Page 11 of Devoted to the Spanish Duke
Chapter Five
The endless hours of darkness followed by rough, grasping hands forcing vile liquids down her throat had melded into one long nightmare for Maria. Where she was and with whom, she had no idea. The only thing of which she was certain, from the constant lull from side to side, was that she was onboard a ship.
“Drink.”
It was one of a handful of words he ever spoke to her; the main form of communication favored by her abductor was rough manhandling. Her short intervals of consciousness usually consisted of Maria being dragged from her bed, head still covered by the sack. She was forced to drink, then use a bucket for her ablutions before she was shoved back onto the rough mattress where darkness would descend once more.
Her only source of comfort were the memories of her mother and the promise Maria had made in those rare, precious moments between long stretches of insensibility.
Mamá, I shall find my way home. We will be together again.
And then came the day when she woke to silence.
The bed no longer rocked, and the roar of waves was gone. Her hands and feet were still bound, but the coarse rope had been replaced by softer binds. Ones which did not burn her skin.
Unfortunately, her head, remained covered by the sack. Small pinpricks of light filtered through the small holes in the hessian.
At least I can finally see more than just darkness.
“Hello?” she whispered.
Her word, though muffled by the hessian, echoed in the quiet of the room. For the first time since she had been attacked on the beach, Maria sensed she was alone.
Tears pricked her eyes as she remembered those final moments. Of the cries of pain from Señor Perez and seeing him struck violently and falling to the ground. She sent a prayer to heaven, hoping against all hope that he may have survived the vicious assault.
She was still alive, and that was something to hold onto. Whoever had taken her clearly had plans.
If they wanted you dead, they would have killed you already.
The rattle of a key in a lock caught her attention. Footsteps accompanied the clink of chinaware and glasses. The softthudof wood meeting wood had Maria guessing that a tray had been placed onto a nearby table.
Skirts shuffled toward her, followed by a disapproving ‘tsk.’ This was something different and unexpected. Her new jailer was definitely female.
Hands tugged at the sack over her head, lifting, pulling it free. Hope flared. Finally, she would be able to see again.
“Oh!” she cried as blinding daylight pierced her eyes.
Maria turned her head away, wincing as the overwhelming newness of sight assailed her senses. It took several minutes before she was able to focus properly. Only then did she attempt to look at the woman.
A plump matron dressed all in gray stood beside the bed. Hands on hips, she appeared totally nonplussed at Maria’s behavior. “Now, the master says you need to be eating,” she said. Her gaze ran over Maria’s trussed up body, and she shook her head. “How the devil am I supposed to feed you? Honestly, anyone would think this lot had never staged a bloody kidnapping before.”
Maria’s English wasn’t the best, but she understood enough. Any slim chance of her being able to plead for the woman to take pity on her and let her go died. This woman was clearly a willing member of the kidnap gang.
A second person entered the room—a man wearing a colorful mask. He looked for all the world like he had just stepped out of a ball or the famous carnival in Venice. If her situation hadn’t been so dire, she might have found it amusing.
“Ella ha comido?” he asked.
She knew that cruel voice only too well. It had been with her all through the nightmare on the boat.
The woman huffed. “We are in England, so speak the bloody language. You know I only understand a few words of Spanish, and most of them are insults.”
“Has she eaten?”
“No. I only just got here. I took the sack off her head and was still trying to decide how to feed her while she is trussed up like a chicken when you arrived.”
With the mask on, it was impossible to decipher the man’s response. He swore under his breath, then marched over to the bed. “I suppose untying you won’t present too much of a problem. You can’t get out, and even if you did, where would you go?”
He bent and rolled Maria over onto her side. Then, to her bone-deep relief, he loosened the knots on her bindings and removed them before pushing her back down. She lifted her hands and got her first glimpse of the damage caused to her wrists and arms by the tight ropes which had bound her for the long journey to England. Deep, black bruises and half-healed red wounds covered the lower part of her limbs.
