Читать книгу OUTLAW in the Tudor Court - Anne Herries - Страница 10

Here within the courtyard garden, where brightly coloured flowers spilled over from warm terracotta pots, their perfume wafting on the soft night air, Kathryn could almost believe that she was in the knot garden of her home. It was odd, but there was something English about this garden, though many of the flowers were Mediterranean. The roses were fully bloomed and scented, very similar to some that her mother had grown at home.

She thought of her father, wondering if he was missing her. But Philip might be home from college now and so he would have company, though she was sure enough of his love to know that he would think of her. She missed her family and yet she was moving in a new world that she found interesting and colourful.

Her thoughts turned to the incident in St Mark’s Square earlier that day. Had Lorenzo not acted so swiftly it might have ended very differently. It was true that she had called a warning to him, but she did not flatter herself that she had saved his life; he had acted instinctively, as if he had heard or perhaps sensed the assassin’s approach. What kind of a man was he that he needed to be so alert to danger?

He had begun to haunt her thoughts, for she had dreamt of him the previous night. He had been in danger and she had tried to reach him, but a strong wind had been blowing, carrying her further and further away. She had woken from her dream with tears on her face, though she did not understand why she wept.

Kathryn’s feelings were mixed—she did not know how she felt about Lorenzo Santorini. He was such a strange mixture, at one moment as cold as ice, his features rock hard, his mouth an unforgiving line. Yet when his eyes were bright with laughter…it was then that she had this strange feeling of having known him for ever.

What had he meant when he said he would keep his secret for the moment? That he was a man of mystery she did not doubt, but—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices. Charles Mountfitchet and Lorenzo were talking together. They spoke in English as always, for Lorenzo’s grasp of the English language was much better than their grasp of Italian. He, of course, spoke several languages.

‘It may be that it would be better for you to buy land in Italy,’ Lorenzo was saying. ‘With this threat of invasion from the Turks…’

‘Do you really believe that they will try to invade the island?’

‘I cannot say, sir. I merely sought to warn you of the possibility.’

‘I doubt there is much danger for the moment,’ Charles said, for he had set his heart upon buying land in Cyprus, an island rich in sugar, fruit and fertile wine-growing soil. ‘I visited the man you told me of—poor fellow.’

‘Would he speak to you?’ Lorenzo was saying.

‘He asked if I had come to buy him,’ Charles said, sounding distressed. ‘When I told him that I was trying to find my son he wept, but would not answer me. I could not tell him that he would not be sold to another master, for it was not in my power, despite what you have told me, sir.’

‘From what you saw of him, was there anything that reminded you of your son?’

The two men had come into the courtyard now, clearly unaware that Kathryn was there, standing just behind a tall flowering bush.

‘It is impossible to tell,’ Charles said with a heavy sigh. ‘He could be Richard, but I do not recognise him.’

Kathryn moved towards them and saw the startled expression in both their faces. ‘Will you let me see him?’ she asked. ‘I would know Dickon if I saw him, I am sure of it.’

‘The scar you told us of…’ Charles shook his head sadly. ‘It would not help you to look for that, Kathryn. His wrists are so badly scarred and callused by the wearing of manacles and chains for all that time that any previous scar would have been obliterated.’

‘Oh, the poor man—’ Kathryn began but was interrupted.

‘It would not be fitting for you to see him,’ Lorenzo said. ‘It caused your uncle much grief and a woman would find it too upsetting.’

‘Have you such a low opinion of our sex, sir?’ Kathryn’s head was up, her eyes flashing with pride. Why must he always imagine that she was foolish? ‘Do you think I have not seen suffering before? My dear mother was ill some months before she died of a wasting sickness, and I have seen beggars with sores that were infected with maggots in the marketplace at home. If I saw this man, I might know if he is Dickon.’

‘Kathryn knew my son better than anyone,’ Charles said, looking at her uncertainly. ‘She is a woman of some spirit, Signor Santorini. I think—with your permission—I should like her to see him. After all, what harm can it do for her to speak with him if someone is near by?’

Lorenzo’s eyes flickered with what might have been anger, but it was controlled, not allowed to flare into life. ‘Very well, I shall arrange it for tomorrow. But I warn you, Kathryn, he has suffered things that you cannot begin to contemplate. I fear your tender heart may sway your good sense.’

‘I shall know if he is Dickon,’ Kathryn said stubbornly, though in her heart she was not sure that she would truly know. For that one moment when her senses had betrayed her, she had thought that Lorenzo himself might be her lost love, though that was impossible, of course. There was no possibility that Dickon and this cold, arrogant Venetian could be the same man. He had clearly been born to privilege and wealth and could never have suffered as this poor slave he would deny the chance of a new life.

‘Very well, you may see him tomorrow. I shall have him brought here for you.’ He inclined his head curtly, clearly not pleased to be overruled in this matter. ‘I fear I have an appointment this evening. In my absence, I beg you to make yourselves free of my home. My servants will serve you supper and care for your needs. Do not hesitate to ask for whatever you want.’

‘You are generous,’ Charles said. ‘I myself have a business meeting this evening, but Mary and Kathryn will be company for each other.’

‘Yes, of course we shall,’ Kathryn said and smiled at him. She did not look at Lorenzo, annoyed with him because he had tried to deny her the chance to identify Dickon. ‘We have many little tasks that need our attention.’

‘Then I shall wish you a pleasant evening.’ Lorenzo inclined his head, turned and left them together.

Charles looked at her for a moment in silence, then said, ‘It was a harrowing experience, my dear. Signor Santorini is probably right in thinking that it will upset you.’

‘I do not expect otherwise,’ Kathryn said. ‘Who could remain unaffected by suffering such as he describes? But it was for this that I came with you, Uncle. I can only trust my instincts. If I do not feel it is Dickon, I shall tell you.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘You said that he hardly spoke to you—do you think he might tell me more?’

‘Perhaps he does not remember,’ Charles said. ‘Signor Santorini believes that he has been a slave for many years, perhaps not always in the galleys. He might have been a house slave for a while and sent to the galleys for some misdemeanour. It is the way of things. Youths make amusing slaves for some men, but when they grow older and stronger they become too dangerous to keep in the house. I shall not tell you of the things these youths are forced to endure, for it is not fitting, but it may be that a man would prefer to forget rather than remember such abuses.’

Kathryn’s eyes were wet with tears, for she could guess what he would not say. She brushed her cheek with the back of her hand. ‘How can men be so cruel to one another?’

‘I do not know, Kathryn,’ Charles said with a deep sigh.

‘How can anyone survive such terrible things?’ Kathryn asked. ‘It seems impossible. Yet this man has done so and deserves our kindness, if no more.’

‘Yes, you are right,’ Charles said, looking thoughtful. ‘I must leave you now, Kathryn. Go into your aunt, my dear, and do not dwell on this too much. I think it unlikely the poor wretch I saw today is my son, but I should value your opinion.’

Kathryn kissed his cheek, doing as he bid her.

She spent the evening with Lady Mary, working on her sewing, for they had purchased many materials before they left England and had not had time to complete their wardrobes. One or other of the servants they had brought with them did much of the plain sewing, but they liked to finish the garments with embroidery and ribbons themselves.

Kathryn was not tired when she retired for the night. She felt a restless energy that would not let her sleep, and sat by the open window looking out over the courtyard. The sky was dark, but there were many stars, besides a crescent moon, and she found it fascinating to look at them, for it was possible to see far more here than at home where there was so often clouds to obscure them.

She became aware of someone in the sunken courtyard. A man just standing there alone, staring at the little fountain that played into a lily pool. He was so still that he might have been one of the beautiful statues that adorned his house and garden, and yet she knew him.

What was he thinking? Was he too unable to sleep? He was such a difficult man to understand, and sometimes she wanted to fly at him in a rage, though at others…she liked him. Yes, despite herself she had begun to like him.

Sighing, Kathryn turned from the window as the man moved towards the house. It was time she was in bed, even if she did not sleep, for Aunt Mary wished to go exploring again in the morning. They were to be taken in a gondola through the waterways so that they might see more of the city.

Lorenzo unbuckled his sword, dropping it on to one of the silken couches that he preferred about him, something he had learned to appreciate at the house of Ali Khayr. A wry smile touched his mouth, for his friend had tried hard to convert him to Islam, though as yet he resisted.

‘You are more at home here with us than in the Christian world,’ Ali Khayr had said to him once as they debated religion and culture. ‘And no one hates the Inquisition more than you, Lorenzo—and yet you resist the true faith.’

‘Perhaps there is good reason,’ Lorenzo said and smiled as the other raised his brow. ‘I do not believe in a god—neither yours, nor the Christian variety.’

‘And yet it was by the will of Allah that you came to me and my son was saved,’ Ali Khayr said. ‘Why do you not accept the teachings of the Prophet? It might help to heal your soul and bring you happiness.’

‘I think I am beyond redemption from your god or the god the Inquisition uses as an excuse for torture and murder.’

‘Hush, Lorenzo,’ Ali Khayr told him. ‘What a man may do in the name of religion may not be called murder, though it would not be our way. We use our slaves more kindly, and those that convert to Islam may rise to positions of importance and a life of ease.’

‘You may choose that way,’ Lorenzo said, a glint in his eyes, ‘but others of your people are less tolerant.’

‘You speak of pirates and thugs,’ Ali Khayr said with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘There are men of all races in that fraternity, Lorenzo: Christians as well as Muslims. They say that Rachid, your enemy, was from the Western world, though I do not know if it be true.’

‘It is true,’ Lorenzo said. ‘He wears the clothes of Islam and he speaks the language like a native, but a clever man may learn many languages. I have seen him close to, though he did not look at me, for I was beneath him—a beast of labour, no more.’

‘You have good cause to hate him,’ Ali Khayr said. ‘And I do not condemn you for what you do—but I would bring ease to your soul, Lorenzo. If you put your faith in Allah, you might die a warrior’s death safe in the knowledge that you would be born again in Paradise.’

‘And what is Paradise?’ Lorenzo smiled at him. ‘You would have it a place of beautiful women, and wine such as you have never tasted? My business is fine wines and if I cared for it I could have a beautiful houri when I chose.’

Ali had laughed at his realism. ‘You are stubborn, my friend, but I shall win you in the end.’

Now, alone in his private chamber, Lorenzo smiled grimly as he removed the leather bracelets from his wrists, rubbing at the scars that sometimes irritated him beyond bearing—the badges of his endurance and his slavery. The three years he had served as a slave in Rachid’s personal galley had almost ended his life. Had he been taken sick at sea he would no doubt have been thrown overboard, for there was no mercy for slaves who could not work aboard Rachid’s galley. His good fortune had been that they were near the shores of Granada and he had been taken ashore when the men went to buy fruit and water from traders on the waterfront. He had been left where he fell on the beach, left to die because he was no longer strong enough to work.

It was luck, and only luck, that had brought the Venetian galley to that same shore later that day. He had no memory of how it happened, but he had been taken aboard the personal galley of Antonio Santorini and brought back to life by the devotion of that good man—a man who had also suffered pain and torture, but at the hands of the Inquisition.

Lorenzo recalled the time shortly after he was brought to his father’s house. He had been broken in body, though not in spirit, and it was the gentleness, the kindness of a good man who had brought him back to life. Antonio had taken him in, treating him first as an honoured guest and then as a son, adopting him so that he had a name and a family. For Lorenzo did not know his own name. He had no memory of his life before the years he had spent as a galley slave.

This was the secret he so jealously guarded. No one but his father had known of his loss of a past life, and only Michael amongst his friends knew that he had served in Rachid’s galley, though some might guess. There was a look about him, a hardness that came from endurance. For, once he had regained his strength and health, Lorenzo had worked tirelessly to be the best swordsman, the best galley master, the best judge of fine wines. No softness was allowed into his life. On his galleys he lived as his men lived, worked and trained as hard as they did, and he treated them with decency, though never with softness. He was known as a hard man, ruthless in business, but fair. He had repaid Antonio Santorini for his kindness, taking the Venetian’s small fortune and increasing it a thousand-fold.

‘God was kind to me when he sent me you,’ Antonio had told him on his deathbed. ‘I know that you have cause to hate Rachid and all his kind, my son—as I have cause to hate the Inquisition. I was tortured for what they said was blasphemy, though it was merely the debate of learned men who questioned the Bible in some aspects. They would have us all follow their word in blind obedience, my son. Yet the God I believe in is a gentle god and forgives us our sins. I pray that you will let Him into your heart one day, Lorenzo, for only then may you find happiness.’

It was strange, Lorenzo thought, as he prepared for bed, that two good men would convert him to their faith, though they believed in different gods. A wry smile touched his mouth as he buckled on his bracelets again. He wore them to guard his secret, for knowledge was power and he knew that some would use it against him.

As he lay on his couch, he thought for a moment of Kathryn. He had deliberately shut her out of his mind, for she was too dangerous. When he was with her he forgot to be on his guard, he forgot that he had sworn to dedicate his life to destroying evil.

To feel warmth and affection for a woman would weaken him, nibble away at his resolve so that he became soft, forgot his hatred, the hatred that fed his determination to destroy Rachid. He could not love. He had felt something approaching it for Antonio—but a man might feel that kind of affection for another man and remain a man. To love a woman…He could not afford to let her beneath his guard, though at times she tempted him sorely. Had she been a tavern wench he would have bedded her and no doubt forgotten her, but a woman like that was for marrying.

He smiled as he remembered the way her eyes flashed with temper when she was aroused. She gave the appearance of being modest and obedient until something made her betray her true self. The man she loved—her cousin, it seemed—would have been fortunate had pirates not taken him that day.

It was a sad story, but one that Lorenzo had heard often enough through the years. He thought of the poor creature she had insisted on seeing. If he was indeed the man they sought, she would probably devote the rest of her life to him—and that would be a shame.

Lorenzo glared at the ceiling as he lay sleepless, Kathryn invading his thoughts now though he had tried to keep her out. It would be a waste of all that beauty and spirit if she considered it her duty to care for a man who might never be a husband to her.

Kathryn had chosen to receive the former galley slave in the courtyard of Lorenzo’s home. She thought that it might be easier for him than the splendid rooms of the palace, where he might be afraid of what was happening to him. Here in the garden, she could sit on one of the benches and wait in the warmth of the sunshine until he was brought to her.

‘You do not mind if I join you?’

Looking up, she saw Lorenzo and frowned. ‘I had hoped I might be allowed to see him alone, sir. He may be frightened of you and refuse to speak to me.’

‘I have not harmed him, nor would I.’

‘Yet he may fear you.’ Kathryn hesitated. ‘Your expression is sometimes harsh, sir. If I were a slave, I would fear you.’

‘Do you fear me, Kathryn?’

‘No, for I have no reason,’ she replied with a smile. ‘I find you…difficult, for you seem to be not always the same. At times—’ She broke off, for she heard voices and then three men came into the courtyard. One of them was clearly the former galley slave—he was thin almost to the point of emaciation and his hair was grey, straggling about his face. His clothes hung on his body, though they were not rags, and some attempt had been made to keep him clean, his beard neatly trimmed.

Kathryn’s throat closed and she could hardly keep from crying out in distress as she saw him, for pity stirred her and her eyes stung. She got up and moved towards him, a smile upon her lips.

‘Will you not come and sit by me, sir?’ she invited. ‘I would like to hear your story if you will tell it to me.’

His eyes were deep blue, though not quite the colour of Lorenzo’s—or Dickon’s. Kathryn felt the disappointment keenly. A man might change in many respects, but his eyes would surely not change their colour?

For a moment the man seemed confused, as if he feared to believe his eyes, and then he shuffled forward, sitting on the bench she indicated. He stared at her, seeming bewildered, not truly afraid, but wary.

Kathryn sat beside him. She saw that Lorenzo made a dismissive movement of his hand, causing his men to withdraw to a distance, though he still stood closer than she would have liked.

‘There is no need to be afraid,’ she said to the former slave. ‘No one will hurt you. I promise you that, sir. I only wish to hear your story.’

‘I am not afraid,’ he replied. He spoke English, but hesitantly as though the words came hard to him. Yet that was not surprising, for he must have become accustomed to another language, the language of his cruel masters.

‘What is your name?’

‘I do not know,’ he said. ‘I am called dog. I am less than a dog.’

Kathryn swallowed hard, for the tears were close. ‘Do you have no memory of what you were before…?’

‘I am an infidel dog,’ he repeated. ‘I do not think, therefore I am not a man.’

‘That is so wrong, so cruel,’ Kathryn cried and saw him flinch as she put out a hand to touch him. ‘No, no, I would not hurt you.’

‘Am I yours now?’ he asked. ‘Have you bought me?’

‘You are not to be sold.’ Kathryn turned to Lorenzo with a look of appeal in her eyes. ‘Tell him that he is not a slave…please?’

Lorenzo hesitated, then inclined his head. ‘If you recover your strength, you might work for me, but you are not a slave. If you wish to leave here, you are free to go when you wish.’

‘Where would I go?’ The man’s blue eyes were so bewildered that Kathryn spoke without thinking.

‘You may come to Cyprus with my uncle and me,’ she said impulsively. ‘Not as our slave, but as one of our people. When you are well, you may perhaps work in the gardens or some such thing, but you will be paid for what you do.’

‘You would take me with you?’

‘Yes,’ Kathryn promised recklessly. ‘You shall be my friend and help me when you can.’ Her heart caught as she saw tears trickle from the corner of his eyes and she had to wipe away her own tears. She was shocked as the man fell to his knees before her and kissed the toes of her shoes that were peeping from beneath her gown. ‘No, no, you must not do that. You are not a slave. I shall take care of you.’

‘Get up,’ Lorenzo commanded, his voice harsh. ‘You are a man, not a dog. Since you understand English you shall be called William. You will return to the house where you have been cared for until Mistress Rowlands leaves for Cyprus with her uncle and aunt.’ He signalled to his men, who came to help the newly named William to his feet.

Kathryn watched as the former galley slave shuffled off, helped by Lorenzo’s men. She turned to look at him, her eyes bright with anger.

‘Why were you so harsh to him?’

‘He needed to be told, for you had unmanned him with your kindness. He is not used to that, Kathryn. You must give him time to become accustomed to his new life.’

She felt hurt by his accusation. ‘He needs kindness, not harsh words.’

‘I have dealt with many such victims. You do not know what you do, Kathryn. If you treat him too kindly he will become as your lapdog, a pet to beg at your feet for scraps. No man should feel that way. It is better that he hates, for hatred makes a man strong.’

Kathryn’s eyes widened as she looked at him. ‘Is that how you became so strong?’ she asked. ‘Do you hate so much that you cannot feel kindness, Lorenzo?’

It was the first time she had used his given name and she did not know what had prompted her to do it, and yet she felt that somehow she was closer to him, closer to knowing him than she had ever been.

‘I learned from a master,’ he said. ‘What will you do if your uncle refuses to have the man as one of his people?’

Kathryn dropped her eyes, for she did not know. Lord Mountfitchet had come to find his son and she knew that William was not Dickon, felt it instinctively inside her. She had wanted it to be so, but it was not—and yet her heart was filled with pity for the former slave.

‘I do not think he will refuse me,’ she said. ‘Lord Mountfitchet has always been kind and generous to me—especially since we lost Dickon.’

‘You called him Lord Mountfitchet then—is he not your uncle?’

‘We are not blood relations,’ Kathryn said. ‘My father and Uncle Charles are lifelong friends and I would have married Richard Mountfitchet if…’She shook her head sadly. ‘This man is not the one I loved. I would have known it—besides, his eyes are too pale a blue. Dickon had eyes like…’ She looked up and found herself gazing into eyes so blue that they took her breath. ‘He had your eyes, Lorenzo. If I did not know it was impossible, I would say that you were more likely to be Richard Mountfitchet than that poor creature.’

‘I am not the man you seek!’ Lorenzo’s tone was harsh, even angry.

‘I know that. Forgive me,’ she apologised. ‘How could you be a poor galley slave? You have too much pride, too much arrogance.’

To her surprise, Lorenzo threw back his head and laughed. She had not expected him to be amused and was at a loss for words.

‘Nay, Madonna, do not look so bewildered. Should I be angry when you pay me a compliment?’

‘It was not meant as one,’ she came back swiftly.

‘Perhaps not, but I take it as one,’ he said. ‘You think me a Venetian prince, perhaps, born to the life I lead?’

‘Is that not the case?’ she asked and for a moment as she looked deep into his eyes her heart raced. Something in his eyes made her think that he would take her in his arms and kiss her, and her heart leapt with sudden excitement. Her breath caught, her eyes opening wider as she looked up into his face.

‘It might be—and then again it might not,’ Lorenzo told her, a smile of mockery in his eyes now. His laughter had been genuine, but this was meant to put her in her place. ‘You will not gain my secret so easily, Kathryn.’

‘Why should I wish to know it?’ she asked and turned on her heel, walking into the house, her back stiff with a mixture of anger and pride.

‘Why indeed?’ he called after her, and then, in a softer tone that she could not hear, ‘Better that you should not know the devil you would rouse, sweet Kathryn. Better for you…and for me.’

Kathryn did not look back, but she was shivering with some strange emotion that she did not understand. When he had looked at her a moment or so earlier she had felt that she was drowning in the ocean of those blue eyes, and she had wanted him to kiss her.

‘You will take him with us, won’t you, sir?’ Kathryn asked when her uncle came in from his business later that day. ‘I know that I should have asked you before I gave my promise, but he looked so…desperate.’

‘It was in my mind to ask Santorini what he wanted as a ransom,’ Charles told her with a smile. ‘I am not sorry that you do not think he is Dickon, for to see my son like that…’ He drew a deep breath, a look of sadness in his eyes. ‘The search for Dickon will go on, but I have room enough in my household for this poor wretch. He may never be able to do much for his keep, but I dare say we shall find him something to keep him out of mischief.’

‘Oh, thank you, dearest Uncle,’ Kathryn said and hugged him. She did not know whether to laugh or cry, but her smile won through. ‘Lorenzo thought you might refuse to take him and then I should not have known what to do.’

‘You might have taken him as your own servant,’ her uncle said. ‘Your father has provided money for anything you might need. This man may be your servant if you choose. If he knows how to write, he may be of some use as a scribe. We shall have to see how he goes on as he recovers his strength.’

‘He speaks English and understands it, though he is hesitant,’ Kathryn said. ‘But he will learn once he is living with us.’

‘I am certain that he will,’ Charles said. ‘And I am proud of your tender heart, my dear. I wish that we might find Dickon safe and well, but I would not have you live your life in expectation of it. If you should find yourself able to love another, I would rejoice in your happiness.’

‘You are so good to me,’ Kathryn said with a smile that lit up her whole face. ‘But as yet I have not met anyone I would wish to marry.’

There was someone who could make her heart beat faster, but he could also rouse her to anger and despair and he was not at all the kind of man she would wish to marry. Nor, indeed, did she flatter herself that he would ever think of her as a woman he might take as a wife.

‘My business here should be done within another week,’ Charles told her. ‘I advise you to make the most of your stay here, Kathryn, for I imagine the life on Cyprus will be very different. I do not believe you will find merchants there of the kind that are here, and we shall be reliant on ships that call at the island for much of our provisions, though I believe we may be self-sufficient for the food we eat and such things. However, any luxuries you need should be bought before we go.’

‘Lady Mary has already suggested another shopping expedition,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could send some of your servants with us, sir. I do not like to ask Signor Santorini for his escort again.’

‘Yes, of course, my dear. I shall arrange it myself and there is no need for Santorini to know. He has been a considerate host and we should not take up more of his time.’

Kathryn tossed and turned restlessly. Her dream had been pleasant at the start for she had been walking in a beautiful garden and she had been happy. Someone was with her—a man. The man was Lorenzo Santorini, but not as she knew him. This man laughed and teased her, looking at her with eyes of love. He had taken her into his arms and kissed her, telling her that she was everything to him.

And then, just as she was about to answer him, a great tide of water had come rolling towards them, sweeping her up and carrying her away from him. She woke suddenly, shivering and frightened.

Why was she having these dreams? It was not as if she even liked Signor Santorini, and yet…when she was torn from his arms she had felt as if her heart was breaking.

Kathryn shook her head, clearing it of the troubling images that had caused her so much distress. She was being very foolish. She was confusing Dickon with the proud Venetian in her dreams, for it was her dearest friend who had been torn away from her. She must put all this nonsense from her mind and get ready for the shopping expedition later that day.

‘Well, my dear, I think we have spent our time and our money profitably,’ Lady Mary said as they turned their steps towards the gondola that was to take them back to the Santorini Palace. ‘When our stores are delivered to Charles’s ship we shall be ready to leave. I do not think we shall go short of anything we require for the next six months, and before then we may order what we need.’

‘I am glad to have so many beautiful embroidery silks and such fine cloth—I dare say we shall find the life a little quiet after our time in Venice, Aunt Mary. At home I had my father’s library whenever I needed something to fill my time, but Uncle Charles was unable to bring everything he might have wished for and I believe many of his books were left behind.’

‘I shall mention it to him this evening at supper,’ Lady Mary promised. ‘It may well be that he has already thought to order books for himself and might do the same for us.’

They had reached the steps leading down to the lagoon where their gondola was waiting. Kathryn was a little ahead of Lady Mary and the two servants who had accompanied them. She ran down the steps, accepting the hand of a man who came forward to help her. As she stepped on board, she glanced back at the steps, expecting to see Lady Mary follow, but to her surprise she saw that she was being restrained by one man, while the servants were engaged in a battle with several burly rogues armed with cudgels.

‘It is a trap, Kathryn,’ Lady Mary cried. ‘Come back!’

Kathryn gave a cry of alarm, trying to jump back to the steps, but it was too late. Already the gondolier was pushing off from the steps and someone grabbed her from behind, clasping her in a strong hold as she struggled to get free. She watched as the shore receded, seeing that her aunt seemed to have been released and was standing on the steps staring after her. She sensed Lady Mary’s distress, realising too late that it was not her friend who had been in danger, but herself. Lady Mary and the servants, who had now joined her on the steps, had been diverted for long enough for the abduction to be carried out.

‘Stop struggling, girl, and you will not be harmed,’ a voice said and all at once she felt herself released. Turning, she saw a man of middle years. Heavily built, he had a small pointed beard in the Spanish fashion, his hair cut short and thinning at the temples.

‘I beg your pardon for this inconvenience,’ he said, speaking in English, but in an odd accent that told her he was unused to the language. ‘Please believe me when I say that I mean you no harm. You are simply the means to an end, Mistress Rowlands.’

‘Who are you?’ Kathryn demanded. Her heart was racing, for she could not help but be afraid despite the words that were meant to calm her. ‘And why have you abducted me?’

‘My name is Don Pablo Dominicus,’ he said. ‘And you are my guest. I mean you no harm, mistress. Providing you are sensible and do not try anything foolish, you will be made comfortable aboard my ship.’

‘Your ship?’ Kathryn stared at him in horror. ‘Where are you taking me?’ It was like something out of one of her nightmares! She was being taken from her friends, just as in her dream.

‘To my home in the hills of Granada,’ he replied. ‘It is a temporary arrangement, Mistress Rowlands. You are to be held until you can restore my younger daughter Maria to me.’

‘But I do not understand,’ Kathryn said. ‘How can I help your daughter? I do not know her.’

‘Maria is being held by a man called Rachid,’ Don Pablo said, a look of anger in his eyes. ‘His price for her release was that I should deliver his enemy to him—dead or alive. He would prefer to have him alive, for I believe he has a score to settle with Lorenzo Santorini.’ He smiled cruelly as Kathryn gave a little gasp. ‘Yes, I see that you begin to understand. I asked Signor Santorini for his help, but he would not give it, therefore I have taken you. We shall see what he is prepared to offer in exchange for you.’

Kathryn’s head went up proudly. ‘Why should he offer anything? Signor Santorini is merely a business acquaintance of my uncle. My father might be prepared to ransom me, but Signor Santorini will not be interested in your proposition. You have made a mistake if you believe that he will give into your blackmail on my behalf.’

‘Then I shall offer you to Rachid in exchange for my daughter,’ Don Pablo said. ‘If Santorini will not come for you himself, you may be my only chance of regaining my daughter.’

A thrill of horror went through her. He could not mean it!

‘Surely you would not…that man is a pirate of the worst kind…’

‘I see that you have heard of him, from Santorini, I dare say.’ An unpleasant smile curved Don Pablo’s mouth. ‘No, Mistress Rowlands, I do not believe that I have made a mistake. I think that Santorini will come for you and when he does…’

‘You mean to trap him! It is his life for mine, is that not what you are saying?’ Kathryn felt icy shivers all over her body. It was worse than any of her nightmares. This man was desperate for the return of his daughter. He would stop at nothing to get her back—and that meant he would kill Lorenzo if he could. No, she could not bear it if he were to sacrifice his life for hers. Lifting her head, her eyes glittering with angry pride, she said, ‘You are a fool if you think he will come. I mean nothing to Lorenzo—nothing at all.’ Yet, she was beginning to realise, it seemed that he meant something to her.

‘How could she have been so foolish as to go without the proper escort?’ Lorenzo’s anger was fearful to see and Lady Mary felt quite faint. ‘God only knows where she is now or who has taken her!’

‘But we had our servants to protect us…’

‘Little good they did you,’ Lorenzo growled. ‘Surely the attack on me in St Mark’s Square was enough to warn you that it was dangerous for ladies to go out without sufficient protection?’

‘I thought the attack was against you personally…’ Lady Mary swallowed hard as she saw the flash of fire in his eyes. ‘Forgive me. My brother believed that two servants should be enough.’

‘No,’ Lorenzo said, ‘do not apologise, ma’am. This is my fault, as you so rightly say. I acknowledge it freely. Kathryn has been taken because my enemy believes she is important to me—this was done against me.’

‘Against you?’ Lady Mary fanned herself, for the heat and the shock of what had happened that day had overset her and she was feeling quite unwell. ‘Then…what will they do with her?’

‘I am not sure,’ Lorenzo said. ‘It depends who has taken her. She might be used as a hostage—in that case we shall receive a ransom demand for her, but…’ If she had been abducted by his enemy she might pay with her life.

Lady Mary gave a cry of distress as she saw the look in his eyes. ‘Mercy on us! You do not think that they will kill her?’

‘If she should fall into the hands of Rachid, he would do so without a flicker of remorse,’ Lorenzo said. ‘However, I believe there may be more to this than meets the eye.’ He frowned, taking a turn about the salon. ‘For the moment there is little I can do but make some inquiries. I beg you to be patient, Lady Mary. Be assured that I shall do all I can to return Kathryn to you safely.’

‘I can do no other than trust you,’ Lady Mary replied. ‘She is very dear to us, sir. It would break her father’s heart if she were lost—and I believe my brother would be deeply distressed. It almost killed him to lose Richard. I do not think he could bear the responsibility of losing Kathryn too. And her father would be devastated.’ She gave a little sob. ‘This is terrible—terrible…’

‘The responsibility for this is mine and mine alone,’ Lorenzo said and something in his eyes shocked Lady Mary, for she suddenly understood something that she had not guessed before. ‘I promise you that I shall do all in my power to find her. If she lives, she shall be restored to you, no matter what it costs.’

Lorenzo left her, for he had much to do. He was not a man to wait for news. He would make searches, discover what he could before his enemy could demand whatever it was he intended.

His mind was working furiously. This was the third unpleasant incident to occur since his trip to Rome—was it possible they were connected? He had suspected Don Pablo of some treachery, and it was unlikely that Rachid would have had the necessary contacts in Venice to make that attack on him in St Mark’s Square.

It was more likely to be the Spaniard—but why? Why should Dominicus hate him that much? He could not think that they had met before that night in Rome. Was it only that he had refused to help him escort his daughter from Cyprus? Surely not.

He had been used to danger and hardship and could bear with them—but Kathryn had never faced the kind of danger that threatened her now. Lorenzo was consumed with a terrible anger, and fear—fear that he might not be able to help her.