Kathryn.’ Michael spoke for the first time. ‘I have already sent out ships to make contact with Rachid. We shall offer a ransom for him. I shall go myself to Algiers. I promise that we shall leave no stone unturned in the effort to find him.’
‘Lorenzo…’ Kathryn bowed her head as the pain of her grief almost overwhelmed her. ‘This is my fault. I made him love me and…’ It was what he had feared. Because of his love for her, he had thrown his natural caution to the winds. He had been impatient to see her. ‘Oh, my love, forgive me!’
‘What nonsense is this, Kathryn?’ Her father looked bewildered. He rubbed at a spot in his chest as if it bothered him. ‘How can it be your fault?’
‘Excuse me,’ she said, tears blinding her eyes. ‘I would be alone.’
The men stared after her as she fled, but Veronique followed.
‘What was all that about?’ Sir John asked. He rubbed at his chest again. Sometimes he hardly felt the pain, but at others it became severe. He needed to take one of the powders that his physician had given him, but for the moment it must wait.
‘Lorenzo told me his story recently,’ Charles said. ‘Please allow me to tell you what he related to me—and then perhaps you may begin to understand what this means.’
‘I must go,’ Michael said. ‘There is no time to waste if we are to find Lorenzo alive. Please tell Kathryn that I will do everything I can.’
‘Any ransom,’ Charles said. ‘I will give every penny I possess for his safe return.’
‘I shall do what I can,’ Michael promised and left them.
Kathryn stood at the window, staring out at the night sky. She was in too much distress to think clearly, but her heart felt as if it were being torn in two. She could almost wish that Lorenzo had died in battle; at least that would have been swift. To think of him at the mercy of his enemy was unbearable. She knew what it had cost him to put the past behind him, the agony of mind he had endured—and now he was once more a prisoner of the evil Corsair who had nearly killed him once before.
‘Lorenzo…’ she whispered. ‘My love, my love—what have I done to you?’
It was her fault, for Rachid would not have caught him off guard before he fell in love with her. She had given him her love, but it was a poisoned chalice—it had led to his death.
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She let them fall. Her grief was so sharp that it was almost unbearable. If Lorenzo was gone from her for ever…
What must he be suffering? To find himself a prisoner of his enemy once more would be humiliating and soul-destroying. He knew what it was like to serve at the oar for three years, and, unless Michael was successful in his attempts to ransom him, he might die this time.
No, no, he must not die, for she could not bear to live without him. She was his woman, his wife, and her heart belonged to him alone. He must live—she did not know what she would do without him.
Lorenzo explored the tender spot at the back of his head carefully. He had been unconscious for some hours after he was captured, for he had been taken from behind and received a heavy blow to the back of the head, but he knew immediately that he was in the cabin of the Corsair galley. Why had he not been cast down into the pit with the other captives?
Did the pirate who had captured him know who he was? It was almost certain that he did—so was he being held for a ransom? Or had Rachid reserved a special fate for him? Yes, of course, that must be so. It was the only reason he had not been chained up with the other prisoners.
They had been enemies for a long time now and Rachid had not earned his name for nothing. He was called the Feared One because of his barbarity. It was unusual for his men to take prisoners unless they needed more galley slaves or captured someone they could ransom for a large sum of money. As a rule they killed ruthlessly, plundering the captured ships and often sinking them afterwards unless they considered them worth selling.
Lorenzo’s head was throbbing as he lay considering his likely fate. He could either be sold as a slave, put to the oars, or held for ransom. But Rachid had good cause to hate him and it was probable that he was being kept alive so that he could suffer some form of torture before his death.
He had been a youth when he had been taken the first time, powerless to fight the ruthless men who had captured him. Finding himself chained to an oar with no memory of his life prior to his captivity, he had survived by instinct—an instinct that had served him well these past years. It would be different this time, for he knew exactly who he was and what had happened to him.
He knew that he must remain alert, while allowing his captors to think him still suffering from the blow to his head. Only if they believed he was ill and incapable of escaping would they give him the chance to make his break.
But he would do so when the chance came. He would rather die in the attempt than be a slave—or allow his enemy to humiliate him. The strongest man could break under torture, and he would rather die quickly and cleanly.
For a moment he thought of Kathryn. If he waited, perhaps Rachid would ransom him and he might be returned to Rome. He might see her again. A part of him wanted to take that chance, to put his faith in God and those he knew would even now be trying to arrange his freedom—but there was another part of him that refused to be sold.
Somehow he would fight free. If he died in the attempt, then Kathryn would be a widow. She was beautiful and she would be rich, for he had left much of his wealth to her in a will he had made before the war—and she would find someone else to love in time.
‘Kathryn, Kathryn, my love…’
His heart cried out to her as he whispered her name, but even for the sake of his love for her, he could not simply wait for rescue or death. He must try to save himself if he died for it.
‘You. Infidel dog!’ A rough voice spoke from the doorway. ‘Do you want food and water?’
Lorenzo moaned, but made no answer. He sensed the man coming nearer and forced himself to lie still. To attack one man would do no good. He needed to wait for the right time.
The Corsair muttered something and slopped some water into Lorenzo’s face. He had been waiting for it, because he had seen it done often enough. He muttered and jerked, but did not open his eyes. The man grunted and moved away, closing the cabin door after him.
Lorenzo ran his fingers over his face, sucking the few drops of moisture he managed to acquire by this method. He was thirsty and hungry too, but he needed to keep up the pretence for as long as he could manage.
Kathryn woke with tears on her face. She had dreamed of Lorenzo, dreamed that he was ill and in pain, and that he had called her name.
‘Oh, Lorenzo,’ she whispered as she got out of bed and went over to the window, gazing out at the night. ‘Lorenzo, do not die and leave me. Come back to me, my love. I need you so…’
He was not dead. She would not let herself believe it, for if she did there would be an end to all hope. No, she knew that he was alive. He was out there somewhere and thinking of her—and somehow he would come to her. Surely he would find a way to come back to her? He must because she loved him.
It was no use, she would never sleep. She dressed and went out to the courtyard, welcoming the cool night air. Her heart ached for the man she loved, but there was no comfort to be had.
‘Lorenzo…’ she whispered. ‘Please do not leave me, my love.’
Lorenzo knew that they had reached a port. The ship was no longer moving and he could hear shouting from the deck, the ragged cheer that comes from the throats of weary oarsmen who knew that they would at last be allowed some rest.
He was tempted to get up and look out of the porthole, but wary lest someone come and find him clearly recovered from the blow that had rendered him unconscious. He must wait for the right moment before attempting