OUTLAW in the Tudor Court: Ransom Bride / The Pirate's Willing Captive

‘But a decent man would not ask for money, Uncle Charles.’ She was outraged, her eyes scornful of this man she had yet to meet.

‘Hush, Kathryn,’ he chided. ‘We must not judge him. He does much good, I think, and if he makes a profit by it…’Charles shrugged his shoulders. ‘I found him honest. He is a man I can do business with. You may feel it wrong to take money for restoring a man to his family, but others would have let the poor fellow die.’

‘Please, Charles,’ Lady Mary said with a little shudder, ‘I wish you would not say such things. You will give Kathryn nightmares.’

‘No, dear Aunt Mary,’ Kathryn said and smiled at her. ‘My nightmares have become a thing of the past since we began our journey. I do not know why, but my heart has become much lighter.’ It was as if she felt that she was going to meet Dickon, that she would find him at her journey’s end. In her dreams he seemed very close and he was no longer in pain or distress. She seemed to see him smiling at her, opening his arms to enfold her and kiss her.

‘Well, I am happy for it,’ Charles said with a smile. ‘But it would be too much to expect to find Richard so swiftly. It may be months or years—or perhaps never—but Signor Santorini has promised to do what he can. I pray you, Kathryn, do nothing to antagonise him this evening.’

‘Of course I shall not, Uncle Charles,’ Kathryn said. ‘If you believe he can help us, then I shall do nothing to make him change his mind. I may think him unprincipled and wrong, but I shall not say it.’

He smiled at her, nodding his satisfaction with her promise. It was time for them to leave, and the gondola was waiting at the steps outside their house to take them to Lorenzo Santorini’s palace.

Kathryn’s eyes widened as she saw it, for it was surely one of the most important and attractive of the many beautiful buildings built by the Grand Lagoon. This Signor Santorini must be very wealthy; if that were so, he did not need to ask for money from the families of the poor wretches he rescued from cruel masters.

Her antagonism was growing towards the man she had never met, her feelings of outrage at the obvious trappings of his great wealth building a picture in her mind so that, when the tall, golden-haired man came towards them, she did not at first imagine that he was Lorenzo Santorini. She had seldom seen a more attractive man, Kathryn thought, and as she looked into his deep blue eyes her breath caught and she felt very strange. She had only ever known one person with eyes that colour and so strong was the emotion that gripped her then that she almost fainted. Indeed, she swayed and put out her hand to steady herself, finding her arm gripped by a firm hand.

‘Are you ill, Madonna?’

His voice was so deep and husky; yet she heard only the echoes of the sea against a rocky shore on a windswept night, her mind whirling in confusion. For a moment she was there again, looking down as the Corsairs carried her beloved Dickon away with them, her feeling of terror so strong that she almost fainted.

‘Kathryn? Is something wrong, my dear?’

Lady Mary’s voice brought her back from the edge of the precipice and her head cleared. She looked at the man, who still held her arm in a vicelike grip, her eyes suddenly dark with revulsion as she dismissed the foolish notion that had come to her. How could she have thought even for one moment that this man was her beloved Dickon? His face was deeply tanned, with sculptured cheekbones and lines about his eyes. Richard Mountfitchet would be no more than five and twenty; this man must be some years older, of course, the set of his mouth harsh and unforgiving, so different from the easy smile that she had been wont to see on Dickon’s lips.

Why, from what she had heard of him, he was little better than the evil men who had abducted her dearest friend!

She moved her arm and his grip relaxed, releasing her as her head went up proudly, daring him to touch her again. ‘I am all right, Aunt Mary,’ she said, smiling at the woman who was clearly concerned for her. ‘It was just a moment of faintness. Perhaps the change from the bright sunlight to darkness?’

It was a weak excuse, of course, for it was not truly dark in the palace, which was a place of colour and sunshine from the many windows high above that gave the grand hall a churchlike feel.

‘It has been very warm today,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes narrowing as he sensed her hostility. What ailed her—and why had she looked at him so oddly for a moment? ‘And I believe it may be cool in here. Please come through to my private chambers, ladies. I believe you may be more comfortable there.’

Lorenzo led the way to another, smaller chamber, which was lavishly appointed with beautiful tiled walls and floors, the colours rich and vibrant. It was furnished with the most exquisite things that Kathryn had ever seen, some of them with a distinctly Byzantine look to them. For surely those silken couches belonged more properly in the harem of an eastern potentate?

‘I have never seen such a lovely room,’ Lady Mary declared, echoing the thoughts Kathryn would not for pride’s sake utter. ‘Where did you find all these lovely things, Signor Santorini?’

‘Some of them were given me in gratitude for saving the life of a precious son,’ Lorenzo told her. His eyes were on Kathryn as he spoke, a mocking gleam deep in their mysterious depths. ‘It was in Granada and the boy was a Moor, the son of a merchant prince—a man whose wealth would make me seem a pauper by comparison.’

‘How interesting,’ Lady Mary said. ‘Pray do tell us more, sir.’

‘It was nothing,’ Lorenzo told her with a fleeting smile, his eyes becoming colder than deep water ice as he saw that Kathryn’s mouth had curled in scorn. ‘I happened to be in the right place at the right time—and the grateful father showered me with gifts of all kinds, some of which you see here.’

‘You must also be a very wealthy man,’ Kathryn said and her tone made it sound like the worst of insults. ‘Might it not have been nobler to refuse the gifts and be satisfied with the pleasure of saving a life?’ Her eyes flashed with green fire, challenging him so clearly that the air seemed to crackle between them.

‘No, no, Kathryn,’ Charles reminded her uneasily. He was afraid she would antagonise the Venetian, and Santorini was his best hope of ever finding his son. Indeed, since they had met, he had been filled with new hope. ‘You must not say such things, my dear. It is not for you to judge these matters.’

‘Kathryn’s fault lies in her ignorance,’ Lorenzo said easily and she saw that there was an amused curl to his mouth. His eyes glinted with ice and she felt her heart catch, for something about him drew her despite herself. ‘To have refused the gifts from such a man after rendering him a significant service would have been to offer him a deadly insult. Had I been unwise enough to do so, he would have thought that I believed he owed me more and would simply have increased the size of his gift—even to beggaring himself, if I demanded it. But of course, your niece could not know anything of the customs, or indeed the pride, that prevails amongst such people.’

He was looking at her as if she were a foolish child!

Kathryn felt as if she were in the hands of her old nurse, being scolded for some childish misdemeanour. He was humiliating her, stripping her to the status of an ignorant girl, making her feel foolish—and she hated him for it. If she had not remembered her promise to Lord Mountfitchet at that moment, she might have given him an honest opinion of his morals, telling him what she thought of his habit of asking a ransom from his victims.

‘I bow to your superior judgement, sir,’ she said, her nails turned inwards to the palms of her hands as she fought her instinct to rage at him. Dickon’s father was relying on his help. It was through him that they might learn something that would lead them to find Dickon. She must remember that, no matter how great her disgust of this man and his trade. ‘Forgive me, I did not know…’

The apology was the hardest she had ever had to make and she tasted its bitterness; she was determined to say nothing more that evening, for it would kill her to be civil to him! She could not know that the look in her eyes and the tilt of her head betrayed her, nor that he found her defiance amusing.

‘No, do not apologise, sweet Madonna,’ he murmured and the mockery in his voice stung her like the lash of a whip. ‘We should be churlish indeed not to forgive such beauty a small mistake of judgement.’

Kathryn inclined her head. Oh, he was so sure of himself, so secure in his position of power and wealth! She would like to wipe that mocking expression from his face and were she alone with him she would do it! But no, she must not let him drive her to further indiscretion. She would behave as befitted an English gentlewoman.

‘I bow to your generosity, sir.’ The look she gave him was so haughty that it would have slain any other man, but he merely smiled and turned his attention to Lord Mountfitchet.

Wine was served and there was a choice of a sweeter wine for the ladies, but Kathryn stubbornly chose the same as he and her uncle drank and nearly gagged on the dryness of it. She took one sip and set the glass down, her irritation mounting as she saw that he had noted her distaste. When they were directed outside to a small courtyard garden, where a table had been set for them, she noticed that he made a small signal to his servant, and when she looked for her wineglass her wine had been changed.

Oh, was there no ending to this torture? Kathryn asked the servant who served her from the many delicious varieties of fish, meat and rice dishes to bring her some water, refusing to be tempted by the wine, which Lady Mary had declared was delicious.

The food was wonderful too. Used to the more heavily spiced dishes her father’s cooks served at home and sickened by the awful food on board ship, she could not resist trying the delicious prawns and unusual fruits and vegetables that were served to her. After each main course a cold ice sherbet was served, which cleared the palate, and the sweet courses included a delicious sticky jelly that she simply could not resist.

‘I see you approve of one of the gifts my friend from Granada sends me from time to time,’ Lorenzo said, smiling at her. ‘You see, as his son grows to a man, his gratitude increases and he will not allow me to forget that he considers me as another son.’

Kathryn had been reaching for another piece of the sticky sweet and her hand froze in mid-air, then withdrew, her eyes darting a glare at him that would have made most men retreat in confusion. His answer was to smile so wolfishly that it sent a chill through her, the flash of white teeth sudden and menacing, as if he would devour her.

‘Please continue to enjoy them, Madonna,’ he told her. ‘It will please my friend mightily to know that his generosity is not wasted. He fears that I do not appreciate it, but now I can tell him quite truthfully that it brought me favour in your eyes.’

‘I am glad that your friend will be pleased,’ Kathryn said and defiantly took the piece of lemon-flavoured sweetmeat that she desired, biting into it with such venom that she saw his eyes flicker with laughter. He enjoyed taunting her! She could see it in his face, but there was nothing she could do, for she was at his mercy. Please God, let this meal be over soon and then, perhaps, she need not ever see him again.

‘I was thinking,’ Charles said, seemingly unaware of the duel going on between Kathryn and their host. ‘I have cudgelled my brains to think of a distinguishing mark that might help you find Richard, sir—but I cannot recall a thing.’

‘Oh, but—’ Kathryn began and then stopped as all eyes turned on her. She shook her head. ‘I cannot be sure that it would still be there.’

‘If you know of something, you should tell us, Kathryn,’ Charles said. ‘I believe you knew Richard better than anyone.’

‘Pray do give me any information you can,’ Lorenzo said and reached for his wineglass. As he did so she caught sight of a leather wristband chased with silver symbols. The wristbands were so at odds with the richness of his dress that she was mesmerised for a moment and he saw her interest. ‘You are admiring my bracelets, Kathryn?’ He pulled back his sleeves so that she could see that he wore the curious bands on each wrist. ‘The symbols may not be familiar to you, for they are in Arabic. One stands for life, the other for death.’ There was something in his eyes that made her shiver inwardly, an expression so different to any other that she had seen in him that her stomach clenched with fear. ‘It is to remind me, lest I should forget, that one is the close companion of the other.’

‘Surely…’The words died on her lips, for now she felt a sense of desolation in him and it touched her, reaching down inside her so that she shared his grief, his pain, and it almost sent her reeling into darkness. ‘They are remarkable, sir,’ she said, fighting to pull herself back from that deep pit. ‘But you asked about a distinguishing mark. There was one that Uncle Charles would not know about.’ She paused, for the memory was so strong in her mind then that it made her ache with the grief of her loss. ‘Dickon was my closest companion, my dearest friend. One day he told me that he would always love only me, even though I was but nine years to his fifteen. I said that when he grew up he would forget me, and he drew his knife. He cut my initial into his arm, just above his wrist.’ She saw Lorenzo’s eyes darken, his gaze intensifying on her face. ‘It bled a great deal and I was frightened. I gave him my kerchief to bind his wrist, but it was deep and the bleeding would not stop. My nurse bound it for him when we went home and scolded me for allowing him to hurt himself. When it began to heal, there was a livid mark in the shape of a K.’

‘You have never told me this, Kathryn,’ Charles said and frowned. ‘It might help in the search—if it still remains.’

‘It might have been obliterated by other marks,’ Lorenzo said and he looked thoughtful, serious now, all mockery gone. ‘I do not wish to distress the ladies, Lord Mountfitchet, but you must realise that the manacles galley slaves wear leave deep scars. Even if the scar that Richard inflicted on himself remained, it might not be easy to see after so many years of being chained to an oar.’

‘If he was a galley slave,’ Kathryn said. ‘He was but fifteen, sir. Might he not have been sold as a house slave?’ She had prayed so often that it might be so, otherwise there was little hope that Dickon would have survived.

‘It is possible—but if he was strong for his age he would more likely have been put to the oars. The rate of death amongst such unfortunates is high and anyone with the strength to pull an oar might be used if the Corsairs had lost some of their oarsmen.’

‘Yet that makes it all the more likely that the mark may still be there,’ Kathryn said. ‘For if he lives, it is unlikely that he was in the galleys.’

‘You speak truly, for I doubt that any man could survive ten years in the galleys,’ Lorenzo told her and the expression in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. ‘We must hope that for at least some part of the time your cousin was more fortunate.’