Catch Me in Castile

by Kimberley Troutte

  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.

  dc

  The vision ended as quickly as it had come. To my surprise, I found myself standing at the Botellos’ front door. A redheaded vixen had plagued Serena too. I suspected hers had been the death of her.

  “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.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The ancient stone cathedral was locked. Damn, I’d hoped for a little quiet time. My body was feeling much better, surprisingly normal, but my heart was broken. It had been a while since I’d been to church, but the spiritual pull was enticing. I needed a sanctuary. I reread the posted times and sure enough the doors were supposed to be open.

  “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 sho
uld 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?

  dc

  Luigi’s Italian Restaurant was packed, with a line snaking out the door. Luckily, Maria was already seated and waving to me through the window.

  Father Bob had helped to ease my spirit. I was ready to clear the air with Maria. I had a lot of atoning to do.

  “Hey. I already ordered for us. Linguini is the daily special, but we need the breaded calamari too. It’s to die for. Did you like the cathedral?” Her voice was soft, obviously treading lightly over the subject.

  “I really did. I spent the whole time talking to Father Roberto Vargas. Do you know him?”

  Her eyebrows rose as she shook her head. “You converted to Catholicism in the last three hours?”

  “Nope, but he did let me unburden myself. And to that end, I owe you a huge apology. I wasn’t straight with you about—”

  “Your feelings for my brother.” She silenced me with a raised hand. “I know.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t even have a good explanation. As it turns out I’m an utter jackass and a total idiot.”

  “Yes, yes you are.” The old sparkle glinted in her eyes.


  “I deserve it. But do you have to be so gleeful while I grovel?”

  “Yo?” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m just glad we’re friends again. I missed you.”

  I smiled. “All’s forgiven?”

  “Oh, babe, I always forgive, never forget.”

  My smile matched hers. “So, we’re okay?” I made an air circle between us.

  “Better than okay. We’re sisters.” She raised her glass. “To the end.”

  I raised my water glass and clinked with hers. “To the end.”

  Maria nodded to the waiter who brought the pasta and bread. “So tell me about this Father Roberto Vargas. Was he cute?”

  “He’s a priest.”

  “So? Men leave the priesthood for women all the time.”

  “Ah yeah. That’s sure to improve things in my life.” I pointed my water glass at her. “Entice a man to leave God? No. I’ve got enough issues. Besides, Father Bob was nice-looking, but I don’t normally go for men in robes.”

  Suddenly a flashback of Santiago wrapped in a white robe walking down a winding path carrying wine out to the Jacuzzi rushed through my brain. The knot of sorrow twisted tighter around my heart. “Even if I did, I’ve sworn off men. Possibly forever.”

  “Too bad.” She spun her linguini in her spoon. “They can be such fun when they’re not being monsters.” She smiled wickedly. “Then again, some monsters are loads of fun.”

  “So how about you? Did you find a present for your friend? What is it, a birthday?”

  “No. More of a special event sort of thing.” She patted a wrapped gift. “Erin, I have a favor to ask. I’ve invited my friend over to dinner. Someone I’d like to get to know a little better. I was wondering if maybe you wouldn’t mind eating out?” Her eyes pleaded.

  “Ah-ha. This sounds promising.” I winked. “I’m feeling pretty much myself now and would love to get out of the house for an evening. How about I go to dinner, maybe take in a movie, and then slip in late tonight so you and your friend can have a long visit?”

  This was a good thing. The time away from the house would give me a chance to talk to Santiago. Father Bob had suggested waiting, patience, giving Santiago space, blah, blah. But I couldn’t wait. In less than a week I was supposed to be in LA interviewing for a new partnership. I couldn’t leave without knowing the truth. Did he love me? Could he let me go?