Читать книгу In the Tudor Court Collection - Amanda McCabe - Страница 13

Kathryn laughed at something her companions were saying. Her grasp of the language had improved gradually during the months she had lived in Rome. Almost four months had passed since her wedding day. She had had no word from Lorenzo in all that time and did not know what had been happening, for there had been very little news.

‘Elizabeta!’ Adriana Botticelli cried. ‘You are the most wicked flirt. If I were your husband, I should beat you.’

‘If Marco were not so dull, Elizabeta would not need to flirt with Caius Antonio,’ Isabella Rinaldi giggled. She was the youngest of the ladies present, and unmarried. ‘If my father chooses an old fat merchant as my husband, I shall take a lover too.’ She fluttered her fan artlessly, her face alive with mischief. ‘I hope that he chooses someone like your husband, Kathryn. If I were you, I should die of happiness.’

‘But poor Kathryn was married only a few hours before her husband left her,’ Elizabeta said. ‘Have you heard nothing from him, Kathryn?’

‘Nothing. Lorenzo is always so busy. He will come when he is ready.’ She looked up as her companion came into the salon where they were sitting. ‘Is your head better, Veronique?’

‘Much better, thank you, Kathryn.’ She sat down by the window and picked up her embroidery and then, seeing someone approaching, said, ‘Oh, I believe we have company…Why, it is Signor Santorini. Kathryn, your husband is here!’

‘Lorenzo is here?’ Kathryn’s heart missed a beat. ‘You are sure it is he, Veronique?’

‘Yes, quite sure.’

Kathryn’s impulse was to run to meet him, but she fought her desire, pretending to go on with her sewing. She must not betray herself. Lorenzo would not wish her to show too much emotion at his return. He had married her out of pity. He did not want a wife who demanded love.

‘We should go,’ Elizabeta said, sensing the emotion she struggled to hide. ‘Your husband will want to be alone with you, Kathryn.’

Kathryn shook her head, but all the ladies had followed Elizabeta’s example. They trooped out of the room with Veronique in their wake. Kathryn stayed where she was, her heart thumping painfully. She could hear her friends chattering and laughing amongst themselves and then the deeper tones of a man’s voice.

Her heart jerked as Lorenzo came into the salon. His eyes went over her, seeming to search for something, some sign, though she knew not what he wanted from her.

‘Are you well, Kathryn?’

‘Yes, sir. I am happy to see you back. I was anxious for your safe return. We have heard little news of the war.’

‘That may be because there is little to tell. The Turks have taken Famagusta and Nicosia. The League talked of blockading Rhodes, but once Cyprus had fallen the plan was abandoned. Doria has decided to winter at Sicily. I preferred to return to Rome, for there are galleys to be repaired and provisioned and I can do that better here.’

‘I am glad that you did.’

‘Are you, Kathryn?’ His expression was serious, intent on her face.

‘Yes. You must know that.’

‘It will be good to be here with you for a while. We shall be a long time at sea once we leave again in the spring.’

She stood up and went over to the table where a tray with glasses and jugs of wine and fruit drinks had been set out for her guests. She took a deep breath to steady her fluttering nerves, then turned to look at him.

‘May I serve you some wine?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ He stood watching her as she poured the wine and brought it to him. ‘What have you been doing while I was gone?’

‘I have made friends with the ladies you saw here. They take me shopping with them and invite me to their homes.’

‘So you have not been unhappy?’

She had missed him dreadfully, spending many lonely hours in the villa and gardens, crying herself to sleep for several nights after he left, but she would not tell him that. He did not want a wife who clung and wept for love of him.

‘No, I have not been unhappy.’

‘I am glad of it, for I have some news for you, Kathryn.’

‘Of Lady Mary and Lord Mountfitchet?’

‘No, I am sorry to tell you that as yet no news of them has come my way, though I have heard that some did escape the onslaught and reached other islands, before and since the invasion. Even if your friends are still alive, Kathryn, it will take time for letters to reach us. My news was of a possible sighting of Richard—one of the prisoners we took told us of a blue-eyed slave who works in the gardens of a wealthy merchant in Algiers. He was a youth when taken and, though he is apparently physically strong, has the mind of a child.’

‘That is very sad,’ Kathryn said. Once that news would have devastated her, but now she could feel only sadness and regret. Another love had replaced that childish one she had felt for Dickon. ‘Is there any way we can discover more?’

‘I have arranged to make further inquiries. I thought you would want me to continue the search.’

‘I know that Uncle Charles would wish it to go on,’ Kathryn said. ‘And I should feel happier if Richard could be rescued from slavery. If his father is dead, he is the heir to the Mountfitchet estate in England.’

‘He would need to prove his identity, I think?’

‘Yes—and that might be difficult if his father is dead. There will be other claimants, and those who matter would not listen to the claims of a slave who behaves like a child. If I believe he is Richard, my father will help him, but as for the rest…’

‘Do not concern yourself,’ Lorenzo told her. ‘Something will be done. You have my word.’

‘Thank you.’ Kathryn looked at him shyly. ‘Will you dine with me this evening, husband?’

‘Yes, certainly. It is my hope that now I am home we may spend some time together—learn to know one another, Kathryn.’

‘That would be very pleasant.’

How could she speak so calmly when her heart was hammering against her ribs? Kathryn fought her desire to be close to him. When he looked at her that way she felt as if she were melting and wanted only to be in his arms.

‘Pleasant…’ A wry smile touched his mouth. ‘Yes, it will be pleasant, Kathryn.’

‘If you will excuse me, I shall go to make sure that everything is in readiness.’

She had no need to bother, for the house ran perfectly and the servants would already have done all that was necessary, but if she stayed she might disgrace herself by falling into his arms. She might have begged him to kiss her, to love her.

What had he expected? Lorenzo frowned as he cleansed himself of the dirt of his months at sea. It was good to bathe after weeks when only the most basic of cleanliness was available. A douche in seawater every now and then was all that any of the men could expect. A man got used to the stench of the galleys, but he had been too eager to see her to delay even for that little time. Small wonder that she had kept her distance.

Yet was it only that he had come to her with the dirt of his journey still upon him? She knew what life was like on board ship and had not flinched from it when she was forced to travel with few comforts. Was she keeping her distance because she did not wish to become his wife in truth?

He had thought of this homecoming for weeks, dreaming of what she would smell like, how she would feel lying next to him in bed. Had he been mad to let himself imagine that she might welcome him once she had accustomed herself to the idea?

Most women he had wanted had been eager enough to fall into his arms, but he had never wanted one this badly before. All too often it had been he who had refused the offer of a lady’s company, too busy and too caught up in his quest to want the bother of a love affair. His chosen companions had been ladies who understood that he would go sooner rather than later.

Dressing in black Venetian breeches and hose and a doublet of black slashed with silver, the hanging sleeves attached by silver buckles at the shoulders, Lorenzo looked a true aristocrat. His hair was longer than usual for it had not been trimmed in months, curling to his shoulders, his skin a deep bronze. He glanced at his reflection in the glass, wondering as he had so often who he really was. For a moment his fingers strayed towards the leather wristbands, feeling the accustomed discomfort. All he knew for certain was that he had been captured by the Corsair Rachid and kept as a slave, chained to the oar until he was abandoned for dead. Yet he must have had a life before that day, a family, friends…perhaps a lover.

There had been no more flashes of memory recently. It seemed that the curtain was back in place, shutting out the past. Yet it did not matter—he knew that he was Lorenzo Santorini, owner of a fleet of galleys, his mission in life to destroy his enemy and others of his ilk.

Yet was his purpose as firm as it had been? Lorenzo frowned as he tried to understand the change that had come over him as he looked into the frightened eyes of that youth. Had it been Rachid himself he would not have hesitated to kill him—or would he?

He cursed softly as he realised that he was not sure. He had fed on hatred for so long. It was necessary to him, for without it what would he have?

The answer was so shocking, so alien to all that he had been and believed that he could not accept it. Dreams of a wife and family were not for him. He would grow soft, forget what had made him the man he was—become someone else.

Surely that was not what he wanted? He realised that he did not know. He did not know who he truly was any more.

Kathryn had dressed in an emerald green gown that set off the colour of her hair and made her eyes glow like jewels. She had only a small strand of pearls that her father had given her as a present for her birthday just before she left England, but she wore them with pride, never guessing that beauty such as hers needed no artifice.

‘You look lovely, Kathryn,’ Lorenzo said when he saw her. She was standing in the open arches that led out into a paved courtyard, her face pensive, a little sad perhaps. ‘Of what are you thinking, Madonna?’

‘It is such a lovely night. I was thinking of my home and my father.’

‘Have you written to him?’

Kathryn turned to face him. ‘I wrote to him when we reached Venice, but thought it best not to write again for the moment. Until we have more certain news of our friends I would not worry him.’

‘Do you not think you should tell him that you are married?’

‘Perhaps.’ Kathryn took a step towards him. ‘Lorenzo…’

She hesitated as a servant came to tell them that a meal had been served.

‘You must be hungry?’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Let us eat, Kathryn. We have all the evening to talk.’

Her heart began to race as she saw the look in his eyes. All these weeks she had convinced herself that he did not want her, but the way he looked at her now made her think that perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps he had left her on their wedding night because there was no time, just as he’d told her. And now he was home and there was plenty of time before he must put to sea again…

‘Tell me what you like to do with your days, Kathryn,’ Lorenzo invited as they sat down to enjoy their meal.

‘Oh, I walk in the garden. I shop with friends and visit their homes. Sometimes they visit me—but there is one thing I miss here, Lorenzo.’

‘And what is that, Madonna?’

‘Books,’ she said. ‘My father has a library at home and he allows me to read his books. Here there are no books.’

‘Why did you not buy some for yourself? I left money enough for your needs.’

‘I did not like to spend too much,’ Kathryn said. ‘And I did not know if you would approve of such purchases.’

Lorenzo smiled. ‘I must show you my library when we go home, Kathryn.’

‘When shall we return to Venice?’

‘Not for some months,’ he said. ‘I have made arrangements to winter here—and you have friends, Kathryn. You would have to begin again in Venice. I thought it would be better to wait until we can return together.’

‘Yes, you are right,’ she said. ‘I have not been bored, Lorenzo—but you asked what I like to do.’

‘We shall buy you books,’ he told her. ‘But now I would hear about your life in England, Kathryn. Tell me what you did there.’

She told him of her home overlooking the sea, and the long walks she liked to take when the weather permitted, and then, somehow, she found herself telling him of the day Dickon was stolen by Corsairs.

‘You say it was your idea that you should go down to the cove to investigate?’ He was looking at her thoughtfully. ‘And you have felt guilt because of it ever since?’

‘Had I not suggested it, he would not have gone.’

‘Can you be so sure of that? Most men would be curious and you were so much younger.’

‘But Dickon always tried to please me. He was so kind, so generous—always laughing and teasing me…’ Her eyes grew dark with remembered grief.

‘Is that why you still love him?’

‘I…am not sure that I do,’ she confessed, not daring to look at him. ‘We were but children. How do I know that we would still have loved each other when we grew up? Besides…’ Her voice tailed away. ‘I am your wife now, Lorenzo. And…and I would be a good wife to you…’

‘What do you mean by that?’

Kathryn looked at him, her breath catching in her throat. How could she answer, how could she tell him what she meant without betraying her feelings? If only he would give her some sign, show that he at least desired her, wanted her in his bed.

She was saved from answering by the arrival of a servant.

‘Signor,’ the woman said, ‘Captain dei Ignacio is here to see you. He has brought someone with him—a woman.’

‘Michael is here?’ Lorenzo got to his feet. ‘Excuse me, Kathryn. I must attend to this.’

She stared after him as he walked from the room. She had come so close to confessing her love, but the interruption had saved her. She wondered why it was so important that Lorenzo must speak with his captain immediately—and who was the woman Michael had brought with him?

Lorenzo’s eyes went over the woman standing at Michael’s side. She was wrapped in his cloak, and from the slippers on her feet and a glimpse of the harem pants she wore beneath it, he understood why.

‘Donna Maria,’ he said, speaking kindly, for he understood that she must be bewildered and perhaps frightened by all that had happened to her since she was taken from her father’s ship. ‘Welcome to my house. I trust that Michael has told you—you are to be restored to your father on payment of a ransom?’

‘Please…’ Maria looked at him with tear-drenched eyes. ‘Do not tell my father where I have been…’ Tears fell from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. ‘He would disown me—send me to the nuns.’

Lorenzo glanced at his captain. ‘Perhaps you should tell me the whole?’

‘Stay here, Donna Maria,’ Michael said and moved a little aside with him. ‘She has been kept in Rachid’s harem. I am not sure whether she was sent to his bed, but she has been with his women.’

‘And she believes that her father would disown her if he knew?’

‘It is what she says.’ Michael frowned. ‘I brought her to you as you bid me—and now I ask leave to return to Venice for a while. I have had news of my father. He is unwell and asks for me.’

‘Yes, of course you must go to him,’ Lorenzo said at once. ‘I hope you will return to me here as soon as you can?’

‘You have my loyalty as always,’ Michael said. ‘But for the moment there is little here that cannot be done by others.’

‘Go then with my blessing,’ Lorenzo said and frowned. ‘But the girl—how did she seem to you? Has she been mistreated? You understand my meaning—has she been subjected to rape?’

‘I am not certain what to think,’ Michael told him. ‘It is true that she has been kept in the harem, but I do not think she was ill treated there. She asked me several times to let her return to her friends.’

Lorenzo nodded. ‘I shall keep her with us for a while, and then we shall decide what to do about her father.’

‘If you will excuse me, I would leave at once.’

‘Of course. May your god go with you, my friend.’

‘And with you. Give Kathryn my good wishes.’

Lorenzo inclined his head. His eyes moved to the Spanish girl. She was very beautiful, her hair black and thick, her eyes dark and her mouth soft and sensuous. Something in the way she looked at him made him vaguely uncomfortable, a knowing, calculating expression that he disliked and thought immodest in an unmarried girl.

‘I am sorry for what has happened to you, Donna Maria,’ he said. ‘I shall ask my wife to take care of you. I am not sure what to do about you—though in the end you must be returned to your father. However, it may be that you would prefer to stay with us for a time?’

‘Yes, please.’ She came quickly towards him, catching at his hand, her eyes pleading. ‘I do not want to go home.’

‘Lorenzo…’ Kathryn came into the hall at that moment, in time to see the girl clutching at his hand. She stopped, frowning and uncertain. Who was this girl? ‘Has Michael left already?’

‘He brought Donna Maria Dominicus to us,’ Lorenzo said. ‘We have managed to ransom her from Rachid, and she will stay with us until we can restore her to her family. Will you look after her, Kathryn?’

‘Yes, certainly,’ Kathryn said, feeling remorse for her suspicions and pity for the girl, who she knew must have suffered dreadfully. ‘How did you manage this, Lorenzo?’

‘I shall tell you later,’ he said. ‘Donna Maria needs clothes. You may have something that she can wear until we can have something made for her.’

‘I think we are much of a size,’ Kathryn said readily. ‘If you will come with me, Donna Maria, I shall take you to the room that will be yours. I think you must want to bathe and rest, for you have had a terrible time.’

‘You are so kind.’ The girl’s tears fell readily. ‘I have been so very unhappy…’

‘You are safe now,’ Kathryn said, her heart touched by the girl’s plight. ‘Come, we shall go upstairs where we can talk and you may ask me for anything you need.’

Maria glanced at Lorenzo, but, finding no softness in his face, she clung to the hand Kathryn offered, her head bent as she allowed herself to be led away.

Lorenzo watched them leave. His instinct told him that the Spanish girl was not as upset as she seemed. There was something about her that he could not like, but, having ransomed her, he was honour bound to look after her until she could be restored to her family.

‘I was made to wear these things,’ Maria told Kathryn when they were alone and she had shed Michael’s cloak, revealing the flimsy harem pants and tunic. ‘I feel so ashamed.’

‘It is not your shame,’ Kathryn told her, angry that the girl had been subjected to such humiliation. ‘You were a captive and had to do as your cruel masters bid you. I have heard that Rachid is one of the worst of the Corsair captains, a ruthless man. We must thank God that you have been rescued before it was too late.’

‘They told me I was to be sold to the Sultan,’ Maria told her, her eyes lowered. She wiped her hand across her face. ‘Perhaps I was fortunate that Rachid did not want me for himself.’

‘Yes, I am sure that you were,’ Kathryn said. ‘It must have been a terrible ordeal for you.’

‘I wish that I had died rather than become a slave. My father will disown me or send me to a nunnery.’

‘Surely not, Maria? He will be glad to have you home.’

‘I do not think so. I have disgraced him.’ She turned her luminous eyes on Kathryn. ‘Could I not stay with you—as your companion? I promise I would be no trouble to you.’

‘It is my husband who makes these decisions,’ Kathryn said, her heart wrung with pity. ‘But I believe you worry too much, Maria. Your father was desperate to have you back.’ She explained what Don Pablo had done to try and trap Lorenzo. ‘That must make you realise that he loves you?’

‘Perhaps.’ Maria drew a sobbing breath. ‘But he did not know that I had been kept in a harem with…’ She shook her head. ‘You cannot know what they did to me to make sure that I was…’

‘Do not distress yourself, Maria,’ Kathryn said. ‘I shall speak to my husband and see if he will keep you with us, at least until we can be sure what your father feels. I promise you that, if he says you have disgraced him, I shall not let you go back to him.’

‘Oh, you are so kind!’ Maria seized her hand and kissed it. ‘I would do anything you asked of me, my lady.’

‘No, no, you must call me Kathryn as my friends do. I promise you that you shall not be ill treated for something that was not your fault.’ She smiled at the girl. ‘Our servants will bring you water to bathe in and clothes, also food. You will want to rest this evening, but in the morning we shall talk again. The clothes you are wearing shall be burned.’

‘May I not keep them to remind me?’ Maria said. ‘I must keep them to remind me of my modesty and that it was once lost. Please do not make me give them up.’

‘Surely you do not want them?’

‘Please!’

‘As you wish, but you must not think of what happened to you as your shame.’

Kathryn left the girl to the ministrations of the servants and went downstairs to join Lorenzo. He gave her a look of inquiry.

‘She is going to bathe, eat and rest. We shall see her in the morning.’

‘I am sorry that I brought her here,’ Lorenzo said. ‘It was not my intention that she should stay with us, Kathryn. I had intended to send her to her father almost at once.’

‘She is so distressed. Would it not be kinder to keep her with us for a while? At least until she can become accustomed to what has happened to her? She feels ashamed and it must have been awful for a young girl.’

‘There is something I cannot like about her.’

‘Lorenzo! You are too harsh,’ Kathryn said. ‘She has been through a terrible ordeal.’

‘It would seem so and yet…’ He frowned, uncertain why he felt that it would be best to be rid of the girl at once.

‘Please, I ask you to be kind to her—for my sake.’

‘For your sake?’ Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. He moved towards her, gazing down into her eyes. ‘I might do much for your sake, Kathryn.’

Her eyes widened as she saw the hot glow in his, and she swayed towards him, wanting him to take her in his arms, to kiss her.

‘Why…’ she asked, ‘why do you say that?’

‘Because you are my wife—because I care for you. Surely you know that, Madonna?’

‘I thought that you left me because you did not want me. I thought you did not find me attractive enough to want to lie with me on our wedding night.’ Kathryn gazed up at him, her eyes filled with an innocent appeal. ‘Was that not so?’

Lorenzo laughed, the sound of it making her heart race as he reached out, drawing her into his arms, his eyes dark with some deeply felt emotion.

‘Can you be so foolish, my love?’ he asked. ‘How could you think it was for my sake that I did not stay that night?’

‘Was it not?’

‘You married me because you had no choice. I would not force you to lie with me, Kathryn. I wanted you to become accustomed to the idea of a husband before you were forced to your duty. I want you warm and willing in my arms—not out of wifely duty.’

‘I do not think I should mind my wifely duty so very much,’ she said, her cheeks pink as she saw the laughter in his eyes. ‘I think it might be pleasant…’

‘Pleasant?’ Lorenzo shook his head at her, wickedness in every line of his face. He seemed to her then a man she had never seen before, the man he might have been had life been kinder to him. ‘It may be wonderful, exciting and passionate, but I do not think pleasant is a word I would use concerning my feelings for you, Madonna.’

‘Then would you please kiss me?’

‘Sweet Kathy,’ Lorenzo said and pulled her into his arms, his mouth taking hungry possession of hers. The kiss was long and sweet and demanding, and it left her breathless. She stared at him in wonder as she began to understand what loving a man might mean. ‘Shall I come to you tonight?’ She nodded wordlessly, and he smiled at her, touching her hair. ‘My red-haired witch. I never meant to let you beneath my skin, Kathryn. You have taken root inside me and I find I cannot live without you.’

‘Oh, Lorenzo,’ she breathed. ‘I am so glad you have come home.’

Kathryn turned in the arms of her husband, lifting her face for his kiss. She had never expected to discover such pleasure in loving as he had given her and she curled into his strong, lean body, compliant as a sleepy kitten.

‘Are you happy, Madonna?’

‘You know that I am.’ Her cheeks were warm, for she knew that she had behaved with shameless abandon as he loved her, crying his name aloud. Her hands moved on his shoulders and encountered the thick welts of old scars. She had been aware of them during their loving, but now she traced them with her fingers.

‘Do they distress you, Kathryn—the scars?’

‘Only because I know you must have suffered.’ She leaned up on one elbow to look down into his face. ‘Who did this to you, Lorenzo? Was it Rachid? Is that why you hate him?’

‘I was a slave in his galley for three years.’

‘Oh, my love,’ Kathryn cried, not caring that she betrayed herself. ‘How you must have suffered—but you never told me. No one told me.’

‘Only Michael and my father ever knew,’ he said, his voice husky with emotion. ‘It is not something I care to have told, Kathryn.’

‘I shall never speak of it without your permission—but how did you escape?’

‘I was left for dead on the shores of southern Spain. A sick galley slave is worthless. They left me on the beach, threw me into the shallows, and I should undoubtedly have died if Antonio Santorini, a merchant of Venice, had not chanced to come ashore that day to provision his ship. He found me, took me aboard his ship and brought me to Venice.’

‘You are not his son?’

‘He was childless; his beloved wife dead some years before. He gave me his name, adopted me and made me his legal heir. As much as I was able I loved him, for he was a truly good man. He had suffered at the hands of the Inquisition himself; because of it, he devoted his life to helping others. I helped to restore his fortune, much of which he had given away to those who needed it. And when he died I mourned him.’

‘You were lucky that day, Lorenzo.’ She kissed his shoulder, which tasted salty with sweat after their loving. ‘I am so sorry for what happened to you.’

‘Do not be,’ he said. ‘For years I lived on hatred and that sustained me, giving me strength. It was only my hope of revenge that made me determined to live.’

‘Lorenzo…’ She bent over him, her hair brushing his face as she kissed him on the lips. ‘I love you.’

‘My sweet Kathy.’

He rolled her beneath him in the bed, his mouth plundering hers as the desire flamed between them once more. His hands stroked and caressed her, making her moan and move beneath him, her body arching up to meet him as he thrust deep inside her. Deep, deeper, into the inviting moistness of her femininity, her legs curling over his hips as they reached the heights of pleasure together. She screamed his name as he buried his face in the intoxicating softness of her hair.

‘No other woman has pleased me as you do, Kathryn,’ he murmured huskily against her throat. ‘If you ever left me…’

‘Hush, my love,’ she said and there were tears on her cheeks. ‘I shall never leave you. I want only your love.’

‘My love, Kathryn?’ His voice was harsh, his body suddenly stiff with tension. ‘I am not sure that I know how to love—but all that I have I give to you.’

Kathryn clung to him in the darkness, her heart aching. She had begun to understand the man she loved. He had suffered things that no man should and the scars had gone deep, much deeper than those he bore on his shoulders and back. All the natural feelings, the softness and pleasures that others knew had been denied to him, and it had taken its toll. Perhaps he would never love her as she loved him, but he desired her and she pleased him—and for the moment she must be content with that.

It was only later, when Lorenzo lay sleeping beside her, that she realised he had not told her who he really was. If he was not the natural son of Antonio Santorini, then who was he?

Was it possible that her senses had told her truly the first time they met, when she had looked into his eyes and believed she knew him? He had strongly denied it once, when she had told him that he might more likely be Richard Mountfitchet than the man he had named William.

Surely he would have told her if there was any possibility that he could be the man they had been searching for? Of course he would. She was being foolish. Kathryn dismissed the idea as she drifted into sleep, curled into the body of her husband, warm and safe, protected by his strength.

Lorenzo had told her much this night. When he was ready he would tell her anything else he wished her to know.

When he was sure that Kathryn slept, Lorenzo left her bed and removed his clothes to the adjoining room, dressing before he went downstairs. He had feigned sleep so that she might rest; he could not sleep beside her for fear that the dream might disturb her. Although it had not happened of late, when he woke, screaming a name, his body covered in a fine sweat, he sometimes struck out with his fists or feet. Better that he should not risk injuring his wife. Besides, he would not have her see him that way.

His fingers sought out the leather wristbands, rubbing at the old injuries. Sometimes the irritation was almost more than he could bear. He wondered if a part of it was caused by the wristbands themselves, but he could not bring himself to remove them, to reveal to the whole world the badge of his shame. Kathryn had not recoiled from the scars on his back, but he hated them, hated what they stood for. He hated the memory of his slavery, of the humiliation of knowing that he must obey his masters, of the sharp stinging pain of a whip lash.

How long would it be before Kathryn asked him who he really was? He could give her no answer, for his past was still a mystery to him, though since the dreams had begun again he had wondered.

Was it merely his imagination playing tricks on him—or could he truly remember being taken by Corsairs when he was a youth of barely fifteen? If that were so, he must be six and twenty now, and yet he knew that he looked older. His years of slavery and the hardships at sea had taken a toll of him as it must of any man.

No, it was madness to let his thoughts take him down that road. Already, he had let Kathryn inside his head and that had changed him. Because of her he had let Rachid’s son live and exchanged him for a girl who was like to cause them trouble, if his instincts proved true.

He frowned as he thought of the girl sleeping in his guest room. She was young and he ought to feel pity for her, but somehow he could not. She had looked at him in the same way as the harlots who plied the streets for their trade and he did not trust her.

Maria claimed that she had been kept in the harem and was to be sold to the Sultan’s harem, but Lorenzo had seen something in her eyes—a knowledge that was not often in the eyes of an innocent virgin. Perhaps he wronged her, but he suspected that she had been one of Rachid’s concubines—and that she had liked the experience. He suspected that she had resented being taken from him, and that was the reason for her distress.

She had pleaded with them to keep her in their home. She said that her father would send her to a nunnery because she had shamed her family. She could not be blamed for what had befallen her, unless…If she had enjoyed the position of favourite in Rachid’s harem, that would explain her fear of being rejected by her family.

He would have to watch her carefully, Lorenzo decided as he left the house. And he would find another home for her before he put to sea again—either with her father or someone else.