Knight's Captive by Samantha Holt Page B

‘ Twill mean he sleeps through the worst.”
    “ Si . But he
is doing well.”
    “That is good to hear.”
    “I need to visit the farms.” He motioned to the
cliffs above them. “’Tis but a short ride.”
    They made their way back up the hill and past his
house. The red building always intimidated him as a boy. Even living in it, he
found it too big and in spite of his size and strength, he still didn’t feel
large enough to fill it. It seemed empty, even with his household staff.
    A mud track, wide enough to fit carts down, ate
a path through the green fields toward the farms. A scattering of trees and the
odd stone wall signalled divisions between fields but most of the land was open
and vast. He inhaled the salty air and took a moment to enjoy being out from
under the watchful eyes of the village. 
    When they came upon the first farmhouse, its
shutters peeling and worn from the wind that blew across the headland, no one
came to greet them—not even a stable hand. He frowned and led their horses to
the stables to set them away himself.
    “’Tis nearing midday. I’m
surprised no one is around,” he commented to Antonia.
    She peered around and pointed. “There, is that
them?”
    A hand to his face, he narrowed his gaze. “Aye,
that looks to be Mr Palmer and his stable hands.”
    Who knew what they were doing out by the old
stone wall but they’d find out. He strode over to the men and as they neared,
he finally understood why they had seemed to be dashing about the place. A pig
must have escaped the sty and they were trying to catch her.
    One of the lads made a dive for the speedy
animal and fell onto the damp ground, coating his shirt in mud. He heard a
giggle behind him and couldn’t help but smile too.
    “Mr Palmer, having troubles?”
    “Aye, old Bess is refusing to make her way
home,” the farmer told him. “What brings you this way, Sir Henry?”
    He watched the pig shoot in the opposite
direction to the stable hand. The farmer’s son tried to block it, but the
animal was having none of it and slipped past him only to pause as though
taunting him.
    “She’s fast for an old girl,” Henry commented.
“You’re aware of the prisoners at the old barn, aye?”
    “Aye, aye. Mary
told me a thing or two though I’ve not been down to the village in several
days. Too much to do up here, see?”
    “We’ve three hundred mouths to feed.”
    The old farmer grimaced. “That’s more than lives
in the village.”
    “Indeed.” He chuckled as the pig made a dash
toward Antonia and she jumped out of the way.
    “You want to grab her when she comes past,
lass,” Mr Palmer declared.
    “I’ll be offering coin to those who aid the
prisoners and I’ve sent word to Plymouth to ask for extra supplies. Can I count
on your aid?”
    The man tapped his chin and considered this.
“You know you can always count on my aid. But tell me, Sir Henry, can I count
on yours?”
    He lifted a brow. “Of course.”
    “You’re a big lad and that there is a quick and
strong pig...”
    Henry resisted the urge to press his fingers to
his temples. He eyed the squirming beast of an animal as she slipped from the
young stable hand’s grip and scarpered off again.
    “Aye, you can count on my aid too.”
    He glanced at Antonia, and her lips quirked. At
least someone found his predicament amusing. He eased forward with cautious
steps as the pig grazed, seemingly oblivious to him and the two other boys
encircling her. But as he sprung forward to snatch her, Old Bess bolted and
slipped between his legs. Henry bit back several insults.
    Moving forward again, this time the pig headed
toward Antonia, forcing her to jump aside while it hid behind her skirts.
    “I thank you for your help, my lady,” he said
with a twisted smile.
    She laughed. “I cannot help it if she likes me,
and we ladies must stick together.”
    He circled Antonia and signalled for the lads to
come to the other side of her. He lunged but his foot went from