In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe

that loving her might cause him to become soft—and it was that which had led to his capture or even his death.

      Lorenzo had married her because she was distressed at losing her good name. She believed that he had loved her, but perhaps she was an evil omen to him. Had she not prompted Dickon to go down to the beach when they were children, pirates would not have taken him. Had she not made Lorenzo fall in love with her, he might even now be safe. The thought was like a dagger striking deep into her heart and made her stagger as she realised what love of her had done to Lorenzo not once, but twice.

      ‘Forgive me, my love,’ she whispered. ‘But perhaps it is best.’

      She raised her head, fighting her grief and the longing deep inside her. ‘Very well, Father,’ she said. ‘If there is no news within a week, I shall go back home with you.’

      Lorenzo was resting when Salome came hurrying into the room. The pain in his shoulder was much easier now, but he was still too weak to do much more than walk about the house. He could not go out into the gardens for fear that someone might see him. He had already stayed too long and his presence in this house might mean danger for the good people who had nursed him back to health.

      ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked as he saw Salome’s anguished look.

      ‘They are looking for you,’ she said, a frightened expression in her eyes. ‘Men came to the village earlier asking for a man of your description. My husband fears that someone will betray us. They are offering money for news of your whereabouts, signor.’

      ‘Then I must leave your house,’ Lorenzo said, ‘for I would not bring harm to you. I fear I have nothing to give you for your kindness, lady, but you shall be rewarded as soon as I return to my home.’ He thought of a small gold ring on his finger and slipped it off. ‘Take this as a token of my good will. I owe you much more and, God willing, I shall live to repay you.’

      ‘My husband had no thought of repayment when he took you from the sea, but he grows old and soon will be able to work no more.’

      ‘You shall be rewarded,’ Lorenzo promised, ‘and now I must leave before they come looking for me here.’

      ‘You must wear my husband’s clothes,’ Salome said. ‘I have brought you something to darken your skin, else you will be noticed at once for your skin has the pallor of ill health. If I do not offend you, lord, you should keep your head down lest your eyes betray you.’

      Lorenzo thanked her again for her advice, slipping on the long, shabby robe she offered over the remnants of his own clothing. The sea had taken most of his garments, leaving only his breeches.

      He left Salome’s house through a small gate at the back of the garden, avoiding the main street of the fishing village. It was late in the afternoon, the sun dipping over the sea in a blaze of gold, and he knew that dusk would soon cloak him in darkness.

      He had not been idle these past weeks and he believed that his best chance of escape was to reach Algiers, where he might mingle with the crowds frequenting the waterfront. It was a busy port and there might be merchant ships from Portugal or Holland. With luck he could find work. If he could reach Spain, he had friends who would help him.

      Lorenzo had been walking for some half an hour or more when he was alerted by the sound of hoofbeats coming fast up the lonely road. He realised at once that it could only be the men who had visited Salome’s village earlier, and looked about for somewhere to hide.

      The rocky hillside offered no protection. Perhaps he could simply bluff it out by pleading ignorance. He must remember to keep his head bent, and to act in a humble manner befitting his lowly status.

      As the riders came nearer, Lorenzo moved to the side of the road. Perhaps they would simply ride by and ignore him.

      His hopes were short lived as the leading horseman reined in and shouted to him. ‘You there—dog! Have you seen anyone passing this way? A man not of our people?’

      ‘No one has passed this way, sir,’ Lorenzo kept his head bent humbly, thankful for the shabby robe that covered his hair. With luck they would ride on by thinking him merely a poor fisherman.

      ‘How long have you been on this road?’

      ‘All day, sir.’

      The man looked back at his companions, who had brought their mounts to a halt, and an argument began between them. Some were for returning to the village, others for going on.

      ‘The old woman lied,’ one of the horsemen said. ‘We should return and persuade her to tell us the truth. Perhaps if we split her lying tongue the fisherman will speak. The beating you gave him did not break him—but it may be different if you turn your attention to her.’

      Lorenzo listened in horror. He could not condemn Salome and her husband to the kind of torture these beasts might inflict. His sense of honour would not permit him to escape while others suffered in his place. Throwing back his hood, he looked up at the leader.

      ‘I am Lorenzo Santorini,’ he said. ‘I am the one you seek.’

      For a moment the man stared at him in stunned disbelief, then a gleam of greed came to his rascally face.

      ‘We have searched for you many weeks,’ he said and grinned. ‘Rachid has promised much gold to he who finds you.’

      ‘Then you are a rich man,’ Lorenzo said, his face cold with pride. ‘Do not waste time with the old ones. I have friends searching for me. They are only a few leagues distant from us.’

      An expression of consternation came into the man’s eyes. He turned to his companions, some of whom had already dismounted and were eyeing Lorenzo warily. They clearly expected him to put up a fight, but he stood unresisting, letting them take him. Their greed for Rachid’s gold would save Salome and her husband from further suffering.

      Lorenzo offered his wrists for binding. He expected to be led behind the horses as in a Roman triumph, and was surprised when a mount was provided. Their leader took the reins of his horse, but he was neither abused nor insulted.

      ‘Rachid wants you alive,’ his captor told him. ‘You do well not to struggle, for I have no wish to harm you.’

      Lorenzo inclined his head but said no more. His pride would keep him strong. Most men broke under torture. All he could hope for was a quick death.

      ‘Goodbye, Kathryn,’ he murmured softly. ‘Forgive me, my love. I would have come to you, but the price was too high.’

      Kathryn watched as the cliffs of her homeland came into view. Soon they would be home and her heart was breaking. She had been forced to admit that Lorenzo was dead, for if not he would have found a way to contact his friends these past weeks.

      Charles was remaining in Rome. He had refused to give up hope and Michael had promised to continue the search, but she knew that neither of them truly believed that he would be found. There had been no trace of him since his capture.

      ‘Lorenzo, my love…’ Kathryn blinked back her tears as her father came to join her on the deck, looking towards the shore and the foaming water as it rushed against a coastline that could be treacherous and had sent many a sailor to a watery grave.

      ‘We shall soon be home, my dear,’ he said, noting her pale face and sad eyes, purpled by shadows that robbed her of the carefree beauty which had been hers. ‘Perhaps then you may feel better.’

      ‘I do not believe that I shall ever feel better. I loved him, Father. I loved him so much that…’ She left the words unfinished. In truth, she wished that she might die, but she did not want to hurt her father.

      ‘I understand your grief, Kathryn. When your mother died I thought that my world was at an end, but I learned to live without her. I took solace in my children.’

      ‘I have no children.’

      ‘But you are young enough to marry again. Lorenzo left you a fortune, so the lawyers tell us, though