wife. When he is dead, Rachid will take me back again.’
Michael struggled with her, but somehow her blade struck him in the chest and he gave a cry of pain, staggering back as the blood spurted. Lorenzo caught Maria’s arm as she attempted to strike again, twisting it back so that she screamed with pain this time and the knife fell to the floor. He kicked it away, jerking her arm up so that she was unable to fight him, and she went limp in his grasp.
Kathryn was bending over Michael as he clutched at his chest, and now people were spilling out of Elizabeta’s house, alarmed by the noise and Maria’s screaming.
‘Take the bitch,’ Lorenzo commanded as some of his men came running out of the shadows. ‘We shall deal with her later. How is he, Kathryn?’ He looked down at Michael as she cradled him in her arms.
‘I fear he is in a bad way,’ Kathryn said, her cheeks pale from shock. ‘The wound went deep and he is bleeding badly’
‘Bring him into the house,’ Elizabeta’s voice commanded. ‘My servants shall go for the physician at once and we shall do what we can for him.’
Kathryn watched as Michael was lifted and carried into the house. Lorenzo followed as she did, feeling bewildered amongst all the consternation. Everyone was shocked. It had been such a lovely evening and now a man was wounded, perhaps fatally.
How could it have happened? Kathryn heard the shocked whispers, for Michael was popular with many of the assembled company. People were saying that Maria must be punished, that she deserved to hang for her crime—and there were some who suggested burning, for she must surely be in league with the devil to have done such wicked things. Her attempt to murder Kathryn, and then Lorenzo—who would have been her victim if Michael had not acted so swiftly.
Kathryn followed Elizabeta as they carried Michael up the stairs to one of the many guest chambers. Together they prepared the bed for him, and made him as comfortable as was possible. He was still living, though he had lost consciousness as he was carried in, the blood soaking through his shirt and doublet.
‘Help me remove his things,’ Elizabeta instructed. ‘We must try to staunch the flow of blood until the surgeon can tend him.’
Kathryn obeyed her, for it was obvious that she knew what she was about. Between them they cut away his doublet and shirt, leaving only his hose. Servants had brought linen and water, and Elizabeta cleansed the wound. Kathryn helped her to bind it tightly. In all this time Michael had not opened his eyes.
‘That bitch will pay for this,’ Lorenzo said when they had finished their task. Grief was working in his face. ‘Damn her to hell for this night’s work! She has killed one of the best men that ever lived.’
‘No, no, my love,’ Kathryn said. ‘Michael is strong. He has every chance of recovery.’
‘You have not seen men die,’ he said his voice harsh. ‘I do not believe in miracles. If Michael dies, so shall she!’
‘Lorenzo…’ Kathryn’s throat caught, for she knew that beneath the anger was a terrible grief. Michael was as a brother to him, his closest friend. ‘Please do not…’ She meant only to comfort him, but his eyes glittered with anger.
‘Do not plead for her life, Kathryn,’ he said coldly. ‘She is an evil woman and she deserves her fate. I would see her dead for what she has done this night.’
‘Where are you going?’ she asked as he turned to leave the room.
‘Stay here, Kathryn,’ he said. ‘Elizabeta may need your help. I shall return later.’
Kathryn stared after him. How could such a terrible thing have happened? It had been such a lovely evening. Lorenzo had been so pleased to have his friend back, and Michael had brought her good news—and now it looked as if it might all end in tragedy.
Why had he ever traded Rachid’s son for the Spanish girl? Lorenzo cursed himself as he left the house. It would have been better to have given Hassan the swift death he had pleaded for and left the girl to her fate. It was his fault for allowing himself to feel compassion. He had always known that to become soft was to invite disaster. Only a hard man could exist in the world he inhabited and he had been a fool to imagine he could change.
His feelings for Kathryn had made him soft, and he had relaxed his guard. He had not been aware of Maria. His instincts had let him down. In a mood of exhilaration and excitement, he had allowed a woman to murder his best friend.
It would not have happened at any other time! It would be his fault if Michael died. He should have been more aware. Instead of letting the girl live as a guest in his home, he should have kept her a prisoner and sent her back to her father immediately.
His love for Kathryn had made him weak. He had always known that he could not afford to love a woman, and now Michael lay close to death because he had betrayed his own rules.
His fists clenched at his sides. It would not happen again. He must be on his guard in future for, if a woman could come so close to destroying him and all he cared for, his true enemies would succeed where she had failed. Next time it might be Kathryn who paid the price.
Michael lay close to death for three days and nights. Kathryn stayed at Elizabeta’s house to help nurse him. She saw Lorenzo only a few times, briefly, just to report on his friend’s progress. Yet she sensed that an icy barrier had formed between them. Lorenzo was deliberately shutting her out.
What had she done to deserve this? Did Lorenzo blame her because Maria had attacked his best friend? She had asked that the Spanish girl might be allowed to stay with them at the beginning—but how could she have known what Maria was capable of doing? Surely he could not blame her for Maria’s crime? And yet it seemed he must, for he had withdrawn from her. She had never known him to be so cold, so remote. Even at the beginning he had liked to tease her—now she felt that he had shut her out of his life.
After the third day, Michael’s fever began to abate. He woke once when Kathryn was tending him, smiling at her as she bathed his forehead and gave him cool water to drink.
‘You are very kind.’
‘You saved Lorenzo’s life. I would not have you die for it, Michael.’
‘He is my friend—my brother.’
‘Yes, I know.’ She smiled at him. ‘Sleep now. You have good friends to care for you.’
Michael closed his eyes. Kathryn turned to see Lorenzo watching her from the doorway. She thought his expression very odd, for it was a mixture of remorse and…she was not sure what else.
‘How is he?’
‘A little better, I think.’ She moved towards him. ‘I have stayed here for his sake and because we cannot expect to leave everything to Elizabeta, generous as she is. Once Michael is well enough, we can arrange for him to come home to us.’
‘You think he will recover?’
‘I pray that he will, Lorenzo.’
‘I have no faith in prayers.’ His expression hardened.
‘Yet sometimes they are answered.’
‘Perhaps.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘I
