Page 47 of Under a Spanish Sky

‘You’re right, Luc.’ Surprisingly, the old lady’s voice was anything but dejected.

He looked up in surprise. ‘I could hardly count upon your identifying this house and climbing through the window instead of using the door.’ There was a dry note in her voice.

He glanced across to where the stout wooden bar that served to lock the shutters in place was lying on the floor.

He murmured an apology that she either didn’t hear or chose to ignore.

‘I was relying upon your honouring your promise to the abbot of Santa Cristina.’ Luc sat up, wondering how she could possibly have known about that.

‘You were to seek out the Master of the castle of Ponferrada to return his cloak to him. That very same cloak that you’re wearing now, isn’t it, Luc?

’ He nodded dumbly, his brain working a few steps slower than hers.

A broad smile spread over her face as she continued her explanation.

‘I took the precaution of, shall we say, liberally supplementing the income of the caretakers of the castle. They would have referred you to me if you had made contact.’ She sat back, hugely satisfied, as he strove to make sense of what she had said.

How could she have possibly known what the abbot could have said to him unless…

His brain started to put two and two together. Her voice interrupted his thoughts.

‘Are you alone, or do you have a travelling companion?’

He nodded, very aware of Aimée’s present predicament. ‘I’m travelling with the wife of my predecessor, Bertrand. With your permission, my lady, I’ll go and bring her here. I am afraid that she’s far from well, having caught a fever some days ago. She’s sorely in need of warmth and rest.’

He left immediately, this time by the door.

The wind had started to pick up. It brought with it increasingly heavy rain that beat against the thick leather of the cloak.

He picked his way up the hill towards the place he had left her.

It took him some minutes to regain his night vision and still longer to get his bearings in the pitch dark.

The hillside itself was virtually featureless.

He scrambled frantically from one rocky outcrop to another, almost despairing of finding her again.

The rain fell harder and harder, drenching him in spite of the cloak.

He felt water run down his back and shivered with cold.

He spared a thought for Aimée, already cold and sick, and now surely soaked as well.

He quite literally stumbled across her. His foot encountered her soft form and he fell headlong over her. She stirred and unwrapped her head from the waterlogged fur. His relief was so great that he took her face in his hands and hugged her to his chest. She coughed wearily.

‘Success?’

‘Yes.’ He pulled her to her feet and shouldered the two packs. He encircled her painfully thin body with his arm. She was shivering with cold. ‘Come on, there’s warmth and shelter waiting for us down the hill. Walk with me.’

He led her off down the hillside as fast as he could.

She was so weak that he found himself carrying her most of the way, along with the two packs.

By the time they reached the house, he felt almost as drained as she did.

Lady Alice had been busy and a wonderful smell of mulled wine filled the air.

The fire blazed so brightly that the whole room was lit up.

He led Aimée in and pulled off her soaking cloak.

Lady Alice helped her out of her equally wet dress, until she stood shivering in her shift in front of the fire.

The old lady produced a thick woollen blanket and wrapped it round her twice, cocooning her like a newborn baby.

Gently Luc helped her onto a deep, soft mattress to one side of the fire and watched as Lady Alice pressed a mug of the hot wine into her hands.

‘Take this, my dear. You need something warm inside you.’

Aimée was barely able to hold the mug, but, with Luc’s assistance, she drank most of it.

Only then did he throw off his leather cloak and his own soaking tunic.

Lady Alice handed him another blanket and a mug of wine.

He settled down gratefully on the other side of the fire and savoured the hot, sweet drink.

With heavy eyelids, he watched the old lady move around the room, picking up the wet clothes and hanging them to dry in front of the fire.

She still had a proud, patrician air about her, in spite of the humble surroundings in which she now found herself.

She limped around, tidying the room, for all the world like a menial servant.

If she felt any bitterness at her change of station, it didn’t show.

Indeed, she managed to give the impression that she took pride in what she was doing.

In particular, he saw a glow of satisfaction on her face as she picked up his leather cloak.

She set it to dry before the fire with a reverence that even his tired eyes couldn’t fail to notice.