In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe

      The pursuit did not begin until they had almost reached the shore. One of Lorenzo’s men gave a shout and pointed to a party of horsemen outlined against the sky. The alarm must have been given soon after Kathryn’s disappearance, for the Don’s men were not that far behind them. Lorenzo’s party were urged to make a final effort, and then they were within sight of the cove.

      The horses were abandoned to one of the party, who rode off with them in another direction as Lorenzo, Kathryn and half a dozen men began the scramble down to the sandy beach where the boat was ready to take them out to the galley moored in the bay. From above them they could hear shouting and, as she paused to look up, she saw that some of Don Pablo’s men were preparing to fire at them with their deadly mosquettes, a superior weapon of Spanish invention.

      Lorenzo pushed her into the boat and climbed in himself, though two of his men had fired their matchlocks at the Spaniards above; however, they were useless at such a distance and did nothing to deter the pursuers from beginning to scramble down the rocky incline to the beach below.

      Now they were all in the boat and pushing off from the shore. Don Pablo’s men had reached the beach and were racing to the water’s edge, some of them wading out to take aim at the rowers. One found his mark and an oarsman fell wounded. Lorenzo took his place while Kathryn bent over him, distressed to see that he was bleeding from a shoulder wound.

      She tore strips from her petticoat, making a wedge and then binding him as best she could, her attention given to her task as the shots of the men on the beach began to fall short of their target. By the time she had finished her work they had reached the galley and many hands reached out to take both her and the wounded man aboard. She heard Lorenzo giving orders and then a cannon boomed out and she looked towards the shore, seeing that the men there had fled back to the cliffs and were scrambling up them.

      ‘Kathryn.’ Lorenzo came to her as she stood shivering and at a loss to know what to do. Around her the men were preparing to put some distance between them and the shores of Spain. She alone could do nothing and she suddenly felt lost and terribly alone. ‘Come, you must go to my cabin and rest. This has been a harrowing experience for you. Forgive me, but there was no other way.’

      ‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she said in a trembling tone. ‘I must thank you for my life.’

      ‘I did very little. The friend I told you of—Ali Khayr—it was he who risked his life to come to you at the hacienda. I pray that he was not taken, for it will go ill with him. He lives in Granada only because his neighbours tolerate him. He says that money buys him freedom, but it was a great risk he took for our sakes.’

      ‘Then I shall pray for his safety,’ Kathryn said. She raised her head to look at Lorenzo, seeing the customary hard line of his mouth, his eyes giving no hint of his feelings. ‘I have had time to think of and to regret my own folly. Had I not ignored your advice, this would not have happened. I hope that you will forgive me for causing you so much trouble?’

      A faint smile curved his lips. ‘Would that I could believe it will be the last time, Madonna.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes sparked with indignation.

      Lorenzo merely shook his head. ‘Forgive me, I have work to do. I must stay on deck in case we are followed and attacked. I do not think it, for Don Pablo does not have galleys swift enough to match ours. However, I must be here to direct the men. Michael will take you below.’ He nodded to a man standing nearby, who smiled at her as he approached.

      ‘I hope you will permit me to say how pleased I am to see you safe, Mistress Rowlands. Please, follow me and I will show you where you can rest.’

      Kathryn thanked him. When she glanced back she saw that Lorenzo was bending over the man who had been wounded while rowing them back to the galley. She felt a little hurt—clearly she was less important to him than his men. He had saved her and for that she must be grateful but, for a few moments on that mountainside, he had seemed so different. When he held her in his arms, when he had kissed her so softly, she had believed that he truly cared for her, that she was more than an errant girl he had rescued, perhaps for a price.

      But she would be foolish to imagine that she was anything more than another captive he had rescued, no more than a galley slave he might snatch from a watery grave. She wondered how much her uncle had promised to pay him for her safe return, and the thought made her heart ache.

      She could not but be grateful to him for what he had done, but she did wish that he had done it because he cared for her and not for money.

      Following Michael into the cabin, she saw that it was sparsely furnished, unlike the cabin in Don Pablo’s galleon. There was a plain wooden cot with a straw mattress and one thin blanket, a sea chest and a table with maps spread upon it, but nothing else. Clearly the master of this galley lived much as his men did with no concessions to comfort. His home might be the height of luxury, but here there was no softness of any kind.

      ‘Forgive us, Mistress Rowlands,’ Michael apologised. ‘There was no time to make provision for your comfort. We did not dare delay for we could not be sure what Don Pablo intended. Had he decided to sell you to Rachid in exchange for his daughter, we might have been too late. Taking you from the Spanish merchant was an easier task, for Rachid’s fortress is guarded day and night. No one who is taken there comes out alive unless Rachid wishes it.’

      Kathryn shivered as she realised how great had been the danger of her being lost for ever in some harem. ‘Do not apologise,’ she said. ‘I am grateful for all that you and the others have done, sir. If this is how Lorenzo lives on board ship, then it is good enough for me.’

      ‘Captain Santorini claims no privileges that are not given to the rest of us,’ Michael said. ‘But I know he would not have chosen that you should travel in this way.’

      ‘Please, no more apologies,’ Kathryn told him, lifting her head proudly. ‘I shall be perfectly comfortable here. I dare say it is more than I should have been given had I been sold to Rachid.’

      ‘You may thank God for it that you were not,’ Michael said and made the sign of the cross over his breast. ‘Please rest as best you can and food will be brought to you once we are underway.’

      Kathryn nodded. After he had gone she went to look out of the tiny porthole at the sea, which seemed wide and empty, then returned to sit on the edge of the bed. Now that she was alone she was beginning to feel the effects of her desperate escape and to realise how close to death she had been on that mountainside. She closed her eyes, shutting out the memory. It was over. She was here on Lorenzo’s