The Warrior's Princess Prize

by Carol Townend

  ‘If you accept me, you will have a role in Madinat Runda. I shall not interfere with your interests. Believe me, there is plenty of opportunity for charitable work in our infirmary.’

  The colour drained from her face. ‘You know about that?’

  He gave her a gentle smile. ‘I saw you by the hospital. I was at the tavern.’

  ‘The one by the well?’

  ‘Just so. Naturally, I didn’t see beyond your veil, but I heard your voice. I recognised it later in the orange grove, where I mistook you for a maidservant. Even then I didn’t realise your true identity until you spoke at the tourney.’

  And her voice, Jasim realised, had somehow prompted him to ask for her hand. Why, he had no idea.

  She stared at him, face ashen. ‘Father mustn’t know about my visits to the infirmary.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Jasim reached for her hand in reassurance and as soon as his fingers closed on hers, a frisson of awareness ran through him and reassurance was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to draw her close, he wanted to feel her body melt against his. ‘Of course not,’ he repeated, even as he was wondering how she would respond if he attempted to steal a kiss.

  ‘Father mustn’t find out about my masquerading as a maidservant either.’

  ‘On my honour, I won’t breathe a word.’ Throat dry, he swallowed. ‘Princess, I should warn you, I am about to break convention.’

  She blinked and to his surprise and delight, laughed.

  ‘Break convention? That doesn’t surprise me, sir knight, you seem to be a past master at that. You rejected your prize at the tourney and asked to take me in marriage instead; we are not supposed to meet, and you climb the tower and appear in my bedchamber. Worse still, we are conversing in my bedchamber whilst I am unveiled. Are there any conventions you haven’t broken?’

  He felt himself smile. ‘One or two. Princess, with your permission, I am going to touch you.’

  Carefully, Jasim slid his hand up her arm. Fortunately, their cushions were close, and it was an easy matter to draw her towards him. Uncertain as to whether she would resist, he prepared to pull back at the first sign of alarm. Happily, there was not a trace of alarm and no resistance. She allowed him to draw her closer.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ he murmured.

  She lowered her eyelashes, they lay like dark crescents against her cheeks. He rather thought she was studying his mouth.

  ‘You are going to kiss me.’ Her voice was soft and husky. ‘I find that pleases me, very much. I have often wondered what it might be like. Please, sir knight, continue.’

  Jasim’s pulse gave an excited thump. Was this truly the nervous Princess who had stayed behind when her bolder sisters had left the palace? There was no sign of nervousness in her tone and certainly no fear.

  ‘With your permission, Princess.’

  She leaned invitingly towards him. ‘If you would. I am most curious.’

  That did it. Jasim slid his hand around her neck and set his lips to hers. She gave a small jolt, so he kept it gentle with tiny, nibbling kisses. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks and returned to her mouth. It was warm and soft. And again, there was the subtle scent of roses. Roses and sweet, warm woman.

  Princess Zorahaida moaned softly. Fearing he was rushing her, Jasim relaxed his hold and drew back. She lay against him as though born to be there. Her eyes were closed, and her cheeks faintly flushed. Her shawl had fallen away completely and the outline of her body—an extremely womanly body—was plainly visible. The beautiful curve of her breasts made him ache for more intimate contact. His gaze lingered on the swell of her hip, and much as he longed to caress her there too, he would go no further. It was too soon. Desire beating hard in his veins, he forced himself to ease back even as he realised that this was what he had climbed up her tower to discover. He’d wanted to find out if they were compatible as bedmates.

  Well, he had his answer. Princess Zorahaida was deeply sensual. With the right man, she would be a joy to lie with. Jasim must make her his.

  Those dark eyelashes lifted, and she gave a languorous sigh that had Jasim’s blood heating all over again.

  ‘Thank you, sir knight.’

  His mouth twitched. ‘You are most welcome, Princess.’ It flashed in on him that the stories he had heard about the timid princess who had stayed behind in the palace whilst her bolder sisters ran off with their Spanish suitors were very wide of the mark.

  Timid? This woman was a lioness.

  ‘Before my sisters went away, I dreamed of marriage,’ she said, touching her lips in a dreamy fashion.

  Jasim struggled to order his thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to go on kissing her. To uncover every tempting curve, to kiss every inch. The need to make her truly his was burning so brightly it was in danger of eclipsing rational thought. He couldn’t afford to let that happen tonight. It would be akin to signing his own death warrant.

  He linked his fingers with hers and kissed her knuckles. ‘You must miss your sisters.’

  Her eyes filled with shadows. ‘Every day. I fully intended to go with them.’ She shrugged. ‘I changed my mind.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I couldn’t imagine being married.’ She gave a reminiscent smile. ‘The Spanish knights who bore my sisters away had a comrade. I was ready to go with him. I am not sure why I didn’t; I can only set it down to instinct. At the beginning, everything had been so romantic. We had three knights serenading us from the bottom of the tower. We were angry with our father who had confined us in here, and it was intoxicating to know that we were defying him.’ Her eyes were pensive, she was focused on the past. ‘I made the right decision, for I found out later that my cavalier never intended to marry me.’

  Jasim searched her expression for any indication of distress. He couldn’t be sure, but she seemed more resigned than distressed. ‘He misled you.’

  ‘He was already married.’ She blushed. ‘I don’t know how much you know about Spanish marriage customs, but in Spain, Christians only take one wife, and he’d never mentioned her. I felt foolish when I found out. All he wanted was... Well, it’s pretty obvious what he wanted, only I was too naive to realise. Since then, I have discovered that he was in the habit of enjoying many ladies and it didn’t trouble him whether they were willing or not.’

  ‘That knight was a dog, he didn’t deserve you,’ Jasim muttered.

  He stared at Princess Zorahaida, his mind turning. This conversation was extraordinary on several levels. The Princess was an innocent in the sense that she was untouched. It had been an honour to be the first to kiss her. In other ways though, she was probably far from innocent.

  She had the run of the palace, and she was apparently so determined that for her nowhere was out of bounds. The way the Sultan’s concubines had closed about her at the tourney proved that those women knew her and knew her well. In Jasim’s experience women talked, usually without cease. The Princess would have been told, in great detail, how a concubine was expected to pleasure her master. She would know how a wife was expected to behave. To be sure, her knowledge would be academic. She would have no real experience.

  He shifted as desire burned anew. He fully intended to be the one to teach her the joys that might be found between a man and a woman.

  Another thought came to him.

  ‘You say the knight was already married?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  How had she found that out? Someone in the palace must have told her. It could be almost anyone, several parties were competing for dominance. That was why you couldn’t walk two yards without having the sense that you were being observed.

  The Sultan would have his faction, he was desperate to ensure that his brother and heir Prince Ghalib didn’t make trouble. And Prince Ghalib would doubtless have his, for self-preservation, if nothing else. And since knowledge was power, each party
would have its ways of learning what was happening in the neighbouring Kingdom of Castile.

  Jasim watched the Princess’s breasts gently rising and falling beneath that delicate and all-too-revealing silk. She was the most intriguing of women. It would never have occurred to him that the Sultan’s daughter would have so much freedom, freedom she appeared to have won for herself and exercised in secret.

  Her father didn’t know the half of it. She commanded loyalty from soldiers like Captain Yusuf ibn Safwan. Doors and gates opened to her all over the palace. She went in and out at will.

  How far did her influence extend?

  ‘Do you write to your sisters?’

  He didn’t miss the way her eyes evaded his. ‘How could I? My father the Sultan banished them on pain of death, did you not hear? They are barred from setting foot in Al-Andalus. It is even forbidden to talk of them. I am aware they have married.’ She sighed. ‘I used to think that life was poorer without them.’

  Jasim thought he understood. ‘You took up charity work to fill the void.’

  Dark eyes flashed; he’d said the wrong thing.

  ‘I took up charitable work, sir knight, because there was great need.’

  Jasim glanced meaningfully at her bruises. ‘Your father is a harsh master.’

  ‘I cannot deny it.’ She huffed out a breath and the anger left her eyes. ‘Father was always prone to rages. I stayed behind, in part because I mistrusted that Spanish knight, but also because I hoped that over the years Father would mellow. I was certain that in his way, he loved us. We, the three Princesses, are his only children. I couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking that we had abandoned him.’ Silk rustled as she turned earnestly towards him. ‘I thought I could help him.’

  ‘You hoped to change him.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Sadly, she shook her head. ‘I have failed dismally, sir knight.’

  ‘You have done admirably, in my view,’ Jasim said. ‘You have survived.’ And given her father’s volatile temperament, that was no mean feat. ‘Princess, I need to know, are you truly content to marry me?’

  ‘Surprisingly, I am.’ She gave him a direct look. ‘I reacted badly at first because, frankly, your proposal came as a shock. However, provided you agree that we can remain in the Alhambra until I have handed over my responsibilities to someone else, I am content.’

  For a moment, Jasim hesitated. He didn’t want to deny her, but he loathed it here. Beautiful though it was, the place reeked of intrigue and betrayal. Brother had warred against brother for generations and much innocent blood had been shed. Perhaps, he thought soberly, it was known as the Red Fort not simply because the walls had a reddish cast to them, but also because of the blood that had been spilled inside it.

  As far as Jasim was concerned, another day in the Red Fort was a day too long. However, it wouldn’t do to rush her. After this meeting he really wanted her. Not to mention that coming home with a Nasrid princess as his bride would encourage his uncle to take him more seriously.

  ‘All shall be as you wish.’ Lifting her hand to his mouth, he kissed it and glanced meaningfully towards the window. ‘Princess, I ought to take my leave. It is peaceful out there, but that could change.’

  ‘You are right, sir knight. There is danger everywhere.’

  More reluctant than he would have thought possible a few hours ago, Jasim pushed to his feet.

  ‘Sir knight?’ She rose and came to stand before him, bruised and beautiful and incredibly desirable. Her dark hair was glossy in the lamplight. Lightly, she touched his hand.

  Jasim’s heart missed a beat. It was the smallest of gestures, subtle as the touch of a butterfly’s wing, yet it meant much. Princess Zorahaida would not be in the habit of initiating contact with a man. It was a good omen, he was making progress. ‘Aye?’

  ‘Thank you for your thoughtfulness, it is more than I hoped for.’

  Closing his fingers on hers, he tugged. Silk trailed across the floor tiles as she came to stand before him. She barely reached his shoulder.

  ‘A farewell kiss for my bride,’ he said, tipping her head towards him.

  He kept it brief and chaste, only allowing himself the pleasure of feeling her mouth soften against his and of hearing her gentle murmur. He disengaged before the temptation to carry her back to those cushions became unbearable. ‘Princess, after I have gone, I’d like you to untie the rope and let it fall. I would hate to think anyone else might disturb you in your nest.’

  ‘Very well.’

  With a bow, Jasim went to the window, happier than he had believed possible with his betrothal. ‘Farewell, then, until our wedding day.’

  * * *

  Heart aching, Zorahaida watched Jasim ibn Ismail slip lithely through the window. When he had gone, she poked her head out to follow his progress. He moved swiftly and with great efficiency and was soon standing on the gully floor. Yusuf handed him his head-covering, and Jasim glanced up at her.

  ‘Princess?’ Jasim’s voice, though low, carried up to her. ‘Untie the rope, if you please.’

  Zorahaida wrestled with the rope, tearing a nail in the process. His weight had pulled it fast. ‘I can’t, it won’t shift.’

  ‘Very well, draw it up out of sight. It will be removed in the morning.’ Jasim bowed, white teeth flashed, and he and Yusuf walked away. The night swallowed them, and it was almost as though she had dreamed the entire meeting.

  Almost. His kisses stayed with her long after he’d gone. Zorahaida sat in the breeze on the window ledge, fingering her mouth, wondering why she was filled with such sadness. When he had claimed her as his prize at the tournament, she’d been outraged. That initial fury had ebbed away, all she felt now was unbearably sad. Why, she had no idea.

  There was no need for sadness, she had learned much from their meeting. That kiss had transported her. When she had talked with her uncle’s concubines and wondered what it would feel like to kiss a man, she’d no notion it would have such power. Those kisses had been magical; her mind had emptied of everything except the warmth of Jasim’s body and his gentleness. His scent had been musky and male and incredibly enticing, she’d breathed it in and for a wild moment it was as though their souls were dancing together.

  She grimaced, all too conscious that Jasim’s personal charm put her in danger of deluding herself. Souls couldn’t dance. She was being far too fanciful. And at what point in their unexpected and unorthodox meeting had he become Jasim to her, rather than Jasim ibn Ismail, knight at arms?

  Wryly, she shook her head. Jasim didn’t love her. Why, he didn’t even know her. By his own admission, he’d seen an opportunity to marry for political and personal advantage and he’d seized it. At least he’d been honest, it was far better to have an honest husband than a dishonest one. None the less, despite what she’d told him, she wasn’t entirely happy.

  Three years ago, she’d made the decision to stay in the palace in order to help as many of her father’s people as she could. She’d known that meant that the door to marriage would be closed for her and she had few regrets. Sir Enrique de Murcia meant nothing to her. She’d certainly made the right decision as far as he was concerned. Enrique de Murcia had misled her from the start. He was a liar and an abuser of women.

  It was hard to fault Jasim. He’d been honest. Not only that, but he’d given her a tantalising taste of pleasure, and Zorahaida knew how rare that was because when she’d told the women in the harem about Sir Enrique de Murcia, his behaviour hadn’t surprised them.

  The concubines had warned her that a man who took pains to please a woman was rare. A man like that was to be treasured, the women had said, for in the main when a man and woman lay together, it was the woman’s duty to give pleasure to the man.

  Zorahaida had had no difficulty accepting what she’d been told. After all, it was common knowledge that her mother, Lady Juana, had been a Spanish captive. The
Sultan had fallen in love with her and when she had begged to be allowed to return home all her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. In the end, Lady Juana had had no choice but to marry the Sultan. As his Queen she had spent the rest of her days in Al-Andalus. Beloved by the Sultan, living in the most sumptuous apartments, Zorahaida’s mother had lost her freedom for ever.

  Jasim’s bright hair shone in Zorahaida’s mind’s eye, like a beacon of hope. Firmly, she told herself not to pin any dreams on him. Her soon-to-be husband might be a rarity among men, but he didn’t love her. She didn’t know him. He might appear to be honourable and kind, but she had learned that appearances could be deceptive. She would remain wary.

  She frowned darkly at the cushion which carried the imprint of his strong warrior’s body. He had certainly turned her life upside down. If she truly was to marry him—and with her father liable to change his mind on a whim, the marriage was by no means certain—she had much to do.

  Tomorrow, she must make some changes. She couldn’t bear it if anyone were to suffer because she had gone to Madinat Runda.

  Sama was her most capable maid, Zorahaida would have to leave her behind. Sama knew who to trust and she was discreet. Yusuf too would be worth his weight in gold, he and Sama could work as a team. The purple flowers from her uncle caught her eye and she found herself wondering whether Sama and Yusuf might, at a pinch, take Prince Ghalib into their confidence.

  She fingered her bruise. No, she couldn’t risk it. After Yamina’s near drowning, the enmity between her father and his brother had come to a head. Who knew what Prince Ghalib might do?

  And Maura? Maura was far too nervous to be entrusted with anything hazardous. She would give herself away in a heartbeat. Zorahaida smiled. And that was all to the good, because she would need a personal maid in Madinat Runda. Maura would be perfect.

  Her head was beginning to ache again. Rubbing her temples, she rose and headed back to bed.

  Before she fell asleep, she found herself wondering when the rope could have been fastened to the window. It must have been done before she retired. Recalling the knowing glances Maura and Sama had exchanged earlier, she huffed out a breath.