In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe
you.’ Lorenzo smiled oddly. ‘If not, you must send her father my apologies.’
Charles nodded, guessing that the other’s manner was deliberately reserved, hiding the swirling passion, the anger inside him. ‘It shall be as you say—and may God protect and keep you, sir.’
Lorenzo inclined his head, his eyes dark with an emotion he could not hide, try as he might. ‘May your god go with you, sir. Please excuse me, there are things I must do.’
Charles watched as Lorenzo strode from the room. He must put his trust in this man, for there was no other way. It was strange, but he felt a bond between them, an understanding that went beyond words. Perhaps only such a man as this could save Kathryn, a man who knew far more about the suffering of those who served in the Corsair galleys than he would ever tell.
Kathryn looked at the house to which she had been brought. Nestling on a plateau in the mountains overlooking the city, it was a substantial building of grey stone with small windows, most of which had iron grilles. Once within its walls she would truly be a prisoner. She shivered as Don Pablo came himself to help her down from the horse she was riding.
‘Welcome to my home,’ he said, smiling at her as he took her arm, steering her through the heavy iron gate, which enclosed the house and gardens and swung to behind them with an ominous clink. ‘Think of yourself as my guest, señorita. You are at liberty to walk in the gardens and my home is yours for the duration of your stay.’
‘You are gracious, Don Pablo.’
She held her anger inside. It would do no good to rage at him, for he would only keep her closer. She knew that she was a prisoner, for all his conciliatory words—he would not have allowed her the privilege unless he was sure she could not escape. The walls that enclosed his garden were too high for her to climb. Besides, she had no doubt that she would be watched whenever she was allowed to walk there, but at least it would be better than being kept a prisoner in her room the whole time.
Her good behaviour thus far had been accepted at face value by the Spaniard, who thought her suitably cowed by her situation. Indeed, she was helpless, because his hacienda was almost a fortress. For the moment she could do nothing, but she would remain watchful, waiting for her chance. One of these times her captors might grow careless and then…she would take her chance to escape if she could.
Kathryn would rather die in the attempt to escape than be sold to Rachid, for she knew what her fate would be, and it turned her stomach sour. Better to die than live as a harem slave.
Lorenzo stood in the prow of his galley looking out to sea. They were a day behind the galleon, but his men were pulling at attack speed for long periods. They would not catch the Spanish ship before it reached harbour, but they would not be far behind. With luck they could reach Granada long before they were expected and take Don Pablo off guard.
Lorenzo had not confided his plans to Lord Mountfitchet—they involved serious risk of injury to Kathryn. It was possible that she might be harmed in the attack on the Spaniard, but there was no real alternative. To give himself up in return for Kathryn’s safety was no guarantee that she would be freed. His only true chance of getting her back was to storm the hacienda, hoping for the element of surprise. And the alternative was unthinkable. Better for her that she should die in the attempt to free her than be sold to Rachid.
Don Pablo would think himself safe for a few days, but in believing that he would have mistaken his enemy. Lorenzo’s instincts had warned him of the reason for Kathryn’s abduction. He had begun to make his plans from the moment he had learned she had been snatched.
Lorenzo motioned for the speed to be taken down. The men could only keep up the fast stroke for a certain length of time, but all his men would take their turn at the oar, including Lorenzo himself. He would not demand anything of others that he was not prepared to do himself.
These men were his most loyal, the strongest and the best. Every man aboard this galley was prepared to die if need be.
Kathryn had noticed that the main gates were kept locked at all times, opened only when a body of men went in or out. However, there was a small side gate that the servants used. She had seen an old man with a donkey bringing fruit and vegetables early in the morning. He had left the gate open for several minutes while he carried the produce into the house. From the window of her bedchamber she had watched carefully to see if it was locked after he left, but no one had come for some minutes afterwards.
If the old man came at the same time every day it was possible that she might be able to slip out of the side gate during the period that he was in the kitchens.
Kathryn did not know what she would do if she succeeded in escaping from her prison. She was alone in a foreign country and penniless. It might be that she would make her situation worse, for thus far Don Pablo had kept to his word to treat her as his guest. If she escaped and was mistaken for a woman of loose morals, which she might well be if she approached a stranger for help, her virtue might be in as much danger as her life.
Yet what was the alternative? If she did nothing, she might find herself being exchanged for Don Pablo’s daughter. Kathryn thought that almost anything would be better than to become Rachid’s slave. Lorenzo had spared her the details of the Corsair’s cruelty, but she was not so innocent that she could not guess what her destiny might be once she was in his hands.
Even if Lorenzo were fool enough to come for her, to offer his life for hers, it was unlikely that she would be returned to her family. She would be sold to the highest bidder!
Lorenzo cursed the delay, for more than two days had passed since they landed on the shores of Spain. It had taken that long to contact his friend Ali Khayr and to buy horses for the small party of men he had chosen to accompany him inland. He would have preferred to attack at once, but Ali had counselled against it.
‘I know the man of whom you speak,’ he had told Lorenzo. ‘If he has taken the girl hostage, she will not be harmed. Yet if you attack his hacienda with no plan you may fail. It is well defended and you would be seen before you could get near. Anything could happen to her then. She might be spirited away while you were kept busy at the gates. You would do better to take her by stealth.’
‘Your words are wise as always,’ Lorenzo said, controlling his impatience as best he could. ‘But it would be dangerous—unless I could discover where Kathryn is being kept.’
‘If you will wait in patience for a while, my friend, it may be that I can help you. My servants may go where you may not. Stay your hand for the moment, Lorenzo.’
Against his inclination, Lorenzo had waited, chafing at the bit at the enforced idleness. Some of his men were able to mingle with the townspeople and discover what they could about Don Pablo and his hacienda, but it seemed true that it was almost impregnable to a frontal attack.
Now, at last, Ali Khayr had news for him.
‘There is a side gate,’ Ali began. ‘The main gate is kept locked and heavily guarded. There are armed men patrolling the garden all the time, though the girl you seek is allowed to spend some time there. Sometimes the men grow careless and forget their duty.’
‘Do you think we could gain entrance through the side gate?’
‘One man could do so,’ Ali told him. ‘There are two paths to it. One passes the main gate and would be impossible to negotiate without being seen. The other is difficult terrain, which is why it is undefended. If the girl you seek were near the gate at the right time it would be a simple thing, if she were brave enough, to bring her down to where you and your men were waiting.’
‘I should be the one to go in and fetch her!’
‘With your eyes? A blue-eyed Arab is very rare,’ Ali said with a smile to ease his words. ‘No, my friend, I think not. You would never get past the gate. However, every morning at a certain time an old man delivers fruit and vegetables. He is an Arab and they know him; they scarcely look at him.’
‘Then who…?’ Lorenzo cast his mind over his men.