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...
‘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 weeks ago. Thank the stars your mother was not here to see such wickedness. And I pray that you will never see such again, either. That you never see true battle.’
‘That seems unlikely, Father. I am no warrior, am I?’ She kissed his cheek and made herself give him a bright smile. ‘I am sure Dunboyton will be as isolated as ever now that the ships have gone. I’ll finish my tasks and dine with you this evening. There is lamb stew and a new apple pie.’
Her father patted her hand, but she could tell he was far away from her again, staring into the fire as if he could see images in the flames no one else glimpsed. She wondered if he saw her mother there, her Spanish mother.
Alys quickly fetched her baskets and hurried out of the castle. Juan had been alone for hours now and she worried what she would find at the abbey. Perhaps he had become feverish, or mayhap wandered away and was captured. She knew she should not be so worried for a man she did not know, a man who could bring much danger on to her, but still she hurried her steps towards him.
It was still cold and windy, but the rain had gone. She avoided the beach. They said the villagers had pillaged what they could from the sailors’ bodies and from the cargo that had washed ashore from the ships, and the bodies were buried in the dunes. The English regiments had moved on along the coast, but she couldn’t bear to see the place where she had witnessed such horrors. If she could help Juan, even though he was only one man...
Well, it was all she could do for some atonement, something for her mother.
As she came over the top of the cliffs, the ruins of the abbey came into view. The spires still reached towards the slate-grey skies, even though their walls were crumbling, one tiny spot of beauty left out of ruin. The empty windows and old walkways seemed as empty as always.
What would she find when she went to search for Juan?
The door to the old dairy was closed and no smoke curled from the chimney. It looked as abandoned as the rest of the cloisters.
Alys slowly pushed the door open. She held her breath, listening for any sign of life, but there was not even a rustle of noise. ‘Holà...’ she called tentatively. Her words ended on a scream as her arm was suddenly grabbed and she was dragged into the room.
A hard, strong hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her words and her breath. Cold terror washed over her. She twisted frantically against her bonds, driving her elbow into her captor’s ribs. She must have inadvertently hit a wound, for she was suddenly free and her captor stumbled back a step.
Alys whirled around, and saw it was Juan who had grabbed her. His face was grey, streaked with sweat, and his eyes were filled with a wild glow, like an animal cornered. Anger replaced her fear. Had she not done all she could to help him, despite everything? How dare he frighten her so!
‘I am trying to help you, at great risk, and this is the thanks I get!’ she cried. She scooped up some of the tumbled linen that had fallen from her basket when she dropped it and tossed it at his head. She knew she should still be scared; she had seen men in the aftershocks of battle before, they didn’t always know where they were. And Juan was much larger and stronger than she was. But somehow, her fear was gone.
He