A/N- Sorry this took so long, hoping everyone enjoys this chapter.
Btw- to the Guest who complained because I wasn't being historically accurate- F*** You! I mentioned previously that this was written for fun, not for historical accuracy, so coming in to complain about that is like walking into a McDonalds and complaining because they won't serve you KFC.
When the Infanta Caterina Maria had feared that she was going to her death, she had not thought that it would be at the hands of brigands.
She and her ladies had endured weeks upon weeks aboard the vessel as it made its way to English shores. Enduring cramped quarters, storms and seasickness, yet it was not until they were in sight of land that they truly had cause to worry for their lives.
Having heard the shouts of alarm, she had led her ladies to the deck, leaping backwards to avoid being bowled over by one of the men and, when she could determine a safe path, had swept over to the captain,
"Senor," she waited patiently until he turned and bowed,
"What is the matter?"
When he comes up again she can see that he is pale with fright and sweat stands on his brow,
"We are under attack Infanta," he informs her, "Pirates, with cannon, those ships there."
He points and she follows his gaze to see three large vessels that are flying black flags and she sees that they are gaining on them,
"What are we to do?" she asks the captain, carefully maintaining a calm facade and glancing behind her to ensure that her ladies are doing the same.
The captain swallows nervously and braces himself,
"Forgive me, Infanta, but I have orders from the Emperor to ensure, first and foremost, that the dowry is kept safe."
Caterina Maria reaches for her grandmother's ring on her finger and squeezes it for comfort,
"The dowry?" she echoes, "What of my safety? Or that of my ladies?"
He has the grace to look ashamed but she can see the resignation in his eyes. The dowry was of the utmost importance, for if she died, it would be taken back to Spain, either to be returned to the coffers or to be given to another Spanish Princess, to be loaded onto a ship and sent to England as she had been.
"Very well," she murmurs, "I shall take my ladies to the cargo hold and barricade it as best we can, please do let us know when it is safe to emerge."
Picking up her skirts, she sweeps past her ladies who all fall in hurriedly behind her and tries to move swiftly yet confidently as she leads them to the damp and dark cargo hold.
"There is no reason to be afraid," she tells them as the door is closed and they are ensconced in almost perfect darkness, "Pray for comfort but do not be frightened, if the worst should come, I will endeavour to see that you are kept safe."
Some of her women are weeping with fright as they help her move three barrels to block the doorway before they sit down to wait.
The Infanta hummed in the darkness, singing a song her grandmother had taught her in the hopes of calming her ladies as cannon fire clapped around them as loud as thunder.
Louder and louder, men were shouting, screaming, the vessel rocked violently and her ladies screamed as she bit her tongue so that she would not cry out.
Madness must have overcome her for a moment, for she found herself wondering about her betrothed, whether he would mourn her death?
Another loud crash and blinding light fills her eyes, making her terrified that she has died, yet when she can see, she realises that it is much worse.
A cannon has hit the vessel, knocking it aside for merely an instant before it starts to right itself. The cannon had wrecked a hole in the ship, therefore, the very moment it lands back in the ocean, water starts filling the cargo hold.
She scrambles over to the door and pushes the barrels out of the way, tearing a nail as she hurls the door open only to see one of the crew landing down the stairs, a dagger in his chest. She slams the door shut again and tries to think,
"Tear them," the Infanta yells above the shrieking terror of her ladies before she realises that they do not understand her,
"Your gowns," she explains, reaching down to her own skirts,
"Tear them, get rid of the weight."
She rips off the velvet kirtle and pulls off her headdress, pausing only when her shift is visible around the ribbons of ruined dress. The water is above her knees as she wades over to the hole and peers out, part of the hole is above the water and she pulls on the ruined wood until she thinks that they can slip out.
They are facing the ocean, mayhap land is close by?
She has never swum before, yet she is light and it can not be that far from land.
She turns back to her ladies, "Verily, I am sorry," she tells them,
"I am afraid that we must escape."
One of her ladies comes forward, "I know how to swim in the ocean," she says firmly, "With your permission, Infanta," she takes her hand, "I will go first."
The Infanta has six ladies accompanying her and makes sure that they are all out of the cargo hold before she, taking the bits of ruined wood as her first lady suggested, to hold onto.
Following the example, set by the first lady, she takes a deep breath and dives beneath the freezing water, her eyes stinging as she forces them to stay open and keep the bare feet in front of her in view. When she cannot take another second, she breaks for air and looks about her.
There are bodies and blood in the water, pieces of wreckage and the ships are so close as to cast shadow on where she scrambles for air before turning around in a half circle.
There!
"Land!" she shouts to her ladies, showing them the green shore and twisting to ensure that they are all still with her.
They are struggling to stay afloat, weeping with fear and spitting out water, yet they are there.
"It is too far," the first lady tells her, "Infanta, we cannot make that distance, not against the tide."
She wants to argue with her, to claim that a Princess of Spain can do whatever she wishes, but her legs are tired and a wave washes over her head, causing her to choke and splutter as the salty water hits her throat.
"That ship!" her youngest lady screams, "It flies the English flag."
Twisting and paddling, caught in the current, the Infanta struggles to see in the direction that her lady is pointing. Verily, she does see a vessel rapidly approaching, cannon at the ready and the crest of England billowing against the wind.
Her teeth are chattering loudly as the cold water causes her bones to ache and her ladies are shivering violently,
"Come," she says, "They are our friends."
Every wave seemed intent on beating them backwards, towards the pirates and their doom, yet, they persevere, with the Infanta deliberately moving as slowly as possible so that her ladies were before her and she could keep them in sight. It was slow progress, seemingly hours and days passed before she heard a strange shout and raises her weary head to see the vessel lowering boats overboard, men in them rapidly rowing towards them.
She is unceremoniously yanked out of the sea by her armpits and pulled onto the boat, floundering on the bottom of the craft for a moment before she is hauled up and sat upright as if she was little more than a doll. Two more of her ladies suffering the same treatment beside her.
The man doing all the poking and prodding growls at her in a language so strange that she reels backwards, terrified that she's somehow been mislaid into the hands of a pirate,
"My...women," she tries in the little English she speaks, "All...well?"
More growling, strange gestures and she casts her eyes about to ensure that every last one of her ladies is being fished out of the water.
"We go big ship...yes?" she asks the man as he begins rowing, more growls and mayhap a nod towards land.
When they reach the beach, the man jumps into the shallow water and begins tugging the boat ashore, eager to assist, the Infanta orders her ladies off the vessel and tries to help him.
Her hands are frozen, bleeding from various cuts and splinters and she winces as a cold wind lashes at her bare limbs and sodden clothes.
Still, she swallows around an aching throat and legs trembling from exhaustion and staggers over to her ladies, gathering them around her, and making them sit down on the sand while she checks them over, clucking like a mother hen.
The growling man leaves and returns with villagers and a priest who speaks Latin, working as a translator who guides them to a castle where she deposits her ladies in front of a roaring fire and immediately demands to be shown the kitchens.
The Infanta oversees the making of syllabubs and finds fresh linen, meant for beds which she tears up to make into bandages. When she returns to her ladies, she finds that some of the wounded Englishmen have been brought in, one is bleeding profusely from the thigh.
"Table." she orders, knocking on the hard wood to make her point and the men carrying him look at her curiously, however, she does not allow them to argue.
They lay him upon the table and she takes a knife from one of them, using it to cut the man's stocking and breeches until his leg is exposed. She pours the wine over it and he curses in a tongue that surprises her,
"You speak Spanish, senor?" she asks as she begins cleaning the wound,
"You curse to make an infidel blush."
He grins, propping himself up on elbows, "Forgive me, my lady, I learnt the tongue from having it screamed at me in hatred many a time."
The Infanta smirked as she checks her hands, finding which of her nails was still long and using it to extract a splinter,
"That makes you either a successful soldier or a successful gambler." she quips and he laughs,
"I would like to believe that I am both."
"Men often do." she retorts, raising her head as one of her ladies' approaches, with a bevy of people in tow, "Infanta, the trousseau has been delivered safely." she reports and the Infanta snaps her fingers,
"Spain is saved," she scoffs, sardonically, "Open it, dress yourselves."
The lady gasps, "We cannot, Infanta, what will you wear to meet your husband?"
The Infanta looks down at her ruined gown, the shredded cloth stuck to her knees and trailing down her thighs, her collar was in place yet she could not be called decent by Spanish or even French standards.
Still, the memory of her captain's orders irritates her to rebellion,
"Well," she shrugs, "I shall have to meet him naked and hope that he either falls in love with me or turns to stone."
The soldier behind her roars with laughter and she shushes him with a smile, "You shall not tell any Englishmen I said that," she warns as she ties the bandage around his leg, "Or I shall let this get infected."
He crosses himself and kisses his ring, "Upon my honour." he swears, still laughing as she helps him stand and he takes his cloak, one of fine silk and drapes it over her shoulders.
She helps him limp into the Great Hall, where more strangers are waiting, one of them a beautiful blonde woman who immediately waddles over to the soldier, clearly pregnant, taking him in her arms and fussing over him, covering him with so many kisses that the Infanta blushes and turns away.
Another woman comes up, a pretty brunette who is studying her with brazen eyes,
"Parlez-vous francais?" she asks, and the Infanta quirks an eyebrow,
"I am Spanish and thus an enemy of the French," she responds fluently, "So no, I do not speak the language."
The woman shrugs, her lips turned up in amusement and tries again, "English?"
The Infanta smiles, "A little, I learn and understand."
"Where is Princess?"
Realizing that she has not been identified, she puts a hand to her heart and smiles in spite of the blush rising up her cheeks,
"I am Infanta Caterina Maria," she says, "I am Princess."
Around her, people squawk in surprise and she is taken by dignitaries and her ladies are once again pulled about unceremoniously as attempts are made to salvage the dignity of the event.
She is led towards the soldier she treated and his wife,
"Your Majesty," one of the dignitaries bows, "May I present the Most Esteemed Infanta Caterina Maria."
He turns back and motions hastily for her to bow, yet she can only shrug helplessly, "If I were to bow now, I would be showing the Queen far more than she wished to see."
The Queen placed a hand to her mouth as she laughed, "Come," she gives her a hand, "We shall give you a gown."
Niklaus hopped over to his brother Elijah, leaning on him heavily to take the weight off his leg, and the room relaxes, people gathering together to exclaim over the events of the day. He is given a cup of wine and toasts his friend, a Scottish seaman named Jamie as he swaggers over,
"Well," he declares, "For everything that she's been through, she sure is a Bonnie lass."
"Verily," Niklaus agrees, "She is."
A/N- HA! Tricked you all