Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | OUTLAW in the Tudor Court: Ransom Bride / The Pirate′s Willing Captive

OUTLAW in the Tudor Court: Ransom Bride / The Pirate's Willing Captive
Anne Herries


RANSOM BRIDEOnce a galley slave, now a Venetian merchant prince, Lorenzo Santorini has sworn revenge on his captor and has no time for women. English beauty Kathryn Rowlands appeals for help infinding a friend lost to pirates and then Lorenzo struggles to maintain his cool detachment. For Kathryn stirs deep feelings he had long forgotten and now he must take drastic steps to protecther from his sworn enemy…THE PIRATE'S WILLING CAPTIVEHeld captive on the high seas by pirate Captain Justin Sylvester, with nowhere to run, Maribel Sanchez had never felt more at liberty. For if she returned to rigid Tudor society she’d become an old man’s unwilling bride. If she remained with Justin, he’d made it abundantly clear, she would become his more than willing mistress!















Outlaw in the Tudor Court

Ransom Bride

The Pirate’s Willing Captive

Anne Herries





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ANNE HERRIES lives in Cambridgeshire, where she is fond of watching wildlife and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature and sometimes puts a little into her books, although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment and to give pleasure to her readers. She is a winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize.



Ransom Bride




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen




Chapter One


Kathryn stood at the top of the cliff, looking down at the sea as it swirled about the rocks far below her. The wind tore at her hair, catching at her cloak, buffeting her from all sides as she stared out to the far horizon, her thoughts returning as always when she came here to that day in her childhood—the day when the bravery of her companion had saved her life. Never would she forget how they had gone down to the cove in direct disobedience to their fathers’ commands; how their curiosity about the strange ship in the bay had brought disaster.

Kathryn’s cheeks were wet as she wiped the tears with the back of her hand. There was no point in weeping. Dickon had gone from her, from his family, taken by the Corsairs who had come ashore to find water and food. It seemed that some of the villagers had been trading with these evil men who plagued the seas of the Mediterranean and occasionally ventured as far as the coasts of England and Cornwall. How often she had regretted that she had not been more mindful of her duty, for it was she who had prompted her companion to go down and investigate the strange ship.

Shivering, Kathryn recalled the way the fierce pirates had suddenly swooped on them as they walked innocently towards where the pirates were plying their trade with the rogue villager. That man had long disappeared from the village, for when Kathryn escaped from the clutches of the men who had tried to seize her, he must have known she would tell her story. But her beloved Dickon had not escaped. He had pushed her behind him, telling her to run for help while he had bravely fought against the men who attacked them. At the top of the cliff, she had stopped, turning to see that they were carrying Dickon on board the boat that had brought them ashore, and that he appeared to be unconscious.

Kathryn had run as fast as she could to her father’s house, spilling out her tale of abduction and treachery, but when the party of men had arrived at the beach it was to find it empty, with no sign of the brave lad who had fought against impossible odds. He was but fifteen when they took him, but Kathryn knew he would have been sold as a slave, perhaps to work in the kitchens of some eastern potentate. Or perhaps, because he was tall and strong for his age, he had been chained to an oar in one of the raiders’ galleys.

She had wept bitter tears, for she had loved Dickon. He was her friend and her soulmate and, though their families lived some leagues distant from one another, they had known each other well. Kathryn believed that it was the intention of both fathers that they should marry one day, when she was nineteen. She was almost nineteen now and soon her father would make arrangements for her to marry someone else. But in her heart she belonged to Richard Mountfitchet—her own Dickon.

‘Dickon…’ Kathryn whispered, her words whipped away by the wind, drowned by the cries of seabirds and the crashing of the waves against the rocky Cornish coastline. ‘Forgive me. I never thought it would happen. I did not know that such evil men existed until that day. I miss you. I still love you. I shall always love you.’

It was ten years to the day, Kathryn thought, and every year she came here at the same time hoping to see Dickon, praying that he might return to her and his family. Yet she knew it was impossible. How could he return? Their fathers had sent men to search the slave markets in Algiers. They had contacted friends in Cyprus, Venice and Constantinople, the city that the Turks now called Istanbul, but which was still known in the Christian world by its old name. Always, there was unrest between the Turks and the Christians; wars, quarrels, and differences of religion and culture made it difficult to conduct a search within the Ottoman Empire. For Sultan Selim II was constantly seeking to push out the boundaries of his empire and had boasted that one day he would stand victorious in Rome itself. However, there were a few men who could help and one of them was Suleiman Bakhar.

Suleiman had an English wife. He was a clever, educated man and travelled tirelessly, trading, trying to reach out to the world beyond the Ottoman Empire, and hoping to bring about peace, though there was such hatred, such a history of conflict between their peoples that it seemed the breach could not be bridged.

Kathryn knew that Suleiman Bakhar was in England at this time. He had promised to make inquiries on behalf of Lord Mountfitchet, but as far as she knew he had discovered nothing that could help them. Sir John Rowlands and Lord Mountfitchet had gone to London to speak with him, for they had other business of which Kathryn knew nothing, and it would suit them to meet with Suleiman at the same time. But they were expected to return today, and Kathryn felt a flicker of hope as she turned her steps towards the beautiful old manor house that was her home. It had once been fortified against attack from the sea, but, in these more peaceful times of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, it had become simply a family home rather than a fortress, with many improvements to make it more comfortable.

As she reached her home, she saw that a cumbersome travelling coach had pulled up in the courtyard and she began to run, her heart racing. Perhaps this time there would be news of Dickon…



Lorenzo Santorini stood on the steps of his palace. It was built at the edges of the Grand Canal, the huge lagoon that wound through the city and beneath the many bridges of Venice. The city had established trading arrangements with the Muslim world that had helped it to become one of the most powerful seagoing nations on earth a hundred years earlier. It was from here that the great Marco Polo had set out on his voyage of expedition that had taken him as far as the court of Kublai Khan, opening up the known world far beyond what it had been previously. However, the Turkish invasions and the unrest of recent years had led to gradual erosion of the Republic’s supremacy.

The Venetian galleys were, however, still thought to be some of the best craft available and remained a force to be reckoned with; the merchants of Venice were rich and influential—and Lorenzo Santorini was one of the most powerful amongst them. His galleys were famed for their speed, fighting abilities and the discipline of his men, none of whom were slaves.

He frowned as he saw the galley making its way towards the small jetty where he stood waiting. It was one of the fleet that he owned which guarded his merchant ships, and it was late returning from what should have been a routine trip to Cyprus to buy wine. As it drew closer, he could see that it had taken part in some fighting—which could only mean that it had been attacked by a Turkish or Corsair galley.

‘Welcome back, Michael,’ Lorenzo said as the captain mounted the steps towards him. He extended his hand, helping him jump up to the steps of the palace. ‘I thought there must have been some trouble—was it Rachid again?’

‘Is it not always Rachid?’ Michael dei Ignacio replied with a grimace. ‘He hates us and will harry our vessels whenever he gets the chance. Fortunately, I had left Cyprus in company with three other galleys and the ship that carried your wine. We lost one of our fighting galleys, but the merchant ship is safe. It is but an hour behind me, accompanied by two galleys. We came ahead because we have several injured men on board.’

‘They must be tended by the physicians,’ Lorenzo said with a frown, ‘and all shall be compensated for the hurt they have suffered.’ In Lorenzo’s galleys the men were paid for their work, not chained to their oars the way the wretched prisoners were in the galleys of those men most feared in these waters. The Corsairs, or Barbary pirates, as some were wont to call them, roamed the seas from the Mediterranean and Adriatic to the Barbary Coast and the Atlantic. They were fearsome men who were a law unto themselves, owing no allegiance to anyone, though some paid tribute to the Ottoman Empire.

‘It shall be attended to,’ Michael promised. Lorenzo was a good master to work for, and a mystery to most, for few knew anything of his history. Michael himself knew that Lorenzo was the adopted son of the man whose name he bore; of much of what had gone before he was as ignorant as the next man.

‘I know I can leave their welfare in your hands,’ Lorenzo said. His eyes were the colour of violets, a dark blue and as unreadable as his thoughts. His hair, the colour of sun-ripened corn bleached white at the tips, was worn longer than the fashion of the time; thick and strong, it curled in his neck. ‘I leave for Rome in the morning. I have been summoned to a meeting concerning these pirates.’ His lip curled in scorn, for he included the Turks, who had caused the merchants of Venice so much trouble these past fifty years or so and now had the audacity to demand Cyprus of the Doge, something that would be fiercely resisted by the Venetians. ‘As you know, there is talk of gathering a force to curb Selim’s power, otherwise he will sweep further into Europe. The Emperor is concerned and he hopes to bring in Spain as well as other allies to break the power of the Turks.’

Michael nodded, for he knew that his friend was considered an important man by certain men of influence in the Holy Roman Empire. Lorenzo owned twenty fighting galleys besides his fleet of four merchant ships, and he would certainly be asked to join any force that attempted to sweep the menace of the Turkish invaders from the seas. There was a widely held belief that, could they but break the power of the Ottoman Empire, many of the Corsairs would lose much of their own power.

‘They need to be curbed,’ Michael agreed. ‘In the meantime, we have captured one of Rachid’s oarsmen. We sank one of his galleys and this man was brought out of the water, still chained to the wooden spar that prevented him from drowning. We shall see what information we can persuade him to give us about his master’s stronghold—’

‘I will not have him tortured,’ Lorenzo said. ‘No matter that he is a Turk and an enemy, he shall be treated as a man. If he is willing to help us, we shall offer him employment in our ranks. If he refuses to co-operate, we will see if he can be ransomed to his family.’

Lorenzo rubbed at one of the wide leather bands he habitually wore on his wrists, his eyes as dark as the deepest waters of the Mediterranean and as impenetrable.

‘I do not believe he is of Turkish origin,’ Michael said. ‘He will not answer when spoken to, though he understands the language of his masters, also some French and, I think, English.’

Lorenzo looked at him in silence for a moment. ‘This man is not to be ill treated,’ he said. ‘You will leave his questioning to me when I return, if you please, my friend. And now you must rest, enjoy the benefits of home and family for a few days. You have earned them. When I return from Rome we shall meet again.’

‘As you command,’ Michael said, watching as his friend signalled to a small gondola that was waiting to ferry him out to his personal galley, which was further out in the lagoon. He was curious as to why his commander had suddenly decided that he wanted to interrogate the prisoner himself, but he would obey his orders. The reason Michael, born of good family, had chosen to sail with Lorenzo Santorini was because he respected him; he was a fair man, not cruel—though he would not suffer disobedience lightly.

Lorenzo was thoughtful as he boarded the galley, which was the flagship of his fleet, the fastest and newest of the vessels he owned, with the benefit of three sails, to be used when the wind was fair, thus giving the oarsmen a chance to rest. Such galleys were still much faster and easier to manoeuvre than the top-heavy galleons the Spanish favoured. Even the smaller, lighter craft of the English merchant adventurers, who had begun to be a considerable force in these seas, would find it difficult to keep pace with this galley. Turkish galleys seldom attacked his ships—they knew that he was a man to be reckoned with.

His real quarrel, however, was with Rachid the Feared One, a man of such cruelty that his name was well earned. The pitiful creatures that served at the oar in his fleet were wretched indeed, few surviving more than three years of beatings and torture.

Lorenzo’s eyes darkened as he remembered one such object of pity, a man who had survived by chance. He would never rest until Rachid was brought to justice, either at the end of a rope or by the sword. He had vowed it at the deathbed of the man who had adopted him, and one day he would keep his promise.

He regretted that he had lost one of his galleys in this struggle, for men must have died, though their comrades would have saved all they could. Rachid had also lost men and galleys, but for him life was cheap. He would replenish his oarsmen from the slave markets of Algiers or simply send a raiding party to one of the islands of the Aegean to capture men, women and children. The men would serve in his galleys, the women and children would be sold as house slaves—a trade that revolted all good Christian men and women.

It would be interesting to hear what plans were afoot in Rome, for he would welcome any fight that lead to the demise of such men. Rachid paid tribute to the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire and was free to pillage and murder as he would in these waters. If the power of the Turks could be curbed, it would make his enemy that much more vulnerable.

But even if he had to enter his very stronghold to do it, one day he would find and kill the man he hated.



‘It is so good to see you, sir.’ Kathryn kissed the cheek of their visitor. Lord Mountfitchet was almost as dear to her as her own father, and she looked forward to his visits. They had been rare enough since Dickon was stolen all those years ago. ‘Did you see the man of whom Father told me—Suleiman Bakhar?’

‘Yes, we spoke with him at length,’ Lord Mountfitchet told her with a sigh. ‘But there is no news. He has made inquiries for us, for, as you must know, his influence is far reaching in that part of the world. However, he has not given up hope—though he says that it would be rare for a man to survive that long in the galleys. It depends what happened to Richard when he was taken. If he was sold as a house slave…he could be anywhere.’

‘We must pray that he was,’ Kathryn’s father said, shaking his head over the sad business. ‘Otherwise…’ He looked sorrowful. For his own part he believed that Richard Mountfitchet must be long dead, but his friend had refused to give up his search and he did not blame him. If it had been his own son or—God forbid—Kathryn, he might have felt the same.

‘I do not believe that Dickon is dead,’ Kathryn said. ‘I am sure that I would have felt it in here.’ She pressed her clenched hands to her breast as if in prayer. ‘You must go on searching for him, sir.’

‘Yes, Kathryn.’ Lord Mountfitchet smiled at her. She was lovely with her dark red hair and green eyes, a sweetness about her mouth that was testament to her tender nature, but more than that she had helped him to retain the hope of his son being restored to him one day. ‘That is why I have come to stay with you for a while. It is in my mind to visit Venice and Cyprus. As you know, I have recently begun to import wine from Cyprus and Italy to this country. I began to take an interest in the region when I started my search for Richard, and I am thinking that I might decide to live out there in the future.’

‘You would leave England?’ Kathryn stared at him in surprise; she had heard nothing of this before now. ‘But what of your estate?’

‘The house and land could be left to my agents to administer. It might be that I shall want to return one day, but there is little for me here now. In Elizabeth’s England, Catholics like myself and your father are not given an equal chance. I mean no disrespect to the Queen, for I know she must take the advice of her ministers—and they live in fear of a Catholic plot against her. I have taken no part in such plots nor would I, for she is our rightful Queen, but there is nothing to keep me here. If our poor Dickon lives, he must be somewhere in that region of the world—perhaps Algiers, or Constantinople.’

‘We shall miss you,’ Kathryn said and her throat caught with tears at the thought that she might never see him again. ‘How shall we know if there is news of Dickon?’

‘I should write to you, of course,’ he said and smiled at her. ‘But if I live there I shall need a good friend in this country to keep an eye on my affairs. I have asked Sir John if he would join me in this venture of importing wines, and he has been good enough to agree.’

Kathryn looked at her father, who confirmed his satisfaction with the arrangement. ‘Then at least we shall hear from you sometimes.’

Lord Mountfitchet nodded, looking at her thoughtfully. ‘Your father is too busy to accompany me on this voyage of exploration, Kathryn, but I would like him to have firsthand knowledge of what I intend to do there. He has suggested to me that you might accompany my party. My sister, Lady Mary Rivers, was widowed a few months past and has agreed to make the journey with me, for she has nothing to keep her here either and we shall be company for each other in our dotage.’

‘You are not yet in your dotage, sir!’

‘No, you are right—but it comes to us all in time, Kathryn. Mary and I get on well enough, and I have no wish to marry again. She thinks me a fool to search for Dickon, but keeps a still tongue on the subject. She will be your chaperon on the journey, and I believe we shall find a suitable guardian to accompany you on the return journey—unless you meet someone that you would wish to marry.’

‘Oh…’ Kathryn looked at her father, a faint colour in her cheeks.

‘I had it in mind to look about for a suitable husband for you, daughter,’ her father said, and paused. ‘But Lord Mountfitchet is right. There is little opportunity for Catholics in this country these days. If you should chance to meet someone suitable who you liked while on your travels, I should be pleased. I know that Mary and Charles would take care of you and make sure that any suitor was worthy of you before advising me. Indeed, I shall probably make the journey to fetch you home myself. If I were not so busy at the moment, I would come with you. Your brother Philip will be home from Oxford next year and, if I cannot come myself, he will be happy to take my place, for he longs to travel.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Kathryn gave him a look of affection, for she was fond of her brother. ‘Would you truly not mind if I went with Lord Mountfitchet and Lady Mary?’

‘I should miss you, Kathryn,’ her father said, his eyes warm with affection. ‘Had your mother lived I might have been able to introduce you to a gentleman you could like before this. I have been too busy to see to it, and, besides, I think you need a woman to help you make such a decision. When Lady Mary told me she was to accompany Charles I thought it an opportunity for you to see a little of the world. I fear you must have been too often lonely since your dear mother left us.’

Kathryn smiled, but it was true enough. She had her good friends, neighbours and the elderly nurse who had been almost as a mother to her, but she had missed the time she had spent with her mother, talking and working at her sewing. It was nine years since the fever had taken her, just a year or so after Dickon was abducted.

‘Where do you intend to go first, sir?’ she asked, turning her clear green eyes on Lord Mountfitchet.

‘We should return to London and my sister,’ he replied. ‘Then we should travel to Dover, and from thence to Venice. I have made contact with a merchant there, a rich, powerful man from whom I have been buying fine wines these past three years. It is he who has encouraged me to expand my business. I shall consult with him before I make my final choice, though I believe Cyprus will suit me rather than Italy itself. I have it in my mind to establish a vineyard there.’

‘May I think about this for a little and give you my answer in the morning?’

‘Yes, of course. I know it is a grave decision—it would mean that you would be away from your home for many months.’

‘I believe I know my answer, but I would think about it,’ Kathryn said and smiled at him. ‘If you will excuse me now, sir, I shall leave you both, for I have things to attend to.’

‘Until the morning, my dear.’ Lord Mountfitchet bowed to her as she walked away.

‘She is a good girl,’ Sir John Rowlands said as the door closed behind her and sighed regretfully. ‘Her feelings for Dickon went deep and she has never forgotten him. I think they made some childish pact between them, but she has not told me the details. Until she accepts that all hope of Dickon is gone, I believe she will resist the idea of marriage with another.’

‘It would be a shame if she were to waste her life,’ Lord Mountfitchet said. ‘Much as I hope that we shall find some news of him in Venice, I would not have Kathryn grieve for my son for ever. She is young and beautiful of face as well as nature, and she deserves some happiness.’

‘Do you think this merchant of whom you spoke may have news?’

‘I pray it may be so. Suleiman Bakhar knows him well. He told me that Lorenzo Santorini has helped several slaves who have managed to escape from their masters. He sometimes buys them in the slave markets of Algiers or takes prisoners from the pirate galleys he sinks, and he will ransom a Corsair captain for galley slaves. I think he exchanged ten slaves for one such man just a few months back. He gives them the chance to work for him, and sometimes he will return them to their families. He might ask for a ransom for his trouble, but for myself I would gladly pay it.’

‘He sounds a man to be reckoned with?’

‘Indeed, he is. Suleiman admires him—they have a mutual respect, I believe, though Santorini hath no love for Corsairs or the Turks. Indeed, I have heard that he hates them.’

‘Yet Suleiman Bakhar calls him friend.’

‘Suleiman is a man of enlightenment, as you know. He has only one wife, Eleanor, though his religion allows him to have several, and he adores her. They travel together and though she adopts Muslim dress when in his country, she wears English garb in ours. Suleiman says that if anyone can find Dickon, it is Santorini.’

Sir John nodded. ‘And that is the true reason you want Kathryn to accompany you, isn’t it? You believe that Dickon will need both you and her if he is found.’

‘What will he be like if he has survived?’ Lord Mountfitchet said, his face grey with grief. The abduction of his son had haunted him these many years, giving him no peace. ‘He is bound to have suffered terribly. He will need nursing and care if we are to teach him how to live again.’

‘Yes, I fear you are right,’ Sir John agreed. ‘Perhaps Kathryn is the only one who might help him. They were so close as children.’

‘I have not told her my thoughts on this matter,’ Charles Mountfitchet said. ‘It would make her feel that she ought to accompany us—but I would have her come only if she wishes it.’

‘Yes, it must be as she wishes,’ Sir John said. ‘I would not have it otherwise. Yet if she should want to marry…’

‘I shall write to you at once,’ his friend promised. ‘But Mary will have a care to her. We shall not allow some ruthless fortune hunter to snare her.’

‘Her fortune is adequate, but not huge,’ Sir John said. ‘I have my son to think of and, as you said, Catholics are not given the chance to rise these days. Philip will not be given a post at court as I was when Mary was Queen.’

‘That is why you do well to join me in my venture,’ Lord Mountfitchet said. ‘We may trade where we will, for the world is bigger than this country of ours.’

‘Yes, I believe you are right,’ Sir John said, ‘though for myself I would be loath to leave it as you intend.’

‘Perhaps I might have thought as you if…’ Lord Mountfitchet sighed and shook his head. ‘It does no good to repine. If Santorini can give me no hope, then I may accept that I shall never see my son again.’



Kathryn looked at herself in her small hand mirror. It had come all the way from Venice and had once belonged to her mother. She touched the smooth silver handle with her fingertips. The merchants of Venice were known for the quality of their wares, and it was from that city that the beautiful glass posset set, which her mother had treasured, had come.

It would be a great adventure to go with Lady Mary and Lord Mountfitchet. She had never expected to leave the shores of her homeland, for her father was not a great traveller. Yet she had read the histories in his library, those rare and valuable books and bound manuscripts that she was privileged to share, and her mind was open to new things. And of course Venice was renowned as a centre of publishing, particularly of the poets and of great histories. She thought that she would like to see new countries, new places—and there was always the possibility that they might discover something concerning Dickon’s whereabouts.

Her hair was hanging loose about her shoulders, a dark, shining red mass of waves that gleamed with fire when it caught the candlelight. She got up and went over to the window, gazing out into the darkness. She could see very little for there were no stars to light the sky that night. Her father had spoken of her finding someone she might wish to marry—but how could she ever do that when her heart belonged to Dickon? She had given him her promise as a girl and he had taken his knife and cut her initial into the back of his wrist. She had cried out in alarm, for it had bled a lot, and had given him a lace kerchief to bind it.

‘Does it hurt very much?’ she had asked and he had laughed, his eyes bold and daring.

‘It is nothing, for I know that this blood binds you to me for ever.’

She had kissed the wound then, tasting his blood, and had known that she would always love him. She would resist any attempts to marry her to a man she did not love. She would behave modestly when travelling and listen to Lady Mary’s advice, but she would not let them marry her to a man she did not respect or feel some affection for. Perhaps one day she would feel inside her that Dickon was dead. If that happened, she might consider marriage. If not…

Her thoughts seemed to come up against a blank wall, for she did not know what she would do if Dickon never returned to her. There was no alternative to marriage for a woman of her class, unless she wished to retire to a convent. Women married or became nuns, unless their male relatives had a use for them. Perhaps Philip would accept her as a dependent in his household if she grew old and past the age of being a wife.

It was a sad prospect, but what else was there for her? Laying down her mirror, Kathryn went to her bed, which was a heavy box base with four posts and a carved tester overhead. A handsome thing, it was piled high with soft mattresses filled with goose feathers, for the slats were wooden and hard. Slipping beneath the luxury of silken quilts, she wondered what life was like on board ship.

Yet she would put up with any discomfort if, at the end of the journey, she could find the man she loved.



The momentum was gathering, Lorenzo thought as he left the meeting to which he had been summoned. There had been talk of forming an alliance to fight a campaign against the Turks for a long time, but now, at last, it looked as though it might actually happen later that year. Pope Pius V had formed the Holy League with Spain and Venice, and it was hoped that others would bring their ships to help fight the menace that had haunted the Mediterranean seas and the Messina Strait for so long. Many had thought the talking would simply go on and on, and negotiations would probably continue for a while. However, after these latest threats against Cyprus and Rome itself, it seemed that His Holiness was determined to strike against the enemy that had for so long threatened the nations of Christendom.

Leaving the palace, Lorenzo was thoughtful as he walked, his mind dwelling not on the conference that he had attended, but on a letter that had reached him shortly before he left Venice. It was from an Englishman with whom he had done business in the past, telling him that he was coming to Venice and asking if he could help to trace a youth who had been abducted from the shores of his homeland over ten years previously.

Lorenzo frowned, for it was a thankless task. He knew as well as any man how unlikely it was that the youth had survived.

He would, of course, do what he could to help Lord Mountfitchet, for although they had never met he had heard good things of the gentleman. His father, Antonio Santorini, had visited England some years previously and had spoken of meeting Lord Mountfitchet, saying that he was both honest and decent. Therefore, Lorenzo would help him, but to trace a man who had been taken by Corsairs so long ago…

Lorenzo’s instincts remained alert even while his mind wrestled with his problems, and he was aware that he was being followed. So when the attack was made, he was ready for it, drawing his sword as he turned to meet the three ruffians who rushed upon him out of the darkness.

‘Come, my friends,’ he invited with a cold smile that only served to intensify the ice of his eyes. ‘Would you have my purse? Come, take it if you can…’

One of the three, bolder than the others, took him at his word. They clashed swords, contesting the fight fiercely, but the rogue was no match for a master swordsman and called for help from his comrades. The other two came at Lorenzo warily, for they had seen that he was no easy mark. Outnumbered three to one, he held his own for some minutes, slashing to left and right as each one attacked in turn, whirling out of reach, retreating, then advancing as he fought with the skill and ferocity his years as master of a war galley had brought him. Even so, the odds were against him and it might have gone ill with him in the end had not a newcomer joined in the fray, bringing his own skill and courage to Lorenzo’s assistance.

Lorenzo’s sword found its mark, disabling one of the three. Finding that the odds were now even and that they were being driven back, the other two rogues broke and ran, whilst the wounded fellow leaned against a wall, clutching his arm, blood oozing through his fingers.

Lorenzo had sheathed his sword when the others ran, but the stranger who had come to his aid still held his, regarding the would-be assassin speculatively.

‘Shall we kill him?’ he asked of Lorenzo. ‘’Tis what the dog deserves—or do you wish to question him?’

‘His purpose was to rob me,’ Lorenzo answered with a careless shrug. ‘Let him go to join his companions—unless he would prefer a quick death?’ His hand moved to his sword hilt suggestively.

The man gave a squeak of fear, suddenly finding the strength to run in the wake of his comrades. A harsh laugh escaped the stranger, who turned to Lorenzo.

‘You are merciful, sir. I think he would have killed you if he could.’

‘I do not doubt it.’ Lorenzo smiled. ‘I thank you for your help, sir. I am—’

‘I know you, Signor Santorini,’ the stranger said before he could continue. ‘I am Pablo Dominicus and you were pointed out to me at the conference we both attended. I followed you because I wish to speak with you.’

‘Then good fortune followed me this night,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Shall we find an inn where we can sit and talk, if you have some business you would discuss?’

‘My business is twofold,’ Pablo Dominicus said. ‘I am on the one hand an emissary from His Holiness the Pope—and on the other I am a man seeking revenge. I believe we have a common enemy.’

‘Indeed?’ Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. It seemed the stranger was a Spaniard. He had no great love of the Spanish, for the Inquisition was a fearful thing, practised by many in the name of Catholicism, but stronger and more powerful in Spain than most countries. And it was known that Spain resented Venice for its independence, and considered that some of its inhabitants would benefit from the attention of the Inquisition. There were men who served in Lorenzo’s galleys who had known what it was to suffer torture and beatings at the hands of the fanatics who ruled the religious order. Yet there was only polite inquiry in Lorenzo’s voice as he said, ‘Pray tell me more, señor. I would know how I may serve you?’

‘Let us find somewhere we can be private, Signor Santorini. I have a request from His Holiness, for your name is well known to him—and another of my own.’

‘There is an inn I know in the next street,’ Lorenzo said. ‘If your business is secret we can take a private chamber and be sure that we are not overheard.’



Lorenzo drank sparingly of the rich red wine Dominicus had ordered, listening to the request being made of him. In the darkness of the streets he had been unable to see the face of Don Pablo clearly, but now he saw that he was a man in his middle years. Heavily built, he wore a small, dark pointed beard, his hair short and thinning at the temples. And there was a faint unease in his manner that Lorenzo found interesting.

‘His Holiness requests that you pledge your support to our cause,’ Don Pablo said. ‘Your galleys are some of the finest and your men are strong and brave, and, I am told, loyal to you. If you join us in the League, others will surely follow.’

‘It was my intention to make my offer once I had consulted with my captains,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes thoughtful as he studied the other man. Why was it that he did not quite believe him as honest as he appeared? ‘I shall join your cause for it is also mine, but the men who serve me are free to choose. I believe most will follow me, for they have cause to hate the Turks and their allies.’ Some hated the Spanish just as much, but he would not say that. ‘Now, perhaps you would care to tell me the true reason you chose to follow me this evening?’

Don Pablo smiled. ‘They told me you were clever. I shall not insult your intelligence by holding to the claim that I am here on the Pope’s behalf, for that might have been left to others, though I know His Holiness intends to approach you. I followed you because I believe you have good cause to hate Rachid—he they call the Feared One. I have heard it said that you hate him and would see him dead if it were possible.’

Lorenzo was silent for a moment, then, ‘What has Rachid done to you?’

‘Three months ago his galleys attacked and captured one of my merchant ships,’ Don Pablo said and his fist clenched on the table. It was clear that he was suffering some deep emotion. ‘That cost me a great deal of money—and one of the men he killed was my son-in-law.’

‘I am sorry for your loss, sir.’

‘My daughter and grandchildren are living in Cyprus,’ Don Pablo went on and his hand shook as if he were in the grip of some strong emotion. ‘Immacula wants to return to Spain with her children. I would send ships to fetch her myself—but I have suffered other losses of late. Those accursed English privateers, as they call themselves, have been harrying my ships as they return from the New World…’

‘You are asking me to bring your daughter to you?’ Lorenzo’s brows arched as he studied the other’s face.

‘I am willing to pay for your time, of course.’ Don Pablo’s eyes dropped before Lorenzo’s intense gaze.

‘My galleys are meant for war. They are not suitable for a woman and children. I think you must look elsewhere for your escort, Señor Dominicus.’

‘You mistake me, signor. Immacula will naturally travel in our own ship. I but ask for an escort to see her safely to Spain.’

‘You want my galleys to escort your ship?’ Lorenzo nodded, his gaze narrowing as he studied the Spaniard. Something was not right about this. His instincts were telling him to be wary, and they were seldom wrong. ‘My men work for me. They are not for hire to others.’

‘Surely they would do as you bid them?’ Don Pablo’s eyes were dark with suppressed anger and something more—was it fear? Lorenzo could not decide, but sensed that there was more to this than he had been told. ‘I believed you commanded. Do not tell me that those who serve you dictate what you do, for I should not believe it!’

Lorenzo’s mouth curved in a strange, cold smile that sent a shiver down the spine of his companion. ‘Forgive me if I speak plainly, Don Pablo. Some of my men have suffered at the hands of the Spanish Inquisition. They would spit in your face rather than fight for you.’

Don Pablo’s face suffused with anger, his neck a dark red colour. He started to his feet as if he would strike out in anger. ‘You refuse me? I had heard that you were a man of business. Surely my gold is as good as the next man’s?’

‘For myself I would take your money,’ Lorenzo said, his face a stone mask that revealed nothing of his thoughts, ‘but I cannot expect my men to fight for a Spaniard.’ He stood up and inclined his head. ‘I am sorry, but I believe you may find others willing to assist you.’

‘You may name your own price.’ Don Pablo flung the words after him, seeming desperate. ‘I beg you to help me, signor.’

‘My answer remains the same, Don Pablo.’ Lorenzo turned to look at him, his eyes cold and resolute. He was certain now that his instincts had been right; this was not a simple matter of business. ‘When you decide to tell me the truth, I may reconsider, sir—but until then, farewell.’

A look of fear mixed with horror came to the Spaniard’s eyes and for a moment he seemed as if he would speak, but he shook his head and in another moment Lorenzo closed the door behind him.

His instincts had served him well as always. He believed that the attack on him had been planned, not random, a ploy to make him grateful to Dominicus—to make him accept the commission that was offered in a sense of friendship and trust. Lorenzo had learned in a hard school that few men were to be trusted.

There was more behind this than met the eye, and it smelled wrong. If his enemies had set a trap, it would need to be baited more cleverly than this.




Chapter Two


So this was Venice! Kathryn looked about her eagerly as their ship weighed anchor in the great lagoon. They were too far out to see the shoreline clearly, but the grand palaces of the rich merchant princes lay shimmering in the sunshine, the waters of the lagoon lapping over the steps at which brightly coloured gondolas were moored.

‘What do you think of Venice, my dear?’ Lady Mary asked as she came to stand beside the girl. ‘Is it what you expected?’

‘It is beautiful. I did not know what to expect. I have seen a pastel of the Grand Canal and its palaces, ma’am, but reality far exceeds the artist’s imagination. Those palaces seem almost to be floating.’

Lady Mary laughed. She was a stout, good-tempered lady, who had been pretty in her youth, and her smile was warm with affection, for she had grown fond of Kathryn on their journey. They had been together some months and it was now the spring of 1570. In England it would still be very cool, but here it was much warmer as the sun turned the water to a sparkling blue.

‘Yes, it has a magical appeal, does it not? My late husband was an enthusiastic traveller in his youth. He told me of his visit to Venice. We must visit St Mark’s Square and gaze upon the Doge’s palace while your uncle is at his business, Kathryn.’

It had been decided that she should look upon her kind friends as Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles.

‘We may not be blood related,’ Charles Mountfitchet had told her at the beginning of their journey, as they set out to London to meet his sister. ‘But we shall be together en famille for some months and must be comfortable with one another.’

Kathryn had been very willing to accept him as an honorary uncle, for she had long felt close to him. They had comforted each other throughout the years since Dickon’s abduction and she was fonder of him than anyone other than her father.

‘Oh, I want to see everything,’ she said now. Her eyes had a glow of excitement that had been missing for a long time. The journey had suited her for she had not been seasick, as Lady Mary had for the first few days of their voyage. ‘And you will feel so much better to be on land again, Aunt.’

‘Indeed, I shall. I might wish to go no further,’ Lady Mary said with some feeling. ‘I fear that this is but a temporary respite, for my brother wishes to settle in Cyprus and so we must put to sea once more.’

‘He plans to grow his own wine,’ Kathryn said. ‘But who knows? His plans may change.’

‘You are thinking of Richard, of course.’ Lady Mary frowned. ‘I know that both you and my brother hope for a miracle, my dear, but I fear you will be sadly disappointed.’

‘But it does happen,’ Kathryn said. ‘Suleiman Bakhar told my uncle that sometimes slaves may be either rescued or bought from their masters. If Dickon was sold as a house slave, it is possible that we might be able to find him and purchase his bond.’

‘My brother has tried to find his son,’ Lady Mary said, sighing deeply. She did not believe their search would come to anything and feared that they merely brought more pain on themselves. ‘For years he petitioned men of influence to help him in his search, to no avail. I believe that Richard is dead. I am sorry, but I think that some trace of him would have come to light before this if he were alive.’

‘I know what you say is sensible,’ Kathryn said, her eyes bright with the fervour of her belief. ‘But I feel that he lives. Here inside me.’ She pressed her hands to her breast. ‘I cannot explain it, for it must sound foolish, but if Dickon had died—a part of me would have died too.’

Lady Mary shook her head, but said no more on the subject. In her own opinion Kathryn was living on false hope. Even if her nephew had somehow survived, he would not be the same. Any man who had endured years of slavery must have changed; he might be hard and bitter or broken in spirit. Either way, Kathryn was doomed to grief. It might be better if no trace of Richard was ever found, for surely in time she would learn to love someone else.

The girl had blossomed under her care. While in London they had visited the silk merchants, buying materials to make into gowns suitable for a warmer climate. Lady Mary had been pleased to take the girl about, introducing her to her friends, giving her a taste of what life could be, and the change in Kathryn had pleased her. She smiled more and her laughter was warm, infectious, though there was a stubborn streak beneath her pretty manners. Yet she had thrown off the air of sadness that had haunted her lovely face and was revealed as a charming, intelligent girl.

Lady Mary had great hopes of finding a suitable husband for her charge before the time came for Kathryn to return home.

‘I believe this is the gondola come to take us ashore,’ Kathryn said as she turned to her companion. ‘We are to be taken to the house Uncle Charles has hired for our use, but he is to meet that friend of his immediately. Signor Santorini, I believe he called him.’

‘He hopes for news, I dare say.’ Lady Mary smothered a sigh. ‘Well, at least it will give us time to settle in. Men are always in the way at such times.’

Kathryn smiled, but made no answer. Given a free choice she would have wished to go with her uncle to the meeting, but she had not been asked. She would be of much more help to Lady Mary—but she would be impatient for news.



‘I trust your journey was a good one, sir?’ Lorenzo rose to meet his visitor. He had chosen to receive him in one of the smaller salons to the right of the grand entrance hall, for it was more welcoming and more conducive to privacy. ‘I am pleased to meet you at last, Lord Mountfitchet.’

His words were spoken frankly, his eyes going over the older man and finding that he was drawn to him in a way that was not often the case with strangers. He saw suffering in the other’s face, the greying at his temples and in his beard; it was a face grown old before its time. It was the face of a man who had known terrible grief. For some reason Lorenzo was saddened by his grief, though the man was a stranger to him.

‘Come, sir, will you not take a glass of wine with me? Pray be seated.’ He indicated the principal chair, which was of a kind not common in England, the seat well padded, and the low back comfortable and shaped to accommodate a man’s bulk. ‘I dare say you are weary from your journey?’

‘Indeed, a glass of wine would be welcome, Signor Santorini,’ Charles Mountfitchet said as he took his seat. ‘My sister and niece wanted me to accompany them to our lodgings and rest for a day or so, but I was impatient to meet you.’

‘Unfortunately, I have no definite news of your son,’ Lorenzo said. ‘However, there is a man I would have you meet, sir. He was rescued from a Corsair galley two months ago, but has been too ill to question. We believe that he may be English, though as yet he has hardly spoken a word.’

‘What does he look like?’ Charles asked barely able to contain his excitement. ‘What colour are his hair and eyes?’

‘What colour hair did your son have? Were there any distinguishing features?’

Charles thought for a moment. ‘It distresses me to say it, but I can no longer see Richard’s face. His hair was fair—darker than yours, but of a similar texture. His eyes were blue…’ He frowned. ‘I might be describing a thousand men. I fear I have given you but poor help, sir. But loath as I am to admit it, I spent little time with my son when he was young. He was there and I took my good fortune for granted. It was only when I lost him that I understood what he had meant to me.’ His voice broke with emotion.

‘Yes, it is often so, I believe,’ Lorenzo said. He was not certain why he felt affected by Lord Mountfitchet’s story, for he was not a sentimental man. ‘We all take what we have for granted. My father died some months ago and I miss him sorely. I was away much of the time and afterwards regretted that I did not show more gratitude towards him.’

‘I was sorry to learn of Antonio’s death. We met only twice when he visited England, but we were drawn to each other.’ Charles hesitated, then said, ‘I did not realise at the time that he had a son.’

‘I was adopted some years ago,’ Lorenzo said, revealing more than was his wont. ‘My father was a good and generous man. I owe him much. He was not a wealthy man, so it was given to me to improve our fortunes and I was happy that I was able to see him end his days in comfort.’

‘He was fortunate to have you. I have tried to preserve my estate for Richard, but it would have been a relief to me to have him with me. I fear I grow old and the days seem lonely.’ His eyes were clouded with grief, the years of futile searching carved deep into his face.

‘The man I would have you meet has blue eyes,’ Lorenzo said with a frown. ‘As for his hair—it has turned grey from the suffering he endured at the hands of his captors. I must warn you that this man has terrible scars on his arms, back and legs.’

‘The poor devil,’ Charles said and his hands shook as he sipped his wine. He took a deep breath, trying to control the images in his mind—images that had haunted his dreams for years of his son being beaten and tortured. ‘This wine is excellent.’ He made an effort to banish his nightmares. ‘A new one, I think? You have not sent me this before?’

‘It came from a vineyard in Cyprus,’ Lorenzo told him. ‘I have been trying it before adding it to the shipment.’ He refilled his guest’s cup. ‘I shall speak to the man I mentioned myself, ask him if he will see you.’ He saw the surprise in the other’s eyes. ‘He is not my prisoner. He was saved from the wreck of a galley and we have nursed him through his illness. Now that he is well, he will be given a choice. He may work for me as a free man or return to his homeland. If he asks me for help to find his family, I shall give it.’

‘Do you ask a ransom for him?’

‘If his family can afford to pay. I am a man of business, sir.’

‘And if he has no family?’

‘Then he is free to go where he will—or stay with me.’ Lorenzo’s eyes held a glint of ice. He lifted his head defiantly. ‘He has his life returned to him. What more would you have of me?’

‘Nothing you have not given,’ Charles replied. ‘For myself, I would be glad to pay for the return of my son.’

‘I wish that I might give you more hope,’ Lorenzo said. ‘But let us speak of other things. You have an idea of settling on Cyprus, I believe?’

‘I have thoughts of my own vineyard.’

‘Then I may be of more help to you there,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Come to dinner tomorrow evening. Bring your sister and niece to dine. I may have more news for you by then.’

‘Thank you. I shall look forward to it.’

Charles was thoughtful as he took his leave. He believed Lorenzo Santorini an honest man. His manner was somewhat reserved and at times his eyes were cold. He was clearly unsentimental about his business, a man of purpose. Some might think him harsh to take ransom money for men he rescued from slavery, but Charles found no fault in his seeking some profit from what he did. There were others who would simply have left the galley slave to die or even have sent him back to the markets to be sold again.

No doubt it was Santorini’s keen intelligence and lack of sentiment that had made him wealthy. Yes, perhaps he was a little harsh in matters of business, but who knew what had caused him to be that way? He sensed some mystery in the man’s past, but it was not his affair. Santorini would deal fairly with him and he could ask for no more.

His thoughts turned to the man he had been told of—a man who might be English with blue eyes. Could he possibly be Richard? Charles felt a flicker of hope. Yet it was ridiculous to allow himself to hope. There must be many blue-eyed Englishmen who had been lost at sea and taken as galley slaves, and not only by the Corsairs. Some served in Spanish galleys and there was little to choose between their masters, for they were beaten and tortured, made to work until they collapsed at the oar and were tossed into the sea to die. The Spanish hated the heretic English and it was often said that they were crueller than the Corsairs to those they took in battle.

Charles closed his eyes, trying to shut out the pictures that crowded into his mind. God forgive him, he could almost wish his son dead rather than know that he had suffered such a terrible fate.



‘But that is wicked!’ Kathryn exclaimed as Charles spoke of the ransom he would pay if the man he had been told of should by some extreme chance be his son. ‘Why, this Lorenzo Santorini is little better than those evil men whose business is to trade in slaves.’

‘No, Kathryn,’ he said. ‘You do not understand, my dear. I would be willing to pay any sum for Richard’s return and should be grateful to the man who found him for me.’

‘But a decent man would not ask for money, Uncle Charles.’ She was outraged, her eyes scornful of this man she had yet to meet.

‘Hush, Kathryn,’ he chided. ‘We must not judge him. He does much good, I think, and if he makes a profit by it…’Charles shrugged his shoulders. ‘I found him honest. He is a man I can do business with. You may feel it wrong to take money for restoring a man to his family, but others would have let the poor fellow die.’

‘Please, Charles,’ Lady Mary said with a little shudder, ‘I wish you would not say such things. You will give Kathryn nightmares.’

‘No, dear Aunt Mary,’ Kathryn said and smiled at her. ‘My nightmares have become a thing of the past since we began our journey. I do not know why, but my heart has become much lighter.’ It was as if she felt that she was going to meet Dickon, that she would find him at her journey’s end. In her dreams he seemed very close and he was no longer in pain or distress. She seemed to see him smiling at her, opening his arms to enfold her and kiss her.

‘Well, I am happy for it,’ Charles said with a smile. ‘But it would be too much to expect to find Richard so swiftly. It may be months or years—or perhaps never—but Signor Santorini has promised to do what he can. I pray you, Kathryn, do nothing to antagonise him this evening.’

‘Of course I shall not, Uncle Charles,’ Kathryn said. ‘If you believe he can help us, then I shall do nothing to make him change his mind. I may think him unprincipled and wrong, but I shall not say it.’

He smiled at her, nodding his satisfaction with her promise. It was time for them to leave, and the gondola was waiting at the steps outside their house to take them to Lorenzo Santorini’s palace.



Kathryn’s eyes widened as she saw it, for it was surely one of the most important and attractive of the many beautiful buildings built by the Grand Lagoon. This Signor Santorini must be very wealthy; if that were so, he did not need to ask for money from the families of the poor wretches he rescued from cruel masters.

Her antagonism was growing towards the man she had never met, her feelings of outrage at the obvious trappings of his great wealth building a picture in her mind so that, when the tall, golden-haired man came towards them, she did not at first imagine that he was Lorenzo Santorini. She had seldom seen a more attractive man, Kathryn thought, and as she looked into his deep blue eyes her breath caught and she felt very strange. She had only ever known one person with eyes that colour and so strong was the emotion that gripped her then that she almost fainted. Indeed, she swayed and put out her hand to steady herself, finding her arm gripped by a firm hand.

‘Are you ill, Madonna?’

His voice was so deep and husky; yet she heard only the echoes of the sea against a rocky shore on a windswept night, her mind whirling in confusion. For a moment she was there again, looking down as the Corsairs carried her beloved Dickon away with them, her feeling of terror so strong that she almost fainted.

‘Kathryn? Is something wrong, my dear?’

Lady Mary’s voice brought her back from the edge of the precipice and her head cleared. She looked at the man, who still held her arm in a vicelike grip, her eyes suddenly dark with revulsion as she dismissed the foolish notion that had come to her. How could she have thought even for one moment that this man was her beloved Dickon? His face was deeply tanned, with sculptured cheekbones and lines about his eyes. Richard Mountfitchet would be no more than five and twenty; this man must be some years older, of course, the set of his mouth harsh and unforgiving, so different from the easy smile that she had been wont to see on Dickon’s lips.

Why, from what she had heard of him, he was little better than the evil men who had abducted her dearest friend!

She moved her arm and his grip relaxed, releasing her as her head went up proudly, daring him to touch her again. ‘I am all right, Aunt Mary,’ she said, smiling at the woman who was clearly concerned for her. ‘It was just a moment of faintness. Perhaps the change from the bright sunlight to darkness?’

It was a weak excuse, of course, for it was not truly dark in the palace, which was a place of colour and sunshine from the many windows high above that gave the grand hall a churchlike feel.

‘It has been very warm today,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes narrowing as he sensed her hostility. What ailed her—and why had she looked at him so oddly for a moment? ‘And I believe it may be cool in here. Please come through to my private chambers, ladies. I believe you may be more comfortable there.’

Lorenzo led the way to another, smaller chamber, which was lavishly appointed with beautiful tiled walls and floors, the colours rich and vibrant. It was furnished with the most exquisite things that Kathryn had ever seen, some of them with a distinctly Byzantine look to them. For surely those silken couches belonged more properly in the harem of an eastern potentate?

‘I have never seen such a lovely room,’ Lady Mary declared, echoing the thoughts Kathryn would not for pride’s sake utter. ‘Where did you find all these lovely things, Signor Santorini?’

‘Some of them were given me in gratitude for saving the life of a precious son,’ Lorenzo told her. His eyes were on Kathryn as he spoke, a mocking gleam deep in their mysterious depths. ‘It was in Granada and the boy was a Moor, the son of a merchant prince—a man whose wealth would make me seem a pauper by comparison.’

‘How interesting,’ Lady Mary said. ‘Pray do tell us more, sir.’

‘It was nothing,’ Lorenzo told her with a fleeting smile, his eyes becoming colder than deep water ice as he saw that Kathryn’s mouth had curled in scorn. ‘I happened to be in the right place at the right time—and the grateful father showered me with gifts of all kinds, some of which you see here.’

‘You must also be a very wealthy man,’ Kathryn said and her tone made it sound like the worst of insults. ‘Might it not have been nobler to refuse the gifts and be satisfied with the pleasure of saving a life?’ Her eyes flashed with green fire, challenging him so clearly that the air seemed to crackle between them.

‘No, no, Kathryn,’ Charles reminded her uneasily. He was afraid she would antagonise the Venetian, and Santorini was his best hope of ever finding his son. Indeed, since they had met, he had been filled with new hope. ‘You must not say such things, my dear. It is not for you to judge these matters.’

‘Kathryn’s fault lies in her ignorance,’ Lorenzo said easily and she saw that there was an amused curl to his mouth. His eyes glinted with ice and she felt her heart catch, for something about him drew her despite herself. ‘To have refused the gifts from such a man after rendering him a significant service would have been to offer him a deadly insult. Had I been unwise enough to do so, he would have thought that I believed he owed me more and would simply have increased the size of his gift—even to beggaring himself, if I demanded it. But of course, your niece could not know anything of the customs, or indeed the pride, that prevails amongst such people.’

He was looking at her as if she were a foolish child!

Kathryn felt as if she were in the hands of her old nurse, being scolded for some childish misdemeanour. He was humiliating her, stripping her to the status of an ignorant girl, making her feel foolish—and she hated him for it. If she had not remembered her promise to Lord Mountfitchet at that moment, she might have given him an honest opinion of his morals, telling him what she thought of his habit of asking a ransom from his victims.

‘I bow to your superior judgement, sir,’ she said, her nails turned inwards to the palms of her hands as she fought her instinct to rage at him. Dickon’s father was relying on his help. It was through him that they might learn something that would lead them to find Dickon. She must remember that, no matter how great her disgust of this man and his trade. ‘Forgive me, I did not know…’

The apology was the hardest she had ever had to make and she tasted its bitterness; she was determined to say nothing more that evening, for it would kill her to be civil to him! She could not know that the look in her eyes and the tilt of her head betrayed her, nor that he found her defiance amusing.

‘No, do not apologise, sweet Madonna,’ he murmured and the mockery in his voice stung her like the lash of a whip. ‘We should be churlish indeed not to forgive such beauty a small mistake of judgement.’

Kathryn inclined her head. Oh, he was so sure of himself, so secure in his position of power and wealth! She would like to wipe that mocking expression from his face and were she alone with him she would do it! But no, she must not let him drive her to further indiscretion. She would behave as befitted an English gentlewoman.

‘I bow to your generosity, sir.’ The look she gave him was so haughty that it would have slain any other man, but he merely smiled and turned his attention to Lord Mountfitchet.

Wine was served and there was a choice of a sweeter wine for the ladies, but Kathryn stubbornly chose the same as he and her uncle drank and nearly gagged on the dryness of it. She took one sip and set the glass down, her irritation mounting as she saw that he had noted her distaste. When they were directed outside to a small courtyard garden, where a table had been set for them, she noticed that he made a small signal to his servant, and when she looked for her wineglass her wine had been changed.

Oh, was there no ending to this torture? Kathryn asked the servant who served her from the many delicious varieties of fish, meat and rice dishes to bring her some water, refusing to be tempted by the wine, which Lady Mary had declared was delicious.

The food was wonderful too. Used to the more heavily spiced dishes her father’s cooks served at home and sickened by the awful food on board ship, she could not resist trying the delicious prawns and unusual fruits and vegetables that were served to her. After each main course a cold ice sherbet was served, which cleared the palate, and the sweet courses included a delicious sticky jelly that she simply could not resist.

‘I see you approve of one of the gifts my friend from Granada sends me from time to time,’ Lorenzo said, smiling at her. ‘You see, as his son grows to a man, his gratitude increases and he will not allow me to forget that he considers me as another son.’

Kathryn had been reaching for another piece of the sticky sweet and her hand froze in mid-air, then withdrew, her eyes darting a glare at him that would have made most men retreat in confusion. His answer was to smile so wolfishly that it sent a chill through her, the flash of white teeth sudden and menacing, as if he would devour her.

‘Please continue to enjoy them, Madonna,’ he told her. ‘It will please my friend mightily to know that his generosity is not wasted. He fears that I do not appreciate it, but now I can tell him quite truthfully that it brought me favour in your eyes.’

‘I am glad that your friend will be pleased,’ Kathryn said and defiantly took the piece of lemon-flavoured sweetmeat that she desired, biting into it with such venom that she saw his eyes flicker with laughter. He enjoyed taunting her! She could see it in his face, but there was nothing she could do, for she was at his mercy. Please God, let this meal be over soon and then, perhaps, she need not ever see him again.

‘I was thinking,’ Charles said, seemingly unaware of the duel going on between Kathryn and their host. ‘I have cudgelled my brains to think of a distinguishing mark that might help you find Richard, sir—but I cannot recall a thing.’

‘Oh, but—’ Kathryn began and then stopped as all eyes turned on her. She shook her head. ‘I cannot be sure that it would still be there.’

‘If you know of something, you should tell us, Kathryn,’ Charles said. ‘I believe you knew Richard better than anyone.’

‘Pray do give me any information you can,’ Lorenzo said and reached for his wineglass. As he did so she caught sight of a leather wristband chased with silver symbols. The wristbands were so at odds with the richness of his dress that she was mesmerised for a moment and he saw her interest. ‘You are admiring my bracelets, Kathryn?’ He pulled back his sleeves so that she could see that he wore the curious bands on each wrist. ‘The symbols may not be familiar to you, for they are in Arabic. One stands for life, the other for death.’ There was something in his eyes that made her shiver inwardly, an expression so different to any other that she had seen in him that her stomach clenched with fear. ‘It is to remind me, lest I should forget, that one is the close companion of the other.’

‘Surely…’The words died on her lips, for now she felt a sense of desolation in him and it touched her, reaching down inside her so that she shared his grief, his pain, and it almost sent her reeling into darkness. ‘They are remarkable, sir,’ she said, fighting to pull herself back from that deep pit. ‘But you asked about a distinguishing mark. There was one that Uncle Charles would not know about.’ She paused, for the memory was so strong in her mind then that it made her ache with the grief of her loss. ‘Dickon was my closest companion, my dearest friend. One day he told me that he would always love only me, even though I was but nine years to his fifteen. I said that when he grew up he would forget me, and he drew his knife. He cut my initial into his arm, just above his wrist.’ She saw Lorenzo’s eyes darken, his gaze intensifying on her face. ‘It bled a great deal and I was frightened. I gave him my kerchief to bind his wrist, but it was deep and the bleeding would not stop. My nurse bound it for him when we went home and scolded me for allowing him to hurt himself. When it began to heal, there was a livid mark in the shape of a K.’

‘You have never told me this, Kathryn,’ Charles said and frowned. ‘It might help in the search—if it still remains.’

‘It might have been obliterated by other marks,’ Lorenzo said and he looked thoughtful, serious now, all mockery gone. ‘I do not wish to distress the ladies, Lord Mountfitchet, but you must realise that the manacles galley slaves wear leave deep scars. Even if the scar that Richard inflicted on himself remained, it might not be easy to see after so many years of being chained to an oar.’

‘If he was a galley slave,’ Kathryn said. ‘He was but fifteen, sir. Might he not have been sold as a house slave?’ She had prayed so often that it might be so, otherwise there was little hope that Dickon would have survived.

‘It is possible—but if he was strong for his age he would more likely have been put to the oars. The rate of death amongst such unfortunates is high and anyone with the strength to pull an oar might be used if the Corsairs had lost some of their oarsmen.’

‘Yet that makes it all the more likely that the mark may still be there,’ Kathryn said. ‘For if he lives, it is unlikely that he was in the galleys.’

‘You speak truly, for I doubt that any man could survive ten years in the galleys,’ Lorenzo told her and the expression in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. ‘We must hope that for at least some part of the time your cousin was more fortunate.’

Kathryn looked at him, seeing an odd expression in his eyes. What was he thinking now?

‘Would your friend in Granada help us to find Dickon?’ she asked.

‘Yes, that is possible,’ Lorenzo said. ‘I will write to him and ask if he will make inquiries, though after so long…’ His words drifted away and he lifted his shoulders in a gesture that made her want to defy him all the more.

‘You think it is impossible, don’t you?’ Kathryn saw the answer in his face. ‘But I don’t believe that Dickon is dead. I am certain he lives. I feel it in here.’ She put her hands to her breast, her face wearing an expression of such expectation, such hope, that he was moved. ‘As we journeyed here my feeling grew stronger. I believe that he is alive and may be closer than we think.’

‘All things are possible,’ Lorenzo said, for he found that he did not wish to dim the light in those beautiful eyes by telling her she was wrong. ‘My friend would tell you that it is the will of Allah, but I believe it is the will of man. If Dickon was strong enough, if he wanted to live badly enough, he would find a way to survive. And perhaps he might have been fortunate. Not all slaves are ill treated, Kathryn. Some masters are better than others.’

‘You speak as if you have some experience of these things, sir?’

Lorenzo smiled oddly. ‘Perhaps…’

Kathryn would have pressed for an answer, but he turned to Lord Mountfitchet and began to talk of Cyprus and the land most suitable for wine growing. Kathryn sat and listened, her first disgust of him waning a little as she realised that he was a man of knowledge and influence.

She could not condone what he did in the matter of the ransoms he demanded from the families of those he rescued, and yet she began to understand that it could be but a small part of his business and not the source of his vast wealth.

She could not like him, she decided, for he was too arrogant, too certain of his position, and he could not understand how she felt—how Lord Mountfitchet felt—about the loss of Dickon. But perhaps Uncle Charles was right and he would deal honestly with them.

Besides, what right had she to judge him when she did not know him?

Lorenzo turned his gaze on her again for a moment, and she felt that strange sensation that had almost made her faint when they first met. Why was it that she felt as if they had met before?



‘This is so beautiful,’ Kathryn exclaimed as they wandered about the square that was the centre of Venice. ‘Is it true that the Church of Saint Mark was built to house his body when it was brought from Alexandria?’

‘That is what I have been told,’ Lorenzo answered her though she had addressed her question to her aunt. ‘The building you see near by is the Palazzo Ducale—and over there is the Cathedral, which was first begun in the ninth century and rebuilt after a fire in the eleventh. Notice the architecture, which bears a distinctly Byzantine influence.’

‘It is very fine,’ Kathryn replied. ‘I had thought the people of Byzantium were barbarians, but it seems that they knew how to build.’

‘They knew many things,’ Lorenzo replied with a smile. ‘It was a great empire that demands our respect.’

‘You seem to know so much,’ she said, a little overcome by all the things he had told them as they explored the beautiful city of Venice and its waterways. ‘What, pray tell me, are those buildings over there?’

‘That is the Procuratie Vecchie, and used by the procurators or magistrates, from amongst whom the Doge is chosen, and is built, as you see, in the Italian style, as are many of the palaces themselves. And those columns were erected in the twelfth century. That one bears the winged lion of St Mark and the other portrays St Theodore on a crocodile.’ He looked at Kathryn, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Would you wish to visit the Bridge of Sighs—or would you prefer return to my home and take some refreshment?’

‘Tell me, why is it called the Bridge of Sighs?’

‘I imagine Signor Santorini has had enough of your questions for one day,’ Lady Mary said. ‘It was kind of him to accompany us, but perhaps like me he is ready to return home for some refreshment.’

‘Oh, forgive me,’ Kathryn said, for she was not in the least tired and might have carried on exploring for another hour or more. ‘Yes, we shall go home—at least, we shall return to your home, signor.’

‘It is also yours for the duration of your stay,’ Lorenzo said. On discovering the previous evening that the lodgings they had taken were less than they had hoped for, he had sent his servants to remove their baggage, insisting that they stay with him until they left for Cyprus. It was also his suggestion that he accompany Lady Mary and Kathryn on their tour of the city, for Lord Mountfitchet had other business and, despite Kathryn’s protests, he did not think it suitable that they should go alone. ‘And as to the matter of why the bridge has that name, it is because the palace connects to the prison and the bridge is the route by which prisoners are taken to the judgement hall.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Kathryn said and smiled. ‘I had thought it might have had a more romantic story attached to it.’

‘Perhaps a lover who had cast himself into the water after having his heart broken?’ Lorenzo laughed huskily. ‘I can see that you are a follower of the poets, Madonna. You have come to the right country, for this is a land of beauty and romance. You have only to look at our fine sculptures and paintings.’

She blushed, looking away from the mockery in his eyes, for her heart was behaving very oddly. ‘I have noticed some very fine paintings in your home, sir.’

‘Tell me, which ones do you admire?’

‘I noticed one that had wonderful colours…’ Kathryn wrinkled her brow. ‘It was in the great hall and I saw that the colours seemed to glow like jewels when the sunlight touched them. Most of the paintings I have been used to admiring were tempera, but I believe that one was done in oils, was it not?’

‘Indeed, you are right,’ he said. ‘The artist was a man called Giovanni Bellini and my father bought the painting some years ago. I have others that I have bought that you might like to see one day.’

‘Yes, I believe I should, if you have the time to spare, sir. I know you must be a very busy man and—Have a care, sir!’ Kathryn gave a little cry as she saw someone suddenly lunge at his back with what looked like a curved and deadly knife.

Lorenzo whirled round even as she spoke, catching the would-be assassin’s wrist as he raised his arm to strike. There was a sharp tussle and she heard something that sounded like a bone cracking, and then, before she knew what was happening, three men rushed up and overpowered the assassin, dragging him away with them.

‘Forgive us, Madonna,’ Lorenzo said and his face had become the customary hard mask that she found so disturbing, all trace of softness and laughter gone. ‘I believe your safety was not in doubt, but it should not have happened. My men were instructed to keep a look out for anything that might cause an unpleasant incident.’

‘What a terrible thing,’ Lady Mary said, looking distressed. ‘I trust you are not hurt, sir?’

‘I thank you for your concern,’ he said, but his eyes were on Kathryn, an odd expression in their depths. ‘Perhaps now you will understand why it would not be safe for you to wander at will in this city.’

‘But why did he attack you?’ Kathryn had been startled by the incident, but he had dealt with it so swiftly that she was not frightened, though Lady Mary looked shaken. ‘Do you have enemies, sir?’

Lorenzo frowned. ‘I believe that any man in my position must have his share of enemies, but I did not know until today that I had one prepared to attack me here in Venice.’

‘Do you know who the man was?’

‘A hired assassin,’ Lorenzo dismissed the man with a twist of his lips. ‘I dare say I know who paid him.’

‘Someone who hates you?’

‘He has cause enough,’ Lorenzo said. ‘He belongs to that fraternity you despise so much, Kathryn—a Corsair by trade and inclination. He is called the Feared One, for his cruelty exceeds that practised by most of his brethren. Even they fear and hate him, but they do not dare to betray him.’

‘Why does he hate you enough to pay someone to kill you?’

‘Because I have made it my life’s work to destroy as many of his galleys as I can.’ Lorenzo’s eyes were colder than she had ever seen them. Gazing into them, she was caught up in an emotion so strong that it robbed her of breath. ‘I have nineteen galleys at the moment—we recently lost one in a battle with Rachid—but I have ordered six more. Soon my fleet will be large enough to meet him wherever and whenever he takes to the seas—and then I shall destroy him, little by little.’

Kathryn gazed into his eyes, feeling herself drawn into a vortex that had her spinning down and down, drowning in the bottomless depths of his eyes. ‘Then I must tell you that I owe you an apology,’ she said when she could breathe again. ‘I believed that you were as guilty as those men who enslave others because you asked for a ransom for those you rescued, but if you have dedicated your life and your fortune to destroying such an evil man, then—’

‘Pray do not continue,’ Lorenzo said and she saw that his eyes had lost their haunted look and were filled with laughter. ‘You run the risk of flattering me, Madonna. Say only that you approve of what I do and I’ll not ask for more.’

‘You are mocking me,’ she said and could not quite hide her pique.

‘Indeed, it is very unkind in me,’ he said, ‘but do not grudge me the pleasure that teasing you has brought into a life that has hitherto known very little, Madonna.’

Once again she was aware of powerful emotions swirling beneath the mask he showed to the world and was silent for the moment. They had been walking as they talked, a little ahead of Lady Mary and two men who now shadowed them more closely than before, and had now reached one of the canals where Lorenzo’s gondola was waiting to convey them to his palace.

‘You are not what you seem,’ she said. ‘Will you tell me the reason you hate Rachid so much? For there must be other pirates almost as feared, and yet it is he whom you wish to destroy.’

‘That is something I have told to very few,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘One day perhaps I may tell you, Kathryn. But for the moment I think I shall keep my secret.’




Chapter Three


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.




Chapter Four


Kathryn made no attempt to escape as she was taken on board the Spanish galleon. She had considered jumping into the lagoon, but she could not swim and the weight of her clothes would soon drag her under. As yet she was not desperate enough to take her own life. Lorenzo would not walk into the trap that Don Pablo had set for him—why should he? But perhaps a ransom could be paid? Don Pablo had told her that in the last resort he would try to exchange her for his daughter Maria, and perhaps Rachid would accept a ransom for her.

It was very frightening, but she comforted herself as best she could. Perhaps Rachid would not be interested in exchanging the other girl for her and then Don Pablo might release her.

Once on board the ship, Kathryn was treated well. She was shown to a cabin, which clearly belonged either to Don Pablo himself or another important member of his crew. It was furnished with a heavily carved, ornate wooden box bed, on which was a mattress of feathers covered by a silken quilt and several pillows. There was also a table, chair and two sea chests. Looking about her, she noted the iron sconces that held lanthorns secured to the wooden panelling, and when she glanced inside one of the chests she discovered a quantity of women’s clothing, also silver items and ivory combs that she might need for her toilette. There was, however, nothing that she might use as a weapon to defend herself. It seemed that this abduction had been planned with some care.

The door to her cabin had been locked once she was inside and when she looked out of the small square window, she saw that the cabin was situated at the stern of the ship, and she realised that they were leaving the waters of the Grand Lagoon far behind. They were heading out to the open sea, on their way to Spain as her captor had promised.

She whirled around as the cabin door opened, half-expecting to see Don Pablo, but it was merely a sailor come to bring her food and wine.

‘Where is your captain?’ she asked. ‘Has a ransom demand been sent to my uncle?’

The sailor shook his head, saying something in Spanish that she took to mean he did not understand her. It was useless to ask questions—he probably would not have dared to tell her had he known what she was asking.

Kathryn sat down at the table where the tray awaited her. She looked at the bread, meat and fruit provided warily, wondering if it might be drugged or even poisoned. The sailor watched her for a moment, then picked up the wine cup and took a sip as if to show her it was harmless. Afterwards, he wiped the cup with his fingers and gave it back to her.

Kathryn took the cup. She realised that she was actually feeling hungry for she had not eaten since early that morning and it was now late in the afternoon. It would do no good to starve herself, she decided, and ate one of the rich black grapes, the juice running down over her chin. The fruit was crisp and delicious and she reached for a peach as the sailor nodded his satisfaction and left her to her meal.

Kathryn ate most of the fruit and some of the bread. Her fear had begun to abate. It seemed that she was to be treated as a guest as Don Pablo had promised, and, since there was no possibility of her escaping while on board this ship, she must accept the situation and wait as patiently as she could.

Please come for me. The words were in her mind. She knew that she was hoping Lorenzo would find some way to rescue her, but why should he? He had no reason to care what happened to her. Besides, she did not want him to risk his life for hers.



Lorenzo took the letter his servant offered, breaking the wax seal at once. He read the brief message it contained, cursing aloud as it confirmed his fears. Ever since Kathryn’s abduction he had suspected something of the sort.

‘You have news of Kathryn?’ asked Charles, his face drawn with concern. ‘Do they ask for a ransom?’

‘Yes, but not the kind that you can supply, my friend.’ Lorenzo handed him the letter, but he stared at it blankly and gave it back. ‘Forgive me. You do not read Spanish. It is from a man called Don Pablo Dominicus. He is holding Kathryn hostage. He promises she is unharmed, and will be exchanged for his daughter Maria.’

‘What does this mean? Do you have the girl of whom he writes?’

‘No—but Rachid does.’ Lorenzo frowned as he saw that Lord Mountfitchet was puzzled. ‘Some weeks ago Don Pablo came to me with an offer I refused. He asked me to escort his elder daughter Immacula from Cyprus to Spain, but I believe he wanted me to commit myself to him so that I was at a certain place at a certain time.’

Charles stared at him in silence, then, understanding, finished, ‘So that Rachid would know where to find you?’

‘It has a certain logic. One thing that Rachid can never know is where I am at any given time or how many galleys will be with me. If I had agreed to commit three of my galleys and accompany the lady myself as he asked…’ Lorenzo shrugged. ‘At the time I was not sure. My instincts told me that Domincus was lying, hiding something, but I did not know why. Now I understand. Rachid has his younger daughter Maria and demands a ransom from him.’

‘He was prepared to trap you for Rachid so that he might regain his daughter?’

‘A fair exchange in his mind.’ Lorenzo’s face was set in stone. ‘Would not any man be prepared for such a bargain?’

‘Are you suggesting…?’ Charles stared at him in horror. ‘Good grief, sir! No, I cannot ask such a thing of you. Surely we can arrange a ransom for Kathryn? I know that most men have their price.’

‘Rachid’s price is my life,’ Lorenzo said. ‘It seems he would do anything to have me at his mercy. Only if I can return Don Pablo’s daughter to him will he release Kathryn to you.’

‘But that is hardly possible,’ Charles objected. ‘Even if you were willing to make such a sacrifice, how could you trust a man such as you have described to me? You do not know that the Spanish girl is still alive. Besides, what is to stop Rachid murdering you and retaining the girl?’

‘Nothing at all,’ Lorenzo agreed, a hard glint in his eyes. ‘That is why I shall not walk tamely into his trap. At least I know that Don Pablo has taken Kathryn to his home not far from Granada. I have a friend living near there who may be able to help me.’

‘So you will try to rescue her?’ Charles looked at him with respect. ‘You will be at risk, sir. Should you be discovered or captured…’

‘I have survived Rachid’s loving attentions once,’ Lorenzo said with a wry smile. ‘I am prepared to risk it again for Kathryn’s good—but I prefer to believe that it will not be necessary. I may yet bring her out safely. If I fail…’ He shrugged his shoulders.

‘I shall pray that you do not, for Kathryn’s sake and your own.’

‘Perhaps your god will listen,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes glinting with some deep emotion that he tried to suppress. ‘For myself I have little faith in prayer, but for Kathryn’s sake I shall hope that your prayers are answered.’

Inwardly, he shuddered as he imagined her fate if he should fail. She was beautiful and would fetch a huge price in the slave markets of Algiers.

‘And what would you have me do?’

‘Go on to Cyprus as you planned. Find your vineyard and begin a new life. If I succeed, I shall bring Kathryn to you.’ Lorenzo smiled oddly. ‘If not, you must send her father my apologies.’

Charles nodded, guessing that the other’s manner was deliberately reserved, hiding the swirling passion, the anger inside him. ‘It shall be as you say—and may God protect and keep you, sir.’

Lorenzo inclined his head, his eyes dark with an emotion he could not hide, try as he might. ‘May your god go with you, sir. Please excuse me, there are things I must do.’

Charles watched as Lorenzo strode from the room. He must put his trust in this man, for there was no other way. It was strange, but he felt a bond between them, an understanding that went beyond words. Perhaps only such a man as this could save Kathryn, a man who knew far more about the suffering of those who served in the Corsair galleys than he would ever tell.



Kathryn looked at the house to which she had been brought. Nestling on a plateau in the mountains overlooking the city, it was a substantial building of grey stone with small windows, most of which had iron grilles. Once within its walls she would truly be a prisoner. She shivered as Don Pablo came himself to help her down from the horse she was riding.

‘Welcome to my home,’ he said, smiling at her as he took her arm, steering her through the heavy iron gate, which enclosed the house and gardens and swung to behind them with an ominous clink. ‘Think of yourself as my guest, señorita. You are at liberty to walk in the gardens and my home is yours for the duration of your stay.’

‘You are gracious, Don Pablo.’

She held her anger inside. It would do no good to rage at him, for he would only keep her closer. She knew that she was a prisoner, for all his conciliatory words—he would not have allowed her the privilege unless he was sure she could not escape. The walls that enclosed his garden were too high for her to climb. Besides, she had no doubt that she would be watched whenever she was allowed to walk there, but at least it would be better than being kept a prisoner in her room the whole time.

Her good behaviour thus far had been accepted at face value by the Spaniard, who thought her suitably cowed by her situation. Indeed, she was helpless, because his hacienda was almost a fortress. For the moment she could do nothing, but she would remain watchful, waiting for her chance. One of these times her captors might grow careless and then…she would take her chance to escape if she could.

Kathryn would rather die in the attempt to escape than be sold to Rachid, for she knew what her fate would be, and it turned her stomach sour. Better to die than live as a harem slave.



Lorenzo stood in the prow of his galley looking out to sea. They were a day behind the galleon, but his men were pulling at attack speed for long periods. They would not catch the Spanish ship before it reached harbour, but they would not be far behind. With luck they could reach Granada long before they were expected and take Don Pablo off guard.

Lorenzo had not confided his plans to Lord Mountfitchet—they involved serious risk of injury to Kathryn. It was possible that she might be harmed in the attack on the Spaniard, but there was no real alternative. To give himself up in return for Kathryn’s safety was no guarantee that she would be freed. His only true chance of getting her back was to storm the hacienda, hoping for the element of surprise. And the alternative was unthinkable. Better for her that she should die in the attempt to free her than be sold to Rachid.

Don Pablo would think himself safe for a few days, but in believing that he would have mistaken his enemy. Lorenzo’s instincts had warned him of the reason for Kathryn’s abduction. He had begun to make his plans from the moment he had learned she had been snatched.

Lorenzo motioned for the speed to be taken down. The men could only keep up the fast stroke for a certain length of time, but all his men would take their turn at the oar, including Lorenzo himself. He would not demand anything of others that he was not prepared to do himself.

These men were his most loyal, the strongest and the best. Every man aboard this galley was prepared to die if need be.



Kathryn had noticed that the main gates were kept locked at all times, opened only when a body of men went in or out. However, there was a small side gate that the servants used. She had seen an old man with a donkey bringing fruit and vegetables early in the morning. He had left the gate open for several minutes while he carried the produce into the house. From the window of her bedchamber she had watched carefully to see if it was locked after he left, but no one had come for some minutes afterwards.

If the old man came at the same time every day it was possible that she might be able to slip out of the side gate during the period that he was in the kitchens.

Kathryn did not know what she would do if she succeeded in escaping from her prison. She was alone in a foreign country and penniless. It might be that she would make her situation worse, for thus far Don Pablo had kept to his word to treat her as his guest. If she escaped and was mistaken for a woman of loose morals, which she might well be if she approached a stranger for help, her virtue might be in as much danger as her life.

Yet what was the alternative? If she did nothing, she might find herself being exchanged for Don Pablo’s daughter. Kathryn thought that almost anything would be better than to become Rachid’s slave. Lorenzo had spared her the details of the Corsair’s cruelty, but she was not so innocent that she could not guess what her destiny might be once she was in his hands.

Even if Lorenzo were fool enough to come for her, to offer his life for hers, it was unlikely that she would be returned to her family. She would be sold to the highest bidder!



Lorenzo cursed the delay, for more than two days had passed since they landed on the shores of Spain. It had taken that long to contact his friend Ali Khayr and to buy horses for the small party of men he had chosen to accompany him inland. He would have preferred to attack at once, but Ali had counselled against it.

‘I know the man of whom you speak,’ he had told Lorenzo. ‘If he has taken the girl hostage, she will not be harmed. Yet if you attack his hacienda with no plan you may fail. It is well defended and you would be seen before you could get near. Anything could happen to her then. She might be spirited away while you were kept busy at the gates. You would do better to take her by stealth.’

‘Your words are wise as always,’ Lorenzo said, controlling his impatience as best he could. ‘But it would be dangerous—unless I could discover where Kathryn is being kept.’

‘If you will wait in patience for a while, my friend, it may be that I can help you. My servants may go where you may not. Stay your hand for the moment, Lorenzo.’

Against his inclination, Lorenzo had waited, chafing at the bit at the enforced idleness. Some of his men were able to mingle with the townspeople and discover what they could about Don Pablo and his hacienda, but it seemed true that it was almost impregnable to a frontal attack.

Now, at last, Ali Khayr had news for him.

‘There is a side gate,’ Ali began. ‘The main gate is kept locked and heavily guarded. There are armed men patrolling the garden all the time, though the girl you seek is allowed to spend some time there. Sometimes the men grow careless and forget their duty.’

‘Do you think we could gain entrance through the side gate?’

‘One man could do so,’ Ali told him. ‘There are two paths to it. One passes the main gate and would be impossible to negotiate without being seen. The other is difficult terrain, which is why it is undefended. If the girl you seek were near the gate at the right time it would be a simple thing, if she were brave enough, to bring her down to where you and your men were waiting.’

‘I should be the one to go in and fetch her!’

‘With your eyes? A blue-eyed Arab is very rare,’ Ali said with a smile to ease his words. ‘No, my friend, I think not. You would never get past the gate. However, every morning at a certain time an old man delivers fruit and vegetables. He is an Arab and they know him; they scarcely look at him.’

‘Then who…?’ Lorenzo cast his mind over his men. ‘It must be someone who is willing to risk his life. Surely if I stained my face and kept my head down I might pass for a Moor?’

‘Your eyes remain as blue. You need not concern yourself about who shall enter the hacienda,’ Ali told him. ‘Just be there ready at the foot of the descent. You may need to repel an attack—if they realise she has gone, they will try to take her back.’

‘How will this man know where to find her?’

‘I have not lived peacefully in Granada all these years under Spanish rule without knowing their ways. When Bobadil was driven weeping from the Alhambra most of my people left for other shores, but some of us stayed. We live quietly, peacefully, and we watch our backs. Even when Galera was under siege my people and I were left in peace, because we make no trouble for our Spanish masters. The Spanish hardly see us, for we do nothing to make them notice we are still here. We are nothing, of no importance, mere shadows in the night. Some of our people work for them and they take our service for granted. Money is a great persuader. Someone will make sure that the girl is near the gate and the guards are not. If Allah wills it, she will be with you tomorrow at the appointed time.’

‘I shall owe you much if you can arrange this, Ali.’

‘It will be repayment for the debt I owe you,’ Ali Khayr said. ‘Had you not acted so swiftly the day my son was attacked in the marketplace by a mad dog, he would have died. You put your life at risk, for to be bitten by such dogs is to die of the foaming disease. Without my son I should have had no reason to live. Therefore my life is yours.’

‘It was instinctive,’ Lorenzo said. ‘And you have repaid the debt.’

‘Gold alone cannot repay such a debt. But if I give you back this woman the debt is ended. We may meet then as friends.’

‘We are friends now,’ Lorenzo said. ‘And I shall be for ever in your debt.’

Ali smiled and opened his hands. ‘Allah will provide, my friend. Only if he wills it shall our plan succeed.’



Kathryn was unable to sleep. She had risen with the dawn, washing and dressing in the clothes provided for her use, which were Spanish and heavier than she was accustomed to wearing. She stood by the window, looking out at the garden, which was rich with lush greenery and exotic flowers. Soon now the old man would come with the fruit and vegetables and it was in her mind to go down to the garden and take her chance of escape.

‘Señorita…’

Kathryn looked round as she heard the woman’s voice. She had seen the old woman before when walking in the garden and believed she worked in the kitchens. Her skin was a dark olive tone and Kathryn thought that she might be of Moorish descent. Once the Moors had ruled the province of Granada until they were defeated and driven out by the Spanish king, but, though many had sought a life elsewhere, some had remained.

‘What is it?’ Kathryn asked, but the woman placed a finger to her lips, shaking her head. The Morisco woman put her hand on Kathryn’s arm, seeming to want her to go with her and saying something that she could not understand.

Kathryn hesitated, but the woman pulled urgently at her, speaking rapidly, repeating the same instruction over and over. There was no point in resisting, for if she did Don Pablo would send his men to fetch her. She nodded to show that she would go with her, but when she attempted to speak to her the woman put her finger to her lips again and smiled.

Suddenly, Kathryn was alert. Something was happening. She had the strangest feeling that this woman was attempting to help her and that Don Pablo knew nothing of it. When the old woman led her down to the door that led out to the back of the garden and pointed to the far end, she knew that she must mean the gate. She smiled and gave Kathryn a little push, then waved her hands as if she were shooing a goose.

Kathryn smiled, but when she would have spoken the old woman shook her head and disappeared into the house. Feeling nervous and yet excited, Kathryn walked in the direction she had been shown, and as she did so the gate opened and an old man came in with his donkey. She hesitated, but he beckoned to her urgently and she ran the last few steps towards him.

‘Go quickly,’ he said, pulling her through the gate. ‘Down that path. See where it curves to the right and follow. The way is steep and hard, but you will find what you seek there.’

Kathryn’s heart was racing—he had spoken to her in English, though from his looks he was a Moor. She whispered her thanks and heard the gate shut behind him as she began to walk down the steep path he had indicated. It was not the road by which they had come and, as she paused to look back, she realised that only a couple of small windows at the back of the house looked out this way. Once she was past the place where the rock jutted at an angle, it would be impossible to see from the house. Perhaps the path was too narrow and steep to be thought a likely approach for any surprise attack. Indeed, it was not easy for Kathryn to negotiate the path, for some of the rock was loose and twice a shower of debris went hurtling from beneath her feet, tumbling down the side of the rocky crag. Her progress was slow and her heavy skirts made it difficult for her to keep her balance. Had she had a choice she would never have ventured down such a path as this, but she steeled her nerves, knowing that it was her only chance. The old man had promised she would find what she needed at the bottom, and therefore someone must be waiting there for her.

When she reached the place where the rock jutted out at an angle, she paused—the path was so narrow that she did not know if she dared to pass the protrusion. If she fell, she would surely go plunging down the side of the mountain to her death. As she took a deep breath she heard a slithering sound as some loose shingle went sliding down into the valley and then a muffled curse, and then, as she held her breath, a man came round the path and beckoned to her.

‘Come, Kathryn,’ he commanded. ‘Take my hand and I shall help you.’

‘Lorenzo…’ she breathed, her heart leaping. She moved towards him, and somehow she was not surprised that he should be there. Ever since the woman had taken her to the garden she had believed that only one person could have arranged to have her freed.

He frowned as she came towards him, his eyes going over her with disapproval. ‘What is the matter?’

‘Take off those wide skirts,’ he told her. ‘You will never be able to negotiate this path in that gown, Kathryn.’

Kathryn did not hesitate. Untying the strings that held her overskirt, she let it fall to the ground. At once she felt so much easier in the petticoat that fitted to her body more closely than the cumbersome panniers she had donned that morning. She went to him with new confidence, taking the hand he offered. His fingers closed about it tightly and he smiled at her in a way that set her spirit soaring.

‘You are a good, brave girl,’ he told her. ‘Trust me, for this next bit is difficult, but I shall not let you fall.’

‘Thank you.’ She nodded at him bravely, trusting him, confident that he would not let her slip.

He smiled but said nothing, and, looking down, Kathryn saw that the brownish-grey rock jutted out to an alarming degree over what was a sheer fall. The path around it was no more than a ledge and could never have been intended as a path at all. It looked as if at some time a part of the rock had fallen away, leaving this overhanging ledge dangling precariously. It was hardly surprising that the Don had not considered it necessary to guard this side of his mountain home, for a party of men could not pass this way, and the only other approach was past the main gate.

She could never have done it alone! Her heart was in her mouth as she took a tentative step on to the narrow ledge, and only the firm grip of Lorenzo’s hand on her arm kept her steady. They had their backs to the rock, which pressed into Kathryn’s flesh, scraping her as she pushed back against it, edging one tiny step at a time, moving sideways, inch by inch, not daring to look down. Only the firm pressure of Lorenzo’s hand kept her from falling as her eyes closed against the dizziness that seemed to take her mind and for a moment she felt that she could not go on.

‘Not much further,’ Lorenzo said. ‘We are almost there, Kathryn.’

She could not answer—she was too terrified. She breathed slowly, deeply, hanging on to her nerve by the merest of threads, and then, all at once, she found that her feet were on more solid ground and she was suddenly swept into a crushing embrace. Lorenzo held her so fiercely that she almost swooned from the surging emotion that possessed her body and mind. She held on to him, her breath coming in great sobbing gasps as she clung to his strong body and felt the relief wash over her. She wanted to weep, but the feel of his body warmed her, giving her courage.

‘You are safe now, Madonna,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Come, my brave one. My men and the horses are waiting. We have no time to waste—once they know you are missing they will come after us.’

As she looked up at him, he bent his head, his lips brushing hers in the lightest of kisses, so light that she hardly felt it, yet it was enough to set her heart fluttering wildly.

Kathryn blinked as he let her go. She longed to be back in his arms, for she had felt so warm and safe there, but he was already hurrying her down further to where a small party of men and horses were waiting. From there the way was a gentle slope, widening out into the valley, and in the distance the grandeur of the sleeping city lay shimmering in the first rays of the morning sun.

‘Once we reach the galleys we are safe,’ he told her. ‘We shall talk then, Kathryn. But first we have some hard riding ahead.’

She nodded at him, recovering her breath now as he lifted her on to the back of one of the horses and then mounted his own. There was a sense of urgency about him that made Kathryn realise they were not yet safe and she did not need to be told to urge her horse first to a canter, and then, as they left the steep roads behind, to a gallop.



The pursuit did not begin until they had almost reached the shore. One of Lorenzo’s men gave a shout and pointed to a party of horsemen outlined against the sky. The alarm must have been given soon after Kathryn’s disappearance, for the Don’s men were not that far behind them. Lorenzo’s party were urged to make a final effort, and then they were within sight of the cove.

The horses were abandoned to one of the party, who rode off with them in another direction as Lorenzo, Kathryn and half a dozen men began the scramble down to the sandy beach where the boat was ready to take them out to the galley moored in the bay. From above them they could hear shouting and, as she paused to look up, she saw that some of Don Pablo’s men were preparing to fire at them with their deadly mosquettes, a superior weapon of Spanish invention.

Lorenzo pushed her into the boat and climbed in himself, though two of his men had fired their matchlocks at the Spaniards above; however, they were useless at such a distance and did nothing to deter the pursuers from beginning to scramble down the rocky incline to the beach below.

Now they were all in the boat and pushing off from the shore. Don Pablo’s men had reached the beach and were racing to the water’s edge, some of them wading out to take aim at the rowers. One found his mark and an oarsman fell wounded. Lorenzo took his place while Kathryn bent over him, distressed to see that he was bleeding from a shoulder wound.

She tore strips from her petticoat, making a wedge and then binding him as best she could, her attention given to her task as the shots of the men on the beach began to fall short of their target. By the time she had finished her work they had reached the galley and many hands reached out to take both her and the wounded man aboard. She heard Lorenzo giving orders and then a cannon boomed out and she looked towards the shore, seeing that the men there had fled back to the cliffs and were scrambling up them.

‘Kathryn.’ Lorenzo came to her as she stood shivering and at a loss to know what to do. Around her the men were preparing to put some distance between them and the shores of Spain. She alone could do nothing and she suddenly felt lost and terribly alone. ‘Come, you must go to my cabin and rest. This has been a harrowing experience for you. Forgive me, but there was no other way.’

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she said in a trembling tone. ‘I must thank you for my life.’

‘I did very little. The friend I told you of—Ali Khayr—it was he who risked his life to come to you at the hacienda. I pray that he was not taken, for it will go ill with him. He lives in Granada only because his neighbours tolerate him. He says that money buys him freedom, but it was a great risk he took for our sakes.’

‘Then I shall pray for his safety,’ Kathryn said. She raised her head to look at Lorenzo, seeing the customary hard line of his mouth, his eyes giving no hint of his feelings. ‘I have had time to think of and to regret my own folly. Had I not ignored your advice, this would not have happened. I hope that you will forgive me for causing you so much trouble?’

A faint smile curved his lips. ‘Would that I could believe it will be the last time, Madonna.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes sparked with indignation.

Lorenzo merely shook his head. ‘Forgive me, I have work to do. I must stay on deck in case we are followed and attacked. I do not think it, for Don Pablo does not have galleys swift enough to match ours. However, I must be here to direct the men. Michael will take you below.’ He nodded to a man standing nearby, who smiled at her as he approached.

‘I hope you will permit me to say how pleased I am to see you safe, Mistress Rowlands. Please, follow me and I will show you where you can rest.’

Kathryn thanked him. When she glanced back she saw that Lorenzo was bending over the man who had been wounded while rowing them back to the galley. She felt a little hurt—clearly she was less important to him than his men. He had saved her and for that she must be grateful but, for a few moments on that mountainside, he had seemed so different. When he held her in his arms, when he had kissed her so softly, she had believed that he truly cared for her, that she was more than an errant girl he had rescued, perhaps for a price.

But she would be foolish to imagine that she was anything more than another captive he had rescued, no more than a galley slave he might snatch from a watery grave. She wondered how much her uncle had promised to pay him for her safe return, and the thought made her heart ache.

She could not but be grateful to him for what he had done, but she did wish that he had done it because he cared for her and not for money.

Following Michael into the cabin, she saw that it was sparsely furnished, unlike the cabin in Don Pablo’s galleon. There was a plain wooden cot with a straw mattress and one thin blanket, a sea chest and a table with maps spread upon it, but nothing else. Clearly the master of this galley lived much as his men did with no concessions to comfort. His home might be the height of luxury, but here there was no softness of any kind.

‘Forgive us, Mistress Rowlands,’ Michael apologised. ‘There was no time to make provision for your comfort. We did not dare delay for we could not be sure what Don Pablo intended. Had he decided to sell you to Rachid in exchange for his daughter, we might have been too late. Taking you from the Spanish merchant was an easier task, for Rachid’s fortress is guarded day and night. No one who is taken there comes out alive unless Rachid wishes it.’

Kathryn shivered as she realised how great had been the danger of her being lost for ever in some harem. ‘Do not apologise,’ she said. ‘I am grateful for all that you and the others have done, sir. If this is how Lorenzo lives on board ship, then it is good enough for me.’

‘Captain Santorini claims no privileges that are not given to the rest of us,’ Michael said. ‘But I know he would not have chosen that you should travel in this way.’

‘Please, no more apologies,’ Kathryn told him, lifting her head proudly. ‘I shall be perfectly comfortable here. I dare say it is more than I should have been given had I been sold to Rachid.’

‘You may thank God for it that you were not,’ Michael said and made the sign of the cross over his breast. ‘Please rest as best you can and food will be brought to you once we are underway.’

Kathryn nodded. After he had gone she went to look out of the tiny porthole at the sea, which seemed wide and empty, then returned to sit on the edge of the bed. Now that she was alone she was beginning to feel the effects of her desperate escape and to realise how close to death she had been on that mountainside. She closed her eyes, shutting out the memory. It was over. She was here on Lorenzo’s galley and safe.

Tears stung her eyes but she would not release them. There was no sense in giving way to her emotions now. She was safe because Lorenzo had risked his life and others to rescue her. He must be angry with her for causing him so much trouble. As yet, he had not chided her for her foolishness, but no doubt that was to come.



Kathryn lay down for a while. She was tired and hungry, and, waking after a fretful sleep that had not refreshed her, she discovered that Michael seemed to have forgotten his promise to bring her food. She got to her feet and pushed a strand of hair back from her face, feeling dirty and crumpled, and also a little cold in her torn petticoat. When Michael returned she would ask him if there was anything she could wear instead of the clothes that had been given her in Don Pablo’s home.

She had just decided that she would go up on deck when she heard a loud boom and the galley shook from stern to prow. Startled, she rushed to the porthole and looked out. It seemed that two galleys were attacking them, and from the flag they were flying, looked as if they might be Corsairs. The pennant had a white background and bore the sign of the crescent and the letter R in a blood-red colour. Something about the bold statement of the Corsair’s flag made her shiver.

It must be some of Rachid’s men! Kathryn felt chilled as she looked out and saw that the shot Lorenzo’s galley had fired had gone home. One of the galleys had been holed and was clearly in some difficulty. The other galley had fired at them and as their vessel rocked, she knew that they had taken a hit, but then several of Lorenzo’s guns roared at once and the second galley, which was very close, was holed. It went down so fast that she could hardly believe her eyes. One moment it was there, firing at them, and she could see fierce-looking men on deck preparing to board and fight. And now it had gone—but there were some men in the water.

The second galley was retreating, leaving their comrades in the water. She could see them screaming, calling out to the men who had deserted them, but as Lorenzo’s guns roared once more she knew that the second Corsair galley dared not stop to pick them up. Surely they would not leave the men to die?

Kathryn went to the door of her cabin, opening it and going to stand on the little deck that was directly above the rows of oarsmen. For a moment she thought that Lorenzo’s crew were going to ignore the men in the water, for they were cheering as they saw that they had routed their enemy. But then she saw that some of the men were at the rails as if to snatch those they could from a watery grave.

‘You should go below, Mistress Rowlands,’ Michael said, coming to her. ‘It is not fitting for you to be here—and like that.’

She glanced down at herself, realising that she must look as if she were in her nightgown. ‘May I not help with the wounded?’

‘We have our own surgeon to do that,’ he told her. ‘Please go below.’

‘But those men in the water…’

‘We shall do what we can. Please go!’

Kathryn retreated, feeling angry and disturbed. She could hear shouting on deck and men moving about, also the movement of oars that told her they were going on. Looking out of the porthole, she saw that there were several bodies floating in the water, but could not tell whether any of them were still alive. She felt the sting of tears, because she knew that those left behind would surely die.

How could Lorenzo abandon them? She had thought he had more compassion. Yet she was foolish to believe in a softer side. For a moment she had glimpsed another man on that mountainside, but in truth he was ruthless. A hard, cold man who saved only those he believed would bring him a profit.

Kathryn felt chilled. She had believed herself to be falling in love with him—but how could she love such a man?




Chapter Five


‘Forgive us,’ Michael said when he brought food and wine to her later. ‘We were attacked by two of Rachid’s galleys, as no doubt you saw, and there was no time for anyone to eat.’

‘Those men in the water…’ Kathryn said. She felt sick to her stomach, revolted by the sight of food. ‘Why did you not stop to pick them up?’

‘We rescued a few, most of them galley slaves,’ Michael said, but she noticed that he would not look at her as he set down the tray of food. ‘Do not concern yourself for the others. Most were already dead and, besides, they were not worth your pity, mistress.’

‘Is not any man worthy of help?’ she asked, a catch in her voice. ‘In God’s eyes even a sparrow is worthy of notice.’

‘Thank you, Michael,’ Lorenzo said, his voice harsh. ‘You will leave us now if you please.’

Kathryn turned her accusing gaze on Lorenzo as he stood aside for his captain to leave the cabin. ‘There were so many,’ she said, a choke in her voice. ‘Surely they were not all dead?’

Lorenzo’s face showed no emotion as he answered her. ‘They were Rachid’s men—ruthless pirates. They take no prisoners. Can you imagine what would have happened if they had been the victors? Save your tears for those that deserve it.’

‘But they were beaten…’ Her words died as she saw that he was angry. He was arrogant and ruthless. He would not listen to her. She was merely a foolish girl who had caused him enough trouble.

‘Has it not occurred to you that there might have been more of his galleys waiting for us? If we had spent too much time trying to rescue men, most of whom were already dead—or likely to be hung for their crimes if we had rescued them—we might have been attacked again. I do not think that Lord Mountfitchet would have been pleased if you had escaped from Don Pablo to fall into the hands of Corsairs, Kathryn.’

‘Are you saying that it was for my sake that you did not stop?’

‘Does that grieve your tender heart, Kathryn? Do not take my guilt upon your shoulders, Madonna. I saw no profit in saving men I would have to either hang or kill another day if I set them free.’

‘Is everything a matter of profit?’ Kathryn said angrily. ‘Tell me, how much did Lord Mountfitchet pay you to rescue me?’ She saw him flinch and regretted the words as soon as she had said them, but her pride would not allow her to take them back. Raising her head proudly, she looked into his eyes. ‘Perhaps you should know that I am an heiress and my true worth is what my father will give to have me back.’

‘I shall bear that in mind,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes glinting. ‘Perhaps I shall not take your uncle’s ransom after all, Madonna. It might be that you would fetch a higher price elsewhere.’ He moved towards her, towering above her so that she felt shivers run down her spine. For a moment she thought he meant to take her into his arms, and his expression frightened her, but then he shook his head and stepped back. ‘You are a troublesome girl and I have better things to do! Be careful or I may find it easier to be rid of you.’

Kathryn stared as he turned and walked from the cabin. He could not mean that! Surely he was merely punishing her for what she had said to him? He could not seriously mean to sell her to the highest bidder?

No, of course he didn’t. He would hand her back to Lord Mountfitchet and take the agreed price—wouldn’t he? And yet what did she really know of this man? He guarded his feelings so well that anything might be going on inside his head.

Kathryn sat on the edge of the bed, hugging herself as she tried to come to terms with her feelings. For a moment as she gazed into his eyes she had wanted him to kiss her. How foolish she was! He was a hard, cruel, dangerous man and the sooner she was with Charles and Lady Mary the better.



Lorenzo stood staring out to sea. It was a dark night with only a few stars to guide them, but within hours they would enter the Grand Lagoon. He had decided to return to Venice before setting out to Cyprus. His galley had received some serious damage and was not fit to fight again without repairs. It would be sensible to send Kathryn with another of his ships. She might travel on one of his merchant galleys with an escort of fighting ships to protect her. She had found a way to get beneath his guard, and it would be madness to keep her near him—and yet he was reluctant to let her go.

What was it about this woman that had got through to that secret part of him he had kept so well hidden these past years? He had known other beautiful women, sophisticated lovers, who had given him the pleasure of their company and their bodies, but none of them had touched him. There was something about Kathryn that tugged at his heartstrings, making him feel things that he did not wish to feel.

For so long he had kept all his emotions under rigid control, feeding only on his hatred of the man who had enslaved him. Lorenzo had no memory of being captured. His first memory was of being chained to an oar and the lash of a whip on his shoulders to make him pull harder. He could remember the pain of the cuts on his back, which had been tended by another, older slave during the hours of darkness, and the constant chafing of the manacles on his wrists. The memory made the rough skin beneath his wristbands itch, but he resisted the urge to take them off. To ease them he needed a salve that he kept in his cabin, and he would not expose his one weakness to the eyes of the woman who already had too much power over his emotions.

‘Kathryn…’ he said the words without realising he was speaking. ‘Kathy…sweet little Kathy…’

For a moment there was a roaring in his ears and his mind whirled as the stars disappeared and there was only blackness, deep, deep blackness, and then terrible pain. He made a moaning sound as for one moment he saw something—a girl’s face and blood…

‘Did you speak, sir?’

Lorenzo’s mind cleared as his captain approached him. He frowned, for he was not quite sure what had happened to him. It was as if a curtain had lifted in his mind, revealing some incident from the past, which had never happened before. The time prior to his enslavement had been a complete blank, but just for a moment he had seemed to remember.

‘No, I merely cleared my throat,’ he said, banishing the images that would sap his strength. He must banish her from his mind! He could not allow himself the luxury of caring for a woman like that. ‘We were fortunate today, Michael. Somehow Rachid must have known that we were unaccompanied. It was a mistake. When you deal with wolves you should hunt as they do, in a pack.’

‘There was no time to waste if you were to rescue her,’ Michael said and frowned. ‘I fear she does not understand the law of the sea, Lorenzo. It seems cruel to her to leave men in the sea, but she cannot know what they are capable of or that we were in no position to rescue them.’

‘Women and war do not mix,’ Lorenzo said; he had recovered his usual calm. A little smile touched his mouth, though it did not reach the icy blue of his eyes. ‘Do not allow her to make you feel guilt, my friend. The men we killed today served a cruel master because they wished it and we should feel no pity for them. They would have killed us and used her for their pleasure.’

‘Some did not serve willingly.’

Lorenzo saw the doubts in the other’s face. ‘We pulled three alive from the water,’ he said. ‘The others had no chance, chained to their oars—they went down with the galley. We did not make them slaves, Michael. If we are to rid the seas of such men as Rachid, there will be innocent men who must die. We too may die for our beliefs. Only if we accept this can we carry on our chosen path.’

‘Of course.’ Michael smiled wryly. He should not have allowed himself to weaken because of the accusation in a woman’s eyes. ‘She is very beautiful, Lorenzo, and I am a fool. Forgive me.’

Lorenzo smiled. ‘If we let them, women may make fools of us all, my friend.’



Kathryn saw the deep blue waters of the lagoon and felt a sense of relief to know that she would soon be back with Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles. They had been forced to delay their departure for Cyprus and would no doubt be impatient to leave. They could be no more impatient than she, for then she would not have to see Lorenzo Santorini again.

A part of her knew that she was being both ungrateful and wrong-headed in her judgement of him, but she could not help her feelings of irritation. He was such an arrogant man, so sure of himself. So many men must have died when that galley sunk so quickly, and he had saved only a few of them. How would he feel if he were one of those poor creatures chained to an oar and doomed to die unless someone rescued them? He could know nothing of their suffering or their pain.

She remembered his harshness towards the man he had named William. Was there no softness in him, no compassion? For a moment as he held her on the mountainside she had felt such…warmth, love…desire.

Kathryn’s cheeks flamed as she admitted to herself the mixture of emotions that had swirled through her in those brief moments in his arms. No, it was imagination, she could not have felt anything like that! It would be impossible to love such a cold man. What she had felt had merely been relief.

She turned as the door to her cabin was opened and saw Lorenzo standing there, watching her with those deep blue eyes that stirred such feeling in her.

‘My gondola will take you to my home,’ he told her. ‘Please feel free to do as you please within the house and garden—but do not leave it without my escort.’

‘I shall be only too pleased to be with my aunt again, sir.’

‘Lady Mary and Lord Mountfitchet have gone ahead of us to Cyprus,’ he told her. ‘My galley needs urgent repairs and so I returned to Venice for that purpose.’

‘But…’ Kathryn stared at him in dismay. ‘How am I to…It is not fitting that I stay in your house without Aunt Mary, sir.’

His eyes mocked her. ‘You have lately been a prisoner of Don Pablo, Kathryn. Your reputation must have suffered. If, however, you worry for your virtue, you should know that you are quite safe from me. I have no interest in foolish children.’

Her cheeks burned as she saw the mocking light in his eyes. ‘I did not mean—but my reputation…’ She faltered as she realised that in truth she could no longer claim to have one. She had been Don Pablo’s captive, living on board his ship and in his house for several days. Anything might have happened to her during that time, and some might believe it had. ‘I dare say it is too late to worry what others may think of me…’

Lorenzo’s laughter was low and husky. ‘Let them think what they will, Kathryn,’ he said. ‘The man who weds you will know your innocence is untouched and the others are as nothing.’

‘Yes, you are right, sir.’ She lifted her head proudly, though she was sorely troubled. Reputation was everything to an unmarried girl and hers had been tarnished through no fault of her own.

‘We took three galley slaves from the wreck,’ Lorenzo said. ‘None of them have blue eyes, but when they are well enough they will be questioned for any information concerning Richard Mountfitchet that they may have.’

‘I always called him Dickon,’ Kathryn said, her eyes sad and slightly dreamy. ‘And he called me Kathy…his sweet Kathy. We were but children, but we loved each other well.’

Lorenzo’s gaze narrowed intently. A little nerve was flicking at his temple as he said, ‘If you think of any other information that may be relevant, you may tell me. It should take no more than a week to repair my galley and then I shall escort you to your uncle. I believe he took William with him as you asked.’

‘Thank you…’ She looked into his eyes despite her determination to keep her distance, and her heart caught. Oh, no! She was being foolish. She could not be attracted to this man. It was impossible—wrong! Her heart belonged to Dickon and she would never marry someone who could do the things this man had done. ‘I shall be glad to be with my friends again.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘Now, if you please, the gondola is waiting.’



Kathryn paced the floor of her chamber, feeling restless. They had been in Venice for two days now and she had hardly seen Lorenzo at all. Her meals were served to her wherever she wished, but she ate them in solitary state, which only made her feel more alone than ever. It seemed that in being rescued from Don Pablo she had merely exchanged one prison for another.

She was so tired of being in the house! She decided to go down to the courtyard and walk in the garden, but as she went down the stairs and into the main hall, she heard voices and saw that Lorenzo had that moment come in with Michael dei Ignacio. They both turned to look at her. Michael smiled warmly as he saw her, but Lorenzo’s eyes were as cool as ever.

‘I was about to go into the garden,’ she said, feeling it necessary to explain. ‘It is warmer today and the house seems too confining.’

‘You must be tired of being shut in the house,’ Michael told her. ‘I fear we have been too busy to entertain you, mistress. However, this evening there is a masque being held in the open air—perhaps you would care to attend? I shall be going and I dare say Lorenzo may be persuaded to spend a little time with us. And I shall take several of our men to protect you, though I think it unlikely that Don Pablo will try another such trick.’

‘I should like to go with you, sir.’ Kathryn looked at Lorenzo. ‘Have I your permission to go?’

His mouth seemed hard and censorious as he said, ‘You are not my prisoner, Kathryn. I am sure that Michael will take good care of you, though I have business that will prevent me from attending. You will need clothes for the masque, which is said to be very entertaining, I believe. I shall instruct my servants to bring you gowns and masks that you may like to wear for the occasion.’

‘Thank you.’ She sensed his disapproval, which was almost anger that she had agreed so willingly. ‘I shall look forward to it, Signor Ignacio.’

‘I shall be here at the hour of seven to collect you,’ he said and bowed to her. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I have some business I must attend.’

Kathryn turned away as he left, but Lorenzo followed her into the courtyard. She waited, wondering what more he had to say to her.

‘I shall do nothing foolish,’ she told him before he could speak.

‘Michael will make sure that you are well protected. Besides, I do not think that Don Pablo will try another abduction. I have sent him a message and I believe you are safe from him in future, Kathryn.’

‘What kind of a message?’

‘It is not necessary for you to know that,’ he replied, a wintry expression in his eyes. ‘I wanted to tell you that we shall be ready to leave for Cyprus the day after tomorrow.’

‘Oh.’ Kathryn did not know why her spirits had suddenly fallen so low. ‘Thank you, sir. I shall be pleased to be with my friends again.’

‘Once there you will have the freedom that has been denied you here.’

‘Yes…’ She felt her throat closing and was suddenly emotional though she did not know why. ‘Lorenzo…’ She swayed towards him, wanting him to take her in his arms, to hold her as he had for that brief moment on the mountainside. She saw something in his eyes, a glow deep down that made her tremble with anticipation, with a strange longing that she could not name. For a brief moment she thought she saw that longing reflected in his eyes and believed that he was struggling with some fierce emotion, but then he moved back and it was as if a barrier had sprung up between them.

‘Excuse me, I have business,’ he said in a curt tone that brought her swiftly back to reality. ‘You should rest, for you will find our Venetian festivals somewhat riotous.’

He inclined his head, turned on his heel and left her. Kathryn’s cheeks flamed. Had she given herself away? Had he seen that longing in her eyes? Oh, what a fool she was! She did not like what he was or what he did—so how could she feel such tempestuous emotions when he looked at her?



Kathryn chose a gown of white silk trimmed with black ribbons. Her mask was a pretty thing of white, silver and black that fitted over the top half of her face and fastened with ribbons. Her cloak was fashioned of fine soft velvet that felt so comforting to wear, for, though the sun had been warm during the day, the night air was much cooler.

She was waiting downstairs in one of the salons when Michael came to collect her. He wore a harlequin costume in the colours of black and white, which complemented her gown perfectly, and looked the picture of a courtier. He was a handsome man, his dark hair and eyes enough to set the hearts of most ladies fluttering. Kathryn wondered why she could not feel something more for him, for he was much kinder and more courteous than his commander.

‘We make a pretty pair, sir,’ she said and curtsied to him.

‘You are beautiful, Mistress Rowlands,’ he told her. ‘I am but a simple sea captain, but you are a lady and far beyond me.’

Kathryn did not know how to answer him, for she was surprised by his words, which seemed to hint at something much deeper and stronger than mere friendship. She smiled and gave him her hand, blushing as he held it to his lips before leading her out to the front of the palace and down the steps to the waiting gondola.

‘I thought that you might like to see the sights before we join the revellers in St Mark’s Square,’ he said. ‘For this evening is a celebration.’

Kathryn allowed him to hand her into the gondola. Their oarsman took them through the narrow waterways of the city, which was lit with many tiny lanterns and torches, and bedecked with ribbons, flowers and flags.

When they reached the square it was already crowded. Music was playing and people were dancing, everyone dressed in beautiful clothes and carrying or wearing masks. Some were very exotic, resembling the heads of animals or mythical beasts, others were sad or comic, though most were very simple, like hers.

She danced with Michael three times, and then stood to one side to watch the others dancing while he fetched her a cool drink mixed with fruits that tasted sweet. She sipped it and then set the glass down, just as someone caught her arm and she was suddenly whirled back into the throng of dancers. Her heart raced for a moment as she thought it might be an attempt at abduction, and then, as she looked up at the masked man, she knew him.

‘Are you enjoying yourself, Madonna?’

‘Yes, very much,’ she said. ‘I thought you were too busy to come with us?’

‘My business was finished sooner than I thought,’ Lorenzo said and smiled. His mask, like hers, was plain and fitted over the top half of his face, but he was dressed all in black, though the sash at his waist was of silver. ‘I thought I would discover for myself what happens on this night of mystery and feasting.’

‘Why mystery?’

‘Do you not know the legend of the Seventh Moon?’

Kathryn shook her head, her eyes wide with curiosity. ‘What is the Seventh Moon?’

‘It is said that if a virgin looks at the full moon in a bowl of water for seven nights without fail, on the last night she will see the face of her lover—and by morning she will no longer be a virgin.’ There was a wicked, teasing note in his voice that made her want to laugh. ‘Have you looked to see the face of your lover, Madonna? And whose is the face you see, I wonder?’

‘Oh!’ Kathryn felt her cheeks grow warm. She looked away hastily for she did not know how to interpret his teasing. ‘But why is the feast held on this night?’

‘That I cannot tell you,’ he said and she knew that he was laughing at her. ‘Perhaps to celebrate the beginning of the legend—who knows?’

‘I think you invented your story, sir,’ Kathryn said and her heart beat faster as she heard his laughter.

‘Did I, Kathryn?’ he asked. ‘Now, why should I do that?’

She shook her head. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt a little faint, as if she were swept away with some emotion that thrilled and yet terrified her. He seemed so different from the cold, hard man she had become accustomed to thinking him, reminding her of someone she had known long ago. Dickon had told her stories, making them up on the spur of the moment to tease her and make her laugh.

The music had ended for the moment and people were moving away to find food and refreshment. Kathryn stood looking up at him, caught by some strange sensation that gripped her, sweeping her back through the years so that she seemed to be a child again.

‘Who are you?’ she asked, her eyes seeming to be locked with his.

‘I do not know who I am, Kathryn,’ he said, and then, as her breath caught in her throat, he bent his head and kissed her on the lips very softly. ‘Since you came I do not know anything…’

‘Lorenzo.’ Her mouth seemed to tingle from his kiss though it had been sweet and gentle, and her heart was racing wildly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Who knows what words mean?’ he asked, an odd smile touching his mouth. ‘Did I not tell you this was a night of mystery? Michael is looking for you. I shall take you back to him, Kathryn.’

She wanted to stay with him, to be back in his arms, but she knew that the moment had passed as he took her arm, steering her back to where Michael awaited her. Then, before she could say or do anything, he turned and disappeared through the throngs of people crowding the square.

‘I have never known Lorenzo to attend the masque before,’ Michael said, watching him go. ‘Nor have I known him to dance.’

‘Not ever—with anyone?’ Kathryn’s heart jerked as he shook his head. How strange that was! ‘He said that his business had finished early.’

‘Even so…’ Michael looked thoughtful. ‘Will you eat something, Mistress Rowlands?’

‘I am not very hungry,’ Kathryn confessed. ‘Would you mind very much if I asked you to take me home?’

‘No, of course not,’ he said and smiled at her. ‘I am here to serve you.’

‘You were very kind to bring me this evening. I have enjoyed myself.’

‘Lorenzo asked me to bring you. He said that you had been confined to the house too long. I asked him why he did not bring you himself, and he said that you would be safer with me. I did not understand him.’ Michael frowned. ‘I would give my life for Lorenzo Santorini, but…’ He paused, then rushed on. ‘I do not think he is a man who would make a woman such as you happy, Kathryn. There are things in his past that he can never forget.’

‘What do you mean?’ She looked at him, her eyes wide, feeling coldness at the nape of her neck. ‘What kind of things?’

‘Forgive me, I may not tell you. I have perhaps said too much. It is not my business to interfere—but I have a deep regard for you, Kathryn. Forgive me if I use your name without permission.’ She shook her head. ‘You are as brave and generous as you are beautiful. I do not know what Lorenzo intends towards you, but I would not have you hurt.’

‘Thank you for your concern, sir. But I do not think he intends anything towards me—other than to deliver me safely to Lord Mountfitchet and collect the ransom.’

‘What ransom?’ Michael stared at her. ‘If you imagine that he snatched you from that Spaniard for a ransom, you are much mistaken. You do not understand him, Kathryn. Yes, sometimes he takes money for restoring a man to his family. Most are only too eager to pay it and he puts that money to good use. For every man that can be restored to his family there are a hundred that cannot; some can never work and without help would simply starve.’

Kathryn felt very strange, her throat tight with emotion. ‘Are you telling me that the money…?’ Her voice caught on a sob as she realised how badly she had misjudged Lorenzo. ‘He helps the men he rescues if they are not strong enough to work?’

‘Did you imagine that he cast them out to fend for themselves? Better that they should die quickly than starve, Kathryn. Lorenzo is rich, but he cares little for money for its own sake. His purpose in life is to destroy those evil men who prey on others, enslaving them and using them like beasts. That is why I warned you not to love him, for there is such pain in him…’ He shook his head as her eyes begged the question. ‘No, I may not tell you more. I have already said too much and I beg that you will not speak of this to Lorenzo. He would be angry. He makes no apology for what he does to any man—or woman.’

‘I shall never tell him what you have said this night,’ Kathryn said. ‘But I do thank you for telling me. I did not understand.’

She had had no idea what lay behind that mask of coldness, the apparent ruthlessness of his business, the way he saved or took life seemingly at will. Even now she could not think of the men left behind in the water without shuddering, but she could begin to understand.



Lorenzo removed the leather wristbands, rubbing at the ridge of dark purplish-red flesh beneath. The badge of his slavery, a constant reminder that would never let him forget those years of pain and humiliation or the hatred that had festered inside him. At Antonio Santorini’s deathbed, he had sworn that he would not rest until he had brought Rachid down and freed all those he held prisoner. That purpose had driven him from this day until now, and he could not let anything change that—not even the enticing lips of a woman who filled his senses as no other ever had.

She had felt so good as he’d held her in his arms during their dance that the temptation to kiss her had been overwhelming. She filled his mind even now, making him burn with desire such as he had never known. Only the strength of his will was keeping him from going to her now and making her his own. He wanted to feel her soft skin as she lay beside him, to touch her, kiss her, know her fully. To make love to her, to love her, have her always…

No! That way lay madness! He could not lie with Kathryn without letting down his guard. He could not seduce her without offering her his home and his name—but what was his name?

A shiver went through him as he recalled the moment she had looked into his eyes and asked him who he was, and his answer had surprised even himself. He was Lorenzo Santorini, a man dedicated to destroying his enemy. Of course he knew who he was! To let himself dwell on the past—on things that could never be proved—would be to invite confusion.

He rubbed at his left wrist. It was always this one that irritated the most. The flesh was swollen now for he did not use the healing salve as often as he should. Getting out of bed, he took the pot of lotion that had been given him by Ali Khayr, rubbing it into the ridges of tortured flesh. He frowned as he traced the thin line, which extended from beneath the welt of scarred skin. It looked darker than the other scars, older and in some way different. He had not really noticed it until lately. His finger traced it absently, sliding down over the welt of disfigured flesh, making the sign of a letter.

Kathryn! She was too often in his mind. If he allowed her to take over she would destroy him. He had begun to imagine things, impossible dreams that were not for a man such as he—and there were the images that came to him now. Flashes of memory, perhaps? He could not be sure. For so many years he had remembered nothing, had wanted to remember nothing beyond the moment he had seen the face of his enemy and known that he lived only to kill him.

Rachid was not of Arab descent, nor was he a Turk. His skin was sunburned and his eyes were grey, but he was from the Western world—something that had made Lorenzo despise him more. How could he, a man raised to Christian values, use and torture other men so cruelly? He was evil, a disciple of Satan—and Lorenzo could not rest until he was dead.

Nothing must deflect him from his purpose. He must not allow himself to be softened by a woman’s smile—nor must he let those disturbing flashes of memory rob him of his identity. It did not matter who he had been. He was Lorenzo Santorini. A man with no mercy for his enemy.

The sooner he could return Kathryn to her friends the better. If he were sensible, he would send her with Michael as her escort, finish it now. The longer she stayed with him the more enmeshed in her web he might become.



Kathryn looked around the cabin to which she had been shown. It was much more luxuriously appointed than the one she had used on board Lorenzo’s war galley. This was the largest and finest of his merchant ships. It was carrying a cargo of goods to the island, which would be sold to the merchants there in return for another cargo of fine wines and citrus fruits. These fruits were much valued by those who spent their lives at sea, for they were believed to help prevent the dreaded disease that some called scurvy.

She turned as she heard someone behind her, and, looking towards the door, saw that Lorenzo stood there. His eyes were thoughtful as they looked at her, almost brooding. She felt herself tremble inside and knew a longing to be in his arms as she had been on the night of the Seventh Moon.

‘I hope you will be comfortable here, Kathryn. My own cabin was not fitting for you, but we have made more provision this time.’

‘I was happy enough to live as you do,’ she said. ‘Do you travel with me on this ship, sir?’ Her heart was fluttering as she waited for his response, for though she feared what he did to her with those devastating eyes, she also longed for it.

‘No, on my personal galley,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘You will be safe enough for we shall escort you to Cyprus. I have some business there with Lord Mountfitchet.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, though she sensed that he was not telling her the whole truth. ‘It is good of you to go to so much trouble for my sake.’

‘But I do not want to lose my ransom,’ he said, an odd smile on his lips. ‘Surely you must know that, Kathryn?’

‘You shame me, sir,’ she said, blushing. ‘I was wrong to say such things to you.’

‘Were you?’ His eyes narrowed, intent on her face. ‘I am not ashamed of what I do.’

‘Why should you be?’ She flushed deeper as he looked at her more closely, clearly wondering why she had changed her mind, and knew that she must be careful or she would betray Michael’s confidence. ‘Any man is worthy of his hire. If you do someone a service, they should expect to pay for it.’

Lorenzo inclined his head. ‘I have questioned the men we took from Rachid’s galley. No one knows anything of a youth taken from Cornwall all those years ago. It was not likely that they would. I believe that you will never find the man you seek, Kathryn. And if you did…he would not be the same man.’

‘I know…’ She sighed. ‘I have begun to think that it may be best if Dickon is never found. Sometimes I hope that he died long ago. I had heard stories of men being put to the galleys as slaves, but I did not understand what it meant until now. It must be the most soul-destroying thing that a man can suffer, to be forced to work so hard and to know that he is a slave…’

‘Dickon is dead,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes violet dark. ‘The youth you once loved would not have survived without becoming someone very different, believe me.’

‘Yes, I know,’ she said and her voice caught with tears. ‘I know that his father will go on searching for him, but I shall try to remember him as a friend that died.’

‘It would be a waste if you were to spend your life waiting for a man who will never come back to you,’ Lorenzo told her. ‘You should marry, Kathryn. I dare say you would not look at Michael Ignacio, though I know he cares for you. And I can vouch for him as a man of good family and honest values. You could do much worse than to marry a man such as he, for I dare say he would give up the sea for your sake.’

‘If I felt that way for him, I should be pleased to wed him,’ she replied, her eyes stinging with the tears she held back. He was doing his best to persuade her to think of Michael as a husband. Why should he do that? It could only mean that he was telling her not to think of him. She looked at him proudly, coldly. ‘Perhaps I may marry one day—when I return to England. But I am not sure that I could be happy with any other man than Dickon. It may be that I shall never marry.’

Lorenzo nodded and frowned, silent for a moment, then he said, ‘When do you plan to return home?’

‘I do not know,’ Kathryn said. ‘I shall stay with Lady Mary and Lord Mountfitchet for some months and then…’ She could not go on, for her heart felt as if it were breaking, and she wanted to say that she would stay for ever if only he cared for her. His eyes seemed dark with some hidden emotion as he looked at her, but he said nothing that could give her encouragement, nothing to indicate that she meant anything to him. She must put her foolish notions from her head. She could not love a man such as Lorenzo Santorini.

But of course she didn’t! He had called her a foolish child enough times, and she knew that he must despise her for the trouble she had caused him.

‘I believe there will be a campaign in a few months,’ Lorenzo told her, changing the subject abruptly. ‘His Holiness the Pope has gathered a great alliance to try and wipe the scourge of the Turkish invaders from our seas, and, with the demise of their power, much of the piracy that takes place under their flag. I have pledged my support, but if you waited until the following spring I should be happy to escort you to your home.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Kathryn said. She lifted her head proudly, blinking back her tears. ‘I think my father or brother may come to fetch me—but if I should need your help, I shall ask for it.’

‘As you wish,’ he said and smiled. ‘We shall meet again on Cyprus. Excuse me, I have work to do.’

Kathryn felt the tears she could no longer restrain trickle down her face as he walked from the cabin. He was so withdrawn, so distant. How could she have been so foolish as to fall in love with him?

No, no, of course she wasn’t in love with him. It was just that he had saved her from a terrible fate, and she was grateful to him. Yes, that was it. She was grateful to him, and she liked him. It was reasonable to like him for she owed him a great deal. But she did not love him. She must remember who and what he was, a cold, harsh man who lived by the sword.

No, she could never love such a man.




Chapter Six


Why had the ship stopped moving? Kathryn went to the porthole and looked out, her heart beating wildly as she wondered if they were being attacked. She was relieved as she saw that they had halted so that Lorenzo could come aboard. It was a tricky manoeuvre, but she saw him swing himself over the rigging with an ease she could only admire. He had an air of authority, seeming so strong and sure, a natural ability to lead that was apparent in the way his men greeted him. For a moment she was lost in admiration, her pulses racing.

Kathryn sat down to wait, her heart beating faster than normal. Several minutes passed before he knocked at her cabin door and then entered. She was shocked by the gravity of his expression. Her knees felt like jelly and she was trembling from head to foot. What had made him look like that?

‘Kathryn…’ She thought that she had never heard him speak with such emotion, except perhaps for one moment on that Spanish mountainside. ‘I fear I have received bad news. The Turks have invaded Cyprus. It is believed that Nicosia has fallen.’

‘Invaded?’ Kathryn looked at him in dismay. ‘But Lady Mary, Lord Mountfitchet—what will happen to them?’ She had risen as he entered, but now sat down on the edge of the bed, overcome by her concern.

‘We must hope that they have somehow escaped,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Or that a ransom may be paid for their safe return. Sometimes that is the case, especially for those who might not be worthwhile as slaves.’

‘Because they are not young and beautiful—or strong enough to work in the galleys?’ Kathryn’s throat tightened and she felt the sting of tears as she thought of the people she loved become prisoners of the Turks. ‘This is so terrible. How could such a thing have happened? I thought Cyprus belonged to Venice?’

‘As it does,’ Lorenzo said, looking angry. ‘We refused their demands to surrender the island to them, but it seems that the invasion has gone ahead. This means the Pope must marshal the forces of the Holy League. I must go to Rome, Kathryn, and you must come with me. You will wait there for me until I know how things stand.’

Kathryn was silent. Had she been with Lady Mary and Lord Mountfitchet, she would have been on Cyprus when the invasion happened. She might even now be dead or a captive of the Turks, perhaps destined for a harem. She felt shocked by the news, unable to come to terms with the loss of her friends.

‘I have been nothing but trouble to you,’ she said, on the verge of tears. ‘I must accept your offer, sir, for I do not know what else to do.’

‘There is nothing you can do,’ he told her, his words and manner seeming harsh to her. ‘It seems that fate has delivered you into my care, and we must both make the best of it. Now I must ask you to transfer to my galley, for this ship will return to Venice. I must muster my war captains and a ship like this is little use for the task that awaits us now.’

‘Would it not be better if I were to return with this ship?’

‘No, I think not. I cannot afford to send an escort with it and in these uncertain times anything might happen. Besides, I shall not be returning to Venice for some months. I shall leave you with a friend in Rome. You will be safer there until I can decide what best to do with you.’

Kathryn was too subdued to answer him. The possible loss of two people who had been dear to her was heartbreaking and she could not fight Lorenzo this time. Without him she would have been even more vulnerable, for she had little money of her own and could not return to England without help. She was, in fact, completely dependent on him, even for the clothes she wore and the food she ate. It was a humiliating feeling and she hardly knew how to face him.

‘Come, Kathryn,’ Lorenzo demanded. ‘Do not despair. Lord Mountfitchet was warned that invasion was a possibility. It may be that he changed his mind at the last minute.’

She knew that he was trying to comfort her, but her heart was heavy. Despite Lorenzo’s words, she doubted that Lord Mountfitchet would have changed his plans without good cause. All she could hope was that he and Lady Mary had somehow escaped with their lives.



Kathryn looked around the room she had been given at the home of Lorenzo’s friend. The Contessa Rosa dei Corleone had welcomed him with a smile and the warmth of old acquaintance. Kathryn was not certain that she was so pleased to have a stranger as her guest, though she had accepted her graciously.

‘Of course Mistress Rowlands may stay with me, Lorenzo,’ she said, her dark eyes sparkling as she looked at him. ‘You know that I would do anything you asked of me.’

Why, she was flirting with him! Kathryn realised it and felt a spurt of disgust. The Contessa was years older than him!

‘You are generous, Contessa,’ Lorenzo said, an amused glint in his eyes. ‘I shall return as soon as possible. In the meantime, I shall make some provision for Kathryn. Should I not return from the coming encounter, there will be sufficient money to see her safely back to England.’

‘As you wish, my friend.’

The dark eyes were speculative as the Contessa looked at Kathryn.

‘My servant will take you to your room. I am sure you must wish to tidy yourself after so long at sea.’

Kathryn sent Lorenzo a look of appeal. Now that he was about to leave her, she felt as if she were being abandoned. She wanted to cling to him, to beg him not to leave her, but knew that she must not let him see how she felt.

‘I shall see you again before we leave,’ he said, smiling at her reassuringly. ‘There are preparations to be made and I have much to do. It may be three or four days before the rest of my fleet can join me, and another two before we put to sea.’

Kathryn nodded. She fought her tears. Her heart felt as if it were being ripped in two, but she must not weep.

‘You must not think of me. You have your duty—but I would have news of my uncle and aunt…’

‘I shall not abandon you,’ he said and smiled. For a moment her heart lifted as she saw something in his eyes—a look that she had seen only once before. ‘Go with the Contessa’s woman now. She will take you to your chamber. You should rest for a while.’

Kathryn had obeyed him. There was so much she wished to say and could not. Now, alone in this room, the guest of a woman she instinctively knew disliked her, Kathryn admitted to herself that she was in love with Lorenzo Santorini. She did not know how it could have happened, for she had been determined to dislike him. Now she knew that she would find it unbearable if she were never to see him again. If he should be killed…She could not think about it. It was too painful.

‘The Contessa asks that you will come down to her salon as soon as you are ready.’

Kathryn turned, her heart sinking as she looked into the hostile eyes of the Contessa’s servant. She was not welcome here in this house—but what could she do? Lorenzo had brought her here and there was nowhere else for her. Her abduction had taught her how vulnerable she was. She was dependent on Lorenzo’s generosity, at least until there was some news of her friends.

She followed the servant down to the grand salon where the Contessa was waiting for her, and her heart sank as she saw the expression in the older woman’s eyes. She had pretended to be welcoming while Lorenzo was here, but there was no mistaking her hostility now.

‘So,’ the Contessa said. ‘I must make you welcome since Lorenzo asks it of me. In return I demand that you behave with proper modesty while in my house, Mistress Rowlands. I would not have you disgrace me before my friends.’

‘In what way do you fear I shall disgrace you?’ Kathryn lifted her head, eyes flashing with pride. She felt humiliated and was angry. What was this woman implying?

‘You have been travelling alone with Lorenzo Santorini. You stayed with him at the Santorini Palace in Venice. What do you imagine people will think of you if they discover your shame?’

‘I have done nothing to be ashamed of—and I had my maid with me at the palace, and on the journey from Venice to Rome.’ Kathryn did not tell her of the time she had spent alone on Lorenzo’s galley after her abduction, for it could only make her situation worse. ‘This awkwardness is not of my making.’

‘A servant is not a chaperon. You have forfeited your reputation, girl,’ the Contessa said harshly, her mouth twisting with spite. ‘What you choose to do is your own affair, but do not shame me by speaking of it in public, if you please.’

Kathryn’s cheeks flamed. Her anger at being spoken to so unfairly banished the tears that had been hovering. Had there been any other alternative she would have left this woman’s house at once, but there was no way out for her. She must endure the Contessa’s spite, at least until Lorenzo was ready to escort her to her home.

‘I shall behave as befits an English gentlewoman,’ she said with dignity. She lifted her head high, refusing to be cowed by the woman’s hostility. ‘I cannot change your opinion of me, Contessa. For both our sakes, I hope that Lorenzo will remove me from your house very soon.’

‘Very well. This has been distasteful to me, Mistress Rowlands. This evening I attend a private supper at a friend’s house. Tomorrow evening there is a grand reception, which you will attend with me. I hope you have suitable clothes?’ Her tone suggested that she thought it unlikely, stinging Kathryn on the raw.

‘My trunks are on the ship. Once they are delivered, I believe I shall not disgrace you.’

‘See that you do not.’ The Contessa waved her hand. ‘You may go. I shall tell you when I require your presence. If you wish, you may use the gardens and the salons at the back of the house.’

Kathryn left the room, her back very straight. She was humiliated and upset, but anger made her keep her spirits up. How could Lorenzo have brought her to the house of such a woman?



Kathryn dressed in a gown of dark green silk the following evening. She wore a small ruff of gauze that was stiffened with wire and stood up at the back of her neck. Her hair was swept up on her head and covered by a green velvet hood trimmed with silver and brilliants. It was the most matronly of her gowns and chosen to make her look as ordinary and respectable as possible.

The Contessa looked her over as she went down to join her in the salon. ‘Yes, that is well enough,’ she said, her mouth sour with disapproval, for even in this plain apparel Kathryn was beautiful, young and desirable. ‘Do not forget what I have told you.’

‘I shall not forget.’

Kathryn would have preferred not to accompany the Contessa to the reception that evening, but she had little choice. She must do as she was told while she lived under this woman’s roof.

The reception was being held in a large villa built in the hills overlooking the city. Kathryn joined the other guests, smiling but saying very little as she was introduced to the Contessa’s friends as the ward of a dear friend. She was in public a very different woman, smiling and calling Kathryn a sweet child, which made Kathryn want to run away and hide.

However, she stood obediently at the Contessa’s side, speaking only when addressed and wishing that the evening might be over. She liked none of these people and remembered how kind Aunt Mary’s friends had been to her in London, something that made her heart ache as she wondered if her friend was still alive. Would she ever see her kind friends again? Would she ever be able to return to her home?

Seeing that the Contessa appeared to have forgotten her, Kathryn moved towards the marble arches that opened out into the huge gardens, needing suddenly to be alone. She felt lost and alone and so unhappy that she was having to fight very hard to hold back her tears. She went out into the cool of the night air, looking at the stars. Somehow she must find a way to bear this time of unhappiness.

‘Why are you out here?’ Lorenzo’s voice close behind her made her jump for she had not been aware of him. ‘The Contessa was anxious about you.’

Kathryn turned to look at him. Was he angry with her too? She felt a tear slip down her cheek and turned aside, not wanting him to see. She walked away, wanting to escape deeper into the gardens.

He came after her, catching her arm, swinging her round to face him. ‘What is wrong? Why are you crying?’

‘I’m not crying,’ Kathryn sniffed, brushing her face with the back of her hand.

‘Something has upset you. Tell me, Kathryn!’ She shook her head. ‘Are you crying for your uncle and aunt?’ She shook her head again. ‘Then it is the Contessa…’

‘She hates me!’ The words burst from her.

‘Do not be foolish, Kathryn. Why should she hate you?’

‘She says that I have lost my reputation, that people will think I am your—’ She broke off and turned away from him once more.

‘Ah.’ Lorenzo looked at her thoughtfully, seeing the pride and anger, and the despair. ‘I understand. There was always the risk that this would happen, but the damage is done, Kathryn.’

‘I know. There is nothing anyone can do.’

‘No…unless you become my wife.’ He smiled oddly as she whirled round, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Forgive me. I know the idea cannot please you, but it would stop the vicious tongues before they can start.’

‘But you do not want to marry me!’

‘It is a matter of indifference to me,’ Lorenzo said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘ have no wish for a wife, but it would be a marriage of convenience only. You have told me that though you may marry one day, your heart belongs to the man you lost so many years ago. Therefore it can make no difference who you marry. As well me as another. Indeed, I may be the only chance of marriage you will have.’




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