Free Witchrise by Victoria Lamb Page B

the tapestry for a moment.
    I shielded my eyes against the sun, frowning up at William. ‘Who is it? Can you see?’
    ‘It is Alejandro de Castillo,’ he called back excitedly. ‘Your Spaniard has come back!’
    I went hot and cold at the same time, and my belly clenched like a fist within me.
    ‘Oh,’ I said faintly, and looked down at myself. My apron was soiled with dust, my hair too no doubt, for my cap was askew, and I was wearing my worst workaday gown, with rips at the hem and a torn sleeve.
    Richard came limping round from the stables, his gaze also fixed on the approaching horseman.
    ‘Oh, the Spaniard again.’ He turned to study me, noting my flushed cheeks. ‘Come back to claim your hand in marriage, has he? Better make yourself look presentable then, or he might ride on.’
    I met his eyes, and a shiver ran down my back at the bitter intensity of that look. ‘Don’t,’ I muttered, then dragged off my apron and thrust it into the servant’s hand. I tidied my dusty cap and hair, but had no time to do much else but pinch my cheeks and hope I did not look like a complete scarecrow.
    Alejandro spurred on his mount, seeing me ahead, and swung out of the saddle while the horse was still moving.
    I stood watching as he strode towards me. I was suddenly unable to move, light-headed, my breathing shallow. I had forgotten how his presence alone was enough to make my heart beat faster. What did that mean, if not that I was in love with him?
    He looked tired, yet his gaze was as dark and intense as ever, meeting mine with a shock that left me speechless.
    ‘Meg,’ he said deeply, and dropped to both knees before me, raising my hand to his lips as though I was a princess. ‘Meg,
mi alma
, how I have missed you.’ He rested his forehead against the back of my hand, muttered something in Spanish that sounded like a brief prayer, then stood and bowed more formally. ‘I bear an urgent letter from
la princesa
and am instructed to return to Hatfield with you at once.’
    Richard, standing just behind me, expressed my own feelings of shock when he swore lengthily under his breath. ‘What did you say, priest?’
    Shooting him a look of acute dislike, Alejandro did not repeat his message but turned instead towards my father, who had appeared in the doorway with William, both of them looking perplexed.
    ‘Sir,’ Alejandro greeted my father, bowing rather stiffly, feathered cap in hand.
    ‘Señor de Castillo?’ My father was his usual unfriendly self, frowning at our visitor from within the shade of the doorway. Even the ancient gargoyle peering over the stone lintel above his head looked more welcoming with its crude squat face and protruding tongue. ‘What brings you back to Lytton Park?’
    ‘Forgive my intrusion, sir. I have returned on the orders of the Lady Elizabeth.’ He unfastened his leather pouch, drew out a crumpled-looking scroll of paper and handed it to me. ‘Read it.’
    He stepped back into sunlight, seemed to stumble over a deep rut in the path, and almost fell.
    ‘Alejandro,’ I cried, and reached for him, but he held me off with a stern hand.
    ‘It’s nothing,’ he said shortly, and straightened again, though with an effort. His jaw was clenched, the skin of his face stretched taut, a hollow look in his eyes.
    ‘Are you unwell?’
    ‘Please.’ Alejandro drew a sharp breath, nodding to the letter in my hand. ‘Meg, read what
la princesa
has written. The sooner you read it, the sooner we can start back to Hatfield.’
    ‘Will you not at least come inside and take a cup of wine? You look weary from the long ride . . .’
    ‘Read it!’ he insisted, and I did not dare argue any longer, for though his face was grey, his eyes burned into me so fiercely I could only wonder what might be in the letter.
    I broke the princess’s seal, unrolled the paper and read her brief message:
    M, you will return to me at once in the company of Señor de Castillo and the boy Richard, if he is still