Her instinct about the castillo being intimidating had been right. It was massive and imposing. A mixture of architecture, with the most dominant influence being distinctly Moorish. Cruz had explained that they were about midway between Seville and a small historic town called El Rocio, which sat on the edge of a national park. But there was nothing around them now except for rolling countryside; he hadn’t been lying about that.
Cruz was greeting some staff who had appeared in the imposing porch area. They were all dressed in black. Trinity caught Mrs Jordan’s eye and was relieved to see that the older woman looked as intimidated as she felt.
Mrs Jordan said brightly, ‘Well, my word, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so grand. I’m sure it’s bright and airy on the inside.’
But when they went in, after a whirlwind of introductions to several staff whose complicated names Trinity struggled to imprint on her brain, it wasn’t bright and airy. It was dark and cool—and not in a refreshing way.
The stone walls were covered with ancient tapestries that all seemed to depict different gruesome battles. Then there were portraits of what had to be Cruz’s ancestors. She could see where he got his austere expression. They all looked fearsome. There was one in particular whose resemblance to Cruz was uncanny.
She hadn’t even noticed that she’d stopped to stare at it for so long until a cool voice from behind her said, ‘That’s Juan Sanchez De Carrillo—my great-great-grandfather.’
Unnerved, in case he might guess why she’d been momentarily captivated by the huge portrait, Trinity desisted from saying that she thought it looked like him. Instead she asked, ‘So is this where you and Rio grew up?’
For a moment he said nothing, and Trinity looked at him. She caught a fleeting expression on his face that she couldn’t read, but then it was gone.
He led her forward, away from the portrait, as he said smoothly, ‘Yes, we were both born in this castillo. But our circumstances couldn’t have been more different.’
‘I know,’ Trinity said cautiously. ‘Rio told me that his mother was a maid here, and that she blackmailed your father for money after their affair and then left Rio behind.’
In spite of everything that had happened, she still felt sympathy. These dark corridors and austere pictures only confirmed that Cruz’s experience couldn’t have been much happier here. That treacherous curiosity to know more rose up again, much to her disgust. She was a soft touch.
But Cruz was clearly not up for conversation. He was moving again, leaving the long corridor, and she had to follow or be left behind. He opened a door to reveal an enclosed open-air courtyard and Trinity automatically sucked in a deep breath, only realising then how truly oppressive the castillo had felt.
They’d lost Mrs Jordan and the other staff somewhere along the way. Afraid that Cruz suspected she was angling for a personal tour, she shifted Sancho’s heavy and now sleeping weight on her shoulder and hurried after his long strides.
‘You don’t have to show me around—there’ll be plenty of time for that.’
A whole lifetime, whispered that wicked voice.
Cruz just said brusquely, ‘This isn’t a tour. We’re just taking another route to your quarters.’
Trinity felt a childish urge to poke her tongue out at his back. Your quarters. She shivered a little.
He led them back into the castillo on the other side of the surprisingly pretty courtyard. The sensation of the walls closing around her again made her realise that this was it. Hers and the boys’ home for the foreseeable future. The prospect was intimidating, to say the least.
Trinity vowed then and there to do everything she could to e
nsure Matty and Sancho’s happiness and security in such a dark and oppressive atmosphere. After all, she’d chosen to be their protector and she had no regrets.
* * *
Cruz helped himself to a shot of whisky from the sideboard in his study on the other side of the castillo. He took a healthy sip, relishing the burn which distracted him from the uncomfortable feeling that lingered after walking away from Trinity, Mrs Jordan and the boys, all looking at him with wide eyes, as if they’d just been transported to Outer Mongolia.
He didn’t like the way his nephews fell silent whenever he approached them, looking at him so warily, clinging on to Trinity. His urge to protect them had grown exponentially since he’d decided marriage was the only option—thanks to which he was now their legal guardian too.
While the jury was still very much out on Trinity—her easy signing of the pre-nup had thrown up questions he wasn’t eager to investigate—he had to admit grudgingly that so far it didn’t look as if his nephews were being adversely affected by her.
Cruz had been surprised to discover that Rio had told her the full extent of his mother’s treachery.
When he and Rio had been younger they’d never been allowed to play together, and on the few occasions Cruz had managed to sneak away from his nanny to find Rio his younger half-brother had always looked at him suspiciously.
One day they had been found together. Cruz’s father had taken Rio into his study, and he could still remember the shouts of humiliation as his father had beaten him. Rio had eventually emerged with tears streaking his red face, holding his behind, glaring at Cruz with a hatred that had been vivid.
Their father had appeared in the doorway and said to Cruz, ‘That’s what’ll happen if you seek him out again. His is not your real brother.’
Cruz had felt so angry, and yet so impotent. That was the moment he’d vowed to ensure that Rio was never denied what was rightfully his...much good it had done his brother in the end.
He realised now for the first time that the knowledge that he was his nephews’ legal guardian had soothed something inside him. Something he never could have acknowledged before, while Rio had held him at arm’s length. It was the part of him that had failed in being able to protect his brother when they were younger. He was able to do this now for his nephews in the most profound way. It made emotion rise up, and with it futile anger at Rio’s death.