Catch Me in Castile (21 page)

Serena hustles down the corridor, searching for Clara to see what she has heard. Rumor has it a noble lady is visiting the castle, someone of high distinction. All the servants were put on notice to cater to the lady’s every wish.

Surely, Clara knows who the lady is.
Serena rounds the corner and nearly smashes into her friend.

“Serena,” Clara says. “Are you being hunted by demons? Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“To find you. I wanted to ask you about the visiting lady.”

“Sssh.” Clara grabs Serena by the arm. “They approach. You should not be here.”

The marquesa and a lady are coming down the corridor. Serena gulps. There is nowhere to hide and it is too late to run. Clara shoots her an apologetic look. Bracing themselves, they stand shoulder-to-shoulder to greet the marquesa and the visiting lady.

Serena’s legs begin to shake. Until this moment, she has done her utmost to avoid the marquesa. It is no secret the marquesa sees her as no more than a bucket of dirty water to be tossed over the castle wall.

Should I run?
she asks Clara with her eyes.

Clara gives a short shake of the head and pats Serena’s clenched hand with her fingertips. They both curtsey.

“Clara, dear,” the marquesa says, not even looking at Serena. “So good you are here. Let me introduce a dear friend of mine. Lady Lucia Mara, this is my niece. Clara, will you please see to her needs? I must go, as Queen Isabel beckons.”

“Of course, Aunt Beatriz,” Clara says with a smile not reaching her eyes. “Welcome, Lady Mara. We have met before.”

The young lady moves forward to take Clara’s hand and her gown, as beautiful as spun gold, makes an exquisite swooshing sound. “At the Governor’s ball no doubt.”

Serena stands motionless, taking the scene in as if she were a painting on the wall. The lady’s striking beauty mesmerizes her. Lady Mara’s blue eyes sparkle against skin as fair as moonlight. Her pale brows all but disappear under the face powder. The woman’s lips are too thin to be so brightly painted and her cheeks too heavily rouged for Serena’s liking, still the effect is breathtaking. It is not until Serena notices the tomato-colored hair piled high upon the lady’s head that she stops short.

Sweet Mother.
How in the world has she ended up here, blinking at Andrés’s intended?

“And you are?” Lady Mara’s blue eyes rake over Serena.

Clara gives Serena a quick shake of her head, warning her not to speak. “This is Serena Muñoz who is just leaving, right Serena?” She flashes Serena a look saying, “Go now!”

“
Sí
. I must be…going,” Serena mumbles and nearly trips over her own feet to get away.

“Wait. You seem familiar.” Lady Mara turns to Clara. “Where have I seen her before?”

“I know not, my lady,” Clara lies. “Let us go. There is much more of the castle to show you.”

Serena blushes furiously, knowing exactly where Lady Mara saw her last—holding Andrés’s arm on the dance floor at Princess Juana’s matrimonial ball. She hides her scarred cheek against her shoulder and longs to escape.

Lady Mara taps a pale, thin finger against her temple. “Wait. Oh, this is a bother. I am going to be haunted until I remember why Serena looks so familiar. Were you at the Governor’s Ball last spring?”

Serena longs to melt into the tiles like candle wax. “No, my lady.”

“Hmm. The one in fall?”

Serena shook her head.

“What other balls have you attended?”

“Only one, my lady. Here.”

“Ah, Princess Juana’s matrimonial ball. You know, she looks a bit like…” Lady Mara’s blue eyes fly open in amazement. It seems she has remembered after all.

Clara clears her throat. “Continue on, shall we?”

“Not so fast, Clara. The Marquesa de Moya said all my needs would be provided for, did she not?”

“Of course.”

“Then I shall have Serena as my lady-in-waiting while I am here.”

“Surely, you would rather have one of our best maids assist you.” Clara refuses to meet Serena’s eyes.

“No. I want Serena.”

Serena’s mouth falls open. What evil trick of fates is this? How can she be required to assist Andrés’s betrothed? To brush the lady’s hair until it shines even more, to rub lotions into her beautiful skin, to fix her beautiful gowns so she is even more pleasing to his eye?

Clara’s face is flushed with the same shock rushing through Serena’s veins. “But Serena is awful as a lady-in-waiting. Trust me, simply horrible.”

Lady Mara puts her hands on her hips. “Hmm. Perhaps I shall speak to the marquesa about this.”

“No, if it is Serena you desire—”

“It is. No worries, if she is so unskilled, I shall teach her properly,” Lady Mara says with a gleam in her eye.

“It will be a pleasure, my lady.” Serena’s whisper sounds like a groan.

“Finish the important duty you were doing before we interrupted you, Serena. Then go to Lady Mara’s chambers.” Clara’s face is full of sympathy.

Serena walks on numb legs up the stairs to her room. There is no important duty she must do. Clara is trying to give her time to compose herself before returning to Lady Mara’s chambers.
Ha, as if there will ever be enough time in the world to do that.

Flopping on her bed, she tries not to think about the redheaded lady from Madrid. It is impossible.

She is a real lady
.
When he sees her, he shall soon forget me.

“You had to serve her?” I asked. “Did she know about you and Andrés?”

“She knew. I was her lady-in-waiting, but she treated me worse than the lowliest of servants. She beat me at every chance, hoping to carve more scars upon my face. I was terrified she would kill me in my sleep.”

“Andrés let her hurt you?”

“Oh no,”
she sighed.
“My love was far away from the castle, searching for spies, being the king’s emissary, protecting the crown. He had no inkling the worst threat of all was poised to strike him in the
Alcázar
. Your love does not know what harm awaits him either. You must stop Helena to save him.”

“All right, Serena,” I whispered to thin air. “I’ll fight.”

“Even God doesn’t want me around.”

I walked to the side of the building to a curio shop loaded with all sorts of touristy trinkets. A man in a brown robe was sitting behind the counter.

“
Bueno
,” he called out cheerily. “Come in.”

“Can you tell me when the cathedral will open again?”

He rose quickly. “Apologies. Sister Julia is on a break. I locked up to assist her in the store.” He chuckled. “No one has come in since she left, though. I fear I am better at tending His flock than selling to them. Care for a prayer card? Today’s the memorial for Saint Bridget of Sweden.”

I took it, glancing at the picture of the patron saint in a green dress with an open book and pen in hand. “She looks young.”

“Most martyrs did not live long. Occupational hazard.”

Joking? Do priests do that?

“Should I come back later? I really wanted to go inside the cathedral.”

He lifted a circular gold keychain off a hook nailed on the wall behind the counter. It reminded me of the keys used for prison doors in westerns. “No worries. I’ll lock the store and open the cathedral doors for you. I’m sure the Lord would prefer it.”

“Thank you, father—”

“Father Roberto Vargas.”

I shook the hand he offered. “Erin Carter.”

“American? In that case, call me Father Bob.”

Father Bob?
I cringed.
That’s like calling my gynecologist “Frank”.

In his forties, starting to bald, of medium height and build, he was average looking, except for those eyes. Deep brown and warm, his eyes seemed so familiar. They reminded me of someone I cared for. But who? Jack’s were blue. Santiago’s green. Who had sensitive, knowing eyes the color of brownies fresh out of the oven? It was going to drive me crazy.

The lock clicked and the tall wooden doors creaked open. I gasped when Father Bob flipped the light switch. The cathedral was beautiful, much bigger inside than it seemed from the outside and full of intimate alcoves.

The walls were splattered with very old, probably famous paintings. The carved wood beams were painted a beautiful sage green and the chandeliers were bursting with electric tapered candles. Sunlight glinted through multicolored windowpanes, a work of art in their own right. Lattice made of gold framed the altar. Statues of Christ and his mother came alive in the flickering candlelight. The musty air was still, heavy, sacred.

“Welcome,” Father Bob said cheerily, motioning for me to step over the threshold.

I wasn’t sure I could lift my foot. I felt so small, unworthy and pitiful.

“You did want to come inside?”

He was looking at me with those warm eyes and I suddenly couldn’t swallow past the lump in my throat.

“Does something trouble you, Ms. Carter?”

My laughter echoed off the walls. It was a cold, humorless sound. “I am troubled, yes.” Hell, I mean, heck, I should be locked away in a sanitarium.

“Would you like to step into my office?” He pointed to the confessional.

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’m not Catholic.”

Little lines crinkled around his eyes, deep commas framed his smiling mouth. “A pew then? We can just talk. Think of me as a counselor, a free one. Or better yet, a friend?”

I thought about the lies I’d told Maria and grimaced. “I haven’t been very nice to my friends lately.”

His brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

“All right. It would probably do me some good. To talk.” Pushing back the needling fear, I went in and sat in the last wooden pew.

He genuflected toward the altar and sat lightly beside me.

“How do I…where do I start?”

“Wherever you’d like.”

So I told him my own personal soap opera of soul-stealing obsession, relinquishing my body to a coldhearted bastard in the hopes of furthering my career and lying to everyone at the office, including myself. And about the blinding rage, the likes of which can drive a person into concrete posts.

“Was it an act of intention?” he asked. “To crash the company car?”

“I wish I knew. Sometimes I think I did it on purpose, other times it seems like an evil force overcame me. For a few seconds I actually think I passed out in the car before it crashed. So the truth is, it was not entirely intentional, but part of me was happy to do it. Horrible, right?”

“I’d say it is truthful.”

I sighed. “Truth can be illusive.”

His eyebrows hitched.

Then I told him about how falling in love with Santiago had changed me. How I was suddenly getting a glimpse of the person I wanted to be, was supposed to be. How we were making plans to be together when the floor was yanked out from under my feet.

“You had thoughts about ending your life, Erin? When you walked into the street?”

I liked the way we’d progressed to my first name. “For a minute or two. That’s all.”

“You must not think that way. God gave you the gift of life. He would be hurt if you threw it away.”

“Don’t worry, my MO is to kill
things
—cars and plants—not people. Not myself.”

He sat back in his chair, looking relieved. “That is good.”

“There is something more, but you’re going to think I’m crazy.” I kneaded the back of my neck. “I think I’m crazy.”

“You don’t seem so. Believe me, I’ve seen my share.”

So have I
. I took a deep breath.

He sat forward, listening to my every word. I told him about the dreams, the weird sensations, and my connection to the tower ghost. He was holding his breath by the time I got to the part where she could take over my mind whenever she pleased.

“The truth is, losing my job, the dreams, the ghost, all seem a part of some great plan. Like a divine hand has been guiding me here, to Spain.”

“To love?”

“Maybe,” I said quietly. “But why? Why would God get me here and then take it all away?”

“We can’t know His plan, Erin. Sometimes it seems clear, as bright as the shining sun. Many days it’s cloudy, unclear to our simple minds. We need Jesus to be our light, our guide through the darkness.”

“Did you say ‘darkness’?”

“Yes. There is evil all around. Put your hand in Christ’s. Place your trust in Him, Erin. He will guide you toward the right path.”

I wasn’t sure I liked his answer. It seemed like no answer at all.

Father Bob’s face was serious. “You doubt, I see.” He touched my hand. “Life is rarely easy, but it is always better with divinity on your side. Trust.”

“I will try.”

“Good. It is all I ask.”

“No Hail Marys, or some sort of punishment, for partially intentionally crashing the car and for the—” I had trouble even saying the word, “—lying?”

“Isn’t the sorrow you feel punishment enough?”

“I thought it was called guilt.” I grinned.

“Indeed. It’s called many things. You feel it, no?”

“Yes, I feel it.”

“Then you will make amends when you get back to the United States regarding the car. Even if the insurance has already paid for it, I am sure there is something you can do to improve matters. And you must make things right with your friend. Maria, is it?”

I nodded. Today when I met Maria at lunch, I would tell her the truth. All of it. “And Santiago? How do I get him back?”

“He asked for a week, give it to him.”

“What if he chooses someone else?”

“You can’t force a person to love you, no matter how hard you try. Give him his time, Erin, be patient. That’s all you can do.”

“I hate that answer,” I grumbled.

“Sorry. I’m not paid to lie to you.”

I sat a long, quiet moment staring at the frayed burgundy carpet between my shoes. Big drops of sadness rolled down my cheeks.

“What about the rest?” I whispered. “You know, the ghost. Am I crazy?”

He steepled his fingertips. “There are spirits, angels and saints, all around us, Erin. They are our ancestors, our family, who have traveled on before us. Like Saint Bridget of Sweden.” He pointed to the prayer card on my lap. “We ask them to pray for us, guide our footsteps.”

“I don’t know this Serena. As far as I know, she’s not a relative and she lived over five hundred years ago, for gosh sakes.”

His face was grave, his fingers worrying the tassel on his belt. “It is a long time ago, I agree. God must have a reason.”

“She thinks I’m the only one who can help her move on. But how’s that possible? My mom made me perform a séance once. It was all baloney. I had no idea what I was doing. As if a kid would even know what a séance—” My mouth remained open, but the words stopped short.

“You were saying?”

“‘Say-on’.”

“Are you all right? You’ve grown pale.”

“That’s it.” I clapped my hands together. “The ghost wants me to perform a séance to help her move on. She doesn’t know how to do it herself because of the post-traumatic stress.”

“Do you know how to do this?”

“I have no idea.”

“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin. “What would happen if you do not succeed in this task?”

“I…I hadn’t thought of that. She’d go haunt someone else?”

“Perhaps. Then again, she may get angry. I would keep my eyes open if I were you, Erin. And be careful. I will pray the Lord will keep you safe.”

Seeing the worry in his eyes gave me pause. “Am I in danger?”

The flicker of fear across his face said more than his words. “I will pray for your safety.”

Now, why didn’t that make me feel any better?