“Very nice.” Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Thanks.”
“Is that all you’re going to say on the subject?”
“Isn’t the food good here?”
I laughed. “Spoilsport. What’s the matter, you don’t want to jinx your mystery date? I just told you I’ve given up men. How can I live vicariously through you, if you won’t share?”
She sipped her wine.
“You’re terrible.” I broke a piece of steaming bread and dipped it into the balsamic vinegar and olive oil mixture. “It’s nice to feel like eating again.”
“Poor baby, you’ve had such a rough time here.”
“Rough? I’ve been the sick guest from hell. I’m sure you’ll never invite me again.”
She patted my arm. “Well, I haven’t been the best hostess either. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been just a tad grumpy. And I haven’t been totally straight with you.”
I glanced up from my salad. Was she finally going to tell me what happened to her five years ago?
“I didn’t want to talk about it before.” She played with her fork, dragging it through the marinara sauce. “There was a reason why I had to leave Salamanca.”
“What happened?”
“I was hurt. Badly.” Her eyes didn’t reach mine.
“Abused?”
Her head shook. “Only my heart. You go along, living your life, building this little world around you. It’s fragile, not great, but at least it’s comfortable. Safe. Yours. You know?”
“Yes.”
Her face contorted in agony. “Then this bitch comes along and takes it all. Your life. Everything. All gone. He swears he’ll always be there for you the day before he stops taking your calls. You want to scratch out her eyeballs, make him come back—” her voice dropped, “—but there’s nothing you can do. Your mind feels like it’s melting, poison dripping into your veins…”
People were staring. Her mouth clamped shut, her eyes glowing with emotion.
“Oh, Maria. I’m so sorry.”
“I spent five years in therapy sorting out those feelings. Putting them behind me.”
“I had no idea.” I was shocked she had kept such an important secret from me. “And you’re okay now?”
“Yes. No. Sometimes I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.”
I recognized the symptoms. “Anything I can do?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Stay here with me until I feel strong again. Be my friend.”
Maria had lost her father, mother, and a man she loved all before she was thirty. Who wouldn’t have a breakdown under the circumstances?
“Well, I…” I started to mention the job offer. I was scheduled to fly back to Los Angeles and start my new career. But seeing her so fragile and scared, I said, “I’m always here for you. We’re quite a pair aren’t we?”
I rounded the table and hugged her. The black clouds we had been holding against each other evaporated like steam.
Chapter Nineteen
Opening my bedroom door gave me a shock. Something was wiggling under my comforter.
“Señora Hernán?” I called softly.
The nurse came running with Maria right behind her.
“Not again. Mama, I told you before. Stop bothering Erin.”
“She’s not really bothering me.”
“Hey, what’s this under your shirt? Mama, give it to me. Did you take something that belongs to Erin?”
The two struggled. Mrs. Botello refused to return what she had clutched against her belly. Mrs. Hernán shot me a worried look.
“Whatever it is, Maria, let her keep it,” I said.
“No,” Maria said sternly, “She has to learn to leave other people’s things alone.” She reached under her mother’s shirt and pulled out a teacup. “This is Erin’s, Mama. Not yours. Where’s your doll?”
“Um, here it is.” I picked up the heap I’d thrown against the door.
“Thanks. Señora Hernán will take you back to your room. Erin wants some peace and quiet.”
I tried, but a little voice in the back of my mind was whispering a warning. Something important had to be pieced together. What was it?
I ventured into the den. It was warm and cozy and smelled of rich leather and dark mahogany. It reminded me of the lodge. I swiped at the tear dripping down my cheek.
Enough of that. I’m here to do research.
I let my eyes drift across the book bindings from shelf to shelf until something popped out at me. The Castles and the Crown, by Townsend Miller, sounded like a good place to start.
Curled up in a big reddish-brown leather chair, I tucked my sock-covered feet under me and began to read about the lives and times of Queen Isabel and her family. I could understand why Santiago liked this period in Spain’s history. It was fascinating.
I was just getting to the part about the birth of Prince Miguel, the tiny prince Serena took care of who died, when a sharp pain came out of nowhere like a horse’s kick to the side of my head. The jolt burst through my brain. The screech accompanying the pain in no way resembled my own voice. But it was. I grabbed my temples, pressing as hard as I could. The book fell to the floor with a thud so loud it shook the house.
“Stop,” I begged. I fell to my knees on the hardwood. “No! Make it stop.”
The room went dark. The pain left as quickly as it had come. I pressed my forehead to the floor and wept. I had never been so grateful in my life. When I was able to crawl back into the chair, my legs were shaking, my body weak.
My head fuzzed as if I’d taken a strong dose of cold medicine. I plopped back into the chair and pulled my legs up. Closing my eyes, I rested my clammy forehead on my knees. Before I knew what was happening, I wasn’t sitting in the leather chair anymore.
Summer, 1498, Saragosa
She stands in the hallway outside a room full of frantic women. Her head throbs.
“Serena, hurry, bring the towels,” a maid orders, her face pink and shiny with exertion. “The babe is coming.”
“How is she?” Serena’s gaze travels toward the woman whimpering inside the room.
“Horrible. The baby is stuck. Princess Isabel has lost so much blood. Oh, dear Lord. So much blood…” The nursemaid runs back into the room clutching a rosary tightly against her breast.
“I have towels and water.” Serena’s voice is lost amidst the commotion. Stepping further into the room, she hands the towels to Clara, who nods grimly. Several servants, nursemaids and midwives bump into each other within the confines of Princess Isabel’s chambers.
Serena shudders. Why does the princess thrash about like that? She will surely fall off the mattress onto the floor.
Queen Isabel clutches her daughter’s hand, shouting words of encouragement over the din. “Bella-Rosa, you are doing fine. Do not worry, my angel.” Over her shoulder she pins the two midwives with her terror-filled eyes. “Do something!”
“Hurry, there is not much time left,” one midwife, who is up to her elbows inside the princess, yells to the other. A glance passes between them.
Then, to Serena’s shock, the other midwife climbs atop the princess’s rounded belly. Using her own weight, the midwife pushes down with great force.
“Get off! You are killing her!” bellows the queen.
Trying desperately to maintain her balance atop the thrashing princess, the midwife ignores the screams of pain and the queen’s interference. Heaving, she continues pushing down as hard as she can.
Serena cannot bear to look, but does.
After long, excruciating minutes, both midwives come to the inevitable conclusion that all is lost. Thrice they tried to turn the little one. Thrice they failed. The delivery of the small babe is in God’s hands now. With bloodstained fingers, they make the sign of the cross over her large belly.
Serena drops to her knees, her fingers moving rapidly across the rosary beads. She recites the prayer she learned as a child. “Hail Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now
and at the hour of our death. Amen.” The princess’s screams makes her start the rosary again, her lips praying faster and faster. Her eyes are shut tight. The smell of blood fills her nostrils.
“The baby,” someone cries, “I can see the head.”
Serena opens her eyes.
“Oh dear God,” says another.
“A boy! Thank you, Blessed Mother!”
A baby’s cry fills the room. Joyful cheering erupts.
“Mother…” Princess Isabel moans. Of all the cries she has uttered, this one is the most tragic. It is her last.
“Bella-Rosa? Bella-Rosa!” the queen shrieks.
The princess is dead. The whole world shakes apart.
“He is your charge now, Serena,” a maid says, and places the baby, dripping in blood, into her arms. “The queen will trust no mere nursemaid to look after the prince. Lord help you if anything should happen to the royal heir.”
“Stop it,” I hissed. I wanted Serena’s vision to end. Now.
“Take him and guard him with your life. Many would rather see him dead,” the marquesa says in a faint voice. “Do not let anything happen to him, or it shall be your head.”
Serena understands why she has been chosen for this task. She is no nursemaid, but the duty will keep her locked far away from Andrés and Lady Mara. In the nursery, she will be forgotten. And if she fails in her task, she shall be killed.
“No! Make it stop, Serena.”
“All of Spain rests in your arms. Do not fail us,” Queen Isabel herself commands.
“That’s it.” I pressed my temples with my palms. “Get out of my head and leave me the hell alone.”
The vision cleared and I was sitting once again on the leather chair in the den. Gasping, I clutched my splitting head. “I can’t take this anymore. Serena! Show yourself. Right. Now.”
Her figure wavered before me. “I am sorry.”
“What was that? You can’t just force one of your memories on me without asking. That’s…that’s rude.”
“Forgive me. I had no control. It just appeared and I could not stop it.”
“It better not happen again.”
“That one was scary. I was terrified to become the nursemaid. What did I know of babies?”
“You’re right. It was scary.” I started to get excited. “I bet it was one of your repressed memories.”
“Perdón?”
“I have a theory. I think your mind has blocked the really bad things that happened to you. To protect yourself, these memories have been pushed down really, really far in your subconscious. Now that you are trying to remember, the repressed memories might just pop up without any warning.”
Her face fell. “And if I do remember them, will I feel the pain again? The sorrow?”
Her fear and sadness shook my heart. “Maybe. But hey, I’m here, right? You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“Thank you, Erin. You are a true friend.”
“Yeah, well, just try not to drive me insane in the process. That was pretty intense. I’m putting the history away for a while.” I jumped out of the chair and shoved the book back into the bookcase. The movement made my head hurt and a hiss escaped my lips.
“What is it, Erin?”
“My head, it hurts really bad. Are you doing that?”
“What? Oh dear, no. I do not think so.”
“Oh…it’s killing me.”
“Who is killing you?”
“Yikes, keep it down, screaming doesn’t help. It’s just an expression. Oops.”
Clutching my head, I stumbled back to the chair and accidentally bumped into a round table. The lamp on the table shook and a teacup jostled in its saucer. I stared at the cup a long moment until the puzzle piece I’d been missing turned in my brain and clicked into place.
“Oh…my…God.”
Staring at the still-shaking cup, the image of Señora Botello’s hands wrapped around my teacup came to mind. And visualizing that triggered another memory. Days ago Rosa had apologized for not making tea and yet I remembered very clearly drinking a full cup of tea before I lapsed into a twenty-two hour slumber. I was beginning to draw some nasty conclusions.
I hustled back to my room. Grabbing the teacup, I turned it over in my hands, wishing it could speak. I sniffed it. I ran my finger around the inside of the cup, feeling for any residue. Like I would know if I found any.
Had I been poisoned? If so, by whom and why?
“Rosa?” I was covered with goose bumps as I crept into the kitchen. “Where are you?” I called in a voice barely resembling my own.
Maria came up behind me. “Looking for someone?”
“Yes, I, uh…” Looking down at the teacup in my hands I found the excuse. “Wanted to see if Rosa would make some of her special tea for me. Love that stuff.”
“Didn’t I tell you? She left this afternoon.”
“Left?” I could barely contain the tremor in my voice.
“Her sister is ill. I gave her as much time off as she needs. I’ll try to find some temporary help, but in the meantime, it’s just us chickens.”
More like sitting ducks. “Rosa didn’t say anything about her sister this morning.”
“Knowing how badly you’ve been feeling, she probably didn’t want to bother you. Besides, I think this came up rather suddenly. It’s bad timing for me, though. Guess I’ll have to whip something up tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Remember?” she replied patiently. “My company?”
“Oh, that’s right, your friend is coming to dinner.”
“Around six. Just so you know.”
“Yeah sure, I’ll be out of the way. Uh, Maria, can I have Santiago’s cell phone number?”
She slit her eyes at me. “Why?”
“I have a medical question.”
“He told me not to call him.” She wiggled her fingers at me like she was casting a spell. “He’s gone dark.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t want to be disturbed. If you call his office, the nurse can refer you to the on-call doctor. I’m sure he can address any of your medical questions.”
“Yeah, all right. Oh, look at the time, I better go clean up, it’s getting late already.”
All during my shower I had an eerie feeling crawling up my spine. Now more than ever I wanted to talk to Santiago to tell him my suspicions. Plus, I needed to clear the air between us. If he really didn’t want me, I would go back home, settle into my career life and all would be normal. Not happy. Just normal.
Grabbing my purse and a light jacket I bounded out of my room, fifteen minutes too late. Voices came from the sitting room.
6:15? Maria’s going to kill me.
Well, not much to do about it, I couldn’t really sneak out the door without them seeing me. I’d say hello and then hit the road, leaving the lovebirds alone.
“Sorry to interrupt. I’m Erin Carter and I’m leaving.”
The person sitting on the couch next to Maria started to rise at my entrance then froze, neither fully up, nor down.
A wave of horror washed across Maria’s face. Her hand clutched her crucifix. The silence in the room crackled with electricity.
Maria cleared her throat. “Yes, you are. And this is Helena Blanca.”
Somehow I found my voice. “Helena.” I bobbed my head slightly, acknowledging her presence. This was Maria’s dinner date?
“Pleasure.” Her head bob was even slighter than mine. “I hear you are going back to LA soon.”
Nice try. “Soon? I don’t know. I might hang around all summer. Maybe longer.” The last part was catty, but I couldn’t help it. She didn’t have to know I would be gone in less than a week.
“Oh. Well. You should see Barcelona. Lovely this time of year.” She turned away, clearly dismissing me. “Maria dear, do you have any wine? I’m dreadfully parched.”
“Coming right up,” Maria sang a bit too cheerfully as she went out of the room leaving me alone with Helena.<
br />
I was still standing in the archway. Helena sat back down on the couch. Neither one of us moved or spoke for a long moment.
“Well, as fun as this is, I’m out of here.” I headed to the door.
Without warning, she jumped up and shoved her size-four frame in my face. “Good, because you have overstayed your welcome. Santiago and Maria are too nice to ask you to leave, but I’m not. Get out of this house and leave Santiago alone.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know influential people, who don’t care what your passport says. I can have you followed. If you keep harassing the Botellos—” she shifted her weight, “—you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
That scared me. I hated to admit. Trash talking is probably part of the game, but having never been in a catfight and after receiving my share of recent death threats, I was leery. “I’m not harassing anyone. Maria asked me to come to Spain. Santiago asked me to stay.”
The last bit made her blink in surprise. “Well, I’m sure he just felt sorry for you because of your…condition.”
“What?”
She crossed her arms. “Santiago is a good man. He’s already stretched to the limit with his job and taking care of his mother. He doesn’t need another woman in the house with a mental illness.”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard—” I dropped my voice, realizing that Maria could probably hear us in the kitchen, “—but I’m not crazy.”
“Why don’t you let an expert be the judge of that? I’m sure you can find a good psychiatrist in LA.”
I flinched. That one hit too close to home. “Look, I don’t really care what you think about me. It’s Santiago I’m worried about. Tell me where he is. He might be in danger.”
“You’re the only danger around here.” Her hands fisted.
I grabbed her wrists. “Do you know what’s after him? Tell me, so I can save him.”
“Let go of me!”
Catch Me in Castile Page 21
