of your arrival here.’
‘Rachid is dead?’
‘Have I not said so? You must forgive me for keeping you waiting so long, signor. My father’s death was unexpected and caused me a few problems.’ He waved his hand to indicate the wealth in the room. ‘There were others who wished to share in these things, which are rightfully mine. They have been dealt with, but it took a little time.’
Lorenzo repressed a shudder. For a moment he saw something in the younger man’s eyes that made him go cold. At that moment there was no doubting he was Rachid’s son.
‘However, you wish to know why you are here?’
‘I believed I was brought here at Rachid’s command?’
‘He intended to have you killed…very slowly I believe. You forced him to exchange a woman he wanted for me—a poor exchange, in his opinion, but one he was obliged to make.’ Hassan’s eyes glinted with anger, and he seemed to be waiting for Lorenzo’s reply, but when none came he went on. ‘However, I am not my father. I like beautiful things, as you see. Women, jewels, silks—all these things please me. I do not like blood. My father forced me to command one of his galleys, but now he is dead.’ Something in Hassan’s eyes told Lorenzo that he was pleased rather than distressed at the fact of his father’s death. ‘You could have killed me when you took our ships. Will you tell me why you spared me?’
‘I thought that you did not deserve to die. You are not your father, his sins are not yours.’
‘No, I carry my own sins, not his.’ Again Hassan’s eyes glittered. ‘You were merciful when your men would have killed me. Now I shall be merciful. You gave me my life, I give you yours. You may leave my house when you choose. One of my galleys will take you wherever you wish to go in safety, that is my promise to you.’
‘If you mean that, I would go to Rome.’
‘Ah, yes. You have taken a wife.’ Hassan nodded. ‘I too am about to take my first wife. We have much in common, Signor Santorini. You will do me the honour of dining with me this evening. Tomorrow you may leave.’ He indicated one of the divans. ‘Please sit, signor. Tell me about your wife.’
Lorenzo sat, thinking furiously. He did not yet quite believe in his good fortune. This might be some deceit that was intended to lull him into a false sense of security so for the moment he must be very careful. Hassan was Rachid’s son and might be capable of the same cruelty as his father. It seemed that he was sincere, but Lorenzo would remain alert until he was safely back in Rome. Rome meant Kathryn. He smiled and looked at the younger man.
‘It is because of my wife that I sent you back to your father…’
‘Do we really have to have such a large gathering?’ Kathryn asked. She had no desire to sit down to a banquet with thirty or more guests, nor did she wish to dance and make merry.
‘We are celebrating your brother’s betrothal,’ Sir John said, giving her a severe look. ‘You would not wish to appear lacking in your good wishes towards Philip and Mary Jane?’
‘No, Father, of course not. Mary Jane is a sweet girl and I have told Philip how happy I am for him, but—’
‘I shall hear no excuses, Kathryn. I have forgiven you for your earlier neglect of duty towards me, but I insist you oblige me in this matter.’
Kathryn turned away, feeling his harshness like the sting of a whip. She had never known her father to be so stern and it hurt her deeply. He did not seem to understand that she was suffering terribly. She loved Lorenzo so much that sometimes her grief was almost impossible to bear.
Leaving her father, she fetched her cloak and went out walking. It was bitterly cold, the wind whipping about her slight body, tugging at her clothes as if it wished to tear them away. Kathryn shivered, her face pinched and white. It was so much colder here on this Cornish coast than in Rome; there the winds had been warm, the air perfumed by sweet flowers, and she longed to be back there. She shuddered as she felt the icy wind touch her face, glancing up as the storm clouds gathered overhead.
Such grey skies! How could she bear to go on living in this cold grey world without Lorenzo? It would be so much easier to die, for if there was an afterlife, as the priests promised, she might be with her lover.
Her footsteps took her beyond her father’s estate, to the cliffs above the cove where her beloved Dickon had been stolen from her so many years ago.
Was it possible that Lorenzo and Dickon were the same person? Charles Mountfitchet certainly believed it was so and Kathryn recalled the way her heart had recognised him the first time she gazed into his eyes—eyes so blue that no others compared. Yet she had rejected the thought, believing him a highborn Venetian, the true son of Antonio Santorini. She had not been willing to accept that such a man could be her lost love, and yet now…
It seemed that she had lost her love for the second time. But why should she go on alone? Why should she bear this pain another moment? She had only to take two steps forward and she would go crashing down into that swirling venomous sea, where she would be instantly crushed against the jutting rocks.
‘Kathryn? Kathryn! No, you must not!’
She turned as she heard the voice, her face suddenly alight with hope. For a moment she thought the man hurrying towards her was Lorenzo, but then she saw that it was Michael and she went to meet him, her heart racing. Perhaps he had news!
‘Kathryn!’ Michael said, his face anguished by concern. He had thought she meant to jump. ‘I thought for a moment that you meant to…’
‘Have you news?’ she asked, her hand reaching out to him in supplication. ‘Have you heard from him?’
‘I am sorry.’ He looked at her sadly, devastated that he must tell her what would hurt her. ‘I have been told that he was shot while trying to escape and fell into the sea. I believe our search is at an end.’
‘No…’ Kathryn moaned and swayed as the despair swept over her, engulfing her senses. ‘Lorenzo, no!’ She had known it must be so, but to hear the details was unbearable. ‘My love…’
Michael caught her to him lest she fall. He held her as she sobbed out her grief against his chest, his lips murmuring words of comfort against the perfume of her hair.
‘My sweet love,’ he said softly. ‘Forgive me. I know it is Lorenzo you love, but I am here. I would love and protect you, heal your hurts.’
‘I cannot…’ She looked up at him, her eyes dark with grief. ‘I shall never love another. Never marry again.’
‘Hush, Kathryn. I do not ask it. I ask only to be your friend and perhaps one day you will look on me kindly. When your grief has healed.’
Kathryn could not answer him. Her heart felt as if it had been cleaved in two. Everyone spoke of her grief healing one day, but they did not understand. No one knew how she felt. Michael was being kind, and she loved him as a friend, but he could never take Lorenzo’s place in her heart. It was impossible.
‘Come,’ she said, lifting her head, pride battling with the urge to give way to this pain inside her. She must try to put off this heavy grief. She must make an effort for the sake of her friends and family. ‘We must go back to the house, sir. My father will wish to speak with you.’
