Christmas At The Tudor Court: The Queen's Christmas Summons / The Warrior's Winter Bride. Amanda McCabe
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was most ungentlemanly. I...’ His face went very white and he sagged against the wall.
Alys remembered his wounded shoulder, all he had been through, and she felt terrible for shouting at him, deserved or not. She rushed to his side and took his arm. He felt much too warm, as if his fever had not abated. ‘Of course. I could have been one of Bingham’s soldiers, though I dare say they would have made much more noise. Here, sit down, you are feverish still. I’ll build up the fire.’
He went with her, though she sensed he went most reluctantly, trying to hold back, as if ashamed of his behaviour, his loss of control. ‘Why have you not summoned the soldiers yourself?’ he asked.
Alys shrugged, concentrating on stoking the fire. ‘I do not like Bingham and his barbaric methods. He is a brute, who does not follow the proper procedures for battle. He just enjoys a bloodbath.’ She sat back on her heels and watched as the flames caught and crackled, sending out their warmth into the cold, stone room. She nodded, as if she had decided on something. ‘And my mother...’
‘Ah, yes, you said she was Spanish,’ he said. ‘So was mine.’
She turned to look at him, wondering that there was someone else there like her, someone who might understand what it felt to be caught ever between two worlds. ‘And your father?’
His jaw tightened. ‘He was English.’
‘Is that why you were with the Armada? For your mother?’
He was silent for a long moment, until she was sure he would not answer her. He looked like a rock, a cave made of stone she could not penetrate. ‘I was there for many reasons. You would find my tale dull.’
Alys thought of his hidden packet of papers, that strange jumble of letters and symbols she had glimpsed for only an instant before he hid it again. She was sure the very last word to describe him would be dull. But she could tell he should not talk more today, the effort of holding his secrets had made him pale again and he shivered. She would have to discover more later.
Once the fire was blazing again, she gathered up her tumbled supplies and went to kneel beside him. He gave her a wary glance.
‘I brought you some proper blankets and pillows, not much like a real bed, but better than that old canvas,’ she said. ‘Also, a clean shirt, and some bandages and healing herbs from my stillroom. Oh, and wine and bread, a bit of cheese and smoked fish. You look as if you haven’t had a real meal in some time, so you must eat very slowly.’
He examined the supplies she laid out with a strange look on his face, almost a wonder, as if she had brought an array of gold and rubies. ‘Where did you get all of this?’
‘I told you, the herbs came from my stillroom and the food from the kitchen, of course. No one saw me gather it.’ She measured out a mixture of feverfew and rosemary, carefully crushing them together and mixing them into some wine.
‘You stole this? For me?’
Alys laughed. ‘Certainly not. They are mine to take, since my father is governor of the castle. Except for the shirt. I did take that from him, but I will sew him a new one.’
‘Then where am I, exactly?’
Alys glanced up from her herbs and saw a frown on his face. ‘Dunboyton Castle in Galway. Did you not know?’
He shook his head. ‘Our pilot died days ago and much of our navigational equipment was damaged. No one was well enough to steer, so we just—drifted. Until we followed another ship into a bay, trying to shelter from the gale.’
Alys tried to remember all the jumbled stories that had flown around when the ships were sighted. ‘Aye, they did say there were two that went down, but there seems no sign of the other.’
‘There were no survivors, then?’
Alys went back to her mixture, making a new one for the poultices. She did not want to tell him too much yet, not when he was still ill. ‘I don’t know. If there were, they weren’t brought to the castle. Here, let me see to your shoulder. The bandages will need changing. Drink this.’
Juan drew back, glaring suspiciously at her array of herbs. ‘What is that?’
‘Merely feverfew, some yarrow, a bit of valerian, things of that sort,’ she answered. ‘It will help the fever and aid your blood in healing itself. I will make you a tea of chamomile later, to help you sleep. It is not poison, I promise. Why would I go to so much trouble to bring you here if I was just going to poison you?’
He laughed, and it sounded as if he had not done so in a long time. It was like drawing back a shutter and letting the light and warmth in again. ‘A fine point, señorita.’
‘You’ll have to take off your shirt.’
To her amusement, his cheeks actually turned a bit red and he turned his back to strip off the torn, stained shirt. For a moment she could only stare, amazed, at the beauty of his sun-darkened skin lightly touched with the pink of those incongruous blushes. Her giggles faded when she saw the way he winced in pain at the movement and she hurried over to touch his arm.
‘Here, sit down, Juan, let me look at your shoulder,’ she said.
She could tell he was still wary, holding himself stiff under her touch, but he slowly sat down on the blankets she had arranged by the fire. He held his back very straight as she leaned closer to study the gash on his shoulder.
The wound was not as angrily red as it had been, but she saw she did need to remove the rest of the splinters and dress it with the poultice if it was not to poison his blood. She also realised he must have found the water cistern and bathed, for his gold-touched skin was clean and smooth to her touch, and he smelled of sweet rainwater with a hint of citrus.
He was really very, very handsome, with his sharply carved features, his strong jaw and blade-straight nose, and those sea-green eyes. His body, too, was tall and leanly muscled, like that of an ancient warrior.
Alys shook away the strange spell being close to him seemed to weave around her. She could not afford such distractions now. She quickly rinsed a rag in clean water and carefully dabbed at the dried blood that had seeped around his wound.
‘What is this place?’ he asked. ‘Part of the castle?’
‘Nay, it is the old abbey. It was abandoned long ago, in King Henry’s time, and most of it is in ruins. It was dark when we came here, I am sure you couldn’t see it well.’
‘An abbey?’
‘This was the old dairy and somehow it has survived with its roof intact. I think the shepherds use it sometimes, when they drive their flocks towards Galway City.’
‘How do you know about it?’
Alys carefully dabbed her paste of herbs on the cleaned wound. His shoulder tensed under her touch and his skin felt like steel under silk. Distracting again. ‘I came here with my mother when I was a child. The monks had large herb gardens and we would gather some of the remains, or we would sit on the old walls and she would tell me tales.’
‘Tales of Spain?’
Alys thought of those sunny spring days, with the light flooding through the empty windows and the scent of mint on the air. ‘Sometimes. She said it was always sunny and warm there, most unlike Ireland. Mostly fairy stories, or tales of old kings and warriors, though.’
‘Will she find you here?’
Alys bit her lip as she wound the bandage tighter. ‘Nay. She died many years ago.’
Juan reached up and gently touched her hand, making her skin turn warm at his touch. ‘I am sorry.’
‘It—it was a long time ago,’ Alys stammered, confused at the feelings his touch awoke. ‘Though I fear my father still mourns her greatly.’ She slid her hand away to tie off the bandage. ‘Some of the stories she did tell me were ghost tales. She loved those. I always wondered if the Spanish had