Читать книгу In the Tudor Court Collection - Amanda McCabe - Страница 18

Kathryn looked at herself in her hand mirror. She was wearing a gown of green silk that her father had presented her with as a gift especially for that evening. She had asked that she be allowed to wear the black velvet she had chosen for her mourning, but Sir John had given her a stern look.

‘You will not come to your brother’s betrothal wearing black. It becomes you ill, Kathryn, and would be seen as an insult by Philip’s betrothed and her family. You are a young and beautiful woman. You should make the most of your beauty, daughter.’

‘Do not forget that I am in mourning for my husband, Father.’

‘You grieve for a man by the name of Lorenzo Santorini, daughter. If Charles is right, that man does not exist. Therefore, I am not certain that your marriage was ever a true one. However, you are my daughter and as such will not disgrace me by appearing before our guests as a black crow.’

‘That is unfair!’ Kathryn cried, hurt almost beyond bearing by her father’s unkindness. Why was he being so cruel to her? Had she not enough to bear without this hurt? ‘Lorenzo married me in good faith. I was and am his true wife.’

‘You wed without my blessing and I could dispute it if I wished,’ he reminded her coldly. ‘You will oblige me by forgetting that unhappy period of your life. It is my sincere hope that you may marry again soon.’

‘I do not wish to marry.’

‘It is my wish that you shall be properly settled, Kathryn. People will whisper behind their hands about this odd marriage, but if you marry again they will be silenced. It is in my mind that a marriage shall be arranged by the end of your official period of mourning, and the contract may be made before that if we choose.’

Kathryn did not answer him. She could not for fear that she might say something that would anger or hurt him and cause a wider breach between them. She was greatly upset by what she considered his harshness and his words had brought her to the edge of tears. How could he force her to think of marrying again when her heart was broken? It was a cruel suggestion and she could hardly believe that the father she had loved so much could do this to her.

But she must not let anyone see her tears this evening. It was to be a special celebration for her brother, of whom she was fond. Raising her head, Kathryn prepared to go downstairs to greet her father’s guests. She must be brave and smile this evening, for Philip was to be betrothed to a girl he admired and liked.

‘Do you love Mary Jane?’ Kathryn had asked her brother earlier that day.

‘Love her?’ Philip had wrinkled his brow, giving her a strange look. ‘I am not sure what you mean by love, Kathryn. I have known Mary Jane all my life. We are friends and I think her a sweet, pretty girl who will make me a good wife and bear my children. She is of good family and will bring me a small estate as her portion. I do not think I can ask more of my marriage.’

Kathryn had not known how to answer that declaration. She could never be content with such an arrangement, though she knew that it was commonplace amongst men and women of her class. It was not for her, though if she had never known Lorenzo perhaps…but she had! Her heart contracted with the familiar ache. It might have been better if she had never met him. She would rather die now than live with another man as her husband. She belonged to Lorenzo and could never be another’s.

The betrothal ceremony was over. Philip and Mary Jane were dancing while everyone else looked on, smiling in approval, feet tapping to the merry music the minstrels played.

‘It will be your turn next, Kathryn,’ said a lady standing to her left. ‘Sir John will find you a husband, my dear, and you may put all this nonsense behind you.’

‘I am still in mourning for my husband, Mistress Feathers.’

‘Oh, you will soon discover that one man is very much as another. I have been married three times and there was nothing to choose between them. Money, power and children will bring their own content. Love is merely a myth.’

Kathryn felt her throat closing and the tears were close. This insufferable woman knew nothing of love! She could feel the grief welling inside and knew she could not stay in this room another moment.

She turned and left the hall, which echoed with laughter and music. Snatching a cloak that lay carelessly on a chest in the anteroom, she went out into the chill of the night air and began to walk, tears trickling down her cheeks as the grief spilled over.

‘Lorenzo, my love,’ she whispered to the night. ‘Come back to me…oh, please, come back to me. I cannot bear this life without you.’

‘Kathryn! Please wait!’

She turned as she heard Michael’s voice calling to her. She had hoped to be alone, but the one person she could bear to be near at the moment was Michael. He had been with them in Venice and in Rome. He understood her better than any other, and he cared for her—which it seemed her father did not.

‘You should not be out here on this bitter night,’ Michael scolded her. ‘It looks as if it will snow before morning. If you continue like this, you will become ill.’

‘If I am ill, my father cannot force me to marry a man I neither know nor love.’

‘He would surely not be so unkind!’

‘He has spoken of it. Everyone tells me I must forget Lorenzo and put the past behind me, but I cannot. I love him. I shall always love him.’

‘But to force you into marriage…’ Michael hesitated. He had not intended to speak so soon, for he knew that Kathryn was suffering. But he had fallen deeply in love with her during the time she had nursed him back to health, and he could not bear to see her so unhappy. ‘Your father has been courteous to me. Do you think he would accept an offer for your hand from me?’

‘I cannot marry you. It would not be fair to you, Michael. I like you very much. You are a good friend—but my heart is with Lorenzo. I fear it always will be.’

‘I meant only to save you more unhappiness. I would take you back to Rome, to your friends. You were happy there, Kathryn.’ He moved towards her, looking into her face, her eyes, his hand reaching out to touch her cheek. ‘It would not be a true marriage at first. I would be patient, Kathryn. I would wait until you felt able to be my wife in truth.’

‘Oh, Michael,’ she said brokenly. ‘You make me ashamed. You are so good, so kind—but if I accepted your offer I might ruin your life. Supposing I could never love you, could never give you what you wanted?’

Tears were trickling down her cheeks. She could taste their salt on her lips. Michael put his arms gently about her, not imprisoning her but holding her in a comforting embrace, his lips moving against the fragrance of her hair.

‘I love you, Kathryn. I would wait for ever and count it a blessing to be of service to you.’

She gazed up at him, tears hovering like crystals on her lashes. ‘But you spoke of asking Isabella Rinaldi to be your wife?’

‘My father wishes me to marry and I must oblige him, for he grows old and it is important to him. Isabella is pretty and I like her—but I love you. I have loved you since I first saw you, but I knew you saw only Lorenzo. I did not imagine that there was hope for me then…’ He left the rest unsaid, for to remind her would only cause her more distress.

‘Oh, Michael.’ Kathryn wiped away her tears. ‘I pray you, give me a little time to think. Perhaps…I do not know.’

She could not bring herself to say she would marry him, and yet she would rather it was Michael if she must marry again. Yet was it fair to take what he was offering her, knowing that she would never be able to give him more than second best?

‘Say no more for the moment,’ Michael said and smiled, taking her by the hand. ‘Come back with me now, dearest one. I cannot let you walk alone in this bitter chill. Lorenzo would not demand that your life be sacrificed to grief, Kathryn.’

‘I wish I was in Rome.’ Kathryn sighed. ‘It was so much warmer.’ She smiled, feeling better than she had in weeks, allowing him to lead her towards the light and heat of the great hall.

The music had stopped quite suddenly. People had started talking, whispering excitedly one to another. She sensed that something had happened to change the mood of the evening. Kathryn’s nerves tingled, feeling a prickling sensation at the back of her neck as Michael led her into the room. Everyone seemed to be looking in the same direction, at something—someone! Her heart stood still as heads suddenly turned towards her and Michael, and then the guests were parting, like the sea for the Israelites departing from Egypt, suddenly silent. She gasped as she saw that a man dressed all in black was walking towards her.

She felt as if she were in a dream, her head spinning as she saw him clearly. Her senses were reeling. Could it be—or was she in some kind of feverish nightmare? Her face had drained of colour and suddenly the ground came zooming up to her. As she fainted, two men moved to catch her.

It was Lorenzo whose arms surrounded her, sweeping her up as she would have fallen, lifting her effortlessly. His face was grim, eyes dark with anger as he looked at Michael and saw the jealousy that the other man was unable to hide.

‘She is mine. Do not forget that.’

‘We thought you dead. Kathryn has grieved enough.’ Michael was defensive, angry in his disappointment, for he knew that he had lost all chance of her. ‘I merely sought to comfort her.’

‘We shall speak later.’

Lorenzo turned away, carrying Kathryn’s limp form in his arms. He had such an air of command, such burning anger in every line of his face that when he demanded Kathryn’s chamber, servants hurried to conduct him there.

Sir John watched the little scene from across the room. He had hoped for a match between Michael dei Ignacio and his daughter, but one look at Lorenzo’s face had told him that it would be both futile and dangerous to attempt to deny him. He had come to claim his wife and nothing would stop him.

Sir John moved to confront him as he strode from the hall. ‘My daughter, sir?’

‘Is safe enough with me.’

‘You wed her under a false name.’

‘Not so. Antonio Santorini adopted me. I am legally his heir and bear his name. My father has agreed that I shall keep it at least until I inherit his title—which I pray will be many years in the future.’

Kathryn moaned and fluttered her eyelashes.

‘Take her to her chamber,’ Sir John said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. ‘She has made herself ill with her grief.’

Lorenzo inclined his head. He followed the servants up the stairs to Kathryn’s chamber. Servants fluttered ahead, clearly impressed by this stern-faced, aristocratic man who had declared himself her lawful husband to an astounded company. Covers were pulled back so that he might deposit his precious burden on clean linen. But when they lingered, their eyes large with curiosity, he dismissed them with an imperious wave of his hand.

Kathryn was stirring. Her lashes were wet. She had been crying earlier—and yet she had been holding Michael’s hand when he first saw her enter the hall. He felt a surge of murderous jealousy against his friend. Had Michael stolen her love from him? For a moment as he saw them together in the hall he had contemplated murder.

Kathryn’s eyelids moved. She opened her eyes, gazing up at him for a moment in bewilderment as though she did not believe what she saw, closing them once more as a tear squeezed from beneath her lashes.

‘I am sorry that the sight of me made you faint, Kathryn.’

She opened her eyes again. ‘Is it truly you, Lorenzo? They told me there was no hope—that you were dead.’

‘And if I had been?’ His voice was made harsh by anger. ‘Would you have married Michael?’

‘No!’ She edged herself up against the pillows. The faintness had gone now, but she had a nasty taste in her mouth and her head ached. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? You know I love you. You must know it!’

‘Do you? You had been somewhere with Michael—in the midst of your brother’s betrothal feast you slipped away with him. Why would you do that if you were not lovers? It is some months since you thought me lost, but I had hoped you would not have forgotten me so soon.’

‘You cannot think that I would betray you so easily?’ Kathryn was shocked, hurt. He had looked at her this way once before, as if he hated her. He blamed her for what had happened to him. ‘My father said that I must marry again. I did not wish to—but Michael said he would be patient…’ She faltered as she saw the fury in his eyes. He was so very angry! ‘He did ask me to marry him—a marriage in name only for the moment. I told him I needed time to consider.’

‘You could not believe he meant that?’ Lorenzo’s voice lashed at her like a leather thong. ‘He would take you any way he could, but he wants you the way a man wants his woman. The way I want you, Kathryn.’ His hot eyes scorched her, making her tremble all over.

‘I did not wish to marry again.’

‘Yet you would have let them persuade you had I not returned. I thought your love stronger, Kathryn.’

‘It is,’ she said. He must believe her! She gave him a pleading, desperate look. ‘You know I love you. I have always loved you.’

‘Even when we were children?’ he asked. ‘You forgot your poor Dickon when you fell in love with Lorenzo—and you would have forgotten him as easily again once Michael was your husband.’

The reproach in his voice stung her, but he was unfair. ‘That is not true! You know it isn’t, Lorenzo. I am yours. I have always been yours…’

‘Yes, you are mine, that much is true.’ He rose from his seat on the side of her bed, causing her to look alarmed.

‘Pray do not leave me!’

‘You need to rest. We shall talk another time, for now I shall call your women to attend you. In the morning we leave for Mountfitchet.’ His eyes were cold, remote. ‘We are married, Kathryn, though your father would have had it otherwise. You will come with me. I do not give up what is mine, nor do I easily forgive.’

Kathryn stared after him as he left the room. He was insisting that she go with him and yet he was angry with her. He blamed her for his capture, because his love for her had made him careless, and he had decided to withdraw from her again.

She had longed, prayed for his return, hoping that he was alive despite all the odds, yet now that he had come to her, he had closed the door, shutting her out once more. It could only mean that he no longer loved her.

The journey to Mountfitchet Hall took only half a day’s journey by horseback. It was bitterly cold, little flurries of snowflakes drifting into their faces, but not yet settling on the hard ground. Kathryn rode by her husband’s side, glancing at the stern cast of his features from time to time. Two of her women and ten of Lorenzo’s own men accompanied them.

When they reached Mountfitchet, she noticed that Lorenzo seemed to know exactly where he was going and wondered if he had been to the estate before coming to her father’s house. They were greeted eagerly by Lord Mountfitchet’s servants, who treated him respectfully as their master and seemed delighted to see him.

‘Did you call here before you came to us?’ she asked him when the greetings were over and they were alone in the private parlour that was situated to the right of the Great Hall.

‘No, I came straight to you. Why do you ask?’

‘You seem so at home here.’

‘It was my home for fifteen years, Kathryn.’ His eyes were intent on her face, though not as cold as the previous evening.

She opened her eyes wide in surprise. ‘Have you recovered your memory? Charles told us that you had some vague memories, but you seem so sure…’

‘I remember everything, Kathryn. Just as it happened.’

‘You recall that day on the beach—the men who took you?’ He nodded. ‘Do you hate me for what happened to you?’

‘Why should I hate you?’ He looked puzzled.

‘Because it was my fault. I dared you to go down to the beach to see what they were doing.’

‘I was old enough to make up my own mind, and I knew the dangers better than you.’

‘You told me to run away and fetch help while you fought them, but by the time the men looked for you it was too late. I have always blamed myself for not staying to help you fight them.’

‘You were a child. What could you have done against such men? Would you rather I had let them take you too? Can you imagine what might have been your fate—where you might be now had you lived?’

Kathryn turned her head away so that he should not see her eyes, should not see the hurt he inflicted. ‘Do not mock me, Lorenzo. I cannot bear it.’

‘You mistake me. I do not mean to hurt you—but I should not have wished such a fate for you, that is all.’

‘If you will excuse me, I should like to go to my chamber and rest.’

‘Of course.’ He inclined his head, respectful, cool—almost a stranger. ‘I have things I must do while we are here. My father left the business of the estate for me to order as I thought fit.’

Kathryn glanced at him. ‘Do you think of living here?’

‘Would that please you?’

‘I was happy in Rome.’ She raised her head proudly. ‘At least, I was happy for some of the time.’

‘What does that mean, Kathryn?’

‘Whatever you would like it to mean,’ she said, a flash of pride in her eyes. She was suddenly angry. She had mourned him sincerely and he had no right to treat her this way! ‘Since you think so ill of me I shall not try to explain.’

She turned and walked away from him, leaving the room. Her heart was racing wildly and she wondered if he would follow her, compel her to answer him, but he did not.

Why should he? He did not want her love. He found it a burden. In Rome he had told her that he had never wanted to love her. Somehow he had conquered his emotions. He had claimed her because she belonged to him, but he did not truly want her.

Alone in the room Kathryn had just vacated, Lorenzo was haunted by the scent of the perfume she had left behind her. Throughout his captivity the memory of her scent, her softness, her sweetness, had made him determined to live, and now that he was with her he could not break down this barrier between them—a barrier he knew was of his making.

Had his jealousy driven a wedge between them? He had noticed her silence on the journey, her pale face, the accusation in her beautiful eyes, and knew it was his fault. In his first anger at seeing her so close to Michael, he had been too harsh. He cursed his ill temper. He had learned to be harsh of necessity. Once, he had been a very different man. Could he be as he had once been again? Could he learn to laugh and be happy?

He must and would try to make Kathryn happy! He could not know if it was too late to recover the brief happiness they had known in Rome, but he would try to win her.

And if that was not possible? Lorenzo asked himself if he would be prepared to give her up.

No! His mind rejected the idea instantly. She was his! He would not give her up. Somehow he would make her love him again.

Kathryn was walking in the gardens when she heard her husband’s voice calling to her. She stopped, waiting for him to come to her. She had seen him only at mealtimes or a brief moment in the evenings, for he had seemed to be working ever since they had arrived at Mountfitchet.

‘Kathryn,’ he said as he joined her, ‘is it not too cold for you to be walking?’

‘It is a little chilly,’ she agreed. Her restless mood had driven her outside, but she would not tell him that.

‘Shall we return to the house?’ he said, offering her his arm. ‘I have some news. A letter has come from Queen Elizabeth of England. It seems that she has heard of us and some of what has befallen us. She wishes to know more about the battle of Lepanto.’

The letter had expressed curiosity about Lorenzo too, for the Queen had heard that Corsairs had captured him from her shores, and she always took an interest in such matters. Indeed, it was said that the Queen liked to have bold and handsome young men about her.

Kathryn felt a chill about her heart. Was he going to leave her once more? ‘Are you to visit the court, then?’

‘We shall go together, Kathryn. It is time that I gave a little time to my wife’s pleasure. We shall buy you some pretty things in London. Perhaps you would like a ring or a rope of pearls? I have given you few gifts. There was never time for such things.’

Kathryn gazed into his eyes, trying to understand this new mood. Did he not know that his love was the most precious gift he could give her? She wanted for little else.

‘You were always generous, Lorenzo. I never wanted for material things when I was in Rome.’

‘But I gave you nothing more. Is that what you are saying, Kathryn?’

‘Sometimes you gave me more.’

‘Kathryn…’ He was interrupted by the arrival of a servant who came hurrying towards them, clearly the bearer of an urgent message.

‘Yes, what is it?’ Lorenzo was impatient, for he had believed he was at last breaking through the barrier she had been keeping in place these past days.

‘A message for the lady Kathryn, sir,’ the servant said. ‘Sir John, her father, has been taken gravely ill and would fain speak with her once more before he dies.’

‘Before he dies?’ Kathryn looked at her husband in alarm. ‘What has happened? I did not think him ill before we left.’

‘We shall return at once,’ Lorenzo said as he saw her concern. ‘Do not worry, my love. I am sure this seems worse than it is.’

He had called her his love, and in such a voice! Kathryn’s heart beat wildly—but for the moment she could not think of herself. Her father was ill and she must go to him.

Tears were in her eyes as she let Lorenzo hurry her into the house. She had not been happy in her father’s house these past weeks for he had seemed unlike the loving father she had known and loved, but she could not bear that he should die with bad feeling between them.

Sir John was lying with his eyes closed when Kathryn entered the room. As she approached the bed, he opened them and looked at her.

‘Kathryn, my dearest child—forgive me.’

‘Father…’ The tears were very close though she struggled to hold them back. ‘There is nothing to forgive. I love you.’

‘I have been harsh with you,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper as she went to his side, reaching for his hand to hold it gently in her own. ‘It was only because I wanted to make sure you were safe when I was gone. I was fearful for you if I should die before you were wed.’

‘You must not die, Father. I love you. I do not want you to die.’

‘I have known for some months that I could not live many years, my dearest child. It is the reason I made you come home with me. I could not leave you alone and defenceless in Rome and I believed if I could see you safely wed to a good man I could die in peace. You might have lived in your brother’s house, but that would be no life for you. Now that you have your husband to protect you, I may die easily—if you will forgive my unkindness to you, daughter?’

Kathryn bent to kiss his lips. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘You have always been a good and loving father to me. It hurt me when I did not understand your harshness, but now…’ She bit back the sob that rose to her lips. ‘If my forgiveness will ease you, you have it, my dearest father.’

‘Thank you, Kathryn,’ he said and smiled. ‘Sit here by my side for a little. It is good to know you are near.’

Kathryn’s eyes stung with the tears she would not allow to fall. She had felt estranged from her father because of his apparent intention to force her to marry against her will, but now that she understood his reasons, all she could feel was grief that he was dying, and regret that she had not seen the signs of illness in him.

She sat with him for most of the night, leaving his bedside only when her brother came to take her place, insisting that she must rest for a few hours.

‘Lorenzo says you must get some sleep,’ Philip told her when he came to take her place. ‘I shall call you if need be.’

‘I had no idea he was so ill.’

‘Do not blame yourself, Kathryn. He hid it well, even from me in the beginning. I begged him to let me come to Venice and find you, but he insisted on making the journey himself. I think it took the last of his strength. He has been failing ever since you returned.’

She had been too caught up in her grief for Lorenzo to notice! Regret mingled with her grief as she went to her bedchamber. She had hoped that Lorenzo might come to her there, for she needed his arms about her, but he did not. For a while she lay sleepless, tossing and turning in the feather bed, and then at last she slept.

Lorenzo came to her the next morning as she was dressing. Her heart caught with fright as she saw his grave expression.

‘Is he worse?’

‘He is certainly no better. I have spoken with the doctors and they do not hold much hope of his recovery. I am sorry, Kathryn. I know this must cause you pain.’

‘Yes, it does,’ she admitted. ‘We had not been on the best of terms of late, and that makes it harder somehow.’

‘You had quarrelled with him because of me?’

‘Yes…’ She smothered a sob. ‘I did not understand why he wanted me to marry again so soon. He thought it would make me safe when he was gone.’

‘I am sorry to have been the cause of anger between you.’

‘There is no need,’ she replied. ‘I was grieving for you and because of that I did not notice that he was ill.’

‘Did it hurt you so much when you thought I was dead?’ His eyes were on her face, seeking out the truth.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, looking steadily into his eyes. ‘It broke my heart. I thought it would have been better if I had died. One day I walked to the top of the cliffs where…I think I might have thrown myself into the sea then if Michael had not come.’

‘He saved your life, then?’

‘He stopped me from committing a sinful act, for it is a sin to take one’s own life—but still I had nothing to live for until you returned to me.’

‘Kathryn…’ His voice was hoarse with emotion, remorse strong in him. ‘And then I was harsh to you. Forgive me if you can. When I saw you enter the hall holding Michael’s hand I thought the worst, and—’

He was prevented from continuing by the arrival of a servant.

‘You are wanted, Mistress Kathryn,’ the girl said. ‘Sir John is dying and asks for you.’

‘Oh, no!’ Kathryn cried and Lorenzo caught her hand, holding it tightly. ‘Come with me, please?’ She gave him a look of such appeal that it almost tore the heart from him.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I shall always be there when you need me, Kathryn. We shall not be parted again in this life if I can help it.’

She smiled at him, but her eyes were filled with tears. They hurried to Sir John’s bedchamber. It was obvious that he was failing, for he looked deathly pale as he lay with his eyes closed, and Philip was kneeling by the bed, head bent in prayer. Sir John opened his eyes as Kathryn approached.

‘My dearest child,’ he said. ‘Come, kiss me one last time.’

She went to his side, bending over him and pressing her lips to the papery softness of his cheek, her tears spilling over.

‘Ah, do not cry, my dearest,’ Sir John said. ‘I am ready to die now that you are safe.’ He looked beyond her to Lorenzo. ‘You, sir. I pray that you love my daughter as much as she loves you.’

‘I love her more than I have ever loved anyone.’

‘Then I am content.’

Sir John closed his eyes. He had been holding Kathryn’s hand, but his fingers lost their grip and fell away.

She gave a little sob as she realised he had stopped breathing, but then Lorenzo was there beside her. He drew her gently to her feet and into his arms, holding her as she wept against his shoulder.

‘He is at peace now,’ he said to comfort her.

‘He is with our mother,’ Philip said. ‘I think it was what he wanted.’ He bent over his father, closed his eyes and placed coins over them, and then drew the sheet over him. ‘We should leave him to the women now.’

Her husband and brother led Kathryn from the room. She was glad of Lorenzo’s arm about her waist, supporting her, but for the moment she wanted to be alone. The tears were draining her and she had no strength to fight them.

‘Would you excuse me for a little?’ she asked. ‘I need to be alone for a while.’

‘Yes, if it is your wish.’

Lorenzo watched her walk away from him, her back straight, head high. His heart ached for her and would have offered comfort if she had asked, but it seemed that she preferred to be alone.

She had told him that she loved him still, but he felt very alone at that moment. Perhaps in her heart she had not quite forgiven him.

Kathryn wept until there were no more tears left in her. She felt drained, exhausted, and fell into a deep sleep. When she woke again it was night. A fire had been lit in her chamber and someone had placed a coverlet over her, but the bed was empty beside her.

Suddenly, she wanted Lorenzo here with her. She had needed to be alone to let go of her grief, but now she longed for the comfort of his strong arms about her. He had not come to her, but she would go to him.

Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed. She went across to the fire to light a taper and touched it to a candle in her chamber-stick. She was approaching the door when it opened and Lorenzo entered. He stared at her in silence for a moment.

‘I thought you were sleeping.’

‘I was.’ She drew a deep breath, then continued, ‘But when I woke I wanted you. Will you not lie beside me, Lorenzo? It is a long time since we were together as man and wife.’

‘I was not sure you wanted that.’

‘How could you doubt it? Have I not always welcomed you to my bed?’

‘I would not blame you if you hated me,’ he said, his deep blue eyes intent on her face, his expression grave but questioning. ‘It was because of me that you were kidnapped. I was unkind to you in Rome when I feared to let myself love you and then I was the cause of an estrangement with your father…’

‘Hush, my love.’ Kathryn moved towards him, her perfume seeming to surround him, capturing his senses. She put her fingers to his lips, smiling up at him so tenderly that he caught his breath. ‘I have sometimes been angry with you, and sometimes I have broken my heart for the loss of you, but from the moment I first looked into your eyes in Venice I have loved you. My heart knew you as Dickon then, though my mind would not have it so. But Lorenzo Santorini or Richard Mountfitchet, I shall love you all my life.’

‘Kathryn…’ His eyes gleamed as he moved to take her in his arms, holding her pressed against him. ‘I do not deserve such love from you. I am not worthy of you.’

‘Perhaps not,’ she teased, a wicked expression on her lovely face. ‘But you may strive to be so for the rest of our lives.’

‘The rest of our lives?’ There was laughter in his face as he gazed down at her, his hold tightening, hot eyes devouring her with a passion that made her breathless. ‘For this life and the next,’ he murmured huskily. ‘I love you, Kathryn. I love everything that is you—your smile, your laughter, and your scent…your lips that haunt me when I sleep.’

‘You are no longer afraid that loving me will make you weak?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You said that it was the reason you withdrew from me in Rome and I have wondered—’

‘That was a fool’s notion,’ he replied hushing her with the softest of kisses. ‘Your love made me stronger, Kathryn. I was determined to live for you. Besides, it was because of that love that I am here with you now.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, feeling puzzled.

‘The man I was before I loved you would not have spared Rachid’s son. It was Hassan who spared my life after his father’s death. He is a Corsair and I think there is something of his father in him, but when we talked I discovered that he is a very different man. We have made a truce. Neither of us will attack the other’s ships. It means that I may carry on my trade without the need for so many war galleys.’

‘Do you trust him? Will he keep his word?’

‘I believe so. For years Venice had a similar treaty with the Turks. Before I left Rome I heard rumours that the Doge may make some sort of pact again. A tribute of gold so that we may trade in peace. Some would think it a betrayal of the League and all that it stood for, but Venice grew strong on trade and without it we would be nothing.’

‘And shall we live in Venice?’

‘You were happy in Rome,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Venice is the base of my wealth, Kathryn, and I must continue to trade from there. Yet I do not see why we should not have a home in Rome. My father will live in Rome for he likes it there, and I shall spend much of my time there.’

‘And when you go to Venice I shall go with you,’ Kathryn said, ‘for I would not be parted from you again.’

‘Nor I from you,’ he said and drew her closer. ‘I do not think life would hold me if I lost you, my love.’

She looked up at him then, a naughty sparkle in her eyes. ‘Then lie with me, Lorenzo. I want to feel you close to me, holding me, loving me.’

‘You are sure?’ The heat was in his eyes, testament to his burning desire, but still he hesitated. ‘You wanted to be alone…’

‘Only for a little,’ she said. ‘I have wept for my father, but I shall put my grief aside now. There have been too many tears. I want to be with you, Lorenzo, to be happy and loved.’

‘You are loved, my dearest one, and I shall do all I can to make you happy.’

‘If I have your love, I shall be happy.’ She smiled and took him by the hand, leading him to the bed.

Their loving was sweet and tender, a sealing of the promises they had made each other. Later, they made love again, a hot, hungry coupling that made her cry his name over and over as he thrust himself deeper into the warm moistness of her welcoming femininity. And when it was over at last, there were tears on her cheeks.

Lorenzo wiped them away with his fingertips. ‘Did I hurt you, my precious? I wanted you so much…’

‘Never,’ she said, kissing away his doubts. ‘You have never hurt me when you love me. My tears were because you gave me so much pleasure.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Perhaps we have made our son this night, Lorenzo.’

‘When children come they will be welcome,’ he murmured against the silky perfume of her hair. ‘But it is you I adore, my Kathryn.’

She sighed with content as his lips nuzzled against her throat. She was safe and happy in his arms, and something told her that a child would be born of such sweet loving.