LITMIR.BIZ

      ‘Do we really have to have such a large gathering?’ Kathryn asked. She had no desire to sit down to a banquet with thirty or more guests, nor did she wish to dance and make merry.

      ‘We are celebrating your brother’s betrothal,’ Sir John said, giving her a severe look. ‘You would not wish to appear lacking in your good wishes towards Philip and Mary Jane?’

      ‘No, Father, of course not. Mary Jane is a sweet girl and I have told Philip how happy I am for him, but—’

      ‘I shall hear no excuses, Kathryn. I have forgiven you for your earlier neglect of duty towards me, but I insist you oblige me in this matter.’

      Kathryn turned away, feeling his harshness like the sting of a whip. She had never known her father to be so stern and it hurt her deeply. He did not seem to understand that she was suffering terribly. She loved Lorenzo so much that sometimes her grief was almost impossible to bear.

      Leaving her father, she fetched her cloak and went out walking. It was bitterly cold, the wind whipping about her slight body, tugging at her clothes as if it wished to tear them away. Kathryn shivered, her face pinched and white. It was so much colder here on this Cornish coast than in Rome; there the winds had been warm, the air perfumed by sweet flowers, and she longed to be back there. She shuddered as she felt the icy wind touch her face, glancing up as the storm clouds gathered overhead.

      Such grey skies! How could she bear to go on living in this cold grey world without Lorenzo? It would be so much easier to die, for if there was an afterlife, as the priests promised, she might be with her lover.

      Her footsteps took her beyond her father’s estate, to the cliffs above the cove where her beloved Dickon had been stolen from her so many years ago.

      Was it possible that Lorenzo and Dickon were the same person? Charles Mountfitchet certainly believed it was so and Kathryn recalled the way her heart had recognised him the first time she gazed into his eyes—eyes so blue that no others compared. Yet she had rejected the thought, believing him a highborn Venetian, the true son of Antonio Santorini. She had not been willing to accept that such a man could be her lost love, and yet now…

      It seemed that she had lost her love for the second time. But why should she go on alone? Why should she bear this pain another moment? She had only to take two steps forward and she would go crashing down into that swirling venomous sea, where she would be instantly crushed against the jutting rocks.

      ‘Kathryn? Kathryn! No, you must not!’

      She turned as she heard the voice, her face suddenly alight with hope. For a moment she thought the man hurrying towards her was Lorenzo, but then she saw that it was Michael and she went to meet him, her heart racing. Perhaps he had news!

      ‘Kathryn!’ Michael said, his face anguished by concern. He had thought she meant to jump. ‘I thought for a moment that you meant to…’

      ‘Have you news?’ she asked, her hand reaching out to him in supplication. ‘Have you heard from him?’

      ‘I am sorry.’ He looked at her sadly, devastated that he must tell her what would hurt her. ‘I have been told that he was shot while trying to escape and fell into the sea. I believe our search is at an end.’

      ‘No…’ Kathryn moaned and swayed as the despair swept over her, engulfing her senses. ‘Lorenzo, no!’ She had known it must be so, but to hear the details was unbearable. ‘My love…’

      Michael caught her to him lest she fall. He held her as she sobbed out her grief against his chest, his lips murmuring words of comfort against the perfume of her hair.

      ‘My sweet love,’ he said softly. ‘Forgive me. I know it is Lorenzo you love, but I am here. I would love and protect you, heal your hurts.’

      ‘I cannot…’ She looked up at him, her eyes dark with grief. ‘I shall never love another. Never marry again.’

      ‘Hush, Kathryn. I do not ask it. I ask only to be your friend and perhaps one day you will look on me kindly. When your grief has healed.’

      Kathryn could not answer him. Her heart felt as if it had been cleaved in two. Everyone spoke of her grief healing one day, but they did not understand. No one knew how she felt. Michael was being kind, and she loved him as a friend, but he could never take Lorenzo’s place in her heart. It was impossible.

      ‘Come,’ she said, lifting her head, pride battling with the urge to give way to this pain inside her. She must try to put off this heavy grief. She must make an effort for the sake of her friends and family. ‘We must go back to the house, sir. My father will wish to speak with you.’