Christmas At The Tudor Court: The Queen's Christmas Summons / The Warrior's Winter Bride. Amanda McCabe
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СКАЧАТЬ had not thought that far ahead. She could only think of getting food and medicine for him, of which herbs she would need. ‘You can’t stay in here for ever.’ She tied off the end of the makeshift bandage and pushed herself to her feet. ‘I will be back. I have to find you some food, some dry clothes and blankets. I won’t be gone long.’

      He reached out his hand, his fingers brushing hers and leaving a trail of tingling fire behind. ‘May I at least know the name of my saviour?’

      She looked down at him, and the firelight limned him in gold. Beneath the wild hair, the paleness of his illness, he was extraordinarily handsome. The most handsome man she had ever seen. Surely such allure made him doubly dangerous. ‘I am Alys.’

      ‘Alys,’ he said and the word sounded like honeyed wine in his dark voice. ‘I am—Juan.’

      Alys tried to smile at him. ‘I will be back, Juan. You rest now. You should be safe enough here.’

      She hurried out of the small building, back out into the storm. Even the cold rain and howling wind could not frighten her. Only the emotions she had thought long buried inside of her, emotions this strange man was bringing out, could frighten her now.

      * * *

      He had been saved, snatched from the sea and the murderous soldiers, by an angel.

      John laughed as he laid back against the rough canvas of his new bed. He would never have thought heaven would send him such a rescuer. He had done too many bad things in his life, had killed, cheated, stolen, to deserve it.

      Yet, just when he thought death had come to claim him, he had opened his eyes and seen her. His angel. Alys.

      She was so small, so frail-looking, with her long, rain-soaked dark hair and her pale, elfin face, yet she had the strength and determination of a warrior. So calm, so steady and unafraid. When he looked into her dark eyes, he forgot the pain, forgot the duty that had brought him to this place, forgot—everything. Because of her, he had a chance to finish his mission. He couldn’t let his angel’s sacrifice be in vain. He owed her so much.

      John pushed away the waves of pain and crippling exhaustion that threatened to push him down and made himself sit up. Grimacing, he pulled off his ruined boots and stretched his freezing feet towards the fire. The warmth was something he barely remembered after months at sea and it was delicious. Almost as wondrous as Aly’s touch on his hand.

      He reached for the packet of papers. Their oilskin pouch had kept them relatively intact, their coded symbols and words still legible. He could recreate them before he delivered them to Walsingham. But Peter’s letter had not fared quite as well. He could see it was in Spanish and could make out a few words. Perhaps it would be easier when it was light.

      It had been so important to Peter that it be delivered, but to whom? Peter had often spoken of some friend, someone in England, who would know what to do when he found them. John would have to track them down now.

      Another wave of crushing dizziness washed over him and he couldn’t quite resist it this time. He hid the packet under the edge of the canvas bedding and laid back down. The ceiling above him was painted with a scene of angels peering down from the shelter of fluffy white clouds, an unexpected scene of beauty in such a strange place. John studied them as sleep overtook him, and he noticed that one of them had large brown eyes and a wary smile. Just like an angel named Alys...

       Chapter Six

      ‘What are you looking for, my lady?’

      Alys spun around, startled by the sound of a maidservant’s voice in the doorway of the stillroom. She was filling her baskets with the herbs she needed, along with clean linen bandages and some wine, and was so absorbed in her own thoughts she heard little beyond the empty chamber.

      ‘Some of the men are in need of healing poultices and tisanes after—after what happened last night,’ she said. She remembered all too well the terrible scene on the beach and swallowed her fear to try and smile.

      She knew she was not the only one affected by what had happened. The maid’s eyes were red-rimmed, her apron askew. ‘Oh, my lady, ’twas terrible! Will there be more of them, do you think? Will they reach the castle?’

      Alys saw a flashing image in her mind, a scene of mayhem as soldiers stormed through the corridors of Dunboyton, tearing her life apart. Nay—she would never let such a thing happen. ‘I’m sure Bingham’s men have moved on to seek new prey. There will be little here for them and we will soon be as quiet as usual.’

      ‘But the Spanish...’

      ‘The Armada is destroyed!’ Alys cried, thinking of those poor, starving wretches cut down on the beach. Of Juan, his beautiful eyes and his wounded body. ‘They could not hurt even a seagull now. We must go about our tasks as always. Is my father’s dinner ready?’

      ‘I don’t know, my lady.’

      ‘Well, go see about it, please. Here is some mint for the lamb stew. Perhaps that will tempt his appetite a bit. I must go see to the garden.’

      Alys took up her basket and hurried out of the stillroom. She could tell that most of the servants were trying to go about their tasks as always, but there were still soldiers loitering in the gardens and the great room, and the air seemed heavy and oppressive. She went to fetch her parcel of clothes and linens, and made her way towards the garden, avoiding anyone’s gaze.

      She caught a glimpse of her father in the great hall and despite her worries the sight of him made her pause. He sat slumped in his chair near the fire, his head resting on his hand, and he looked so tired. So—old, suddenly. She left her baskets near the door, out of sight, and made her way to his side.

      ‘Father?’ she said and at first she feared he didn’t hear her. He shook his head and slowly looked up at her. ‘Father, are you unwell?’

      ‘Nay, Alys my butterfly, I am well enough,’ he answered, his voice tired and weak.

      ‘Is your stomach aching again? I can mix you a tisane...’ She had become used to mixing the certain combination of herbs that sometimes soothed him, as he had been plagued with illness ever since her mother died.

      ‘It is no worse than usual.’ He gave a deep sigh and stared back into the fire. ‘I have grown useless, Alys. I could not even do anything to stop that wanton slaughter last night.’

      Alys’s heart ached at his words. She knelt down beside his chair and pressed her hand to his trembling arm. ‘Oh, Father. They say Bingham carried a royal order from Fitzwilliam, you could not go against that.’

      ‘Royal order,’ he snorted. ‘Men like that follow no order but their own. Ransoms could have been made, perhaps, or valuable information obtained from those men. All for naught.’

      Alys thought of Juan. Once he was recovered, what information could he give them? Perhaps if he could tell her father...

      She shook her head. That had to be a secret for now, her secret, until Bingham’s men were truly gone and she had found out what she could from Juan herself. ‘Terrible things do happen in battle.’

      ‘That was no battle, it was a slaughter of starving men who were defeated СКАЧАТЬ