In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe
forgotten me so soon.’
‘You cannot think that I would betray you so easily?’ Kathryn was shocked, hurt. He had looked at her this way once before, as if he hated her. He blamed her for what had happened to him. ‘My father said that I must marry again. I did not wish to—but Michael said he would be patient…’ She faltered as she saw the fury in his eyes. He was so very angry! ‘He did ask me to marry him—a marriage in name only for the moment. I told him I needed time to consider.’
‘You could not believe he meant that?’ Lorenzo’s voice lashed at her like a leather thong. ‘He would take you any way he could, but he wants you the way a man wants his woman. The way I want you, Kathryn.’ His hot eyes scorched her, making her tremble all over.
‘I did not wish to marry again.’
‘Yet you would have let them persuade you had I not returned. I thought your love stronger, Kathryn.’
‘It is,’ she said. He must believe her! She gave him a pleading, desperate look. ‘You know I love you. I have always loved you.’
‘Even when we were children?’ he asked. ‘You forgot your poor Dickon when you fell in love with Lorenzo—and you would have forgotten him as easily again once Michael was your husband.’
The reproach in his voice stung her, but he was unfair. ‘That is not true! You know it isn’t, Lorenzo. I am yours. I have always been yours…’
‘Yes, you are mine, that much is true.’ He rose from his seat on the side of her bed, causing her to look alarmed.
‘Pray do not leave me!’
‘You need to rest. We shall talk another time, for now I shall call your women to attend you. In the morning we leave for Mountfitchet.’ His eyes were cold, remote. ‘We are married, Kathryn, though your father would have had it otherwise. You will come with me. I do not give up what is mine, nor do I easily forgive.’
Kathryn stared after him as he left the room. He was insisting that she go with him and yet he was angry with her. He blamed her for his capture, because his love for her had made him careless, and he had decided to withdraw from her again.
She had longed, prayed for his return, hoping that he was alive despite all the odds, yet now that he had come to her, he had closed the door, shutting her out once more. It could only mean that he no longer loved her.
The journey to Mountfitchet Hall took only half a day’s journey by horseback. It was bitterly cold, little flurries of snowflakes drifting into their faces, but not yet settling on the hard ground. Kathryn rode by her husband’s side, glancing at the stern cast of his features from time to time. Two of her women and ten of Lorenzo’s own men accompanied them.
When they reached Mountfitchet, she noticed that Lorenzo seemed to know exactly where he was going and wondered if he had been to the estate before coming to her father’s house. They were greeted eagerly by Lord Mountfitchet’s servants, who treated him respectfully as their master and seemed delighted to see him.
‘Did you call here before you came to us?’ she asked him when the greetings were over and they were alone in the private parlour that was situated to the right of the Great Hall.
‘No, I came straight to you. Why do you ask?’
‘You seem so at home here.’
‘It was my home for fifteen years, Kathryn.’ His eyes were intent on her face, though not as cold as the previous evening.
She opened her eyes wide in surprise. ‘Have you recovered your memory? Charles told us that you had some vague memories, but you seem so sure…’
‘I remember everything, Kathryn. Just as it happened.’
‘You recall that day on the beach—the men who took you?’ He nodded. ‘Do you hate me for what happened to you?’
‘Why should I hate you?’ He looked puzzled.
‘Because it was my fault. I dared you to go down to the beach to see what they were doing.’
‘I was old enough to make up my own mind, and I knew the dangers better than you.’
‘You told me to run away and fetch help while you fought them, but by the time the men looked for you it was too late. I have always blamed myself for not staying to help you fight them.’
‘You were a child. What could you have done against such men? Would you rather I had let them take you too? Can you imagine what might have been your fate—where you might be now had you lived?’
Kathryn turned her head away so that he should not see her eyes, should not see the hurt he inflicted. ‘Do not mock me, Lorenzo. I cannot bear it.’
‘You mistake me. I do not mean to hurt you—but I should not have wished such a fate for you, that is all.’
‘If you will excuse me, I should like to go to my chamber and rest.’
‘Of course.’ He inclined his head, respectful, cool—almost a stranger. ‘I have things I must do while we are here. My father left the business of the estate for me to order as I thought fit.’
Kathryn glanced at him. ‘Do you think of living here?’
‘Would that please you?’
‘I was happy in Rome.’ She raised her head proudly. ‘At least, I was happy for some of the time.’
‘What does that mean, Kathryn?’
‘Whatever you would like it to mean,’ she said, a flash of pride in her eyes. She was suddenly angry. She had mourned him sincerely and he had no right to treat her this way! ‘Since you think so ill of me I shall not try to explain.’
She turned and walked away from him, leaving the room. Her heart was racing wildly and she wondered if he would follow her, compel her to answer him, but he did not.
Why should he? He did not want her love. He found it a burden. In Rome he had told her that he had never wanted to love her. Somehow he had conquered his emotions. He had claimed her because she belonged to him, but he did not truly want her.
Alone in the room Kathryn had just vacated, Lorenzo was haunted by the scent of the perfume she had left behind her. Throughout his captivity the memory of her scent, her softness, her sweetness, had made him determined to live, and now that he was with her he could not break down this barrier between them—a barrier he knew was of his making.
Had his jealousy driven a wedge between them? He had noticed her silence on the journey, her pale face, the accusation in her beautiful eyes, and knew it was his fault. In his first anger at seeing her so close to Michael, he had been too harsh. He cursed his ill temper. He had learned to be harsh of necessity. Once, he had been a very different man. Could he be as he had once been again? Could he learn to laugh and be happy?
He must and would try to make Kathryn happy! He could not know if it was too late to recover the brief happiness they had known in Rome, but he would try to win her.
And if that was not possible? Lorenzo asked himself if he would be prepared to give her up.
No! His mind rejected the idea instantly. She was his! He would not give her up. Somehow he would make her love him again.
Kathryn was walking in the gardens when she heard her husband’s voice calling to her. She stopped, waiting for him to come to her. She had seen him only at mealtimes or a brief moment in the evenings, for he had seemed to be working ever since they had arrived at Mountfitchet.
‘Kathryn,’ he said as he joined her, ‘is it not too cold for you to be walking?’
‘It is a little chilly,’ she agreed. Her restless mood had driven her outside, but she would not tell him that.
‘Shall we return to the house?’ he said, offering her his arm. ‘I have some news. A letter has come from Queen Elizabeth