by Stella Riley
Kate melted against him. She skimmed kisses along his jaw, down his throat and let her lips linger against his left shoulder. Then his hands commenced their skilled assault and his voice stole enticingly through her senses. For this time, Luciano allowed himself the luxury of saying, in English, the words he’d previously forbidden himself … wrapping her mind in everything that was in his heart whilst offering her body every nuance of pleasure which his own could provide.
Slowly, inch by exquisite inch, he worshipped her, treasuring every tremor of response and each reciprocal caress. Eventually, as much for his own satisfaction as for hers, he brought her to wild, shuddering fulfilment before he sought his own release. And then, when she was beyond everything but sobbing his name, he whispered, ‘Caterina … heart of my heart. I love you.’
And came home.
* * *
In the wake of the disaster of Naseby, Prince Rupert marched pessimistically to secure Bristol and his royal uncle’s private correspondence fell under the delighted scrutiny of the Commons. It had been seized in the recent battle and revealed the King’s efforts to get men and money from Denmark, France and Holland, along with his plans to enlist the aid of the Irish Confederacy. Within a month, publication of The King’s Cabinet Opened promoted distrust amongst even His Majesty’s closest friends and dealt a heavier blow to his cause than he realised.
For possibly the first time, remarked Luciano dispassionately, the Parliament could count itself firmly in the ascendancy. Montrose might still be scoring victory upon victory in Scotland but that was of little use to the King when his English troops were achieving almost nothing and Goring [sober for once] had just had two thousand of his men taken prisoner at Langport. In short, unless His Majesty had an ace up his sleeve or was determined to fight on to the bitter end, it was probably time he started considering negotiation.
Kate could see the sense in this but, after three long years of hostility and so many false predictions, found it hard to accept. She also had more important things to think about – such as Luciano’s constant pressure to get her to go back to the safety of Thorne Ash and the little excursions he and Toby and Selim were making to distribute bundles of illicit cartoons. But the cartoons themselves, she had to admit, were works of art … each one brilliantly conceived and captioned by Luciano and flawlessly executed by Toby. It had taken a good deal of lying coercion to persuade Geoffrey to court trouble with a second round of printing – but Kate had been ruthless. For if their efforts made life just a tithe less comfortable for Major Winter, it would undoubtedly have been worth it.
The only difficulty was that, due to Luciano’s ridiculous obstinacy on the subject – and despite the occasional illicit hour they managed to enjoy together - Kate found herself condemned to continuing to live under Amy’s roof.
‘Why can’t I just tell her we’re married and live here with you?’ she asked Luciano for possibly the twentieth time. ‘Since Cyrus Winter knows, I can’t see why everyone else shouldn’t know as well. And I’m sick of Amy’s tantrums.’
‘Then go home,’ came the unsympathetic reply. ‘You know it’s what I want – and your mother too, come to that. As for why you can’t live here, God knows we’ve been through it often enough. When the inevitable gossip starts to bite, Winter will know exactly who to blame and this house will become a target.’
‘You can’t be sure of that,’ argued Kate. And then, with cunning, ‘Besides … only think how much better you could protect me if I was constantly under your eye.’
‘And how much less I’d get done with you distracting me at every turn,’ he retorted with a sudden smile. ‘No, Caterina. You’re not taking up residence beneath my roof until I can be sure it’s not going to collapse on your head. And that is quite final.’
* * *
July moved slowly towards August. The King lost Carlisle, Pomfret and Scarborough and his Pemrokeshire forces were scattered; the yeomen of Dorset and Somerset attacked troops from both sides with increasing venom; and, so gradually that no one was able to say exactly when it began, Cyrus Winter became one of the most talked-of men in the kingdom.
In Oxford, as in London, the first faint whispers grew into a crescendo of speculation. Sardonic insertions began to appear in Mercurius Aulicus and, with its usual flair, Britannicus observed that there was no smoke without fire. Luciano settled back to wait, his satisfaction imperceptibly charged with tension. They were approaching the point where, if anything was going to happen, it would happen very soon – and it was therefore sensible to take a few extra precautions. He despatched the last batch of cartoons westwards by carrier, organised a round-the-clock watch on the Cheapside premises and forbade any of his little family to go anywhere unaccompanied. Then he set about liquefying his assets and investments, called in numerous loans and spent long hours in the workshop with Toby and Gino, completing every outstanding commission. In short, though only Giacomo was fully aware of it, he was paving the way to leave London at a moment’s notice – with every penny he owned sewn neatly into his coat lining in the form of a banker’s draft.
Kate, meanwhile, was beginning to find the waiting irksome – mainly because, though she spent hours in Cheapside, she rarely saw Luciano for more than ten minutes together.
‘Why doesn’t something happen?’ she asked restlessly. ‘Or do you think Major Winter has grown tired of the game?’
‘Not,’ said Luciano succinctly, ‘unless he’s on his death-bed. And even then he’d find a way to leave a parting gift.’
Kate fell silent. It was a pleasant August evening and, with darkness just falling and Selim shadowing their steps, Luciano was escorting her back to Fleet Street. Though the sectarian preachers ranted as much as usual, London was once more in jubilant mood due to the recent successes of Tom Fairfax and Oliver Cromwell … but it wasn’t an optimism Kate shared.
‘Then what is he waiting for? He must have seen the cartoons by now. Unless he doesn’t realise who he has to thank for them?’
‘He’ll realise. He’ll know that Tobias and Geoffrey were arrested for this once before. No. The only doubt in his mind will be over whether I’m doing it out of jealousy – or because I know who he is.’ He paused and met her eyes. ‘And, since he can’t risk assuming it’s the former, he’ll have to move in for the kill.’
‘Oh God,’ she said weakly. ‘Why didn’t I just let Selim cut his throat while I had the chance?’
‘You know why. I have to know why my father died – or everything I’ve done will be for nothing … and Richard will have died in vain.’
A lump formed in Kate’s throat and she swallowed hard. It had been more than a year now but still the pain did not lessen. Then, before she could speak, Selim’s voice came softly from behind them. ‘Efendim? We are being followed.’
Luciano’s arm tensed beneath Kate’s hand. Without turning, he said, ‘How many?’
‘Two.’
‘And you’re sure they’re following?’
‘Yes. I saw them first as we left Friday Street.’
‘Then let’s assume there are others.’ With the massive bulk of St Paul’s blocking out what remained of the light, the darkness was almost total. Luciano eased his sword free and took hold of Kate’s hand. ‘It’s probably nothing. But in case it isn’t, we’d better make a little detour.’ And, without giving her time to reply, he swerved abruptly through a narrow passageway to their left, secure in the knowledge that, where he led, Selim would follow.
The passage became a small courtyard and then, after some searching, a passage again. Over the pounding of her own heart, Kate could hear footfalls running behind them. She wondered how many were chasing them … and then, since there was only one way to find out, decided she’d rather not know.
They emerged in front of the Wardrobe and immediately plunged past it into Doctor’s Commons before pausing for a moment listen. The sounds of pursuit had disappeared.
‘They’ve gone,’ whispered Kate. ‘Lost us and gi
ven up?’
‘Perhaps.’ Luciano looked past her to Selim and, keeping his voice low, said, ‘If this is an attack, they’ll know where we’re going. And that being so, they’ll realise we have to cross the Fleet and will try to beat us to the only places we can do it.’
Selim nodded. ‘And so?’
‘The bridge in Bridewell. And hurry!’
The noisome alleyways of Bridewell had previously lain outside Kate’s experience and she wished they might have remained so. There was an all-pervading odour of rotting refuse and she dared not think what was squelching and sliding under her feet. Not that it would have done much good if she had thought of it for this was scarcely the time for being choosy about where one was treading – and the pace Luciano was setting did not allow for it anyway. He, it was perfectly plain, knew exactly where he was going … ploughing erratically but persistently eastwards and leaving Kate with no alternative but to hoist her skirts as far clear of the filth as she could and struggle to keep up.
When they were nearly upon their goal and realising that the bridge lay less than thirty feet past the next bend, Luciano halted again in the shadows and softly invited Selim to reconnoitre. The Turk grunted and the long knife glimmered in his hand. Then he disappeared.
Luciano filled the time by kissing his wife. If asked, he would have said this was purely to give Kate new heart whilst simultaneously keeping her quiet. It would have been a lie.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a rush of feet and the sound of scraping metal. Releasing Kate and drawing his sword in the same smooth movement, he breathed, ‘Stay here!’ and was off in Selim’s wake.
He moved fast but with caution, keeping as close to the wall as he could. Then, from out of the dark ahead of him came a choking cry and the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground. Luciano threw caution to the winds and ran.
There were three of them – in addition to the inert heap on the cobbles – and all were circling just out of range of Selim’s knife. Without stopping to think, Luciano took the one nearest to him with a rush and felt his blade connect with flesh and bone. Howling, the fellow dropped his cudgel to grasp his own shoulder and fell back. Selim grinned.
‘Hoşgeldiniz, efendim,’ he said. ‘Kolay olabilir. May it be easy.’
Luciano was too busy to reply. Of the two remaining assailants, only one held a sword and he had already launched his attack with a ringing blow that jarred Luciano’s arm from wrist to shoulder.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ grinned the fellow. ‘By the time I’ve finished with you, death will be a relief.’
‘Then you’ll have to try harder. But if you last the night, you can tell Cyrus Winter that I’m still waiting for him to come in person.’ And, summoning every ounce of strength and skill Luciano opened an attack of his own.
Selim stopped playfully sidestepping and slicing at his own opponent. Sending the threatening cudgel flying with a well-placed kick, he closed in and drove his knife expertly between neck and shoulder. The man died with a choking gurgle and blood pumped out over the cobbles but Selim did not see it. He had eyes only for his master.
Kate was watching, too. Though the whole business could have taken no more than three minutes so far, she had not waited where Luciano had left her but instead crept forward in the shadow of the houses to a place where she could see what was happening. She had not previously known whether or not Luciano knew how to use a sword; now she saw that he undoubtedly did. It ought to have made her less afraid but somehow it didn’t – even though he was driving the would-be assassin back and back towards where she stood. A discarded club lay at her feet and, heart in mouth, she picked it up. Then, sensibly waiting for the perfect moment, she stepped out into the lane and smashed it down on the villain’s head.
He dropped like a stone, leaving Luciano staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and unwilling laughter. Then he knelt swiftly beside the fallen man and, after a second, said, ‘Well done, carissima. I thought for a moment you’d killed him – and what price then my message to Winter?’ He rose, turning. ‘Selim? The wounded one got away and may bring others down on us – so let’s go. They’ll assume we’ve crossed the bridge but they’ll be wrong. Come on.’
‘Where?’ asked Kate, stumbling blindly after him back the way they had come. Then, as the warmth of his hand began to banish the shakiness that had afflicted her, ‘Not back to Cheapside?’
‘No. Nor anywhere else Winter’s minions are likely to think of.’
‘Blackfriars,’ said Selim simply. ‘Of course. It is well.’
‘I’m glad you approve,’ responded Luciano satirically. ‘Now – let’s go.’
Due to almost two years of neglect, the Heart and Coin was no longer the neat, well-cared for place it had once been. Bars had been nailed across the doors and windows and weeds grew in the flower-troughs. But the sign was still there, hanging askew from one hinge – and it was that which finally told Kate where she was.
The brothel. He had brought her, out of necessity, to the house that had once been run by his mistress; the woman who, according to Toby, had been pushed to her death by another of Cyrus Winter’s hired bravos. Kate’s breath caught and, turning, she met Luciano’s eyes. They were carefully blank.
Selim, meanwhile, had wrenched the bars from the back door and forced it open. Inside was a smell of dust and mildew. Kate waited in the pitch-dark for someone to make a light and, in time, Luciano appeared shading the flame of a candle with one hand. His face, in the fitful light was that of a stranger, but his voice robbed the illusion of its potency.
‘Welcome,’ he said blandly, ‘to my secret hovel. It won’t be the most comfortable night you’ve ever spent – but at least it should be safe.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Pulling herself together, Kate matched her tone to his. ‘So why don’t make it a bit more habitable? There must, for example, be other candles.’
‘There are.’ Luciano shepherded her further into the large room which, aside from the kitchen, was the only accommodation below stairs. ‘There is also a small stock of firewood. So while I get a fire going, no doubt Selim will see if there’s anything left in the cellar.’
Selim departed without a word. And while Kate lit more candles, Luciano knelt by the hearth and said quietly, ‘You knew about this place?’
‘Toby told me a long time ago.’ She paused. ‘And you told me about Gwynneth.’
‘I only told you what she herself knew.’ The kindling began to crackle and there was a spurt of flame. ‘I don’t know why I’m referring to this now … except, perhaps, that this isn’t a place where I would ever willingly have brought you.’
Kate slid on to her knees beside him and turned his face gently towards her with one light palm. She said, ‘Do you think I don’t know that? You have no need to explain.’
The shuttered expression faded and his fingers found and then entwined themselves with hers. His gaze caressed her mouth, causing her to sway towards him. And then Selim reappeared with a bottle of wine in each hand.
Later, when they held cups of claret and were sitting around the cheerful blaze, Kate said, ‘What happens now?’
‘Until it’s light, nothing. Then you go back to Fleet Street and I go back to Cheapside and we pack.’
Her brows rose. ‘We’re going somewhere?’
‘In a manner of speaking. You – accompanied by Tobias, Giacomo and Gino – are setting out immediately for Thorne Ash. I, along with Selim, am going in search of Cyrus Winter.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’re about to argue. Don’t. It’s time to clear the stage of spectators and set the scene for the last act. Everything is in train for me to shut up the house in Cheapside in the next day or two … and by that time, you’ll be half-way home.’
Kate knew that tone as the one against which it was never any use protesting. Quelling a furious impulse to hurl her cup into the fire, she said, ‘I see you’ve got it all worked out.’
‘Yes. And not before time, don’t you thi
nk? After all, I’ve devoted the last five years of my life to this business.’
‘And what if that becomes literally true? Don’t you think I’ve a right to be with you?’
‘No. I don’t. I want you safely out of harm’s way – and, after tonight, it must be perfectly obvious why,’ he said flatly. ‘So pack your bags and tell Amy you’re going home. Tobias and the others will collect you around noon.’
* * *
On top of a sleepless night during which he’d thought of little except the impossibility - no matter how much he wanted it - of making love to his wife in the decaying brothel once run by his mistress, Luciano was not in the mood to be tactful when Toby and Giacomo also objected to the plans he had made. He therefore resorted to a blighting speech in which he pointed out that he was depending on them to care for Kate in his absence, deliver Aysha to her former colleagues in Oxford and remove to safety all the major equipment of his trade. And finally, thankfully, they agreed to go.
With a myriad of small things still to be done, he had fixed his own departure for the next day. He spent the afternoon alternately burning papers or storing them in iron-bound boxes and, by the early evening was engaged in clearing the little that remained in the workshop.
Most of the stock he had amassed in earlier days – either of his own making or that which he had bought at the beginning of the war – had been disposed of. But there were a number of enamelled chains, rings, pendants, brooches and quantities of uncut gems; rubies from India, topaz from Brazil and Persian lapis. And, along with the various bracelets and necklaces he’d made himself, lay the pride of his collection. Antique cameos such as the one he had sent to Kate; Byzantine, Roman and Egyptian. For a long time, he stared meditatively down on a perfectly carved face that might have belonged to Cleopatra. Then, carefully and with precision, he set about packing every piece and stone into a wooden chest.
He had his precious banker’s draft and a fair amount of loose coin. It would be stupid to take the jewels too. But the question, with time pressing, was what to do with them instead. Shrugging slightly, Luciano picked up the box and carried it down into the cellar where the floor was of beaten earth. It wasn’t the best of solutions but it was all he could think of. He found a spade, took off his coat and started to dig.
