a second thought, but they would not disobey their captain, and when they learned of the ransom they would smile and see the logic of their commander’s thinking. There was no profit to be had from a dead Corsair.
Despite the damage to his own fleet, this had been a good day, Lorenzo thought grimly. He would repair one of the captured galleys and paint it with his own colours. The other would be sold and the money shared between his men. The captive slaves would be given the choice of serving as free men or, in some cases, questioned before being either ransomed by their families or given their freedom. Any who betrayed their surrender terms would be killed at once. The first thing that Lorenzo demanded of any man was loyalty.
However, he had not forgotten his promise to Kathryn. He would continue to question all those who were taken, seeking information about the long-lost Richard Mountfitchet. It was possible that Lord Mountfitchet had been killed on Cyprus, but Kathryn was still alive and he would keep his word no matter what.
As for the dreams that had begun to haunt his sleep of late, he would dismiss them as nonsense. It mattered little who he had once been. He was Lorenzo Santorini and his purpose in life was…He frowned as he realised that he was no longer certain of his purpose.
He had spared the son of his enemy out of pity for a youth who surely did not deserve a cruel death. Yet that did not ease the hatred he felt for Rachid or the bitterness that had burned inside him like a candle flame for so long, driving him on. It would be foolish to let softer dreams rob him of his purpose in life, for he could not change all that had been, all that he was. He had taken life ruthlessly in pursuit of his enemy, and though he acted for good reason it did not wash away the blood.
How could a man such as he love a woman like Kathryn? He knew himself unworthy and yet his body burned for her, his soul thirsted for the sweetness of a life spent at her side.
But he was what life had made him, and surely there was no changing what fate had decreed.
Chapter Seven
Kathryn laughed at something her companions were saying. Her grasp of the language had improved gradually during the months she had lived in Rome. Almost four months had passed since her wedding day. She had had no word from Lorenzo in all that time and did not know what had been happening, for there had been very little news.
‘Elizabeta!’ Adriana Botticelli cried. ‘You are the most wicked flirt. If I were your husband, I should beat you.’
‘If Marco were not so dull, Elizabeta would not need to flirt with Caius Antonio,’ Isabella Rinaldi giggled. She was the youngest of the ladies present, and unmarried. ‘If my father chooses an old fat merchant as my husband, I shall take a lover too.’ She fluttered her fan artlessly, her face alive with mischief. ‘I hope that he chooses someone like your husband, Kathryn. If I were you, I should die of happiness.’
‘But poor Kathryn was married only a few hours before her husband left her,’ Elizabeta said. ‘Have you heard nothing from him, Kathryn?’
‘Nothing. Lorenzo is always so busy. He will come when he is ready.’ She looked up as her companion came into the salon where they were sitting. ‘Is your head better, Veronique?’
‘Much better, thank you, Kathryn.’ She sat down by the window and picked up her embroidery and then, seeing someone approaching, said, ‘Oh, I believe we have company…Why, it is Signor Santorini. Kathryn, your husband is here!’
‘Lorenzo is here?’ Kathryn’s heart missed a beat. ‘You are sure it is he, Veronique?’
‘Yes, quite sure.’
Kathryn’s impulse was to run to meet him, but she fought her desire, pretending to go on with her sewing. She must not betray herself. Lorenzo would not wish her to show too much emotion at his return. He had married her out of pity. He did not want a wife who demanded love.
‘We should go,’ Elizabeta said, sensing the emotion she struggled to hide. ‘Your husband will want to be alone with you, Kathryn.’
Kathryn shook her head, but all the ladies had followed Elizabeta’s example. They trooped out of the room with Veronique in their wake. Kathryn stayed where she was, her heart thumping painfully. She could hear her friends chattering and laughing amongst themselves and then the deeper tones of a man’s voice.
Her heart jerked as Lorenzo came into the salon. His eyes went over her, seeming to search for something, some sign, though she knew not what he wanted from her.
‘Are you well, Kathryn?’
‘Yes, sir. I am happy to see you back. I was anxious for your safe return. We have heard little news of the war.’
‘That may be because there is little to tell. The Turks have taken Famagusta and Nicosia. The League talked of blockading Rhodes, but once Cyprus had fallen the plan was abandoned. Doria has decided to winter at Sicily. I preferred to return to Rome, for there are galleys to be repaired and provisioned and I can do that better here.’
‘I am glad that you did.’
‘Are you, Kathryn?’ His expression was serious, intent on her face.
‘Yes. You must know that.’
‘It will be good to be here with you for a while. We shall be a long time at sea once we leave again in the spring.’
She stood up and went over to the table where a tray with glasses and jugs of wine and fruit drinks had been set out for her guests. She took a deep breath to steady her fluttering nerves, then turned to look at him.
‘May I serve you some wine?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ He stood watching her as she poured the wine and brought it to him. ‘What have you been doing while I was gone?’
‘I have made friends with the ladies you saw here. They take me shopping with them and invite me to their homes.’
‘So you have not been unhappy?’
She had missed him dreadfully, spending many lonely hours in the villa and gardens, crying herself to sleep for several nights after he left, but she would not tell him that. He did not want a wife who clung and wept for love of him.
‘No, I have not been unhappy.’
‘I am glad of it, for I have some news for you, Kathryn.’
‘Of Lady Mary and Lord Mountfitchet?’
‘No, I am sorry to tell you that as yet no news of them has come my way, though I have heard that some did escape the onslaught and reached other islands, before and since the invasion. Even if your friends are still alive, Kathryn, it will take time for letters to reach us. My news was of a possible sighting of Richard—one of the prisoners we took told us of a blue-eyed slave who works in the gardens of a wealthy merchant in Algiers. He was a youth when taken and, though he is apparently physically strong, has the mind of a child.’
‘That is very sad,’ Kathryn said. Once that news would have devastated her, but now she could feel only sadness and regret. Another love had replaced that childish one she had felt for Dickon. ‘Is there any way we can discover more?’
‘I have arranged to make further inquiries. I thought you would want me to continue the search.’
