In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe
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‘I could never hate you. Do you not know how much I love you?’ She looked at him, her heart in her eyes, no pleading or reproaches, but simple love.
‘You should hate me for the way I have treated you these past weeks,’ he said. ‘But I beg you to forgive me. It was because of Michael. I did not sense that Maria was there that night. Always, I have known when I was in danger of being attacked. It was a sixth sense, an awareness that has saved my life many times. I felt that in letting myself love you I was losing that part of me—and I was afraid. It might have been you whom Maria attacked. I have enemies, Kathryn. There may be others who would seek to harm me through you—and I was afraid that if I loved you, if I let myself soften, I might become weak and be unable to protect you.’
‘Lorenzo…’ Tears sprang to her eyes as she moved towards him. ‘I thought you blamed me—had turned against me…’
‘I do love you,’ he said. ‘But it is not easy for me to admit it or to show it. You accused me of being harsh, and it is true. I have had to be hard, to be ruthless. It is the only way I could live. But perhaps I could change, perhaps there is another way to live. I must keep my promise to fight with the Holy League, but I think…I have no heart to continue my feud with Rachid. It is not that I have forgiven him, but…it no longer seems important.’
‘My love.’ Kathryn moved closer, putting her arms about him. She laid her head against his chest as after a moment’s hesitation, his arms closed about her. They stood in silence for several minutes, just holding each other, his lips against her hair. ‘We could go home to England. My father would welcome us there. You could begin a new life.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said and smiled oddly as she looked up at him. ‘Once the Holy League has fought its battle with the Turks, these seas will be a much safer place. I might perhaps continue to trade in fine wines, Kathryn—but I do not think that I shall need to be constantly at war as I have been these last years.’
‘I am so glad that you have told me what was in your heart,’ she said, lifting her face for his kiss, which was sweet and tender, concealing the fires beneath. ‘I have been so unhappy—I thought that I had lost you.’
His eyes were dark with self-condemnation. ‘Forgive me, Kathryn. I was a brute to you…’
She placed a finger to his lips. ‘No more. I understand. I have always understood what drove you, my love. Come, let us go down and walk in the gardens. We must make the most of our time together, for Michael tells me that you plan to leave soon.’
‘I fear I must,’ Lorenzo said. ‘The fleet is gathering and my galleys are a big part of what is to happen—but we have a few days, my love.’
She held her hand out to him and he took it. ‘Then I am content,’ she said, looking up at him with eyes that told their own story. ‘Your love is all I want, Lorenzo.’
Kathryn turned in her husband’s arms, feeling the warmth and strength of his body. He had hurt her so desperately, but she was ready to forgive and to love, for she understood that he had been in turmoil. She would never quite understand what drove him, for only someone who had suffered as he had could know what he felt, but she loved and that was enough. She was his wife, his woman, and at last, she believed his love. From the first she had sensed that they belonged together, and it was this deep instinct that had carried her throughout the uncertain days. She belonged to Lorenzo and, whatever came between them, that bond would always hold her.
His arms went round her, drawing her close, his hands stroking the slender arch of her back, caressing her, arousing her to passion. She gave herself up to the urgency of their loving. So much time had been wasted and they had so little left. His kisses brought her to a sweet ecstasy that consumed them both in the fires of love, and then at last, satiated and content, they slept in each other’s arms.
And when Lorenzo woke with the dawn, he lay looking down at her lovely face, drinking in her beauty, absorbing every detail into his mind so that he would carry it with him in the weeks and perhaps months ahead when they would be apart.
Kathryn kissed Lorenzo, a long, sweet, lingering kiss that almost tore her heart from her body, and then stood back, letting him go. She knew that it might be many months before she saw him again, but it was the price she had to pay.
Lorenzo had paid his own price in loving her. He had fought his battle and come through it for her sake, and she could do no less for his. She would let him go with a smile.
‘Promise me that you will take care of yourself, Kathryn.’
‘I shall do nothing foolish,’ she said. ‘Veronique is here to bear me company, and my friends will visit me often. When I go shopping, it will be with them and a servant to watch over us.’
‘I do not think Rachid will attempt to abduct you in Rome,’ Lorenzo told her. ‘I asked Michael if he would stay and guard you for me, but he says that he wants to fight by my side and I must accept his will. I am leaving men you can trust to watch over you.’
‘You must not worry for my sake.’
‘Nor you for mine,’ he said and smiled in the old, teasing way. ‘I shall return to plague you again, my love.’
‘See that you do,’ she said and tossed her head proudly. ‘And now you must go. You have your duty to the League.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘May God watch over you, Kathryn.’
‘And over you, my love.’
She watched as he walked away, her heart aching. Her nails were turned into her palms and it took all her strength of will to let him go. He had come to her in love at last and it would break her heart if she should lose him now.
Chapter Ten
Their ships were sailing in precise formation. After weeks of talking and delay, Don John of Austria had given his orders and a mood of elation had spread throughout the fleet.
‘At last we shall have some action,’ Michael said to Lorenzo, when he came on board for a meeting. I had begun to think we should spend the autumn in wasted argument again.’
‘This venture has been blessed by the Pope and we have a very capable commander in Don John. I believe that this time something good will happen.’
‘I pray you are right,’ Michael answered, looking thoughtful.
‘There will be no more talk of turning back. If our information is correct, the Turks are settled for the winter at Lepanto.’
‘Unless they retreat to Constantinople.’
It was a question their spies had been unable to answer for certain as yet, but if luck was with them they would catch their quarry at Lepanto.
‘I must return to my own galley,’ Michael said when their meeting had finished. He looked at his commander, noticing the shadows beneath his eyes. It seemed to him that Lorenzo had suffered some sleepless nights and he wondered what had caused them, for he knew that Lorenzo did not fear battle. However, he was wise enough not to mention it. ‘God be with you, my friend.
‘And with you,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘God protect us all if it comes to a battle.’
It was the first time he had ever replied in that way. There was a difference in Lorenzo. Michael had noticed it more often of late, though as yet he was uncertain as to what it meant.
Lorenzo woke from the dream with the images still fresh in his mind. At first he had been in a house—in a room. It was a room he knew well and filled with things he admired, in particular a banner of gold and a suit of black armour.
He had not dreamed of the house before. Always his dream was of a beach and a youth struggling against the men who finally succeeded in capturing him. Yet perhaps that particular dream was real. Perhaps it was a memory of the day he had been taken. If that were so, then all the other things he half-remembered