty Welsh landscape.  It was gloomy and depressing, just like the emotions in her heart.  “What are you gaining from all of this?”

“This castle, for one thing. And half the profits from St. Austell harbor.”

She looked at him. “St. Austell belongs to my husband.”

He moved toward her, his eyes riveted to her pale, lovely face.  His movements were graceful, like a stalking panther, and
Ryan fought the urge to back away from him. “After he is dead, it will belong to the earl.  You, this castle, and half of the profits from St. Austell harbor are my payment for killing your husband.”

If
Ryan thought she could not be more horrified by anything else he said, she was wrong.  Her knees buckled and she fell back against the wall as Miguel reached out to steady her. Shrieking, she fell away from him, struggling to keep her balance and her wits.

“God, no,” she gasped. “Why… why would you do this?”

Miguel was unemotional.  “It is necessary, m’lady. But you shall forget about your husband soon enough when I ply you with the best garments and perfumes and gems the world has to offer.  We shall travel to Venice, dine in Nice, honeymoon in Rome.  Dennis d’ Vant shall be but a distant memory, I promise you.”

Ryan
slapped her hands over her ears and turned away from him. Losing her balance, she fell to her knees. “No!” she cried. “No, I won’t hear you! Leave me alone!”

Miguel was torn between wanting to stay, if only to further explain his position, and respecting her wishes. He thought perhaps that she needed time to come to terms with her future and wisely left her to herself.  Hearing the door close,
Ryan sobbed and sobbed until there were no more tears left.  Her father was gone, Patrizia was gone, and she was sick to her soul of death. She wasn’t going to lose Dennis, not while she still had life in her body.  He was somewhere in Wales and she was going to find him.  She had to escape or die trying.

She began tying bed linens together.  Miguel discovered her plan just as she was about to lower herself from the third story window and promptly locked her in the vault.

***

Has it only been
six weeks? It feels like six months,
Dennis thought to himself as he watched the last of Henry’s troops ride from the bailey of Abergavenny. Lord Hastings, an old, round man with a sagging jaw, stood beside him as the foot soldiers filtered through the gates of the massive castle. 

“
I shall be sorry to lose you, Dennis,” Lord Hastings said. He was known throughout the province as the “good lord” of Abergavenny.  “I have enjoyed your company tremendously over the past days. Are you sure I cannot convince you to stay?”

Dennis
smiled wearily; true, he was very tired from weeks of a siege that ended successfully.  True to his plan, the Welsh had been driven from their holes and forced to flee into the country side. It had taken eight days to accomplish this, but now it was done and Abergavenny was once again secured for England.  Dennis felt a sense of accomplishment, but he also felt restless with the entire situation.  With every day that passed, his determination that he was wasting his time grew.  He had gotten himself into a winless war and was desperate more than ever to go home to his wife.