He turned and yelped a very unpriestly "Caramba!" when he saw the Queen standing by the altar. Then, he smiled and his face reddened.

How very endearing, thought Tessa. A man who blushes. Aloud, she said, "I have brought someone to see you, Padre Quintera."

A look of confusion crossed the priest's mild face as de Beauville stepped out of the shadows and into the soft light of the church. Slowly, the priest moved down the aisle toward the altar. Tessa could see he was nervous; his hands clasped and unclasped as he closed the distance. It was clear that he did not know what was about to happen and was preparing himself.

Tessa stole a glance at the Frenchman. He stood silently watching the priest approach, clutching the package to his chest. He was shivering, his jaw was clenched tightly. As the priest joined them, Tessa moved back to the door and waited.

For a long, silent time, the priest studied the man before him. Finally, he said gently, "I think you have suffered a great deal, my friend. Perhaps I can help."

De Beauville dropped to his knees, shaking, unable to speak. Padre Quintera gave the Queen an enquiring look. She shrugged, determined not to interfere.

The Frenchman set the package on the earth floor and began to pluck at the ropes holding the oilcloth. His hands were trembling too much to untie the knots and he gave a low groan of frustration. The Queen stepped over to him quickly and sliced through the ropes, then returned to her place by the sacristy door.

All the while, Padre Quintera watched, his mouth slightly open as if expecting a surprise. His eyes flicked from the Frenchman to the Queen and back. He seemed completely mystified by this unusual intrusion into his peaceful church.

De Beauville pushed the oilcloth aside and picked up the golden monstrance. The centre rays encircling the white disc glowed like the sun in the candlelight; the gold cross gleamed, reflecting the flames of the tall candles on the altar. Wordlessly, he held the sacred object out to the priest, his eyes imploring understanding and forgiveness.

Sudden tears sprang into the priest's eyes as he tentatively reached for the proffered cross. "You brought it back," he whispered. "You brought it back," he said again, shaking his head incredulously. "By the grace of God, it has been returned." Padre Quintera carefully took the monstrance from the Frenchman's hands. For a long time, he just stared at the golden cross.

"This took much courage, my son. You have carried this burden a long time, as have I." He knelt beside de Beauville and put an arm around his shoulder, pulling the other man closer with the cross between them. "Thank you. I can't tell you what this means to me. Years of guilt have just been washed away. Thank you," he whispered again, then stood up and brushed at his moist cheeks.

Tessa swallowed several times and surreptitiously wiped at her own eyes. Her heart was full and she was enraptured by the moment, sure she would never forget it.

Padre Quintera suddenly seemed to remember her and faced her with a watery smile. "As always, you have been like a guardian angel, señorita. I don't know what role you played in this, but I thank you." The priest laughed lightly. "I am always thanking you for something."

The Queen cleared her throat and croaked, "De nada. I didn't really do anything. It is this man you have to thank. He came all the way from Spain to give you the sacred cross."

De Beauville stood up, a chagrined look on his face. "I was the one who took it, Padre, the soldier who stole it from your church. It seemed the only way I could find peace of mind was to return it to you. It has been a long, hard journey but it was worth it to see you and to know the cross is now back where it belongs."

Tessa began to worry about how long they had remained in the church. Sooner or later, a patrol would see the horses tied behind the building and become suspicious. Her own horse was becoming too well-known. "We should go, señor," she said urgently to de Beauville. "We're risking our lives by staying here any longer."

"A moment more, señorita, por favor," the padre said. He turned to de Beauville. "I don't know your name and don't need to. I just want you to know that I will continue to pray for you as I have prayed for you all these years." Padre Quintera smiled. "Sometimes, our prayers are answered in ways we can never imagine." He made the sign of the cross over the Frenchman, murmuring some Latin words. Then, he smiled, and shook his hand. "Vaya con dios."

Outside, a shout of "The Queen!" broke the moment and Tessa exclaimed, "Damn!", then covered her mouth. "Sorry, Padre," she muttered, backing out into the sacristy. Gesturing to de Beauville, she said, "We've got to go. Now! Come on!"

Act Three

Marta watched as the transformation took place in the hidden room; the transformation which she had witnessed many times and which never failed to amaze and unsettle her. Guilt assailed her as she helped Tessa unlace the black corset at the back. She had helped Tessa make the transition from passive young doña to a relentless fighter for justice. It had been almost three years since Tessa had taken those first tentative steps, gradually becoming this person whom Marta hardly knew. But Marta kept those thoughts to herself, even as she kept her feelings close.

She has been to see her lover again tonight. The signs are all there, the bright feverishness in her eyes as they flash at me with their quick boldness, the high colour on her cheeks, the way she struts rapidly back and forth in the small space of the hidden room - agitated, exhilarated, exalted. Not a human lover as I would wish for her, but a far more dangerous and seductive lover - Death. She goes to him again and again, flirting with him, daring him to come closer, then dancing away from his cold embrace. I fear even to read the cards anymore, afraid I will see that he has taken her at last. I watch as usual, frozen with dread, waiting to hear how she has escaped him this time. She pulls off the lace mask and begins to unbutton her blouse. She speaks, her voice breathless with excitement.

"Marta, you wouldn't believe it. We were surrounded. Soldiers swarmed around us like angry bees just as we left the church. At first, de Beauville seemed to be in a daze, doing nothing, and I was fighting for my life. Two of the soldiers managed to get behind me and grabbed my arms. I was caught! I thought 'this is it, they've got me this time,' though I struggled with all my strength. Then, de Beauville shook himself and bellowed. He charged the soldiers and pulled them off me. Together, we fought our way to the horses and managed to get mounted, leaving all the soldiers on the ground, most of them unconscious. I don't think anyone was badly hurt."

There is that dark shadow, passing through her eyes, the guilt and fear that she has brought Death in her wake, has attracted him with her wiles, then abandoned him, leaving him to take someone else. As she pulls off her blouse, I see new bruises on her arms where the soldiers have roughly grabbed her. I must close my eyes and bite back the words that want to leap out. My heart feels like lead, though I try make light of the horror that I feel.

"Tessa, though it is very hot, you will have to wear long-sleeved blouses for the next few days ...to cover up all those bruises."

She pauses, her face forms into that petulant look that I remember so well. I see the child in the woman, and wish that somehow she could be that innocent child again. It was so much easier to keep her safe then.

"Thank you, Marta, for worrying about my wardrobe instead of me. Maybe you didn't hear me. I was nearly caught tonight!"

"I heard you, Tessa. As I have heard this same story time after time. Each time, it gets worse as you get bolder or more careless. What do you want me to say? What I have said over and over? Stop while you can. Leave Montoya to the dons and live your own life."

"What about my destiny, Marta? Haven't you said I must follow it, that husbands and children come second to that?"

The dark eyes narrow, intensely focussed on me, waiting for wisdom, for answers I no longer think I have for her. She pulls a robe over herself, covering those physical marks that are the price of this terrible destiny. What about the marks I cannot see, the wounds she hides inside? Though I know it is useless, I try to reason with her.

"That was when I thought it would only take a little time to find your father's murderers and bring them to justice. Now, I see it is not so simple. The killers are deeply entrenched in this society, too many for you to think of vengeance or justice."

She shakes her heads as she crosses to the door to leave. I have not told her what she wants to hear. I catch her before she pushes on the secret panel and hold her tightly. I feel her relax against me, grateful, I think, for my strength and my acceptance. Whatever she does, she knows I am with her.

"Gracias a dios, Tessa, that you are safe."

I let her go, and see the sparkle of tears spring in her eyes. As always, her emotions are near the surface, ready to spill out. Like a summer storm, quickly rising, and just as quickly gone. I suddenly remember the Frenchman. I ask her where he is now. She smiles, a child again who has been up to some mischief.

"I left him in the kitchen and said I would send someone to him, but that I had to return to my own home. I don't think he suspects anything."

I groan. My head feels ready to explode with fury at her wanton carelessness of her own safety. I cannot hold back the angry words this time.

"In the kitchen!? Of your own house!? Tessa, are you losing your mind? What if Montoya or Grisham come here looking for him? You might as well paint a sign outside that says 'The Queen of Swords lives here'!"

Again that mischievous smiles plays across her face. I hold my breath, wondering what she is about to involve me in this time.

"That is where you come in, Marta. I want you to do something for me."

As I listen to her plan, resistance starts to build. I want nothing to do with this Frenchman. They have brought nothing but ill-fortune into my life, and this one is likely no different. She takes my hand and implores me to help her. My resistance crumbles, and I reproach myself for my weakness. I can deny this child nothing.

"For you, Tessa, I will do it, but not for him," I answer. She embraces me quickly and we climb together to the main floor where we part, she going to her room to change, and I to the kitchen to meet this Frenchman.

Continue to Part Three

If you have missed any episodes so far, you will find them in the Season Three Archives section .