In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe

      ‘Your eyes remain as blue. You need not concern yourself about who shall enter the hacienda,’ Ali told him. ‘Just be there ready at the foot of the descent. You may need to repel an attack—if they realise she has gone, they will try to take her back.’

      ‘How will this man know where to find her?’

      ‘I have not lived peacefully in Granada all these years under Spanish rule without knowing their ways. When Bobadil was driven weeping from the Alhambra most of my people left for other shores, but some of us stayed. We live quietly, peacefully, and we watch our backs. Even when Galera was under siege my people and I were left in peace, because we make no trouble for our Spanish masters. The Spanish hardly see us, for we do nothing to make them notice we are still here. We are nothing, of no importance, mere shadows in the night. Some of our people work for them and they take our service for granted. Money is a great persuader. Someone will make sure that the girl is near the gate and the guards are not. If Allah wills it, she will be with you tomorrow at the appointed time.’

      ‘I shall owe you much if you can arrange this, Ali.’

      ‘It will be repayment for the debt I owe you,’ Ali Khayr said. ‘Had you not acted so swiftly the day my son was attacked in the marketplace by a mad dog, he would have died. You put your life at risk, for to be bitten by such dogs is to die of the foaming disease. Without my son I should have had no reason to live. Therefore my life is yours.’

      ‘It was instinctive,’ Lorenzo said. ‘And you have repaid the debt.’

      ‘Gold alone cannot repay such a debt. But if I give you back this woman the debt is ended. We may meet then as friends.’

      ‘We are friends now,’ Lorenzo said. ‘And I shall be for ever in your debt.’

      Ali smiled and opened his hands. ‘Allah will provide, my friend. Only if he wills it shall our plan succeed.’

      Kathryn was unable to sleep. She had risen with the dawn, washing and dressing in the clothes provided for her use, which were Spanish and heavier than she was accustomed to wearing. She stood by the window, looking out at the garden, which was rich with lush greenery and exotic flowers. Soon now the old man would come with the fruit and vegetables and it was in her mind to go down to the garden and take her chance of escape.

      ‘Señorita…’

      Kathryn looked round as she heard the woman’s voice. She had seen the old woman before when walking in the garden and believed she worked in the kitchens. Her skin was a dark olive tone and Kathryn thought that she might be of Moorish descent. Once the Moors had ruled the province of Granada until they were defeated and driven out by the Spanish king, but, though many had sought a life elsewhere, some had remained.

      ‘What is it?’ Kathryn asked, but the woman placed a finger to her lips, shaking her head. The Morisco woman put her hand on Kathryn’s arm, seeming to want her to go with her and saying something that she could not understand.

      Kathryn hesitated, but the woman pulled urgently at her, speaking rapidly, repeating the same instruction over and over. There was no point in resisting, for if she did Don Pablo would send his men to fetch her. She nodded to show that she would go with her, but when she attempted to speak to her the woman put her finger to her lips again and smiled.

      Suddenly, Kathryn was alert. Something was happening. She had the strangest feeling that this woman was attempting to help her and that Don Pablo knew nothing of it. When the old woman led her down to the door that led out to the back of the garden and pointed to the far end, she knew that she must mean the gate. She smiled and gave Kathryn a little push, then waved her hands as if she were shooing a goose.

      Kathryn smiled, but when she would have spoken the old woman shook her head and disappeared into the house. Feeling nervous and yet excited, Kathryn walked in the direction she had been shown, and as she did so the gate opened and an old man came in with his donkey. She hesitated, but he beckoned to her urgently and she ran the last few steps towards him.

      ‘Go quickly,’ he said, pulling her through the gate. ‘Down that path. See where it curves to the right and follow. The way is steep and hard, but you will find what you seek there.’

      Kathryn’s heart was racing—he had spoken to her in English, though from his looks he was a Moor. She whispered her thanks and heard the gate shut behind him as she began to walk down the steep path he had indicated. It was not the road by which they had come and, as she paused to look back, she realised that only a couple of small windows at the back of the house looked out this way. Once she was past the place where the rock jutted at an angle, it would be impossible to see from the house. Perhaps the path was too narrow and steep to be thought a likely approach for any surprise attack. Indeed, it was not easy for Kathryn to negotiate the path, for some of the rock was loose and twice a shower of debris went hurtling from beneath her feet, tumbling down the side of the rocky crag. Her progress was slow and her heavy skirts made it difficult for her to keep her balance. Had she had a choice she would never have ventured down such a path as this, but she steeled her nerves, knowing that it was her only chance. The old man had promised she would find what she needed at the bottom, and therefore someone must be waiting there for her.

      When she reached the place where the rock jutted out at an angle, she paused—the path was so narrow that she did not know if she dared to pass the protrusion. If she fell, she would surely go plunging down the side of the mountain to her death. As she took a deep breath she heard a slithering sound as some loose shingle went sliding down into the valley and then a muffled curse, and then, as she held her breath, a man came round the path and beckoned to her.

      ‘Come, Kathryn,’ he commanded. ‘Take my hand and I shall help you.’

      ‘Lorenzo…’ she breathed, her heart leaping. She moved towards him, and somehow she was not surprised that he should be there. Ever since the woman had taken her to the garden she had believed that only one person could have arranged to have her freed.

      He frowned as she came towards him, his eyes going over her with disapproval. ‘What is the matter?’

      ‘Take off those wide skirts,’ he told her. ‘You will never be able to negotiate this path in that gown, Kathryn.’

      Kathryn did not hesitate. Untying the strings that held her overskirt, she let it fall to the ground. At once she felt so much easier in the petticoat that fitted to her body more closely than the cumbersome panniers she had donned that morning. She went to him with new confidence, taking the hand he offered. His fingers closed about it tightly and he smiled at her in a way that set her spirit soaring.

      ‘You are a good, brave girl,’ he told her. ‘Trust me, for this next bit is difficult, but I shall not let you fall.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She nodded at him bravely, trusting him, confident that he would not let her slip.

      He smiled but said nothing, and, looking down, Kathryn saw that the brownish-grey rock jutted out to an alarming degree over what was a sheer fall. The path around it was no more than a ledge and could never have been intended as a path at all. It looked as if at some time a part of the rock had fallen away, leaving this overhanging ledge dangling precariously. It was hardly surprising that the Don had not considered it necessary to guard this side of his mountain home, for a party of men could not pass this way, and the only other approach was past the main gate.

      She could never have done it alone! Her heart was in her mouth as she took a tentative step on to the narrow ledge, and only the firm grip of Lorenzo’s hand on her arm kept her steady. They had their backs to the rock, which pressed into Kathryn’s flesh, scraping her as she pushed back against it, edging one tiny step at a time, moving sideways, inch by inch, not daring to look down. Only the firm pressure of Lorenzo’s hand kept her from falling as her eyes closed against the dizziness that seemed to take her mind and for a moment she felt that she could not go on.

      ‘Not much further,’ Lorenzo said. ‘We are almost there, Kathryn.’

      She could not answer—she was too terrified. She breathed slowly, deeply, hanging