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
