In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe
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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 were you so harsh to him?’
‘He needed to be told, for you had unmanned him with your kindness. He is not used to that, Kathryn. You must give him time to become accustomed to his new life.’
She felt hurt by his accusation. ‘He needs kindness, not harsh words.’
‘I have dealt with many such victims. You do not know what you do, Kathryn. If you treat him too kindly he will become as your lapdog, a pet to beg at your feet for scraps. No man should feel that way. It is better that he hates, for hatred makes a man strong.’
Kathryn’s eyes widened as she looked at him. ‘Is that how you became so strong?’ she asked. ‘Do you hate so much that you cannot feel kindness, Lorenzo?’
It was the first time she had used his given name and she did not know what had prompted her to do it, and yet she felt that somehow she was closer to him, closer to knowing him than she had ever been.
‘I learned from a master,’ he said. ‘What will you do if your uncle refuses to have the man as one of his people?’
Kathryn dropped her eyes, for she did not know. Lord Mountfitchet had come to find his son and she knew that William was not Dickon, felt it instinctively inside her. She had wanted it to be so, but it was not—and yet her heart was filled with pity for the former slave.
‘I do not think he will refuse me,’ she said. ‘Lord Mountfitchet has always been kind and generous to me—especially since we lost Dickon.’
‘You called him Lord Mountfitchet then—is he not your uncle?’
‘We are not blood relations,’ Kathryn said. ‘My father and Uncle Charles are lifelong friends and I would have married Richard Mountfitchet if…’She shook her head sadly. ‘This man is not the one I loved. I would have known it—besides, his eyes are too pale a blue. Dickon had eyes like…’ She looked up and found herself gazing into eyes so blue that they took her breath. ‘He had your eyes, Lorenzo. If I did not know it was impossible, I would say that you were more likely to be Richard Mountfitchet than that poor creature.’
‘I am not the man you seek!’ Lorenzo’s tone was harsh, even angry.
‘I know that. Forgive me,’ she apologised. ‘How could you be a poor galley slave? You have too much pride, too much arrogance.’
To her surprise, Lorenzo threw back his head and laughed. She had not expected him to be amused and was at a loss for words.
‘Nay, Madonna, do not look so bewildered. Should I be angry when you pay me a compliment?’
‘It was not meant as one,’ she came back swiftly.
‘Perhaps not, but I take it as one,’ he said. ‘You think me a Venetian prince, perhaps, born to the life I lead?’
‘Is that not the case?’ she asked and for a moment as she looked deep into his eyes her heart raced. Something in his eyes made her think that he would take her in his arms and kiss her, and her heart leapt with sudden excitement. Her breath caught, her eyes opening wider as she looked up into his face.
‘It might be—and then again it might not,’ Lorenzo told her, a smile of mockery in his eyes now. His laughter had been genuine, but this was meant to put her in her place. ‘You will not gain my secret so easily, Kathryn.’
‘Why should I wish to know it?’ she asked and turned on her heel, walking into the house, her back stiff with a mixture of anger and pride.
‘Why indeed?’ he called after her, and then, in a softer tone that she could not hear, ‘Better that you should not know the devil you would rouse, sweet Kathryn. Better for you…and for me.’
Kathryn did not look back, but she was shivering with some strange emotion that she did not understand. When he had looked at her a moment or so earlier she had felt that she was drowning in the ocean of those blue eyes, and she had wanted him to kiss her.
‘You will take him with us, won’t you, sir?’ Kathryn asked when her uncle came in from his business later that day. ‘I know that I should have asked you before I gave my promise, but he looked so…desperate.’
‘It was in my mind to ask Santorini what he wanted as a ransom,’ Charles told her with a smile. ‘I am not sorry that you do not think he is Dickon, for to see my son like that…’ He drew a deep breath, a look of sadness in his eyes. ‘The search for Dickon will go on, but I have room enough in my household for this poor wretch. He may never be able to do much for his keep, but I dare say we shall find him something to keep him out of mischief.’
‘Oh, thank you, dearest Uncle,’ Kathryn said and hugged him. She did not know whether to laugh or cry, but her smile won through. ‘Lorenzo thought you might refuse to take him and then I should not have known what to do.’
‘You might have taken him as your own servant,’ her uncle said. ‘Your father has provided money for anything you might need. This man may be your servant if you choose. If he knows how to write, he may be of some use as a scribe. We shall have to see how he goes on as he recovers his strength.’
‘He speaks English and understands it, though he is hesitant,’ Kathryn said. ‘But he will learn once he is living with us.’
‘I am certain that he will,’ Charles said. ‘And I am proud of your tender heart, my dear. I wish that we might find Dickon safe and well, but I would not have you live your life in expectation of it. If you should find yourself able to love another, I would rejoice in your happiness.’
‘You are so good to me,’ Kathryn said with a smile that lit up her whole face. ‘But as yet I have not met anyone I would wish to marry.’
There was someone who could make her heart beat faster, but he could also rouse her to anger and despair and he was not at all the kind of man she would wish to marry. Nor, indeed, did she flatter herself that he would ever think of her as a woman he might take as a wife.
‘My business here should be done within another week,’ Charles told her. ‘I advise you to make the most of your stay here, Kathryn, for I imagine the life on Cyprus will be very different. I do not believe you will find merchants there of the kind that are here, and we shall be reliant on ships that call at the island for much of our provisions, though I believe we may be self-sufficient for the food we eat and such things. However, any luxuries you need should be bought before we go.’
‘Lady Mary has already suggested another shopping expedition,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could send some of your servants with us, sir. I do not like to ask Signor Santorini for his escort again.’
‘Yes, of course, my dear. I shall arrange it myself and there is no need for Santorini to know. He has been a considerate host and we should not take up more of his time.’
Kathryn tossed and turned restlessly. Her dream had been pleasant at the start for she had been walking in a beautiful garden and she had been happy. Someone was with her—a man. The man was Lorenzo Santorini, but not as she knew him. This man laughed and teased her, looking at her with eyes of love. He had taken her into his arms and kissed her, telling her that she was everything to him.
And then, just as she was about to answer him, a great tide of water had come rolling towards them, sweeping her up and carrying her away from him. She woke suddenly, shivering and frightened.
Why was she having these dreams? It was not as if she even liked Signor Santorini, and yet…when she was torn from his arms she had felt as if her heart was breaking.
Kathryn shook her head, clearing it of the troubling