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La Calle de las Damas, a wide thoroughfare, led into the heart of the city, where plazas with shops and businesses and small chapels were located. Santo Domingo had once been the capital of the Spanish empire in the New World; the establishment of a hospital and university had helped it to remain more than a barely civilized colonial outpost after the capital had been moved to Cartagena.
    Casa del Montevares, the home Magdalena had not seen since she had sailed for Spain over seven years earlier, was as grand as any wealthy hidalgo’s home in Seville or Madrid. Thick walls and tiled floors repelled the heat, while high arched ceilings and long window allowed the cooling breezes to circulate throughout the house. When storms raged, heavy shutters could be pulled tight against the winds and rains, but usually the windows remained unshuttered both day and night.
    Although his shoulders were stooped slightly, as if from great weariness rather than age, Don Rodrigo was still a very proud man as he stood on the bottom step of the great staircase in the entrance hall of Casa del Montevares when Magdalena and her family arrived.
    Geoffrey Christian, one of his hands clasped tightly by his daughter as she stared about her in wonder, his other had resting lightly on his sword hilt, eyed the stern-visaged Spaniard and thought that some things never changed. Don Rodrigo still looked the disapproving father who would never forgive his daughter for having married against his wishes. Geoffrey hadn’t missed the arrogant lifting of Don Rodrigo’s bearded chin when he caught sight of the heathen Englishmen entering his home, and in that instant Geoffrey had known that Don Rodrigo had hoped his daughter would return home unaccompanied by her family. Watching Magdalena’s uncertainty as she greeted her father, Geoffrey wondered if perhaps they all had not made a mistake in coming. It was only too obvious by Don Rodrigo’s curt nod to his daughter, who had unconsciously held out her arms to him when she had seen him, that the stiff-necked old gentleman wasn’t about to forgive and forget.
    However, Geoffrey hadn’t missed Don Rodrigo’s dark eyes lingering on his daughter’s face once or twice when he thought himself unobserved, and Geoffrey would have sworn that Don Rodrigo’s thin-lipped mouth twitched just slightly when Lily walked up to the Spaniard and brazenly demanded a kiss from her abuelo , her words spoken in perfect Spanish perhaps as surprising to her grandfather as had been the request.
    Don Rodrigo remained imperiously silent and apparently unmoved as he stared down at his granddaughter for the first time.
    Magdalena held her breath, more concerned for her daughter now than she had been when she as Basil had watched Lily balancing on Geoffrey’s lap when he had taken her high into the ship’s rigging.
    “I do not think we have been properly introduced,” Don Rodrigo said sternly, for this small replica of Magdalena needed to be taught some manners. She was an impudent little monkey and apparently had never been taught to show proper respect for elders.
    Lily frowned slightly, as if giving his words careful consideration, then she nodded, “Very well, sir. I am Lily Francisca Christian. You are Don Rodrigo Francisco Esteban de Cabrion y Montevares. Now I know you and you know me. Are you going to give me a kiss?”
    Don Rodrigo seemed taken aback by her smooth recitation of his full name. As she continued to stand there with her hands planted firmly on her hips, staring up at him with incredibly bright green eyes, he bowed courteously. “Lily Francisca ,” he said, lingering with pleasure on the Spanish name, for it showed him that his daughter had not completely forgotten her heritage. He felt an impatient tug on the richly decorated silk of his slashed breeches and was reminded of his duty. Bending low, he met his granddaughter’s steady gaze as she held her face up to his expectantly and unflinchingly. Lily was