Free Tapestry of Fear by Margaret Pemberton

brother.”
    He had the same devastating good looks, but there was something softer about the eyes, something less sensual about the mouth. He was dressed casually in riding breeches and high, gleaming black leather boots. A friendly smile creased the lines of his face.
    â€œYou must be hungry,” he said, taking my arm. “ Come with me. Breakfast is prepared for you, an English breakfast, would you believe. I’ve ordered Jose to stay in bed, but how long he stays there is anyone’s guess.”
    He led the way through dim corridors and sudden patches of light as the sun’s rays spilt through an open window. Then into a room lined with shimmering sienna silk, seating me at the head of a polished mahogany table that would have seated sixteen. A flushed young girl, her hair curling damply round her cheeks from the heat of the kitchen, brought in crisp rolls still warm from the oven, and a plate of bacon and eggs and gently fried tomatoes. The French windows were thrown open, the air sweet with the tang of lemon trees and wisteria.
    Romero seated himself at my side, pouring out dark, strong coffee, handing me salt and pepper and a fine linen serviette.
    â€œDespite the unfortunate circumstances, Alison. Welcome to Lindaraja.”
    â€œThank you,” I said, and then, trying not to sound rude. “ When do I leave?”
    He smiled. “Soon, unfortunately. Lindaraja has already been searched by the police, but there is no telling when they will come again.” He leaned his head against the back of the ebony carved chair. “ When you have finished perhaps you would like to see Jose. He has been asking for you.”
    I drank my coffee, grateful for its warmth. We had undergone two journeys of ordeal together. The flight from the beach and the climb to Lindaraja. The third and last journey, the most dangerous, the escape into France, was still to come. It wasn‘t a comforting thought.
    When I had finished, Romero led me once again up the graceful curve of stairs and into the shadowed corridor. Through the open windows doves cooed soothingly and I could hear the gentle spray of water from the fountain. Romero paused before a door of intricately carved wood, hinged and studded with bronze. His hand gripped the heavy handle and pushed. Surprisingly, I found I was suddenly nervous and shy as I walked in behind him.

Chapter Eleven
    He was sat up in a giant four poster bed, clean and freshly shaved. His hair still a knot of tangled curls and his amber eyes bright and refreshed, alight with good humour.
    â€œI see you made it in one piece.”
    â€œOnly just,” I said dryly.
    His hand reached for mine, gripping it hard for a brief second, then he said to Romero: “Any news of Garmendia?”
    Romero shook his head. “No, but it’s not surprising. The Bishop of Bilbao himself has been threatened with arrest, and a state of emergency has been declared for the whole province. The authorities have admitted that one hundred and ninety-eight people have been arrested in the last forty-eight hours. Six priests have been arrested. One of them Father Calzada.”
    Jose’s eyes darkened. “There is a lot to be done and not much time to do it in.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Romero said as Jose made to get out of bed. “Rest. You’ll need it. I’ll see to everything.”
    Jose’s eyes met mine again for a brief tantalising second, and then I followed Romero out of the room.
    He said: “ It would be a good idea if you got acquainted with the horse you will be riding. You do ride, don’t you?”
    â€œYes, but I’ve never attempted anything like this before.
    He smiled. “ Solitaire is a good horse and Roque will look after you.”
    With sinking heart I wandered out into the radiance of the courtyard, shielding my eyes from the brilliance of the sun’s glare, letting my fingers trail among the cool, feathery-green fronds