you dead. Kathryn has grieved enough.’ Michael was defensive, angry in his disappointment, for he knew that he had lost all chance of her. ‘I merely sought to comfort her.’
‘We shall speak later.’
Lorenzo turned away, carrying Kathryn’s limp form in his arms. He had such an air of command, such burning anger in every line of his face that when he demanded Kathryn’s chamber, servants hurried to conduct him there.
Sir John watched the little scene from across the room. He had hoped for a match between Michael dei Ignacio and his daughter, but one look at Lorenzo’s face had told him that it would be both futile and dangerous to attempt to deny him. He had come to claim his wife and nothing would stop him.
Sir John moved to confront him as he strode from the hall. ‘My daughter, sir?’
‘Is safe enough with me.’
‘You wed her under a false name.’
‘Not so. Antonio Santorini adopted me. I am legally his heir and bear his name. My father has agreed that I shall keep it at least until I inherit his title—which I pray will be many years in the future.’
Kathryn moaned and fluttered her eyelashes.
‘Take her to her chamber,’ Sir John said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. ‘She has made herself ill with her grief.’
Lorenzo inclined his head. He followed the servants up the stairs to Kathryn’s chamber. Servants fluttered ahead, clearly impressed by this stern-faced, aristocratic man who had declared himself her lawful husband to an astounded company. Covers were pulled back so that he might deposit his precious burden on clean linen. But when they lingered, their eyes large with curiosity, he dismissed them with an imperious wave of his hand.
Kathryn was stirring. Her lashes were wet. She had been crying earlier—and yet she had been holding Michael’s hand when he first saw her enter the hall. He felt a surge of murderous jealousy against his friend. Had Michael stolen her love from him? For a moment as he saw them together in the hall he had contemplated murder.
Kathryn’s eyelids moved. She opened her eyes, gazing up at him for a moment in bewilderment as though she did not believe what she saw, closing them once more as a tear squeezed from beneath her lashes.
‘I am sorry that the sight of me made you faint, Kathryn.’
She opened her eyes again. ‘Is it truly you, Lorenzo? They told me there was no hope—that you were dead.’
‘And if I had been?’ His voice was made harsh by anger. ‘Would you have married Michael?’
‘No!’ She edged herself up against the pillows. The faintness had gone now, but she had a nasty taste in her mouth and her head ached. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? You know I love you. You must know it!’
‘Do you? You had been somewhere with Michael—in the midst of your brother’s betrothal feast you slipped away with him. Why would you do that if you were not lovers? It is some months since you thought me lost, but I had hoped you would not have forgotten me so soon.’
‘You cannot think that I would betray you so easily?’ Kathryn was shocked, hurt. He had looked at her this way once before, as if he hated her. He blamed her for what had happened to him. ‘My father said that I must marry again. I did not wish to—but Michael said he would be patient…’ She faltered as she saw the fury in his eyes. He was so very angry! ‘He did ask me to marry him—a marriage in name only for the moment. I told him I needed time to consider.’
‘You could not believe he meant that?’ Lorenzo’s voice lashed at her like a leather thong. ‘He would take you any way he could, but he wants you the way a man wants his woman. The way I want you, Kathryn.’ His hot eyes scorched her, making her tremble all over.
‘I did not wish to marry again.’
‘Yet you would have let them persuade you had I not returned. I thought your love stronger, Kathryn.’
‘It is,’ she said. He must believe her! She gave him a pleading, desperate look. ‘You know I love you. I have always loved you.’
‘Even when we were children?’ he asked. ‘You forgot your poor Dickon when you fell in love with Lorenzo—and you would have forgotten him as easily again once Michael was your husband.’
The reproach in his voice stung her, but he was unfair. ‘That is not true! You know it isn’t, Lorenzo. I am yours. I have always been yours…’
‘Yes, you are mine, that much is true.’ He rose from his seat on the side of her bed, causing her to look alarmed.
‘Pray do not leave me!’
‘You need to rest. We shall talk another time, for now I shall call your women to attend you. In the morning we leave for Mountfitchet.’ His eyes were cold, remote. ‘We are married, Kathryn, though your father would have had it otherwise. You will come with me. I do not give up what is mine, nor do I easily forgive.’
Kathryn stared after him as he left the room. He was insisting that she go with him and yet he was angry with her. He blamed her for his capture, because his love for her had made him careless, and he had decided to withdraw from her again.
She had longed, prayed for his return, hoping that he was alive despite all the odds, yet now that he had come to her, he had closed the door, shutting her out once more. It could only mean that he no longer loved her.
The journey to Mountfitchet Hall took only half a day’s journey by horseback. It was bitterly cold, little flurries of snowflakes drifting into their faces, but not yet settling on the hard ground. Kathryn rode by her husband’s side, glancing at the stern cast of his features from time to time. Two of her women and ten of Lorenzo’s own men accompanied them.
When they reached Mountfitchet, she noticed that Lorenzo seemed to know exactly where he was going and wondered if he had been to the estate before coming to her father’s house. They were greeted eagerly by Lord Mountfitchet’s servants, who treated him respectfully as their master and seemed delighted to see him.
‘Did you call here before you came to us?’ she asked him when the greetings were over and they were alone in the private parlour that was situated to the right of the Great Hall.
‘No, I came straight to you. Why do you ask?’
‘You seem so at home here.’
‘It was my home for fifteen years, Kathryn.’ His eyes were intent on her face, though not as cold as the previous evening.
She opened her eyes wide in surprise. ‘Have you recovered your memory? Charles told us that you had some vague memories, but you seem so sure…’
‘I remember everything, Kathryn. Just as it happened.’
‘You recall that day on the beach—the men who took you?’ He nodded. ‘Do you hate me for what happened to you?’
‘Why should I hate you?’ He looked puzzled.
‘Because it was my fault. I dared you to go down to the beach to see what they were doing.’
‘I
