Ransom Bride

‘Yes, of course. I know it is a grave decision—it would mean that you would be away from your home for many months.’

‘I believe I know my answer, but I would think about it,’ Kathryn said and smiled at him. ‘If you will excuse me now, sir, I shall leave you both, for I have things to attend to.’

‘Until the morning, my dear.’ Lord Mountfitchet bowed to her as she walked away.

‘She is a good girl,’ Sir John Rowlands said as the door closed behind her and sighed regretfully. ‘Her feelings for Dickon went deep and she has never forgotten him. I think they made some childish pact between them, but she has not told me the details. Until she accepts that all hope of Dickon is gone, I believe she will resist the idea of marriage with another.’

‘It would be a shame if she were to waste her life,’ Lord Mountfitchet said. ‘Much as I hope that we shall find some news of him in Venice, I would not have Kathryn grieve for my son for ever. She is young and beautiful of face as well as nature, and she deserves some happiness.’

‘Do you think this merchant of whom you spoke may have news?’

‘I pray it may be so. Suleiman Bakhar knows him well. He told me that Lorenzo Santorini has helped several slaves who have managed to escape from their masters. He sometimes buys them in the slave markets of Algiers or takes prisoners from the pirate galleys he sinks, and he will ransom a Corsair captain for galley slaves. I think he exchanged ten slaves for one such man just a few months back. He gives them the chance to work for him, and sometimes he will return them to their families. He might ask for a ransom for his trouble, but for myself I would gladly pay it.’

‘He sounds a man to be reckoned with?’

‘Indeed, he is. Suleiman admires him—they have a mutual respect, I believe, though Santorini hath no love for Corsairs or the Turks. Indeed, I have heard that he hates them.’

‘Yet Suleiman Bakhar calls him friend.’

‘Suleiman is a man of enlightenment, as you know. He has only one wife, Eleanor, though his religion allows him to have several, and he adores her. They travel together and though she adopts Muslim dress when in his country, she wears English garb in ours. Suleiman says that if anyone can find Dickon, it is Santorini.’

Sir John nodded. ‘And that is the true reason you want Kathryn to accompany you, isn’t it? You believe that Dickon will need both you and her if he is found.’

‘What will he be like if he has survived?’ Lord Mountfitchet said, his face grey with grief. The abduction of his son had haunted him these many years, giving him no peace. ‘He is bound to have suffered terribly. He will need nursing and care if we are to teach him how to live again.’

‘Yes, I fear you are right,’ Sir John agreed. ‘Perhaps Kathryn is the only one who might help him. They were so close as children.’

‘I have not told her my thoughts on this matter,’ Charles Mountfitchet said. ‘It would make her feel that she ought to accompany us—but I would have her come only if she wishes it.’

‘Yes, it must be as she wishes,’ Sir John said. ‘I would not have it otherwise. Yet if she should want to marry…’

‘I shall write to you at once,’ his friend promised. ‘But Mary will have a care to her. We shall not allow some ruthless fortune hunter to snare her.’

‘Her fortune is adequate, but not huge,’ Sir John said. ‘I have my son to think of and, as you said, Catholics are not given the chance to rise these days. Philip will not be given a post at court as I was when Mary was Queen.’

‘That is why you do well to join me in my venture,’ Lord Mountfitchet said. ‘We may trade where we will, for the world is bigger than this country of ours.’

‘Yes, I believe you are right,’ Sir John said, ‘though for myself I would be loath to leave it as you intend.’

‘Perhaps I might have thought as you if…’ Lord Mountfitchet sighed and shook his head. ‘It does no good to repine. If Santorini can give me no hope, then I may accept that I shall never see my son again.’

Kathryn looked at herself in her small hand mirror. It had come all the way from Venice and had once belonged to her mother. She touched the smooth silver handle with her fingertips. The merchants of Venice were known for the quality of their wares, and it was from that city that the beautiful glass posset set, which her mother had treasured, had come.

It would be a great adventure to go with Lady Mary and Lord Mountfitchet. She had never expected to leave the shores of her homeland, for her father was not a great traveller. Yet she had read the histories in his library, those rare and valuable books and bound manuscripts that she was privileged to share, and her mind was open to new things. And of course Venice was renowned as a centre of publishing, particularly of the poets and of great histories. She thought that she would like to see new countries, new places—and there was always the possibility that they might discover something concerning Dickon’s whereabouts.

Her hair was hanging loose about her shoulders, a dark, shining red mass of waves that gleamed with fire when it caught the candlelight. She got up and went over to the window, gazing out into the darkness. She could see very little for there were no stars to light the sky that night. Her father had spoken of her finding someone she might wish to marry—but how could she ever do that when her heart belonged to Dickon? She had given him her promise as a girl and he had taken his knife and cut her initial into the back of his wrist. She had cried out in alarm, for it had bled a lot, and had given him a lace kerchief to bind it.

‘Does it hurt very much?’ she had asked and he had laughed, his eyes bold and daring.

‘It is nothing, for I know that this blood binds you to me for ever.’

She had kissed the wound then, tasting his blood, and had known that she would always love him. She would resist any attempts to marry her to a man she did not love. She would behave modestly when travelling and listen to Lady Mary’s advice, but she would not let them marry her to a man she did not respect or feel some affection for. Perhaps one day she would feel inside her that Dickon was dead. If that happened, she might consider marriage. If not…

Her thoughts seemed to come up against a blank wall, for she did not know what she would do if Dickon never returned to her. There was no alternative to marriage for a woman of her class, unless she wished to retire to a convent. Women married or became nuns, unless their male relatives had a use for them. Perhaps Philip would accept her as a dependent in his household if she grew old and past the age of being a wife.

It was a sad prospect, but what else was there for her? Laying down her mirror, Kathryn went to her bed, which was a heavy box base with four posts and a carved tester overhead. A handsome thing, it was piled high with soft mattresses filled with goose feathers, for the slats were wooden and hard. Slipping beneath the luxury of silken quilts, she wondered what life was like on board ship.

Yet she would put up with any discomfort if, at the end of the journey, she could find the man she loved.

The momentum was gathering, Lorenzo thought as he left the meeting to which he had been summoned. There had been talk of forming an alliance to fight a campaign against the Turks for a long time, but now, at last, it looked as though it might actually happen later that year. Pope Pius V had formed the Holy League with Spain and Venice, and it was hoped that others would bring their ships to help fight the menace that had haunted the Mediterranean seas and the Messina Strait for so long. Many had thought the talking would simply go on and on, and negotiations would probably continue for a while. However, after these latest threats against Cyprus and Rome itself, it seemed that His Holiness was determined to strike against the enemy that had for so long threatened the nations of Christendom.

Leaving the palace, Lorenzo was thoughtful as he walked, his mind dwelling not on the conference that he had attended, but on a letter that had reached him shortly before he left Venice. It was from an Englishman with whom he had done business in the past, telling him that he was coming to Venice and asking if he could help to trace a youth who had been abducted from the shores of his homeland over ten years previously.

Lorenzo frowned, for it was a thankless task. He knew as well as any man how unlikely it was that the youth had survived.

He would, of course, do what he could to help Lord Mountfitchet, for although they had never met he had heard good things of the gentleman. His father, Antonio Santorini, had visited England some years previously and had spoken of meeting Lord Mountfitchet, saying that he was both honest and decent. Therefore, Lorenzo would help him, but to trace a man who had been taken by Corsairs so long ago…

Lorenzo’s instincts remained alert even while his mind wrestled with his problems, and he was aware that he was being followed. So when the attack was made, he was ready for it, drawing his sword as he turned to meet the three ruffians who rushed upon him out of the darkness.

‘Come, my friends,’ he invited with a cold smile that only served to intensify the ice of his eyes. ‘Would you have my purse? Come, take it if you can…’

One of the three, bolder than the others, took him at his word. They clashed swords, contesting the fight fiercely, but the rogue was no match for a master swordsman and called for help from his comrades. The other two came at Lorenzo warily, for they had seen that he was no easy mark. Outnumbered three to one, he held his own for some minutes, slashing to left and right as each one attacked in turn, whirling out of reach, retreating, then advancing as he fought with the skill and ferocity his years as master of a war galley had brought him. Even so, the odds were against him and it might have gone ill with him in the end had not a newcomer joined in the fray, bringing his own skill and courage to Lorenzo’s assistance.

Lorenzo’s sword found its mark, disabling one of the three. Finding that the odds were now even and that they were being driven back, the other two rogues broke and ran, whilst the wounded fellow leaned against a wall, clutching his arm, blood oozing through his fingers.

Lorenzo had sheathed his sword when the others ran, but the stranger who had come to his aid still held his, regarding the would-be assassin speculatively.

‘Shall we kill him?’ he asked of Lorenzo. ‘’Tis what the dog deserves—or do you wish to question him?’

‘His purpose was to rob me,’ Lorenzo answered with a careless shrug. ‘Let him go to join his companions—unless he would prefer a quick death?’ His hand moved to his sword hilt suggestively.

The man gave a squeak of fear, suddenly finding the strength to run in the wake of his comrades. A harsh laugh escaped the stranger, who turned to Lorenzo.

‘You are merciful, sir. I think he would have killed you if he could.’

‘I do not doubt it.’ Lorenzo smiled. ‘I thank you for your help, sir. I am—’

‘I know you, Signor Santorini,’ the stranger said before he could continue. ‘I am Pablo Dominicus and you were pointed out to me at the conference we both attended. I followed you because I wish to speak with you.’

‘Then good fortune followed me this night,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Shall we find an inn where we can sit and talk, if you have some business you would discuss?’

‘My business is twofold,’ Pablo Dominicus said. ‘I am on the one hand an emissary from His Holiness the Pope—and on the other I am a man seeking revenge. I believe we have a common enemy.’

‘Indeed?’ Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. It seemed the stranger was a Spaniard. He had no great love of the Spanish, for the Inquisition was a fearful thing, practised by many in the name of Catholicism, but stronger and more powerful in Spain than most countries. And it was known that Spain resented Venice for its independence, and considered that some of its inhabitants would benefit from the attention of the Inquisition. There were men who served in Lorenzo’s galleys who had known what it was to suffer torture and beatings at the hands of the fanatics who ruled the religious order. Yet there was only polite inquiry in Lorenzo’s voice as he said, ‘Pray tell me more, señor. I would know how I may serve you?’

‘Let us find somewhere we can be private, Signor Santorini. I have a request from His Holiness, for your name is well known to him—and another of my own.’

‘There is an inn I know in the next street,’ Lorenzo said. ‘If your business is secret we can take a private chamber and be sure that we are not overheard.’