Catch Me in Castile

by Kimberley Troutte

  “Who is he?” Serena squints as hard as she can.

  “Over here!” Clara dances on her tippy-toes. “Aya, he saw me.”

  Serena’s heart pounds when the young man slows his horse. She has the urge to run back inside the castle, but her feet root themselves into the grass and her eyes refuse to look anywhere other than at the young man.

  He wears a dark blue tunic with matching hose and felt hat. Sitting tall upon his gray horse, he resembles a statue of a soldier in the plaza. He is perhaps the most beautiful creature she has ever seen.

  “Good day, ladies,” he says.

  He has a deep, rich voice that sings sweeter to her heart than any melody she has ever heard, including those Father Simón sings during Mass. The thought brings terror to her chest and she half-expects to be struck down where she stands for blasphemy.

  “Why, is that really you, Andrés?” Clara runs to him. The tight bodice of her gown strains with every breath she takes. “I thought you were off fighting great battles for our king.”

  “Surely a swordsman, even the greatest of them all—” he winks, “—cannot always be fighting.” His gaze fixes upon Serena, traveling from the tip of her head down to her tiny feet. No part of her has moved since his arrival.

  “Tell me all the news.” Clara twists her long blond braid around her finger. “I want to hear everything.”

  “But, cousin, where are your manners?” When he removes his hat, dark hair falls across his brow. He swings his leg off the horse, landing lightly in front of the silent Serena. “Are you not going to introduce me to this beautiful señorita?”

  Serena’s face burns. Her gaze quickly pulls away from the warm brown eyes boring into her soul.

  “Apologies,” Clara says. “Serena Muñoz de Avila, this handsome brute is my cousin, Andrés, the Marques de Moya.”

  He bows deeply. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Serena makes a small curtsy in response, but cannot manage a word. In her fourteen years, she has never conversed with a young man, let alone a handsome nobleman. Until this moment, she has not stared one directly in the eye either. Her hot cheeks grow hotter. She is aghast to feel tears threatening to flow.

  Andrés seems not to notice her discomfort. “Serena from Avila, is it? My mother did not send word that a lovely lady was staying in the Alcázar. I might have taken my two-week leave from the king’s army earlier.”

  Serena’s eyes widen. It is as if a dozen tiny birds have suddenly taken flight inside her chest. She looks up from the ground and is instantly captivated by his handsome face.

  “Will you be staying in Segovia long?” He leans toward her.

  It is difficult to swallow. The young man’s face becomes distorted through tears of embarrassment welling in her eyes. After an unbearable moment of silence, she opens her mouth and garbles, “I…uh…um…”

  Clara rushes to her rescue. “Do not tease her so. She is from the convent and not accustomed to your charm.”

  His mouth opens in surprise. “This beautiful young lady is from the convent?”

  Serena’s hand flies to her hot cheek. The nobleman must not have seen the scar, or he would not use the words “beautiful” and “lovely”.

  “Remember when your mother’s friend adopted a girl? Serena is that girl. She’s living at the palace until she is of age and finds a suitable husband,” Clara said.

  “A suitable husband?” He grins.

  “Certainly, perhaps a smithy, or we could hope for a merchant of wares.” Even though Clara leans close to Andrés’s ear, Serena hears her friend whisper, “The poor girl has no dowry, no family.”

  Andrés is taken aback. “I see.”

  Serena feels herself melting into the dirt.

  “She is fortunate to be under your mother’s care.” Clara pats Serena’s shoulder. “Even if a nobleman is out of her reach.”

  Serena blinks hard, but the tears fall anyway. She has heard stories of lightning striking people. Why cannot a bolt hit her now and put an end to this misery?

  “Dios mío, are you ill?” Clara asks.

  Still Serena cannot find her tongue to speak.

  Andrés shifts uncomfortably from boot to boot. “I should, that is to say, I must…” He clears his throat. Turning toward his horse, he finds the excuse to take his leave. “…be off to the stables. Buenos tardes.” In a flurry of motion, he swings up onto the saddle and is gone.

  “Holy Mother, Serena! Did a spirit brush against your soul?” Clara chides.

  “Sorry,” she sniffles. “No man has spoken directly to me. Save the priest during confession. And he is behind the curtain.”

  “Sweet Mother!” Clara laughs. “Not to worry. Andrés did not mean you any harm. He compliments all the señoritas. It is part of his nature. Noblemen are like that.” She chuckles again. “Only the priest, rico. You have lived a sheltered life. But let me tell you mine has not been too different.

  “When I was a girl, my mother sent me here to learn how to be a real lady. And—as you have seen with your own eyes—Aunt Beatriz is a harsh woman. Not so loving as my own mother. I tell you true, Andrés was my saving grace. He invited me to play the games of hide and chase with himself, Prince Juan and the royal princesses. He made me feel at home. So you see, he is no monster to fear. And I shall teach you how to speak to the next nobleman who passes by.”

  Serena doubts she will ever be able to speak to a nobleman. Pressing her hand to her breast, she wonders at how fast her heart is beating. It has never raced so.

  dc

  He was checking my pulse. My blood raced under those gentle fingertips.

  “Open your eyes, querida. That’s better.” Santiago’s handsome face was taut with concern.

  “What happened?” Disoriented, and embarrassed, I tried to sit up.

  “Slowly,” he warned.

  Resting my head back on his lap, I blinked my eyes, trying to clear my blurry vision. My chest was tight with an unnamed panic. I had the strangest desire to get up and run like mad.

  With him peering into my eyes with such feeling, what sane woman would flee?

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked softly.

  “The man of my dreams?”

  Santiago smiled. “Good, you’re feeling better?”

  My thoughts were fuzzy. A heavy sense of dread pounded through my veins. Fear had left a foreboding aftertaste. “We have to get out of here,” I mumbled.

  “Do you know where you are?” He looked closely at my pupils.

  I was stretched out on a very hard floor staring up at an old, sloping, wood-beamed ceiling. I’d been here hundreds of times before. Well, not exactly in his lap, but in this tower. Place of death. “Yes,” I said weakly. “Disneyland.”

  “Close enough.” His face was gentle. I imagined he used this soothing tone on scared children in the hospital. “I should’ve listened. You really are afraid of heights.”

  “Just today.” And the other day on the balcony. Oh…no, I was developing a phobia.

  “You fainted.” The tour guide’s head popped up over Santiago’s shoulder.

  “That’s impossible. I don’t faint.” My indignant words sounded like they came from inside a tunnel.

  “Did she touch you?” the guide asked me. His face was screwed up in fear.

  Santiago glanced over his shoulder. “Who?”

  “The Tower Ghost. They say one touch and the victim goes insane.”

  “No. Still sane,” I replied. At least I hoped I was.

  “Shew,” the guide mumbled. “I’d hate to lose another one.”

  “Do you mind?” Santiago asked. “She needs air.”

  “Of course. Sorry.” The guide stepped back.

  Santiago gently moved the hair out of my eyes. “Racing pulse, hyperventilation, temporary loss of consciousness? All classic signs of extreme phobia. You were very brave. I shouldn’t have pressed you to look out the window. Forgive me.”

  “I feel like a total idiot.”
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  He helped me up and held me in his arms for a moment. He was waiting until I was stable on my feet, but being held like that could wobble any girl’s legs.

  “Do you want to see the rest of the castle?” The guide asked.

  “No,” we replied in unison.

  Santiago wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I think the princess has had enough of the tower.”

  “More than enough, Knight of the Santiago Order.”

  His mouth fell open. “How did you… Oh, Maria took you to the House of Shells.” He grinned. “All right then, I’m rescuing you, fair princess. Let’s go.”

  Outside the castle, I peeked back up at the dark window. A cold chill prickled my skin.

  “Ghosts.” I shivered. “The screaming got to me.”

  He touched my shoulder lightly. “It was only the wind.”

  Um, no, the wind didn’t usually yell at me to get away in a woman’s voice.

  “You’re feeling normal now?” He gently rubbed my arm as if he were calming a frightened wild pony. We walked back to the parking lot.

  Normal? I almost snorted. Extreme phobias coming and going, hearing screaming ghosts, being inside the death castle of my nightmares? Being insane was the only sane answer. Sweet God, the craziness that ran in my family was catching me.

  “Better.”

  “Climb on, princess.” He handed me a helmet and motioned for me to sit behind him on the motorcycle.

  I hopped on, feeling very much like a princess hugging her handsome prince. Only the strong steed we rode was a hog, of the motorcycle breed.

  The scenery flew by, changing from tall buildings to long stretches of green countryside to small mountain villages dotting the foothills at the base of sharply angled mountains.

  Santiago stopped once to call Maria and check Rodrigo’s crude map and then we were off again. It was early evening by the time we reached the lodge. Nestled against the foothills with pines all around was a stunning A-frame with high ceilings, large windows and the biggest log beams I’d ever seen.

  “This is it?” I read the sign. “La Querida de las Montañas.”

  “Sweetheart of the Mountains.” He patted the helmet on my head. “Like you.” After unlocking the ornate wood door, he stepped back so I could go first and flipped the lights on behind me.

  The entrance was lovely. Overhead a large crystal chandelier hung from the high-beamed ceiling. Oil paintings of the Spanish countryside hung on the walls. A red carpet lay across the tiled floor. To our right was the dark cherry check-in-counter. Scattered throughout the lobby were several intimate spots where couples could cuddle up on leather couches, drink hot toddies and warm their bodies by the huge rock fireplace.

  “Santiago, look at this view.”

  He followed me to a gigantic window. We stood shoulder to shoulder in awed reverence. The last of the afternoon sunshine slanting through the window warmed our bodies and painted the snow-capped mountains with its soft yellow glow.

  “Are those the Pyrenees? They don’t look real,” I marveled.

  “They’re full of magic,” he said softly.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “We have a saying: once brushed by the magic of the Pyrenees, good fortune will follow.”

  “Have you been brushed by their magic?”

  A secret smile played on those full lips. “I’ve been at the feet of the sleeping giants and felt their magic.”

  “And the fortune?”

  Slowly he turned to face me. “We’re here together.”

  It was suddenly hard to swallow. I edged closer. “Thank you for bringing me.”

  “Why thank me? We wouldn’t have come if you weren’t so ignorant about sports,” he teased.

  I socked his shoulder. “I’m not ignorant about all sports. Just silly European ones.”

  “Hey!” He rubbed his arm. “You’d better take that back. We Spaniards don’t do anything silly.”

  “No? What’s up with that?” With my fingers drumming my hips, I shook my head sadly. “Lame sports and no sense of fun? That’s messed up.”

  He squinted at me. “Are you insulting my countrymen?”

  “Stating facts. I do have an idea how we can bring a little silly into your life.”

  He crossed his hands over his chest. “Plop down in front of—forgive my language—the boob-tube? Catch one of those highly intelligent American reality shows?”

  “Not a show. Just catch—” I shoved him and took off running, “—me.”

  Being alone in the lobby gave my feet wings. My shoes made slapping sounds, echoing off the high ceilings as the carpet changed to hardwood and then tile and back to carpet again beneath my feet. I didn’t look back.

  Startled at first, he quickly jumped into the game and was in hot pursuit. I squealed. Career woman was long gone. I was deliriously free. Breathing heavily, I rounded a red leather couch. We circled the couch a few times, warily eyeing each other.

  “There’s no way you’re going to catch me,” I taunted. “Might as well give it up.”

  “Think so?”

  To my amazement he leapt over the back of the couch, landing square in front of me, graceful as a cat. “Track team.” He smiled triumphantly. “Hurdles.”

  “Hey, no fair!” I protested when he repeated my move by pushing me backwards onto the couch. I stopped protesting the moment he landed lightly on top of me.

  “Wrestling team too.” He pinned my arms and legs beneath his hot body. “Any other macho sports you wish me to demonstrate?”

  I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. His deep laughter joined mine and resonated throughout the lobby. I hadn’t heard him laugh like that before. It was music to my ears.

  “Say it.”

  “What?” My chest heaved up and down against his.

  “‘Spaniards are the best.’”

  “At?”

  “This…” His lips met mine.

  Chapter Ten

  Lord Almighty. It was like being dragged under water, without the kicking and screaming part. Everything spun out of control. I couldn’t breathe, didn’t know which way was up, didn’t care. I hung on, letting the hot current take me with him.

  He kissed like a man in need. Desperate, burning need. His lips laid claim to me like he owned me. I kissed him back, giving in to all the want flooding through my body. Desire, hunger, joy I’ve never known, all swirled together in a heady mix making my head spin.

  I wanted more, much, much more. Melting into the couch, I was a puddle of boneless, burning electricity. I opened my eyes halfway to gaze at him. Oh man, the way this man kissed. Glorious. Beauty. Haaawwt. I closed my eyes again and let him take me away.

  Then tragedy struck.

  He ripped his lips from mine and bolted upright. “Why’d you do that?” He rubbed his cheek as if he’d been stung.

  “Um, you kissed me. Not that I mind.”

  His face was a mixture of surprise and alarm. “Your hands. I pinned them.”

  I wiggled my arms out from under him. “You did, but I doubt you’d be able to do it again,” I taunted playfully. “Here they are. Free. Try to get them.”

  “But how did you…?”

  “Are you okay? You’ve gone all pale on me. Except for…hey, what’s that mark on your cheek?”

  He had on his serious doctor eyes. “Maria told me what happened in Los Angeles.”

  “Maria told you?” That little skunk. “Everything?”

  “You’ve been through an emotional trauma.”

  “That’s true…” I had no idea where he was going with this.

  “If you’re confused about being here with me. I understand.”

  “Wait. What?”

  He rubbed his cheek. “It’s not your fault. You’re vulnerable. I shouldn’t have pinned your arms.”

  I sat up. “I’m not as vulnerable as you’d think. Come here, let me prove it to you.” I started to wrap my arms around his neck, but he ducked under them and flew off the co
uch.

  “I’ll see if there’s any food in the kitchen. You rest.” He pointed to the couch. “After the fainting spell in the tower, you shouldn’t have been running.”

  In shock, I watched him go. “Oh, wow,” I sighed, sinking back into the couch. How in the world was I ever going to get through to such a man? His barriers were so darn thick.

  My body was still sizzling. I ran a finger across my lips, praying he would come back and kiss me again.

  He searched the refrigerator. Bare. The pantry. Not much. Cabinets. A box of crackers. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, hands on his hips, he caught sight of his reflection in the chrome oven handle. He moved closer and peered at his distorted face. The outline of a handprint was clearly visible.

  Why’d she do it? And the fainting episode—clearly she was more unstable than he’d originally thought. What in the hell was her mental state? Phobia, for sure, a hint of bipolar disorder as well? Maria said Erin was depressed after losing her job, was she now swinging toward manic? And what about the voice she’d heard in the tower? Dear God, was she schizophrenic too?

  He blew out a heavy breath. He liked her. Too damn much. But he couldn’t get involved. No matter what Maria said, it would be cruel to date a woman in emotional distress knowing full well he’d never commit to her. Better to end things now, before they got out of hand.

  He would be a friend to her—obviously she needed one. But a novio? No, that honor he would leave to a better man. He just couldn’t do it.

  dc

  Serena squinted at the man before her. Santiago, was it? Dangerous, is what he was.

  Her senses were growing stronger and more acute the longer she stayed awake. And what she sensed now made her blood boil.

  Serena smelled death on the man. He stank of murder and deceit.

  Why does Erin care for him?

  It did not matter. Serena knew Erin was her only pathway to Andrés. In the short time she had been near Erin, Serena recalled bits and pieces of her life. Her memories were weaving together like a tapestry. How wonderful to remember her childhood and the fateful day she met her beloved.