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Kathryn did not know how to answer him, for she was surprised by his words, which seemed to hint at something much deeper and stronger than mere friendship. She smiled and gave him her hand, blushing as he held it to his lips before leading her out to the front of the palace and down the steps to the waiting gondola.
‘I thought that you might like to see the sights before we join the revellers in St Mark’s Square,’ he said. ‘For this evening is a celebration.’
Kathryn allowed him to hand her into the gondola. Their oarsman took them through the narrow waterways of the city, which was lit with many tiny lanterns and torches, and bedecked with ribbons, flowers and flags.
When they reached the square it was already crowded. Music was playing and people were dancing, everyone dressed in beautiful clothes and carrying or wearing masks. Some were very exotic, resembling the heads of animals or mythical beasts, others were sad or comic, though most were very simple, like hers.
She danced with Michael three times, and then stood to one side to watch the others dancing while he fetched her a cool drink mixed with fruits that tasted sweet. She sipped it and then set the glass down, just as someone caught her arm and she was suddenly whirled back into the throng of dancers. Her heart raced for a moment as she thought it might be an attempt at abduction, and then, as she looked up at the masked man, she knew him.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, Madonna?’
‘Yes, very much,’ she said. ‘I thought you were too busy to come with us?’
‘My business was finished sooner than I thought,’ Lorenzo said and smiled. His mask, like hers, was plain and fitted over the top half of his face, but he was dressed all in black, though the sash at his waist was of silver. ‘I thought I would discover for myself what happens on this night of mystery and feasting.’
‘Why mystery?’
‘Do you not know the legend of the Seventh Moon?’
Kathryn shook her head, her eyes wide with curiosity. ‘What is the Seventh Moon?’
‘It is said that if a virgin looks at the full moon in a bowl of water for seven nights without fail, on the last night she will see the face of her lover—and by morning she will no longer be a virgin.’ There was a wicked, teasing note in his voice that made her want to laugh. ‘Have you looked to see the face of your lover, Madonna? And whose is the face you see, I wonder?’
‘Oh!’ Kathryn felt her cheeks grow warm. She looked away hastily for she did not know how to interpret his teasing. ‘But why is the feast held on this night?’
‘That I cannot tell you,’ he said and she knew that he was laughing at her. ‘Perhaps to celebrate the beginning of the legend—who knows?’
‘I think you invented your story, sir,’ Kathryn said and her heart beat faster as she heard his laughter.
‘Did I, Kathryn?’ he asked. ‘Now, why should I do that?’
She shook her head. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt a little faint, as if she were swept away with some emotion that thrilled and yet terrified her. He seemed so different from the cold, hard man she had become accustomed to thinking him, reminding her of someone she had known long ago. Dickon had told her stories, making them up on the spur of the moment to tease her and make her laugh.
The music had ended for the moment and people were moving away to find food and refreshment. Kathryn stood looking up at him, caught by some strange sensation that gripped her, sweeping her back through the years so that she seemed to be a child again.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, her eyes seeming to be locked with his.
‘I do not know who I am, Kathryn,’ he said, and then, as her breath caught in her throat, he bent his head and kissed her on the lips very softly. ‘Since you came I do not know anything…’
‘Lorenzo.’ Her mouth seemed to tingle from his kiss though it had been sweet and gentle, and her heart was racing wildly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Who knows what words mean?’ he asked, an odd smile touching his mouth. ‘Did I not tell you this was a night of mystery? Michael is looking for you. I shall take you back to him, Kathryn.’
She wanted to stay with him, to be back in his arms, but she knew that the moment had passed as he took her arm, steering her back to where Michael awaited her. Then, before she could say or do anything, he turned and disappeared through the throngs of people crowding the square.
‘I have never known Lorenzo to attend the masque before,’ Michael said, watching him go. ‘Nor have I known him to dance.’
‘Not ever—with anyone?’ Kathryn’s heart jerked as he shook his head. How strange that was! ‘He said that his business had finished early.’
‘Even so…’ Michael looked thoughtful. ‘Will you eat something, Mistress Rowlands?’
‘I am not very hungry,’ Kathryn confessed. ‘Would you mind very much if I asked you to take me home?’
‘No, of course not,’ he said and smiled at her. ‘I am here to serve you.’
‘You were very kind to bring me this evening. I have enjoyed myself.’
‘Lorenzo asked me to bring you. He said that you had been confined to the house too long. I asked him why he did not bring you himself, and he said that you would be safer with me. I did not understand him.’ Michael frowned. ‘I would give my life for Lorenzo Santorini, but…’ He paused, then rushed on. ‘I do not think he is a man who would make a woman such as you happy, Kathryn. There are things in his past that he can never forget.’
‘What do you mean?’ She looked at him, her eyes wide, feeling coldness at the nape of her neck. ‘What kind of things?’
‘Forgive me, I may not tell you. I have perhaps said too much. It is not my business to interfere—but I have a deep regard for you, Kathryn. Forgive me if I use your name without permission.’ She shook her head. ‘You are as brave and generous as you are beautiful. I do not know what Lorenzo intends towards you, but I would not have you hurt.’
‘Thank you for your concern, sir. But I do not think he intends anything towards me—other than to deliver me safely to Lord Mountfitchet and collect the ransom.’
‘What ransom?’ Michael stared at her. ‘If you imagine that he snatched you from that Spaniard for a ransom, you are much mistaken. You do not understand him, Kathryn. Yes, sometimes he takes money for restoring a man to his family. Most are only too eager to pay it and he puts that money to good use. For every man that can be restored to his family there are a hundred that cannot; some can never work and without help would simply starve.’
Kathryn felt very strange, her throat tight with emotion. ‘Are you telling me that the money…?’ Her voice caught on a sob as she realised how badly she had misjudged Lorenzo. ‘He helps the men he rescues if they are not strong enough to work?’
‘Did you imagine that he cast them out to fend for themselves? Better that they should die quickly than starve, Kathryn. Lorenzo is rich, but he cares little for money for its own sake. His purpose in life is to destroy those evil men who prey on others, enslaving them and using them like beasts. That is why I warned you not to love him, for there is such pain in him…’ He shook his head as her eyes begged the question. ‘No, I may not tell you more. I have already said too much and I beg that you will not speak of this to Lorenzo. He would be angry. He makes no apology for what he does to any man—or woman.’
‘I shall never tell him what you have said this night,’ Kathryn said. ‘But I do thank you for telling me. I did not understand.’
She had had no idea what lay behind that mask of coldness, the apparent ruthlessness of his business, the way he saved or took life seemingly at will. Even now she could not think of the men left behind in the water without shuddering, but she could begin to understand.
Lorenzo removed the leather wristbands, rubbing at the ridge of dark purplish-red flesh beneath. The badge of his slavery, a constant reminder that would never let him forget those years of pain and humiliation or the hatred that had festered inside him. At Antonio Santorini’s deathbed, he had sworn that he would not rest until he had brought Rachid down and freed all those he held prisoner. That purpose had driven him from this day until now, and he could not let anything change that—not even the enticing lips of a woman who filled his senses as no other ever had.
She had felt so good as he’d held her in his arms during their dance that the temptation to kiss her had been overwhelming. She filled his mind even now, making him burn with desire such as he had never known. Only the strength of his will was keeping him from going to her now and making her his own. He wanted to feel her soft skin as she lay beside him, to touch her, kiss her, know her fully. To make love to her, to love her, have her always…
No! That way lay madness! He could not lie with Kathryn without letting down his guard. He could not seduce her without offering her his home and his name—but what was his name?
A shiver went through him as he recalled the moment she had looked into his eyes and asked him who he was, and his answer had surprised even himself. He was Lorenzo Santorini, a man dedicated to destroying his enemy. Of course he knew who he was! To let himself dwell on the past—on things that could never be proved—would be to invite confusion.
He rubbed at his left wrist. It was always this one that irritated the most. The flesh was swollen now for he did not use the healing salve as often as he should. Getting out of bed, he took the pot of lotion that had been given him by Ali Khayr, rubbing it into the ridges of tortured flesh. He frowned as he traced the thin line, which extended from beneath the welt of scarred skin. It looked darker than the other scars, older and in some way different. He had not really noticed it until lately. His finger traced it absently, sliding down over the welt of disfigured flesh, making the sign of a letter.
Kathryn! She was too often in his mind. If he allowed her to take over she would destroy him. He had begun to imagine things, impossible dreams that were not for a man such as he—and there were the images that came to him now. Flashes of memory, perhaps? He could not be sure. For so many years he had remembered nothing, had wanted to remember nothing beyond the moment he had seen the face of his enemy and known that he lived only to kill him.
Rachid was not of Arab descent, nor was he a Turk. His skin was sunburned and his eyes were grey, but he was from the Western world—something that had made Lorenzo despise him more. How could he, a man raised to Christian values, use and torture other men so cruelly? He was evil, a disciple of Satan—and Lorenzo could not rest until he was dead.
Nothing must deflect him from his purpose. He must not allow himself to be softened by a woman’s smile—nor must he let those disturbing flashes of memory rob him of his identity. It did not matter who he had been. He was Lorenzo Santorini. A man with no mercy for his enemy.
The sooner he could return Kathryn to her friends the better. If he were sensible, he would send her with Michael as her escort, finish it now. The longer she stayed with him the more enmeshed in her web he might become.
Kathryn looked around the cabin to which she had been shown. It was much more luxuriously appointed than the one she had used on board Lorenzo’s war galley. This was the largest and finest of his merchant ships. It was carrying a cargo of goods to the island, which would be sold to the merchants there in return for another cargo of fine wines and citrus fruits. These fruits were much valued by those who spent their lives at sea, for they were believed to help prevent the dreaded disease that some called scurvy.
She turned as she heard someone behind her, and, looking towards the door, saw that Lorenzo stood there. His eyes were thoughtful as they looked at her, almost brooding. She felt herself tremble inside and knew a longing to be in his arms as she had been on the night of the Seventh Moon.
‘I hope you will be comfortable here, Kathryn. My own cabin was not fitting for you, but we have made more provision this time.’
‘I was happy enough to live as you do,’ she said. ‘Do you travel with me on this ship, sir?’ Her heart was fluttering as she waited for his response, for though she feared what he did to her with those devastating eyes, she also longed for it.
‘No, on my personal galley,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘You will be safe enough for we shall escort you to Cyprus. I have some business there with Lord Mountfitchet.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, though she sensed that he was not telling her the whole truth. ‘It is good of you to go to so much trouble for my sake.’
‘But I do not want to lose my ransom,’ he said, an odd smile on his lips. ‘Surely you must know that, Kathryn?’
‘You shame me, sir,’ she said, blushing. ‘I was wrong to say such things to you.’
‘Were you?’ His eyes narrowed, intent on her face. ‘I am not ashamed of what I do.’
‘Why should you be?’ She flushed deeper as he looked at her more closely, clearly wondering why she had changed her mind, and knew that she must be careful or she would betray Michael’s confidence. ‘Any man is worthy of his hire. If you do someone a service, they should expect to pay for it.’
Lorenzo inclined his head. ‘I have questioned the men we took from Rachid’s galley. No one knows anything of a youth taken from Cornwall all those years ago. It was not likely that they would. I believe that you will never find the man you seek, Kathryn. And if you did…he would not be the same man.’
‘I know…’ She sighed. ‘I have begun to think that it may be best if Dickon is never found. Sometimes I hope that he died long ago. I had heard stories of men being put to the galleys as slaves, but I did not understand what it meant until now. It must be the most soul-destroying thing that a man can suffer, to be forced to work so hard and to know that he is a slave…’
‘Dickon is dead,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes violet dark. ‘The youth you once loved would not have survived without becoming someone very different, believe me.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she said and her voice caught with tears. ‘I know that his father will go on searching for him, but I shall try to remember him as a friend that died.’
‘It would be a waste if you were to spend your life waiting for a man who will never come back to you,’ Lorenzo told her. ‘You should marry, Kathryn. I dare say you would not look at Michael Ignacio, though I know he cares for you. And I can vouch for him as a man of good family and honest values. You could do much worse than to marry a man such as he, for I dare say he would give up the sea for your sake.’
‘If I felt that way for him, I should be pleased to wed him,’ she replied, her eyes stinging with the tears she held back. He was doing his best to persuade her to think of Michael as a husband. Why should he do that? It could only mean that he was telling her not to think of him. She looked at him proudly, coldly. ‘Perhaps I may marry one day—when I return to England. But I am not sure that I could be happy with any other man than Dickon. It may be that I shall never marry.’
Lorenzo nodded and frowned, silent for a moment, then he said, ‘When do you plan to return home?’
‘I do not know,’ Kathryn said. ‘I shall stay with Lady Mary and Lord Mountfitchet for some months and then…’ She could not go on, for her heart felt as if it were breaking, and she wanted to say that she would stay for ever if only he cared for her. His eyes seemed dark with some hidden emotion as he looked at her, but he said nothing that could give her encouragement, nothing to indicate that she meant anything to him. She must put her foolish notions from her head. She could not love a man such as Lorenzo Santorini.
But of course she didn’t! He had called her a foolish child enough times, and she knew that he must despise her for the trouble she had caused him.
‘I believe there will be a campaign in a few months,’ Lorenzo told her, changing the subject abruptly. ‘His Holiness the Pope has gathered a great alliance to try and wipe the scourge of the Turkish invaders from our seas, and, with the demise of their power, much of the piracy that takes place under their flag. I have pledged my support, but if you waited until the following spring I should be happy to escort you to your home.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Kathryn said. She lifted her head proudly, blinking back her tears. ‘I think my father or brother may come to fetch me—but if I should need your help, I shall ask for it.’
‘As you wish,’ he said and smiled. ‘We shall meet again on Cyprus. Excuse me, I have work to do.’
Kathryn felt the tears she could no longer restrain trickle down her face as he walked from the cabin. He was so withdrawn, so distant. How could she have been so foolish as to fall in love with him?
No, no, of course she wasn’t in love with him. It was just that he had saved her from a terrible fate, and she was grateful to him. Yes, that was it. She was grateful to him, and she liked him. It was reasonable to like him for she owed him a great deal. But she did not love him. She must remember who and what he was, a cold, harsh man who lived by the sword.
No, she could never love such a man.
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