Authors: Brenda Joyce

House of Dreams (14 page)

BOOK: House of Dreams

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“Oh, God,” Cass breathed, trembling and forgetting all of her fears.

“My sentiments exactly,” Antonio murmured from the other side of the room.

It was one of the most stunning works of art Cass had ever seen. Whoever the artist was, he had captured this woman so strikingly that it was as if she were there on the canvas, vital and alive, real flesh and blood. And then Cass realized that the striking blue eyes holding her own were filled with sadness.

“She's incredibly unhappy,” Cass breathed in a whisper.

Antonio spoke in a whisper, too. “There is also an accusation in her eyes.”

Cass finally stepped closer. Isabel had been beautiful in a very classic way. Her face was oval, her cheekbones high, her mouth full. And her dress was exquisiteâred velvet, Cass thought, with a high, white neck ruff, puffed, slashed sleeves, a narrow, cinched-in waist. Her gaze shot to the necklace of rubies hanging around her throat. Dark red on pale white.

It was the same.

It had to be.

“Yes,” Antonio said softly, finally coming to stand beside her. He began to hand her the photograph, but Cass waved it away.

“It was hers,” Cass said excitedly, unable to tear her gaze from the portrait.

“She wore it for this portrait, at least,” Antonio murmured softly. “I used a magnifying glass to compare the photo and the painting.”

Cass found herself gazing into those haunting blue eyes again. “What do you know about her?”

“I have no dates on her. What I do know is this: Alvarado married his second wife, Elena, in 1562, and they had three sons.”

Cass was still mesmerized, and now she realized she was perspiring ever so slightly. “If my aunt is right, if she was burned at the stake in 1555, there is a record somewhere. More importantly, I want to find a de Warenne family tree for the sixteenth century. As the earl of Sussex's daughter, she would have to be included in it.” The woman in the portrait could not be much older than twentyâmaybe she was only seventeen or eighteen. Then Cass realized that they were still whispering. “Why are we whispering?”

He smiled briefly but did not laugh. “I do not know. Awe, perhaps. This portrait is dated. Again, the magnifying glass. The artist is Dutch, I think, someone I have never heard of, Vandeerleck, and just below his name is the year 1554.” He looked at her.

A whole bunch of information was clicking inside of Cass's mind at once. She seized his arm, vaguely realizing that she had never touched him before. “If she died in 1555, that was one year more or less, after this portrait was finished. My God. Look at how young she is!”

“I have had those sentiments exactly,” he said.

“We must find a genealogy,” Cass said.

“There are other ways. If she was accused of heresy, there would have been charges and a trial.”

“And records,” Cass said grimly, hoping that this young woman had not suffered such a tragic fate.

“Elena was a great heiress. Wealthy as well as titled. I am descended from her and Alvarado, by the way.”

Cass knew he was about to make a point.

“It's possible Isabel was disposed of in another way.” He shrugged.

“What do you mean, disposed of? Do you mean, locked away? Like, shoved off into a convent somewhere, or the tower of an old, outlying estate, and left there to wither away and die?”

“Alvarado wouldn't have been the first nobleman to get rid of an unwanted wife that way,” Antonio said calmly, his gaze holding hers.

Cass stared, then turned to look back at Isabel. “If she knew he was planning such a fate, no wonder she is so anguished, and you're right, there is an accusation in her eyes.” And she thought about Alvarado's portrait, hanging in her own bedroom. Had two people ever been more mismatched? Spanish and British, Catholic and Protestant, middle-aged and young. Cass's compassion for her ancestor knew no bounds.

Cass suddenly hugged herself; she had to. She wasn't feeling very optimistic about Isabel's fate, whatever it might have been. “Sussex was
a Protestant before he joined the public uprising which helped put Mary Tudor on the throne. But many nobles did just as he did, throwing their lot in with her when it became apparent she would actually succeed Edward, and they outwardly conformed to the Catholic religion. But only a dozen or so were actually tried for heresy and condemned to the stake.”

He smiled at her. “You do know your history.”

Cass flushed with pleasure. “Obviously you do too.”

They smiled, then they both turned simultaneously to stare at Isabel's portrait in silence. Suddenly the room was so quiet Cass could hear Antonio's slow, even breathing, and her own, which was more labored than his. She shivered again, but no longer because it was cold. She almost wanted to glance behind her, to make sure they were alone. And suddenly she was certain that Tracey was standing there in the doorway, spying on them. Cass whirled; she was wrong. The threshold was empty.

Cass turned back to the portrait. There had been tragedy in Isabel's life, she decided; it was written right there in her eyes for anyone to see. “Was this her room?” she asked.

“I don't know. But I would guess so. The master bedroom is next door.”

His roomâthe room Tracey had come out of earlier, barefoot and disheveled. Cass realized she was still hugging herself, and she released her arms. “Maybe,” she said slowly, “that's why this room feels so â¦ strange. So dark and unpleasant. So â¦ intense. Because she lived here, maybe even died here, and she was so unhappy here.”

He did not laugh at her. “The room is strange, as you have said. I have felt disturbed every time I come inside here.” He paused, then said, “Eduardo won't come in.” Their gazes met.

Cass could not look away, and even while she was very aware of being alone with him there in the disturbing bedroom, in the thick of the night, she grew very uneasy. She couldn't help glancing all around, but of course, the room was only that, an old room with old, tired furnishings. Something was nagging at her, though, and she couldn't pinpoint what it was. It was something else that her aunt had said. “Do you smell that? Is it violets?”

“Yes.” His gaze was piercing. “Alfonso probably used an air freshener this afternoon when he was informed that you had arrived.”

Oddly, Cass was very relieved. She laughed. “God, for a moment I was stupidly thinking it was the dead woman's perfume.” And the
moment she had spoken, she ceased laughing, stunned, because she hadn't been thinking thatâwhere the hell had the words come from?

Antonio didn't quite smile at her. “We do not have quite the same fondness here for ghosts which you British do.”

Cass wished he had smiled. As lightly as possible, suddenly determined to leave the room, and quickly, she shrugged, saying, “You know us Brits. A ghost in every manor, two in every castle.” Determined to leave, she found herself ensnared by Isabel's blue eyes again, and suddenly she frowned.

Cass walked a few feet to the right, turned and faced the portrait. Isabel stared directly at her.

Unable to breathe, Cass walked to the left to the very far side of the room, then turned. Again she was pinned by Isabel's haunting stare. “Her eyes,” she cried, low. “Good God, no matter where you are in the room, her eyes follow you.”

“I noticed that,” Antonio said quietly. “This artist was brilliant, I would say. Wouldn't you?”

Cass didn't know whether she was amazed or shaken, but she quickly returned to stand beside Antonio. She was about to ask him if he was ready to go, when the room was suddenly cast in blackness.

Her heart rate accelerated wildly.

He touched her hand. “It's either a faulty bulb or faulty wiring. No one's lived here for thirty-four years, Cassandra.” His tone was reassuring, as if he guessed her thoughts.

“Of course,” Cass said. But she didn't like the sensation she was finally identifying, a sensation that had been nagging at her ever since they had entered the room. It was the sensation of being watched. The sensation of not being alone.

Which was truly absurd.

Because they were alone; she had checked out the room a dozen times in the last five minutes.

He took her arm and they crossed the room. Later Cass realized it was a reflexive gesture on his part, but as they stepped through the door, he hit the light switch, as one would do to automatically turn off the lights when leaving.

The bedside lamp came on.

Cass faltered, almost falling into Antonio's arms. He righted her, and for one moment she looked up into his face, feeling not just surprise, but shockâand a frisson of fear.

He must have seen and understood the look on her face, because he
steadied her and said, “If I am to stay all summer, I will have to have an electrician to the house. The wiring is clearly faulty.”

The wiring, of course. He turned off the lights and they stepped into the hall. Cass watched him firmly close the door. She knew she should not be shaken like this. But the house wasn't just huge, it was very old, and it hadn't been lived in for years. “You know,” she said slowly, her heart drumming in her chest, aware that she should not bring up her aunt, but unable to stop herself, “my aunt begged me not to come here.”

He faced her, his gaze searching. “Indeed.”

Cass was hugging herself. “She isn't thinking clearly these past few days. She fell ill just before I left and was briefly hospitalized.”

“I'm sorry. I am glad that she is recovering. What did she say?” he asked.

Cass couldn't smile when she wanted to be light, joking. “She said â¦” She hesitated. “She thinks our families share some kind of terrible destiny. That any involvement between your family and mine leads only to tragedy.” And finally she laughed, but the sound was hoarse and distorted.

She expected him to scoff at her. He did no such thing. He stared.

Cass's smile faded. “My aunt fell ill. And Tracey â¦” She took a breath. “We have been fighting terribly, but it's not because a de la Barca is in our midst.”

He said, “That is interesting.”

“It is?”

“My mother has some odd notions, too. Not that she will talk about them.”

Cass became more uneasy. “What kind of odd notions?”

His gaze held hers. “She thinks Isabel is here.”

Their eyes met.

“My mother will swear to it on the Bible, and she is devout.”

Cass felt her mouth form a humorless smile. “Well, I suppose it's possible. I believe in that kind of stuff.” She added, “Sort of.” Then, “There's probably a slew of your dead ancestors lingering around this place. Maybe that's why this house feels so dark and unhappy and strange.” She couldn't help glancing up and down the corridorâas if expecting to see a ghost. Fortunately, she did not.

And then it hit Cass, hard, what her aunt had said just before she had been hospitalized. She'd said, “She's come back.” And she had been speaking about Isabel.

Cass felt a terribly frigid sensation cross over her, like a veil of ice-cold air.

“I doubt my mother is being accurate.” Antonio cut into her thoughts. “She is an old woman,” he said, staring. “Like your
aunt.”

Their gazes collided. Cass said quickly, “Maybe we should call that electrician sooner rather than later?” Because he had inflected on the word “aunt.”

He smiled, and it was grim. “My mother also hates your aunt. Were you aware of that?”

Cass's knees buckled. She blinked at him and could not think of a single thing to say. But the blow was coming and she knew it.

“In fact, she hates your entire family,” he said.
“With
a
vengeance.”

EIGHT

CASA DE SUEÃOSâDAY TWO

“What a glorious day,” Cass cried as she climbed out of the rental car with the two children, having just parked in front of the ruins of the castle. “Do you need help, Eduardo?” she asked, as if it were the most natural question in the world. But of course, watching him adjust his crutches and maneuver his legs from the car to the ground concerned her. Her impulse was to rush over and help.

“No, seÃ±ora, gracias,”
he said gravely, pushing himself up on the crutches. Alyssa was waiting patiently for him, and she swung his door shut when he had climbed out.

Cass opened the hatchback and took out two blankets and their picnic basket. She slammed it closed, unsmiling. She'd hardly slept a wink all night. Was Antonio playing cat and mouse with her?

Cass didn't want to think about the last few words they had exchanged. Such thoughts only ruined the beautiful day. In fact, in the light of such a day, most of her fears of the night before seemed ludicrous.

“This castle really belonged to your family?” Alyssa was asking, her tone hushed with awe.

Eduardo smiled with pride.
“SÃ.
For hundreds of years. It was used to fight the Arabic people.”

“Arabs were in Spain?” Alyssa asked, puzzled.

As Eduardo gave her a rudimentary explanation, Cass set down the picnic items, taking her camera out of her shoulder bag. She wandered away from the car, gazing up at the first tower, and the incomplete
wall that ran from it to the second tower, refusing to think about her next encounter with Antonio de la Barca. It was a perfect day for a picnic, a perfect day for the children to enjoy themselvesâa perfect day for her to enjoy herself.

There wasn't a single cloud in the extremely blue sky. Although it was hot out, a dry breeze caressed Cass's skin. The road she had arrived on was partially in view, but it was unpaved, not a single car was on it, and it was easy to ignore. And just behind the castle was a huge stand of fir trees, a startling act of nature. Cass was just beginning to realize that she liked Castilla. There was something compelling about the desolation, the starkness, something compelling and grand. It was too bad she was there under such strange and stressful circumstances. One day, she promised herself, she would return for a real holiday.

Cass began taking pictures.

“Aunt Cass? Can we go inside the castle?” Alyssa called.

“Wait for me,” Cass instructed, slinging her camera over her shoulder.

“I am fine, seÃ±ora,” Eduardo said seriously.

Cass had promised Antonio she'd be very careful when they had been leaving. But Eduardo's eyes were so earnest and hopeful, and as he moved as agilely as a squirrel on his crutches, in spite of his braces, she realized that he longed to play as another child might. She hadn't asked, but she was fairly certain that he had suffered from polio as a young child. It was a terrible shame.

“All right,” Cass decided impulsively. She watched the two children cross a plank set over the ditch that surrounded the ruins. And it was just that, a ditch, for it was only five or six feet deep and could not be considered a moat by any stretch of the imagination. Cass thought that natural erosion had created it.

She couldn't help wondering if Isabel had ever bothered to visit these ruins.

Isabel.
Antonio's mother believed that she was haunting Casa de Suenos. Or did she believe that Isabel was haunting the de la Barca family? Her aunt had made a similar statement.
She's come back.
Of course, her aunt had been suffering from a very high fever when she had uttered those words. Still, it was very odd that she should be writing about Isabel de Warenne in her journal.

Cass had done some math. Antonio had been four years old when his father diedâhe was now thirty-eight. Eduardo had died in 1966.

And Catherine's last journal entry had been July of 1966.

Cass didn't particularly like the direction in which all the bits and pieces of information were pointing. She would be very distressed should she learn that Eduardo had died that July. And she didn't know whether to be glad or dismayed that she had not read her aunt's journal. In truth, she was afraid of what it might contain.

But even if the entries were incriminating of her aunt, one could still assert that her aunt was so traumatized by Eduardo's death even then, thirty-four years ago, that her ramblings were irrelevant.

Now, standing before the fourteenth-century ruins, Cass couldn't help wondering if Antonio's home did harbor some of his ancestors. Haunted houses were a fact of life in England, and Cass had certainly visited her share. It would explain why the house was so unfriendly and so daunting, so cold and so gloomy. Besides, the villa was so old. How could it not house an entity or two?

The house was uncomfortable, but that was as far as it went. All of her aunt's dire warnings regarding the de la Barcas and Castilla were insensible ramblings. Period.

The children had paused in the arched entryway on one side of the tower. Cass watched them suddenly disappear behind the rotting stone wall, before her very eyes.

Suddenly Cass was seized with uncertainty and fear.

This was not, she decided, a good idea. If anything happened to Eduardo, Antonio would never forgive herâand she would never forgive herself. Every instinct she had was now screaming at her,
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
And her fears had nothing to do with lingering spirits. She rushed to the picnic basket and blankets, then hurried after the children. It would be so easy for Eduardo to trip and hurt himself.

The moment Cass crossed the dry moat and entered the ruins, she saw them standing in the center of what had once been the great hall. Relief made her pause and sigh. From now on, she would keep them in sight.

Cass glanced curiously around. Pieces of stone were visible here and there on the ground, poking up from the dirtâsections of floor and one small mound of what had been either a wall or a column. Then she realized that Alyssa and Eduardo were not moving.

“Kids? Everything okay?” They were staring through a gap in the far wall, their backs to Cass. She was mildly alarmed.

In unison they faced her, their small faces pinched and white.

Her alarm escalated. “What is it?” Cass cried, rushing to them.

“Aunt Cass, someone's out there,” Alyssa whispered.

Cass faltered, instinctively drawing both children to her, turning to look through the gap in the wall. What she saw was the stand of firs, but her mind was racing. There was no other car in sight. The closest village was twenty minutes away, by car. Who could be out there, and why? And how had he, or she, gotten there? She did not like being alone with the two children if a stranger was lurking about.

She did not like it one single bit.

“I don't see anyone,” she said tersely. “Are you sure you saw someone?”

They both nodded. “A person went into those trees very quickly,” Eduardo said. “As if she did not want us to see her.”

“I thought it was a man,” Alyssa said. “A short, fat man.”

“My eyes are very good,” Eduardo said simply.

Cass's pulse raced. She stared at the stand of trees but saw no movement, and no sign of any human being. “Guys, is it possible you imagined someone out there? It wouldn't make very much sense for someone to be all the way out here without a car.”

The two children looked at one another. “The villagers often use bicycles,” Eduardo said. “Or they walk.”

Cass tried to recover her calm. “Well, whoever it was is long gone now. Shall we explore? Or shall we eat first and explore later?” She smiled at the two earnest faces turned up toward her, but she was worried and trying to hide it. What if they had seen someone lurking about?

“Eat,” Alyssa said with a shy smile at Eduardo.

“Eat,” Eduardo said, smiling at Cass.

Cass did a double take. If she did not miss her guess, her niece had a crush on Antonio's son! It was sweet, and she smiled as she spread out the blankets. Then her pleasure vanished. She couldn't help glancing back toward the stand of firs as everyone sat down. But there was no movement, none at all.

Relax, she ordered herself.
Relax and enjoy the peace and solitude, because when you go back to the house, it won't be half as peaceful.
And she wasn't thinking about the weirdness of the night before, or Isabel or any other de la Barca ancestors, but her sister and their host.

Cass helped the children, handing them plates, followed by chunks of fresh bread, smoked pork, cold hams, sausages, and a variety of delicious cheeses.

“I have two hundred and two cards,” Eduardo said. “But I am older than you.”

Alyssa's eyes were shining.

Cass tuned out, her gaze immediately going to the gap in the wall, which she was purposefully facing. No one was out there. The children hadn't seen what they'd thought they'd seen. So why were the hairs on her nape crawling? Why couldn't she relax? Abruptly she stood up.

A hawk wheeled overhead. She could not admire it in its flight.

Cass unslung her camera. “I'm going to take some shots of this castle,” she said, “and eat later.”

The children were now immersed in a discussion of the traits of Charmander and Gengar. Cass angled her camera, taking a variety of shots of the walls, the towers, the crenellated tops of the towers, the arch. She squatted, hoping to get in a long shot of the wall and the second tower. She climbed up a set of steps and took shots of the views from the wall where she now stood. Finally she was satisfied.

Cass hopped off of the wall, returning to the children, who had finished their lunch.

“Now can we explore, seÃ±ora?” Eduardo asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Cass replied. It was hard to smile back. And she had to glance over her shoulder one more time, but of course, no one else was present among the ruins that day.

Antonio was apparently waiting for them when they returned. His gaze went right to his son. Cass saw relief fill his eyes. And he smiled at them all. “How was your picnic?” he asked.

“Muy bueno,”
Eduardo said with an answering smile.

“The children had a great time,” Cass told him.

His gaze settled on her face. “And you? Did you enjoy yourself?”

Cass hesitated. Then, “I had a great time, too.” She looked away, then back. “I got some wonderful shots of the ruins.”

He stared, and Cass had an inkling that he knew she was holding something back.

Eduardo said, “We saw someone in the trees, PapÃ¡.”

Antonio looked at his son. “At the ruins?” He was incredulous.

Cass interrupted. “The children think they saw something,” she said. “But no one was out there, it was their imagination.”

He nodded. “Time for a siesta,” he told his son. Then he glanced at Cass. “Your aunt called.” His gaze narrowed. “She sounded distressed.”

Cass nodded, immediately grim, avoiding his gaze. It was suspiciousâCass was certain. Catherine's unease would only heighten her own tension. Still, she had to return the call and reassure her that all was well. “I'll call her later. Alyssa, it's siesta time for you, too.”

But Alyssa was already yawning, a victim of the heat and jet lag. “That's fine, Aunt Cass.”

“Cassandra.”

Cass paused in midstride. She was never going to get used to the way he spoke her full name with his melodic voice and sensual accent. “Yes?”

“While the children nap, perhaps you might join me in a little investigation?” His gaze searched hers.

Her pulse raced. “What kind of investigation?”

“I want to check the family crypt. The lady in question must be buried there, and we can at least learn her dates.”

“I'd love to go,” Cass said so quickly that he laughed.

“I'll meet you here in half an hour,” he said. “If that is fine with you.”

She needed a shower; she would have to rush. “It's more than fine,” she said. Then, “Where's Tracey?”

Before Antonio could speak, Tracey stepped into the hall from the corridor that led to their rooms. “Right here,” she said, her look as hard as steel and as cold as ice, and directed at Cass.

Cass was taken aback. “We had a great picnic,” she said.

Tracey's smile was brittle. “I'd like to go to the crypt, too. Count me in.”

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