Excerpt of His Betrothed by Gayle Callen

Chapter One

July 1588

In the growing darkness, Spencer Thornton stood by the
rail and watched the frantic sailors scrambling up the
masts of the Spanish ship, loosening the ropes and sails
in a desperate effort to alter their course. The English
fleet stillsailed behind, sending cannonballs screaming
through the sky to topple masts and puncture ships.

Death had been stalking him for days now. He was so weak
from lack of food that his pretense of being a seasick
soldier seemed real. He couldn't allow himself the solace
of sleep because one by one, other British spies were
being murdered -- and he might be next.

He gripped the rail and stared hard at the isle of Wight,
with its shadowed cliffs and beaches. He had made plans to
jump ship there, where he now owned dower property from
that illfated betrothal.

At least some good had come from his last London scandal.

He would have done anything to escape the notoriety of his
missing bride, and the British government had presented
him with a way to be needed -- a way to prove himself
loyal. He'd spent over a year pretending to be Spanish,
gathering information on the pathetic condition of the
Spanish soldiers and sailors. The armada's food and water
were spoiled, and they lacked ample supplies of powder and
shot. He was all but certain the Spanish couldn't invade
England. All he needed to do was get his information to
the queen -- unless the traitor killed him first.

The ship was in an uproar: soldiers huddled in sobbing
groups, while sailors crawled through the rigging. Now
might be hisbest -- and only -- chance to get the proof of
treachery he needed.

Spencer leaned over the side to check that the boat he'd
lowered earlier was still lashed to the hull. Then he
headed for the cabin of Rodney Shaw, a highly placed
British spy -- and the man Spencer believed was betraying
his country. As he reached the door, an explosion rocked
the ship and the shouting intensified.

He ducked inside the dark cabin, feeling his heart
pounding against his ribs and the sweat rolling off him in
the stale air. Footsteps pounded overhead; the ship
shuddered with the impact of another cannonball. He
frantically ran his hands over the table, through the
trunks, beneath the bedclothes. He found only one sealed
letter, and by the light of gunfire outside the porthole,
he was able to make out the first few sentences. It was
written by Shaw's Spanish superiors -- just what Spencer
needed.

After stuffing the, letter in an oilskin pouch, he
strapped it to his chest beneath his shirt and was soon
back in the shadowy corridor He had taken only one step
when he felt the prick of a sword in his back.

"Señor?" said a voice.

Spencer held his hands out to his sides to show he was
unarmed, then slowly turned around. He looked into the
dark, smirking eyes of a Spanish soldier.

Spencer braced himself against the bulkhead and wiped his
shaking hand across his forehead. "Forgive me, sir. I am
sick, and I was trying to find my way below deck to rest."

The soldier leaned closer, keeping his sword at the
ready. "My master is looking for you. And where do I find
you? Right outside his door."

Unease spread through Spencer's chest. This man worked for
Shaw -- but did he know what Spencer had found in the
cabin?

He allowed himself to be prodded on deck, where the
growing darkness was lit with gunfire. He could just see
the island disappearing off the port side -- so much for
his plans to jump ship before he was caught.

The bow was all but deserted except for the shadowy
figures of two men. Spencer approached warily and received
another sword prick in the back to hurry him up.

Rodney Shaw -- dark-haired and still amazingly well
dressed -- stepped forward and smiled. "Lord Thornton, how
good of you to deliver yourself into our hands," he said
softly in English.

Spencer answered in Spanish. "You didn't cover your
treachery well, Shaw. Did you not think we would discover
your secret?"

"There is no longer a 'we,' Lord Thornton. Every other spy
is dead."

Spencer kept his rage contained. "I don't understand why
you would do this. Surely you knew that your loyalty would
have been well rewarded by the crown."

Shaw only shrugged. "Now I can be well rewarded no matter
which side wins. And imagine how grateful the queen will
be when I hand her the name of the traitor -- Spencer
Thornton. I'll tell her what a shame it was that I had to
kill him before he could kill me. And then. of course,
when the Spanish invade with my help, I shall be a hero to
them as weIl."

Spencer's arms were suddenly gripped from behind. Before
he could do more than briefly struggle, he felt a blow to
his stomach, then to his face. Pain shot through him, and
he tried to pull away. Shaw and another of his henchmen
took turns pummeling him, and Spencer knew they intended
to beat him to death. He deliberately sagged in their
arms, and when one of the henchmen leaned over him,
Spencer plucked the man's sword away and rolled to his
feet.

Shaw's own sword suddenly glittered in the moonlight, and
he laughed. Swaying, Spencer blinked his eyes as his
vision blurred, but he fought to hold his hand steady.
When their swords arced overhead and rang together, he
felt the rippling shock of it clear down to his chest. He
desperately fought on, wondering which blow would be his
last.

His breath came in labored gasps, and sweat dripped into
his eyes. When he stumbled to one side, he felt Shaw's
sword pierce between his ribs. And even if he managed to
defeat Shaw...