“But many knew the truth.”

“The Queen dared not marry him.”

“It was because she would not stomach a rival on the throne.”

“That … and because to have married him would have been to connive at murder … and maybe run the risk of being suspect.”

“That may be.”

“Don Felipe,” I said, “you are in like case. Amy Robsart’s servants went to a Fair; yours went to an auto-da-fé. Then when the house is almost empty your wife dies.”

“Many times she has been saved from inflicting harm on herself.”

“And this time there was no one to save her. There will be people to talk. If you married now, Don Felipe, there might be some to say you had rid yourself of a wife to do so.”

“I am the master here … Governor of these islands.”

“My Queen was the mistress of England. She was wise.”

He looked momentarily forlorn; then he lifted his head and I saw the stern pride of him, the determination to succeed. It was this which had made him undertake the intricate operation of bringing me to Tenerife. He was now equally determined to marry me, to proclaim Roberto his legitimate heir. He would stop at nothing.

And I asked myself: Felipe, what part did you play in this? You were not here when Isabella died. But you did not come to England to bring me here. You are a man who sets himself a goal and employs others to carry it out. Have a care, Don Felipe.

He held out a hand to me, but I did not take it.

“Go now,” I said. “Take care. Let no one see in what direction your ambitions lie.”

He left me then and I lay on in my darkened room.

Isabella was buried with accompanying pomp.

It was said that she had been possessed by devils as she had attempted to descend the stairs and as she had been seen to do so many times fell and so met her death.

Death set a shadow over the household. Only in the nursery did it fail to penetrate and Honey and I spent a great deal of our time there. The weeks began to pass; we fell back into our routine.

Often I would think about Isabella and wonder what had really happened. Had she suddenly missed Pilar? Had she gone to look for her? I thought of her often, standing at the top of that staircase and then suddenly falling to the bottom. I pictured her lying there. Poor little Isabella.

How often had he said: “If it were not for Isabella”? But he had been away.

Lord Robert Dudley had been away from Cumnor Place at the time of his wife’s death; but that did not exonerate him from murder.

Men such as Sir Robert and Don Felipe did not do evil deeds themselves. They employed others to do them for them.

Edmundo was at the Casa Azul; he was the strong man; he had picked up Isabella and carried her as though she were a rag doll. He was Felipe’s servant. Would he do anything his master asked … anything?

So ran my tormented thoughts.

Six months had passed and Felipe said to me: “It is time we married.”

“It is too soon,” I said.

“I cannot wait forever.”

“Six months ago you had a wife.”

“I have no wife now … nor did I ever have a wife.”

“I know it to be unwise.”

“I will protect you. Shortly we shall go to Spain. I must take you with me.”

“We should wait awhile.”

“I will wait no longer.”

“I am undecided. I think often of my home. My mother will never forget me. She mourns me now.”

“Tell me you will marry me and I will have a message sent to your mother. It is folly. It is dangerous. But this I will do to show you how much I care for you.”

I looked at him and I felt a great tenderness surge over me. He held out his arms and I went toward him. I was held firmly against him. I could no longer resist love such as he was offering.

Had I not learned most bitterly that one does not hold out for the perfection of one’s dreams? Honey knew it. She had taken Edward and enjoyed some happiness and now with Luis. And this man had proved to me that he regarded me with a tender devotion which amazed even himself. I could not reject that.

He said: “My love, you shall write a letter to your mother. You will tell her that you are well and happy. John Gregory shall take it. We will arrange it. The next ship that leaves shall carry him. There is one stipulation: You must mention no names; you must not mention where you are. I must run no risks. But, my Catalina, this shall be done. You will see how I love you!”

And so I promised to marry Don Felipe.

We were married quietly in the little private chapel of the Hacienda. I was not unhappy; sometimes I laughed within myself, for I could not help remembering the occasion of my humiliation when I had no alternative but to submit to him; I remembered how he had ordered that I should wear gowns made for Isabella, use scent which was hers, so that as he lay with me he should imagine I was the beautiful girl bride. There was no one but myself he wished to think of now. But Isabella was a shadow between us. More so for him than for me.

How changed everything was. How he loved me, this strange quiet man! How strange that he, whose emotions were so rarely aroused, should feel this searing passion for one of an enemy race, a race he despised as barbarians; and here was one who was typical of that race—and yet he loved her.

I never forget that he had allowed me to send a letter to my mother. I used to dream of her in the old Abbey garden and I held imaginary conversations with her. I believed I was never far from her thoughts.

Perhaps by now, I would promise myself, she is receiving that letter. She is weeping over it; she would tuck it into her bodice and say: “My darling Cat’s hands have touched this!” And it would never leave her.

So I must be grateful to Felipe.

He loved me and he loved our son. To us alone did he show that part of his nature which was capable of loving. It had once occurred to me that when he loved it would be with a single-minded devotion. How right I had been! He now gave to love that intensity of passion which he had once given to revenge.

He abandoned himself to moments of great happiness and at the very heart of that happiness was myself and our son.

He loved to lie on our bed with me in his arms and talk of our future. I loved to hear him say our boy’s name. He said it differently when we were alone together. I felt an emotion welling up within me because such a cold stern man could love so much.

“Catalina, Catalina, my love,” he would whisper to me.

He was indeed happy and it is gratifying to realize one has brought such joy to another human being.

His first task was to legitimize Roberto. Ships came now and then from Spain to Tenerife bringing men from the Escorial, where Felipe’s master lived in spartan state. Papers came from Madrid and he gleefully showed them to me.

“Roberto is my firstborn,” he said. “It is now as though we had been married when he was born. There will be no barriers to his inheritance.”

“And Carlos?” I asked.

His brow darkened. He had never liked Carlos although he had accepted his presence in our nurseries to please me.

“He shall have nothing of mine, but his mother’s family will make him a rich man.”

That contented me.

Felipe talked often of the time when we would go to Spain. He was anxious to return now. Don Luis was ready to take over his responsibilities. There was no reason why we should not go.

We were blind to imagine that we could have married and none question it. The Queen of England had not dared to marry her lover after her lover’s wife had died mysteriously. Should the Governor of a small island be less immune?

There were whispers.

It was Manuela who first brought them to my knowledge.

“Mistress,” she said, her brow puckered, “they are saying you are a witch.”

“I … a witch. What nonsense is this?”

“They are saying that you have bewitched the Governor. He were never as he is with you, before.”