A princess captive in the tower...
A Spanish knight who can set her free!
In this Princesses of the Alhambra story, meet Princess Leonor, who can’t escape her tyrannical sultan father. For Spanish knight Count Rodrigo, her innocence—and beauty—tug at his sense of honor. He will lay down his life to protect her...but the risks are great: she is the daughter of his sworn enemy!
Princesses of the Alhambra miniseries
Book 1—The Knight’s Forbidden Princess
Look out for the next book, coming soon!
“A well built story with believable characters and an evocative sense of time and place.”
—Goodreads Review on Lady Isobel’s Champion
Princesses of the Alhambra
Captive in the castle; rescued by love!
Three sisters, Princesses Leonor, Alba and Constanza, fiercely loyal to each other, lead gilded but captive lives in a tower in the beautiful Alhambra Palace. Their father, the sultan, watches over them closely.
When they catch sight of three handsome Spanish knights being held for ransom, the sisters dream of romance—and escape! Discover how they each find the happiness they yearn for in the arms of these handsome knights in this exciting new miniseries by Carol Townend.
Read Princess Leonor’s story in
The Knight’s Forbidden Princess
And look out for Princess Alba’s and Princess Constanza’s stories coming soon!
Author Note
The book lying on a street stall in Granada, southern Spain, was called Tales of the Alhambra by Washington Irving. We’d just been on a tour of the Alhambra Palace, and the book—crammed with legends and folktales—wasn’t going to let me walk by.
I love folktales and began reading as soon as we reached a café. By the time I got to “Legend of the Three Beautiful Princesses,” shivers were running down my spine. Ideas flooded in and, before I knew it, I was working on the first story in the Princesses of the Alhambra trilogy.
Irving’s story is about three princesses who are locked up in a palace tower by their tyrannical, overcontrolling father, the sultan. The sultan has been warned by astrologers that his daughters (they are triplets) would need to be carefully watched when they reach marriageable age. Unfortunately for the sultan, the princesses catch sight of three handsome Spanish knights, whom their father is holding for ransom. From that moment, the princesses dream of romance and escape. Irving’s story ends when two of the princesses flee the palace with their knights. The third princess stays behind.
The tale filled my mind with questions. Life couldn’t have been easy for the two escaped princesses—how did they cope once they’d left their father’s kingdom? What about the princess who stayed behind? Why couldn’t she have a happy ending, too?
The Princesses of the Alhambra trilogy is my take on what might have happened next. It is set in Spain toward the end of the fourteenth century. I’ve given some of the key characters alternative names to suit my story.
CAROL TOWNEND
The Knight’s Forbidden Princess
Carol Townend was born in England and went to a convent school in the wilds of Yorkshire. Captivated by the medieval period, Carol read history at London University. She loves to travel, drawing inspiration for her novels from places as diverse as Winchester in England, Istanbul in Turkey and Troyes in France. A writer of both fiction and nonfiction, Carol lives in London with her husband and daughter. Visit her website at caroltownend.co.uk.
Books by Carol Townend
Harlequin Historical
Princesses of the Alhambra
The Knight’s Forbidden Princess
Knights of Champagne
Lady Isobel’s Champion
Unveiling Lady Clare
Lord Gawain’s Forbidden Mistress
Lady Rowena’s Ruin
Mistaken for a Lady
Palace Brides
Bound to the Barbarian
Chained to the Barbarian
Betrothed to the Barbarian
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
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For my editor, Linda Fildew, who listened very hard (and incredibly patiently) when I was developing this story.
I’d also like to thank Joanna Maitland and Sophie Weston of Libertà Books. Their sparkles were invaluable. They know what I mean.
A thousand thanks.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Excerpt from The Outlaw and the Runaway by Tatiana March
Excerpt from Kept by the Viking by Gina Conkle
Chapter One
1396—Castle Salobreña in Al-Andalus—a watchtower overlooking the port
The eldest Nasrid Princess was feeling rebellious. Today, she was using her Spanish name rather than her Moorish one. Today, she was Princess Leonor. She was supposed to be taking her siesta on a pile of tasselled cushions by a latticed window, yet sleep was miles away.
The two other Princesses were dozing nearby. Thanks to the Sultan’s orders, the shutters of the pavilion were firmly closed and, unhappily for the three Princesses, the breeze was too weak to work its way through the lattices. The heat was suffocating.
Leonor lifted the edge of her veil to fan herself and the chink of ruby and pearl bracelets echoed softly around the pavilion walls. With each breath, the gems decorating the fringe flickered like fireflies, and tiny rainbow-coloured lights danced over the tiled floor. Leonor frowned at the evanescent colours, at the brilliant arabesques patterning the pavilion walls, at the script flowing neatly over the door arch. ‘There is no victor but God,’ it read. Her frown deepened. As if she or her sisters could forget. ‘No victor but God’ was the motto of the Nasrid dynasty.
We are in prison. Our father has imprisoned us at the border of his territories. Will we ever be free?
Princess Leonor itched to toss her veil aside, but her father, the Sultan, may blessings rain upon him, had forbidden it. The three Nasrid Princesses were not to be stared at.
In truth, the Sultan himself was the only man alive to have seen their faces. Men in general, including even the hand-picked guards on duty outside their apartment, were forbidden to look at them. To all intents and purposes, the Sultan’s daughters were invisible. Sometimes Princess Leonor felt as though she didn’t actually exist. It was as though she had winked out of sight, like a real firefly.
She gripped her fan. It had been an age since she and her sisters had heard from their father. Did he intend to keep them locked out of sight for ever? The thought of spending her whole life in a jewelled cage was unbearable; something had to change.
Since Leonor was the eldest Nasrid Princess, perhaps it was up to her to see that it did.
She drew in a breath of warm air and gazed through her veil at a beam of light slanting through the latticed shutter. The shutt
er—yet another barrier to keep her and her sisters safely out of sight—was pierced with pretty stars. Leonor loathed the sight of them. Dust motes hung in the air. The light quivered and was darkened by a swiftly moving shadow.
A seagull outside? An eagle? It was too hot to move.
If I open the shutter, I could see the harbour below.
Not that Leonor was meant to do that. It wouldn’t do for the Sultan’s daughter to lean out of the watchtower window; it wouldn’t do for a Nasrid princess to be seen.
But the heat! Holy heaven, she was melting. If she opened the shutter, just a chink, there would surely be some breeze. The latch was within reach, the latch that she and her sisters were forbidden to lift. Dropping her fan, Leonor stretched out her hand. Even the metal was warm.
She hesitated, picturing the castle walls straggling downhill towards the sea. The pavilion was situated in a remote tower overlooking the port—this window had to be well out of the guards’ line of sight. Who would know if she opened the shutter?
If anyone on the quayside glanced her way, all they would see was a veiled woman in the distance.
Leonor lifted the latch and pushed at the shutter. Light poured in. And sounds! Sounds that the shutter had muffled—the braying of a donkey, the cry of a gull, the creak of a rope. Her pulse quickened. Silk rustled as she pushed to her knees. She leaned her elbows on the embrasure and looked out.
The wind toyed with her veil. She could smell salt and fish. And down there—seen through the film of her veil—the harbour teemed with life. There were so many people! Ordinary people who walked freely about her father’s kingdom.
Out to sea, a ship moved steadily across the water. Hampered by her veil, Leonor couldn’t see the detail, just the shape of it, its sails filled with wind. Even the ripples on the water were blurred by her veil.
Her throat ached. Gritting her teeth, half-expecting the heavens to fall, she reached for the hem of her veil and tossed it over her head.
The heavens didn’t fall, but she blinked. Everything was so bright!
The sea stretched on for ever, it seemed, its surface gleaming like beaten metal. The sun sparkled on the swell and gilded the leaves of the palm trees. Best of all, Leonor could feel the breeze caressing her cheeks. It was cool, a touch of paradise and infinitely better than her stupid fan. Bliss. When a gust of wind caught a lock of hair and tugged it free of its pins, she held in a delighted laugh.
Below her on the wall walk, the thud of heavy boots sounded a warning, a guard was doing his rounds. Hand over her mouth lest she draw his attention her way, Leonor held herself still. Her heart thumped in time with the marching boots. If the guard heard anything and leaned over that merlon, he might catch sight of her. For her sake as well as his, it wouldn’t do to be seen, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the harbour below. Paradise was surely looking at the world without a veil. Just this once. There was so much to see. A large galley had docked and was unloading its cargo. No, not cargo exactly. Merciful God, the men walking down the gangplank were chained together in a long line. Chained.
Goosebumps ran down Leonor’s back. Was it a slave ship? There were slaves in the castle, but they were well cared for. Leonor had never seen anyone chained like this and what she saw appalled her.
Those men...poor things. Their bruises spoke of heavy-handed beatings by the brutes in charge of them. A powerful-looking prisoner in a crimson tunic was helping one who looked to be barely conscious. The beaten man stumbled, fighting the drag of his fetters, and it was clear that he was only standing thanks to his friend’s supporting arms. It was odd though, something was very out of place. Most of the prisoners were remarkably well dressed.
Leonor’s gaze was drawn back to the man in crimson. He stood taller than his companions, with strong, wide shoulders. As she studied him, the word ‘warrior’ jumped into her head. Not that Leonor had ever seen a warrior close to—her father, the King, may he live for ever, would never permit it. But that man, yes, he must be a warrior, his physique was truly remarkable. The wind was playing in his wavy dark hair, teasing the edge of his crimson tunic.
Leonor glimpsed a flash of gold and her eyes went wide. He was wearing a gold ring. Goodness, who was he? Why hadn’t the ring been stolen by his captors? As she stared harder, she noticed that the man’s crimson tunic was embroidered with gold thread. She looked at his neighbours and found more signs of wealth. Silver gleamed on the belt buckle of a man in a blue tunic. The man who was hurt also had a gold ring on. These three looked more like princes than slaves. Why were they chained? It didn’t make sense.
Angry voices floated up from the quayside. An overseer cracked his whip and Leonor bit her lip as an agonised groan reached her ears. The injured man stumbled again, the chains jerked and the line of prisoners came to an abrupt halt.
Leonor quite forgot her place and leaned right out of the window. She was no longer the Princess Leonor who should know better than to show her face outside. She was simply a soft-hearted young woman frowning at a sailor for whipping a man who could barely stand.
She wasn’t the only one to be so affronted. As the whip lifted a second time, the tallest captive, the one in crimson, rounded on the overseer.
Leonor’s nails bit into her palms. Anger darkened the face of the warrior-like figure and he stepped directly into harm’s way. The whip snaked towards him, and when it struck, he made no sound. He looked furious. Furious and proud. Something lodged in Leonor’s throat. Even in his anger, that man was devastatingly handsome. No slave, he.
Who were these men?
Leonor suddenly recalled hearing her duenna, Inés, muttering to one of the servants. There had been talk of Spanish noblemen chipping away at the edges of her father’s territory. There had been fighting and prisoners had been taken.
Thoughtfully, Leonor stared at the quayside. Prisoners, not slaves. Likely they were being held hostage for the ransom they would bring. Her father, the Sultan, peace be upon him, owed tribute to the neighbouring kingdom of Castile. Ironically, the tribute was intended to serve as a sign of goodwill between the Kingdom of Al-Andalus and the Spanish kingdom. That clearly didn’t stop her father capturing Spanish lords and using them to gain ransom to pay that tribute.
Behind her came the rustle of Granadan silk, her sisters were awake.
‘Leonor, your veil!’ Princess Alba’s voice held censure. ‘Come away from the window!’
Leonor shot a glance over her shoulder. ‘If you lean out far enough, you can see the harbour,’ she said casually.
‘But your veil! What if Father finds out?’
The youngest Princess, Constanza, came to stand at Alba’s side. ‘Father would be very angry. Inés has warned us about what might happen if—’
Leonor made an impatient gesture. ‘Forget the veil, it’s impossible for anyone in the castle to see this window, the line of sight is quite wrong.’ She beckoned her sisters over. ‘A galley has docked, and I think it’s brought captives from the fighting.’
Princess Alba caught her breath. ‘Spanish knights? Here in Salobreña?’
Princess Constanza simply stared.
Leonor smiled. The Princesses’ mother had been a Spanish noblewoman and Leonor’s sisters were as curious about Spain as she was. Sadly, the Queen had died before the Princesses had reached their third birthday and they could barely remember her. Leonor had faint recollections of a dark-eyed woman holding her hand; of a soft voice singing lullabies; of the tinkle of golden bracelets and the whisper of silk slippers on marble floors. Shadowy memories that prompted a strong interest in the part of her heritage that was lost to her. Her mother—a captive—had become the Sultan’s favourite. He had made her his Queen. Leonor ached to know what her mother’s life had been like before she had been captured.
All their companion Inés would tell them was that their mother’s Spanish name had been Lady Juana. Inés had been
their mother’s duenna—her governess and companion—before they’d been taken by the Sultan. After the Queen’s death, Inés had been given charge of the little Princesses. Unfortunately, she was closed as a clam, and she refused to reveal Lady Juana’s birthplace, just as she refused to give the Princesses their mother’s full name.
Inés must have been sworn to secrecy. Perhaps she was afraid.
None of which stopped Leonor wondering. What family had Lady Juana left behind? Had she fought to return home? Had she found it easy to adjust when their father had made her his Queen?
‘Spanish knights?’ Alba took a tentative step towards her. ‘Leonor, are you sure?’
‘Look for yourself. You can see quite clearly from the window.’
Alba twisted her fingers together. ‘Leonor, if you can see the ship and the quayside, it follows that someone down there might see you. Put on your veil!’
With a shrug, Leonor turned back to the window. ‘The people on the quay will be ignorant of Father’s rules about veils. And even if they are not, how will they know who we are? We are too far away.’
Leaning out quite shamelessly, she watched the chained men, focusing once more on the man in crimson as he helped his friend limp along the quayside. She couldn’t seem to help herself, he fascinated her. It was somewhat unsettling. Vaguely, she was conscious of first Alba and then Constanza coming to kneel beside her. A couple of swift, sidelong glances told her that her sisters were not in as rebellious a mood as she, their veils remained firmly in place.
She hid a smile. Veils notwithstanding, both sisters were leaning out over the windowsill, just as she was. They too stared down at the quayside.
‘We must be quiet,’ Leonor murmured. ‘The guards...’
Alba nodded and the Princesses watched in silence.
Alba let out a soft sigh. ‘One of them is injured.’
‘The man in the green tunic, aye.’
‘He is fortunate to have friends with him.’ Alba paused, she sounded rather breathless. ‘They are handsome, don’t you think?’
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