A Stranger at Castonbury(13)

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Catalina managed to say, shocked and starting to be frightened. She spun around to hurry away, but suddenly his hand closed hard on her arm and dragged her back.

‘Oh, I think you do know what I mean,’ he said roughly. His arms came around her like a vice and his mouth swooped down on hers, open and hungry.

Catalina was engulfed in a cold panic. It felt as if prison walls were squeezing in on her, and nausea choked her. Webster’s kiss was nothing like Jamie’s; it didn’t even deserve the same name. She fought against him, but he was too strong and held her fast. One of his hands closed on her breast through her muslin gown and he pinched painfully at her nipple.

Catalina screamed against his mouth and felt him laugh. That sound infuriated her. She managed to wriggle enough room between them to bring her knee up and slam it between his legs. When he shouted, she bit down on his lip and tasted coppery blood.

As he fell to the ground, she wrenched away and ran. She heard him scream out behind her. ‘Whore!’ he called. ‘Hatherton’s whore. You’ll be sorry for this.’

‘I am his wife!’ Catalina screamed. ‘Not his whore, you dirty cochino.’

She kept running, still half blind with fear. At first she didn’t know what a sudden booming noise was, she was so disoriented. But as she stumbled and half fell to her knees, she saw a flaring flash of flame arc over the sky and heard cries.

The camp was being directly shelled.

As she watched, horrorstruck, more explosions went off around the camp amid shouts and screams. Fires were flaring up. She pushed herself up and ran towards the nearest tent. A shell exploded not far away, making her ears ring, but she kept going. She had to help if she could.

She glimpsed a figure lying on the ground, horribly still. It was the nurse she had worked with over the patient earlier. Catalina knelt down next to her, but she quickly saw it was too late to help her at all.

Suddenly a hand grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet.

‘Run, Catalina!’ the man shouted. ‘We must find shelter now.’

Catalina turned her head and saw it was the English doctor, leading a couple of the more mobile wounded soldiers from the burning camp.

‘But the others...’ she gasped.

‘Those who could flee have already gone,’ the doctor answered. ‘I fear the chaplain has been killed. The French are close in their pursuit. We must go, now.’

Catalina ran with him back towards the trees, where they found a hiding place in the shadows, their heads down as the shells flew overhead and they prayed the French armies wouldn’t find them. Once darkness gave them cover, they fled towards the village with the few other survivors.

Only the next morning, as they stumbled out onto the road to Seville, did she see to her horror that she had lost her precious sapphire ring....

* * *

‘So you are alive.’

Jamie opened his eyes to find a man standing over him, his features a blur from the light that streamed from the windows behind him. It was the first time he had heard anyone speak in that crisp English accent in days, ever since Sanchez had pulled him out of the river and slung him over the horse to find a hospital. They had ended in this house in a small village.

At first Jamie had been in such a strange dream state he was able to remember nothing at all. Only snatches of hazy memories, like a summer’s day in the Castonbury gardens and Catalina’s hand in his as they walked down the aisle. Gradually things became clearer, the pain sharper, and he cursed his damnable weakness. He had to finish what he had set out to do and get back to Catalina.

The man stepped back, and Jamie saw it was Lord Cawley, who had been his contact for secret work in Spain, the man who had sent him the letter requesting his assistance in the matter with the royal family.

There was surely only one thing he would be doing there.

Jamie gave a humourless laugh and pushed himself up against the pillows. ‘I hadn’t thought to see you so soon, Cawley.’

‘No? Why not? I came at once when Sanchez sent word you were injured. We feared you might have died.’

‘And thus you would get no more work out of me?’

‘You have been one of our best operatives, Hatherton,’ Cawley said. He pulled up a straight-backed wooden chair and sat down. His thin, lined face looked even harsher than usual. ‘These are perilous days. After the French are gone, we have to be sure Spain is once again a friendly ally for England. It is of vital importance.’