Читать книгу In the Tudor Court Collection - Amanda McCabe - Страница 15

A week had passed and there was no sign of Maria, though Lorenzo had men out searching. Kathryn was now recovered both from the stomach upset and the blow to her head, which had not been serious even though it had rendered her unconscious for a moment.

‘Had Lisa not been there, she might have drowned you,’ Lorenzo said, his face dark with anger. ‘She hoped to make it look like an accident, for she wished to deceive us all.’

‘It seems that she did want me dead.’ Kathryn sighed. ‘It grieves me to think that she would act in such a way, Lorenzo. We were not her enemies. You had rescued her from Rachid…’

‘Evidently she did not wish to be rescued,’ Lorenzo said, frowning. ‘If he had chosen her as his favourite…it might be that she enjoyed her position in the harem.’

‘She is very beautiful and what you say may be true,’ Kathryn agreed. ‘When I offered to burn the clothes she was wearing when she arrived, she begged to keep them. And if she did not want to leave the harem, it may be that she hoped to return if…’ She hesitated, for it seemed unlikely that Rachid would use a woman against his enemy.

‘If I were dead or captured?’ Lorenzo nodded. ‘Yes, I had thought of that as a possibility. Had I been attracted to her, she might have managed to lure me into a trap. And yet she attacked you—why? You had shown her nothing but kindness.’

Kathryn was thoughtful. ‘Perhaps she was jealous because I had the man I loved while she had nothing? She must have known that you had no interest in her, and she may have thought it would grieve you if I died.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ he agreed. ‘We shall forget her, Kathryn. She is not worth wasting our breath or our thoughts on. When she is found, she will be dealt with appropriately.’

‘You will not be too severe?’ Kathryn looked at him anxiously. ‘She has done terrible things, but I would not have her punished beyond what is right.’

‘Her punishment according to the law would at the least be imprisonment, and perhaps a flogging.’

‘No! That is too harsh,’ Kathryn said. ‘Can you not simply return her to her father?’

‘Is that what you want?’

‘Yes, I think so. I know what she did was wrong, but I am well again, and I could not live with her death on my conscience.’

‘Very well,’ Lorenzo said. ‘It seems that I must give way, my love, though against my better judgement. Yet she shall be returned to her father and he shall be her judge, for I shall tell him of her behaviour while our guest. And now we shall talk of her no more. She is not important.’

‘Tell me where we are going this evening?’ Kathryn said. It was the first time that she had been out in a week and he had not told her where they were going, only that it was to be a surprise.

‘You must wait in patience, Madonna,’ he told her and bent to kiss her lightly on the mouth. ‘You will see in a few hours and until then it shall be a secret.’

The secret turned out to be a huge masque ball, given in her honour and attended by all their friends. When Kathryn prepared for the evening she was given a new gown in a beautiful green silk; it had full panniers over a petticoat of a pale ivory silk, which was embroidered with appliqué and brilliants. Her cloak was of matching velvet, her mask a delicate silver thing that made her mouth look soft and kissable.

Lorenzo was wearing his customary black, though the sleeves were slashed with green silk to match her gown. He kissed her before they left, giving her a necklet of beautiful emeralds that sat like a little collar on her slender throat.

‘It is lovely, Lorenzo. You spoil me.’ She gazed up at him and he thought that the shine in her eyes put the jewels to shame.

‘You have become very precious to me,’ he told her in a voice that made her tremble inside. ‘When I thought that I might lose you I realised that my life would be empty without you. I have not wanted to care for you so much, Kathryn, but I believe that I do…perhaps more than I had thought.’

‘My love…’ Kathryn’s eyes were bright with tears, though she blinked them away. She had never thought to hear such words from him and they filled her with emotion. She had been content enough to be his wife and love him, but to have his love would be wonderful.

He smiled at her, kissing her hand, and then leading her out into the warm night. ‘Come, Kathryn, our friends will be waiting for us.’

It was a perfect evening. Everyone was so kind to her, kissing her and telling her how much they loved her and how distressed they had been by what had happened to her. It seemed that none of them had truly liked Maria, and most had not trusted her.

‘Lorenzo should never have let her stay,’ Elizabeta said. It was at her house the party was being held, and she made a great fuss of Kathryn. ‘I hope we shall remain friends when you return to Venice,’ she told her. ‘Perhaps you will invite me to stay with you sometimes.’

‘I should like that very much,’ Kathryn told her. ‘I do not think Lorenzo can spare the time to take me home yet, but of course we shall go one day.’ She thought she would miss the friends she had made in Rome, but she would make more in Venice and Lorenzo was talking of buying a summer villa in Rome so that they might spend some time here each year.

It seemed to Kathryn that night that she had never been as happy as she was then. She danced every dance, and most of them with Lorenzo. He seemed a different person, the grave looks and cold eyes banished as if they had never been. Indeed, several of his friends remarked on it to Kathryn, telling her that marriage must suit him for he had never been as relaxed and apparently happy as he now was.

‘I think that you have worked a miracle, Kathryn,’ Paolo told her. ‘Or perhaps it is love?’

Perhaps it was love. Kathryn could not have wished for a more attentive or generous husband, and the evening passed in a haze of pleasure. It seemed that she had everything that she had ever dreamed of, her happiness complete.

It was very late when they left the celebrations. The torches had burned low in their sconces and there was very little light for clouds obscured the moon. As they emerged into the street, they met a man who was about to knock at the door and Lorenzo gave a cry of pleasure.

‘Michael! It is good to see you back, my friend. How is your father?’

‘Much better,’ Michael said, smiling oddly. ‘He lectured me about finding myself a wife—and that means he is well again.’

Lorenzo laughed. ‘We have missed you. Will you not return to the house with us? We have much to discuss.’

‘It was for this purpose that I came here tonight,’ Michael said and he looked at Kathryn, smiling at her. ‘I have good news, Kathryn. A letter from Lord Mountfitchet.’

‘From Uncle Charles?’ Kathryn felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She had thought her happiness could not be bettered, but this news was wonderful. ‘Oh, that is good news indeed. Is he well—and Lady Mary?’

‘Yes, they are well. I thought it best to open the letter, though it was addressed to you, Lorenzo. It seems that Lady Mary was taken ill on the journey and Lord Mountfitchet ordered his ship to put into Sicily. They never got as far as Cyprus. When they heard of the invasion they decided to stay where they were for the time being. Because of the war, it was difficult to send letters, and Lady Mary was quite ill for a while. When Lord Mountfitchet was able to send a letter, he was not sure where you would be, so he sent it to Venice.’

‘That is truly good news,’ Lorenzo said. ‘I am so pleased to—’

‘My God!’ Michael cried and suddenly gave him a great shove to one side. ‘What do you think you are doing?’

Kathryn screamed as she realised that Michael had seen what neither she nor Lorenzo had noticed. A woman had come up upon them out of the shadows and she had a knife with a long thin blade, which she had attempted to plunge into Lorenzo’s back. Because of Michael’s swift action she had missed her target, but she was screaming wildly, out of control as she turned her vicious blade on the man who had thwarted her evil intent.

‘I shall kill him!’ Maria screamed. ‘He took me from the man I loved. I was to have been Rachid’s wife. When he is dead, Rachid will take me back again.’

Michael struggled with her, but somehow her blade struck him in the chest and he gave a cry of pain, staggering back as the blood spurted. Lorenzo caught Maria’s arm as she attempted to strike again, twisting it back so that she screamed with pain this time and the knife fell to the floor. He kicked it away, jerking her arm up so that she was unable to fight him, and she went limp in his grasp.

Kathryn was bending over Michael as he clutched at his chest, and now people were spilling out of Elizabeta’s house, alarmed by the noise and Maria’s screaming.

‘Take the bitch,’ Lorenzo commanded as some of his men came running out of the shadows. ‘We shall deal with her later. How is he, Kathryn?’ He looked down at Michael as she cradled him in her arms.

‘I fear he is in a bad way,’ Kathryn said, her cheeks pale from shock. ‘The wound went deep and he is bleeding badly’

‘Bring him into the house,’ Elizabeta’s voice commanded. ‘My servants shall go for the physician at once and we shall do what we can for him.’

Kathryn watched as Michael was lifted and carried into the house. Lorenzo followed as she did, feeling bewildered amongst all the consternation. Everyone was shocked. It had been such a lovely evening and now a man was wounded, perhaps fatally.

How could it have happened? Kathryn heard the shocked whispers, for Michael was popular with many of the assembled company. People were saying that Maria must be punished, that she deserved to hang for her crime—and there were some who suggested burning, for she must surely be in league with the devil to have done such wicked things. Her attempt to murder Kathryn, and then Lorenzo—who would have been her victim if Michael had not acted so swiftly.

Kathryn followed Elizabeta as they carried Michael up the stairs to one of the many guest chambers. Together they prepared the bed for him, and made him as comfortable as was possible. He was still living, though he had lost consciousness as he was carried in, the blood soaking through his shirt and doublet.

‘Help me remove his things,’ Elizabeta instructed. ‘We must try to staunch the flow of blood until the surgeon can tend him.’

Kathryn obeyed her, for it was obvious that she knew what she was about. Between them they cut away his doublet and shirt, leaving only his hose. Servants had brought linen and water, and Elizabeta cleansed the wound. Kathryn helped her to bind it tightly. In all this time Michael had not opened his eyes.

‘That bitch will pay for this,’ Lorenzo said when they had finished their task. Grief was working in his face. ‘Damn her to hell for this night’s work! She has killed one of the best men that ever lived.’

‘No, no, my love,’ Kathryn said. ‘Michael is strong. He has every chance of recovery.’

‘You have not seen men die,’ he said his voice harsh. ‘I do not believe in miracles. If Michael dies, so shall she!’

‘Lorenzo…’ Kathryn’s throat caught, for she knew that beneath the anger was a terrible grief. Michael was as a brother to him, his closest friend. ‘Please do not…’ She meant only to comfort him, but his eyes glittered with anger.

‘Do not plead for her life, Kathryn,’ he said coldly. ‘She is an evil woman and she deserves her fate. I would see her dead for what she has done this night.’

‘Where are you going?’ she asked as he turned to leave the room.

‘Stay here, Kathryn,’ he said. ‘Elizabeta may need your help. I shall return later.’

Kathryn stared after him. How could such a terrible thing have happened? It had been such a lovely evening. Lorenzo had been so pleased to have his friend back, and Michael had brought her good news—and now it looked as if it might all end in tragedy.

Why had he ever traded Rachid’s son for the Spanish girl? Lorenzo cursed himself as he left the house. It would have been better to have given Hassan the swift death he had pleaded for and left the girl to her fate. It was his fault for allowing himself to feel compassion. He had always known that to become soft was to invite disaster. Only a hard man could exist in the world he inhabited and he had been a fool to imagine he could change.

His feelings for Kathryn had made him soft, and he had relaxed his guard. He had not been aware of Maria. His instincts had let him down. In a mood of exhilaration and excitement, he had allowed a woman to murder his best friend.

It would not have happened at any other time! It would be his fault if Michael died. He should have been more aware. Instead of letting the girl live as a guest in his home, he should have kept her a prisoner and sent her back to her father immediately.

His love for Kathryn had made him weak. He had always known that he could not afford to love a woman, and now Michael lay close to death because he had betrayed his own rules.

His fists clenched at his sides. It would not happen again. He must be on his guard in future for, if a woman could come so close to destroying him and all he cared for, his true enemies would succeed where she had failed. Next time it might be Kathryn who paid the price.

Michael lay close to death for three days and nights. Kathryn stayed at Elizabeta’s house to help nurse him. She saw Lorenzo only a few times, briefly, just to report on his friend’s progress. Yet she sensed that an icy barrier had formed between them. Lorenzo was deliberately shutting her out.

What had she done to deserve this? Did Lorenzo blame her because Maria had attacked his best friend? She had asked that the Spanish girl might be allowed to stay with them at the beginning—but how could she have known what Maria was capable of doing? Surely he could not blame her for Maria’s crime? And yet it seemed he must, for he had withdrawn from her. She had never known him to be so cold, so remote. Even at the beginning he had liked to tease her—now she felt that he had shut her out of his life.

After the third day, Michael’s fever began to abate. He woke once when Kathryn was tending him, smiling at her as she bathed his forehead and gave him cool water to drink.

‘You are very kind.’

‘You saved Lorenzo’s life. I would not have you die for it, Michael.’

‘He is my friend—my brother.’

‘Yes, I know.’ She smiled at him. ‘Sleep now. You have good friends to care for you.’

Michael closed his eyes. Kathryn turned to see Lorenzo watching her from the doorway. She thought his expression very odd, for it was a mixture of remorse and…she was not sure what else.

‘How is he?’

‘A little better, I think.’ She moved towards him. ‘I have stayed here for his sake and because we cannot expect to leave everything to Elizabeta, generous as she is. Once Michael is well enough, we can arrange for him to come home to us.’

‘You think he will recover?’

‘I pray that he will, Lorenzo.’

‘I have no faith in prayers.’ His expression hardened.

‘Yet sometimes they are answered.’

‘Perhaps.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘I am sending a ship to Sicily. What message would you have me send to your friends?’

‘Tell them that we are married and that I am happy.’

‘Very well.’ He hesitated, then, ‘What would you have me do with Maria?’

‘If Michael had died, she must have been punished by the laws of Rome,’ Kathryn said. ‘Perhaps she should be. I do not know. I would wish to send her home, and yet perhaps she should be punished.’

‘Her father is expected here tomorrow. I could let them go—take the ransom and be rid of her. Her father shall know what she is and that shall be her punishment. Is that what you wish?’

‘You must do as you think best.’

‘You do not beg for leniency?’

‘She might have killed you,’ Kathryn said. ‘And she has sorely harmed Michael. She deserves some punishment…’

‘For myself, I would have her cast into prison to rot.’

‘Lorenzo! I would not have you speak so harshly.’

‘Life has made me harsh, Kathryn.’ An odd, wintry smile flickered in his eyes. ‘Yet it seems that Michael will live, because of you, I suspect. Perhaps I shall let Maria’s father deal with her, as he thinks best.’

‘If she has lost the man she loves, I dare say she will suffer enough.’

Lorenzo inclined his head. ‘I am summoned to an important conference. It may be some days before I return.’

‘Take care, my love.’ Kathryn went to him, putting her arms about him. He did not take her into his embrace, and she felt him stiffen, as if resisting. ‘Lorenzo—have I angered you?’

‘You have done nothing wrong,’ he said. ‘But I was at fault in marrying you, Kathryn. You deserve so much more than I can give you.’

‘I love you. You must know that?’

‘Unfortunately, I cannot afford to love you,’ he said and drew away from her. ‘It was a mistake to think that I could be a true husband to you, Kathryn. Forgive me. I should have sent you home to your father when we thought Lord Mountfitchet lost.’ He put her from him. ‘Everything I own is at your disposal, but do not expect me to love you.’

The hurt welled inside Kathryn. She could not answer him for he had wounded her beyond bearing. Tears were close. He must not see her weep for her pride’s sake. She moved away from him, bending over Michael, bathing his forehead. When she looked round, she saw that Lorenzo had gone.

How could he reject her now? His loving had been so sweet and tender—how could it have meant nothing to him?

On the night of Elizabeta’s masque she had been so sure that he loved her, but now…what had changed him? Michael had saved his life at a terrible cost to himself, but with God’s help he would recover. Why had Lorenzo set his face against her?

Kathryn could not know of the agony it had cost him to take the decision. She only knew that her heart felt as if it were breaking.

Michael’s recovery was slow but sure over the next week. By the end of the week he was well enough to be moved to Kathryn’s home.

‘Are you sure you wish to have me?’ he asked as she moved about the room, making him comfortable. ‘I could go to an inn now that I am so much better. You do not need to nurse me for I am almost myself again and would not wish to be a trouble to you.’

‘You will do no such thing,’ Kathryn said. ‘Veronique will have returned from her sister’s by now and she will help me to care for you. Besides, Lorenzo is still away and you may bear me company.’

‘He will be making preparations to put to sea soon,’ Michael said and frowned. ‘I should be with him…’ He groaned as he tried to get up from the bed. ‘No, it is no use. I am too weak. I should be of no help. I fear he will have to do without me for some weeks.’

‘You must not strain yourself,’ Kathryn scolded. ‘Lorenzo would rather have you stay here in Rome until you are well again.’

‘I fear I have no choice.’

‘You will be better soon,’ Kathryn said and smiled at him. She felt comfortable with him, for they had become good friends of late.

Lorenzo returned a few days after Michael was moved to the villa. He spent some time sitting with his friend, who had been brought out into the garden to enjoy the sunshine, and afterwards thanked Kathryn for caring for him so well.

‘I had plans for Christ’s birthday,’ he told her. ‘But I fear I must leave you again, Kathryn. I have a gift for you—and you will not be lonely. You have your friends, Veronique and Michael to bear you company.’

It was almost as if those nights of passion had never been, as if he were a stranger, a distant relative who was bound to care for her comfort, but found it a burden. She wanted to cry out that she would always be lonely without him, that she loved him and her heart was breaking, but she said nothing. Her grief was still too raw, and it was pride that kept her from weeping and begging him to let things be as they had been before that terrible night. Yet she held back her tears.

She loved him so much, but he did not love her. The knowledge was almost unbearable and yet she bore it bravely, refusing to shed the tears that burned behind her eyes. She would not beg him to love her.

Over the next few weeks, Lorenzo’s visits were brief, and Kathryn thought that each time he seemed to withdraw from her more. It was as if they were strangers, as if he had never held her in his arms and kissed her. The ache in her heart grew harder to bear and sometimes she did not know how she could live with it. Perhaps it might be better if she had died when Maria tried to kill her, better than this life without Lorenzo’s love.

One morning, after a brief visit from her husband, Kathryn was alone in the garden and unable to hold back her tears. Why had Lorenzo turned from her? What had she done to make him look at her so coldly?

‘Why are you crying, Madonna?’

Michael’s voice made her turn in surprise. She had thought herself alone and was embarrassed to be caught giving way to her grief.

‘Oh…’ she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. ‘I did not hear you coming, Michael.’

‘I am sorry to intrude,’ he said. ‘But will you not tell me what is wrong—or can I guess? I do not know how Lorenzo can treat you so coldly. He is a fool and so I shall tell him next time I see him.’

‘No, you must not,’ she cried. ‘He has done nothing that should make you cease to be his friend. It is simply…’ The hurt welled up inside her. ‘He does not love me.’

She felt the touch of his hand on her shoulder. ‘I am sure that Lorenzo does love you,’ Michael said, his voice deep with emotion. ‘It is just that he is afraid of his feelings—afraid to let go of the hate inside him.’

‘But he was so loving to me until…’ Her voice died away. ‘He seems so angry, so cold.’

‘Do not despair, Kathryn,’ Michael said and his voice was soft, concerned. ‘You know that I would do anything to make you happy.’ As she turned to look at him, the warmth in his eyes sent a tingle down her spine.

‘Michael…’

He placed a finger to her lips. ‘Do not say it, Kathryn. I know that you love Lorenzo. But I wanted you to be aware of my feelings for you. If in the future you should need a friend, I shall be there for you.’

Kathryn’s eyes filled with tears. He was kind and good and generous, and she had grown fond of him—but her heart was given to Lorenzo.

‘Damn you!’ Lorenzo said as Michael finished speaking. Three weeks had passed since his last visit to the villa, and Kathryn’s eyes had grown sadder with the days. ‘Who gave you the right to meddle in my affairs?’

‘Kathryn is your wife and she deserves better from you,’ Michael said. ‘As for what right I have—we have been friends for years. If anyone has the right to tell you that you are throwing away something precious and good, then it must be I, deny it as you will.’

‘You are in love with her yourself,’ Lorenzo accused, feeling a prick of jealousy as he saw the truth in Michael’s eyes.

‘If she did not love you—if you had not married her—I should have asked her to be my wife,’ Michael admitted.

‘She would be better as your wife, Michael. I was wrong to marry her—selfish. I cannot give her what she needs. I cannot, dare not, love her.’

‘Will you waste your life in bitterness?’ Michael asked, his eyes narrowed and angry. ‘I know that you suffered at that monster’s hand, but nothing can change that. It is over. You are rich and powerful. You have a chance of happiness with Kathryn—throw it away and you will live alone with your regret.’

‘You do not know what you ask,’ Lorenzo said. ‘If I love her…if I let go of what is inside me, I am nothing.’

‘Then you are nothing,’ Michael told him. ‘And I am sorry for you.’

Lorenzo watched as he walked away, going into the house. Anger raged inside him, but with the anger was remorse, for he knew that Michael was right, and he knew something more. The path he had chosen was the coward’s path. He was afraid to love Kathryn, afraid of what his life would be without her if he allowed himself to love her.

The stroke of an assassin’s knife could take her as it had almost taken Michael. And yet, what was his life now—was it worth the living?

Lorenzo faced the truth at last. The hatred had gone, driven out by Kathryn’s love. He had fought against her, but she was there inside him. It was love for her that had made him send Rachid’s son back to him—a love that he could no longer deny, try as he might.

But had he destroyed her love for him?

Kathryn was in her chamber going through her gowns with Lisa. She looked round as the maid suddenly bobbed a curtsy and left the room, her heart beating wildly as she saw him. It was odd, but he had lost that cold angry look which had haunted her for weeks.

‘Lorenzo?’ She looked at him, her throat tight, unable to trust her senses. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Have I made you hate me, Kathryn?’

‘I could never hate you. Do you not know how much I love you?’ She looked at him, her heart in her eyes, no pleading or reproaches, but simple love.

‘You should hate me for the way I have treated you these past weeks,’ he said. ‘But I beg you to forgive me. It was because of Michael. I did not sense that Maria was there that night. Always, I have known when I was in danger of being attacked. It was a sixth sense, an awareness that has saved my life many times. I felt that in letting myself love you I was losing that part of me—and I was afraid. It might have been you whom Maria attacked. I have enemies, Kathryn. There may be others who would seek to harm me through you—and I was afraid that if I loved you, if I let myself soften, I might become weak and be unable to protect you.’

‘Lorenzo…’ Tears sprang to her eyes as she moved towards him. ‘I thought you blamed me—had turned against me…’

‘I do love you,’ he said. ‘But it is not easy for me to admit it or to show it. You accused me of being harsh, and it is true. I have had to be hard, to be ruthless. It is the only way I could live. But perhaps I could change, perhaps there is another way to live. I must keep my promise to fight with the Holy League, but I think…I have no heart to continue my feud with Rachid. It is not that I have forgiven him, but…it no longer seems important.’

‘My love.’ Kathryn moved closer, putting her arms about him. She laid her head against his chest as after a moment’s hesitation, his arms closed about her. They stood in silence for several minutes, just holding each other, his lips against her hair. ‘We could go home to England. My father would welcome us there. You could begin a new life.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said and smiled oddly as she looked up at him. ‘Once the Holy League has fought its battle with the Turks, these seas will be a much safer place. I might perhaps continue to trade in fine wines, Kathryn—but I do not think that I shall need to be constantly at war as I have been these last years.’

‘I am so glad that you have told me what was in your heart,’ she said, lifting her face for his kiss, which was sweet and tender, concealing the fires beneath. ‘I have been so unhappy—I thought that I had lost you.’

His eyes were dark with self-condemnation. ‘Forgive me, Kathryn. I was a brute to you…’

She placed a finger to his lips. ‘No more. I understand. I have always understood what drove you, my love. Come, let us go down and walk in the gardens. We must make the most of our time together, for Michael tells me that you plan to leave soon.’

‘I fear I must,’ Lorenzo said. ‘The fleet is gathering and my galleys are a big part of what is to happen—but we have a few days, my love.’

She held her hand out to him and he took it. ‘Then I am content,’ she said, looking up at him with eyes that told their own story. ‘Your love is all I want, Lorenzo.’

Kathryn turned in her husband’s arms, feeling the warmth and strength of his body. He had hurt her so desperately, but she was ready to forgive and to love, for she understood that he had been in turmoil. She would never quite understand what drove him, for only someone who had suffered as he had could know what he felt, but she loved and that was enough. She was his wife, his woman, and at last, she believed his love. From the first she had sensed that they belonged together, and it was this deep instinct that had carried her throughout the uncertain days. She belonged to Lorenzo and, whatever came between them, that bond would always hold her.

His arms went round her, drawing her close, his hands stroking the slender arch of her back, caressing her, arousing her to passion. She gave herself up to the urgency of their loving. So much time had been wasted and they had so little left. His kisses brought her to a sweet ecstasy that consumed them both in the fires of love, and then at last, satiated and content, they slept in each other’s arms.

And when Lorenzo woke with the dawn, he lay looking down at her lovely face, drinking in her beauty, absorbing every detail into his mind so that he would carry it with him in the weeks and perhaps months ahead when they would be apart.

Kathryn kissed Lorenzo, a long, sweet, lingering kiss that almost tore her heart from her body, and then stood back, letting him go. She knew that it might be many months before she saw him again, but it was the price she had to pay.

Lorenzo had paid his own price in loving her. He had fought his battle and come through it for her sake, and she could do no less for his. She would let him go with a smile.

‘Promise me that you will take care of yourself, Kathryn.’

‘I shall do nothing foolish,’ she said. ‘Veronique is here to bear me company, and my friends will visit me often. When I go shopping, it will be with them and a servant to watch over us.’

‘I do not think Rachid will attempt to abduct you in Rome,’ Lorenzo told her. ‘I asked Michael if he would stay and guard you for me, but he says that he wants to fight by my side and I must accept his will. I am leaving men you can trust to watch over you.’

‘You must not worry for my sake.’

‘Nor you for mine,’ he said and smiled in the old, teasing way. ‘I shall return to plague you again, my love.’

‘See that you do,’ she said and tossed her head proudly. ‘And now you must go. You have your duty to the League.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘May God watch over you, Kathryn.’

‘And over you, my love.’

She watched as he walked away, her heart aching. Her nails were turned into her palms and it took all her strength of will to let him go. He had come to her in love at last and it would break her heart if she should lose him now.