The Knight's Forbidden Princess

by Carol Townend

  A lamp flickered, shadows trembled. Outside, the stars slowly turned, silver specks set in a deep, velvet blackness. A bat flitted by, vanishing into the rocky crevasse that ran alongside the palace wall.

  ‘Leonor?’ Constanza whispered.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Do you think Father has found us out?’

  A chill ran through her. ‘I pray not.’ Leonor leaned on her elbow and peered into the night. Nothing.

  Quick footsteps sounded on the stairs and Alba swept in, her mouth was pinched. ‘It’s no use, Leonor,’ she said. ‘There are no lights. There will be no more serenades. Our knights are not there.’

  Leonor gave Alba a searching glance and her heart filled with dread. She had to clear her throat to speak. ‘You are certain?’ I will never see Count Rodrigo again.

  ‘Their families have paid the ransom,’ Alba said, in a dull voice. ‘Inés tells me they were freed today.’

  Chapter Seven

  His massage over, Rodrigo was reluctant to peel himself from the bathhouse couch. The wear and tear of the past few months had been kneaded and soothed into oblivion by the best body servant Granada had to offer. Rodrigo felt reborn, in truth, he was so relaxed he could barely move.

  His squire stepped forward and laid a fresh set of clothes on the couch.

  ‘My thanks, Miguel.’ The sweet scent of almond oil still in his nostrils, Rodrigo stretched luxuriously. ‘Holy Mother, I never thought to feel clean again.’

  ‘Will you be wearing armour tonight, my lord?’ Miguel asked. ‘I’ve brought it with me.’

  Rodrigo grimaced. The sun had set almost an hour since and the streets and alleys of Granada hoarded the heat. It was sweltering here in the city, far hotter than it had been higher up the valley, and Rodrigo had no wish to abrade his abused body with heavy armour. ‘Thank you, Miguel, but no. This place is hotter than Hades.’

  Miguel’s eyebrow shot up. ‘Is it cooler by the Vermillion Towers, my lord?’

  ‘Aye, the towers sit on higher ground. The air is fresher there,’ Rodrigo said, with a wry smile. ‘That is why the Sultans of Al-Andalus built their palace nearby.’

  A pair of dark, kohl-lined eyes took shape in his mind’s eye. Eyes that were as beautiful as they were mysterious. Eyes that he should never have seen because they belonged to a Nasrid princess.

  Rodrigo didn’t know her name and probably never would, but he had fantasised about her often. He’d always remember those extraordinary evenings by the palace wall. His Lady Merciful had given him something other than Diego to think about and for that he was grateful. In an odd way, the Princess had given him heart. He’d only seen her face a handful of times, and on each occasion, it had been the briefest of glimpses.

  Despite that, whenever the Sultan’s three daughters had appeared at the top of that tower, silhouetted by lamp and candlelight, Lady Merciful had been easy to identify. Her voice, husky and sensual, was unforgettable. The pity was that the Princesses’ tower was too high and the light too poor for him to see her properly.

  The Sultan kept his daughters tucked well away from curious eyes, and from the little he had seen of Lady Merciful, Rodrigo understood why. Her beauty stole his breath. She had large black eyes and a mouth a man would kill to kiss. The tales of Helen of Troy’s beauty launching a thousand ships had always struck him as a ludicrous exaggeration, no woman could be that beautiful. However, after seeing the Sultan’s daughter, Rodrigo was no longer so sure. During his days in that rock-choked gully, Rodrigo had lost count of the times he had imagined drawing her close to give her a real kiss.

  An angry, grieving man needed something to distract him from his sorrows, and sight of the beautiful Princess had sparked a thousand fantasies. It made a pleasant contrast to the drudgery of heaving boulders on to a cart.

  One fantasy had led to another. Rodrigo hadn’t stopped at a kiss and the fact that the Princess was his enemy’s daughter had added spice to his imaginings. Meeting her had been so unexpected. Forbidden. Delicious. Rodrigo had imagined peeling away the Princess’s exotic silks; he’d caressed perfumed skin that was smooth as satin.

  He was grateful to her. Diego’s death had been the most bitter blow and the presence of the Nasrid Princess had stopped him from dwelling on it to the point of obsession. Without her to distract him, Rodrigo would have been stewing in grief and misery. The knowledge that he might catch sight of Lady Merciful each night had helped him through the bleakest of days.

  In the normal course of events, the Count of Córdoba would never meet a Nasrid princess. A chasm lay between them. It had made no difference. Even this evening, mere memory of his imaginings brought a smile to his lips.

  No more, Rodrigo told himself firmly, he must push her from his mind. The Princess’s father was the tyrant who had held him captive. His ransom had been paid. He was going home. A free man had no need of fantasies.

  ‘Tonight, we’re celebrating with Inigo,’ Rodrigo said. He didn’t know what Enrique had planned and, frankly, he didn’t care. What Diego had seen in his cousin would always be a mystery. Relation or not, Enrique was a grave disappointment. Rodrigo would be happy if he never saw him again.

  Miguel looked at him. ‘Here in the city?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Is it safe, my lord? Granada’s crawling with the Sultan’s men.’

  Rodrigo’s squire Miguel was of Arab descent and his original name had been Hakim. Rodrigo had virtually adopted him. He’d found the lad hurt and dazed, after a particularly unpleasant border skirmish. Hakim had been little more than a child. Appalled that someone so young had been caught up in the fighting, Rodrigo had taken him back to Castle Álvarez and seen to it that his wounds had been healed.

  Having lost his family, Hakim rewarded Rodrigo with unswerving loyalty. He learned Spanish and pestered Rodrigo to make him his squire. He even changed his name from Hakim to Miguel. Over the years, they’d become close.

  Rodrigo shook out his tunic. ‘The captain of the guard knows we’ll be on our way at first light.’

  ‘He gave you a safe conduct?’

  ‘Aye, we’ve been given leave to explore and I intend to find the best tavern in town. It’s been a lifetime since we had a decent meal and some palatable wine.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Be a good lad and ask the way to that tavern, will you?’

  ‘At once, my lord.’

  The filthy rags which Rodrigo had been wearing lay in a heap on the floor, Miguel nudged them with his toe. ‘What shall I do with these, my lord?’

  ‘Burn them.’

  * * *

  When they left the bathhouse to head for the stable, the sky was dotted with stars. Miguel had discovered that the best tavern lay slightly outside the town. Inigo had gone on ahead and they would meet him there.

  Rodrigo tossed a coin at the stable-boy and mounted his horse. ‘It’s good to be in the saddle again,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you brought Eagle, we ride with the wind tomorrow.’

  They spurred down the road and Miguel glanced his way. ‘Your lady mother will be glad to see you.’

  ‘And I her. How has she been since Diego’s body came home?’

  ‘Lady Isabel is brave, my lord,’ Miguel’s tone was sombre. ‘No one has seen her shed so much as a tear, not even her maid. She withdrew to the chapel and arranged a vigil that went on for days. She has been fasting.’

  Rodrigo nodded, he had expected as much. ‘She will be weeping inside.’

  ‘Assuredly. My lord, what happened to Khan? Was he killed in battle?’

  Khan was Rodrigo’s warhorse and, up until the moment of Rodrigo’s capture by the Sultan’s men, a prized possession.

  ‘Khan lives, thank God.’ Rodrigo’s voice took on a hard edge as he remembered.

  There was much to lay at Enrique’s door. Diego’s death. Rodrigo and
Inigo’s capture and subsequent imprisonment. And to make matters worse, Enrique’s rashness had lost Rodrigo the best warhorse in Spain. Rodrigo tamped down his anger, reminding himself that Enrique was his aunt’s son. He was family. Yet Rodrigo was finding it nigh on impossible to forgive him. He reminded himself that his captivity was ended, he could surely arrange matters now so that he need never see Enrique again.

  He looked bleakly at Miguel. ‘The warlord who captured us took Khan as booty. He refused to let me buy him back.’

  Miguel didn’t reply and they rode on in silence. The lanterns of the town fell back and the night closed in. All was silver, grey and black. The highway was pale in the moonlight, stars shimmered overhead, and bats flitted in and out of the orange trees. Cicadas sang.

  After a space, a new light gleamed, they had reached the tavern. The stable proved to be simply a paddock by the side of the road, guarded by a couple of greybeards. Inigo’s squire, Guillen, was sitting with them, devouring a piece of bread.

  As Rodrigo rode up, Guillen shoved the bread in his pouch and hurried over.

  ‘Lord Rodrigo, thank God.’

  ‘Guillen?’

  Guillen fiddled with the strap of his belt. ‘Lord Inigo has asked that you wait for him here.’

  Rodrigo’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Outside?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘What the devil’s happened?’

  ‘Lord Inigo will explain.’ Guillen sprinted into the inn.

  Rodrigo’s stomach growled. Heavens, would he never eat again? He exchanged glances with Miguel. ‘This had better not take long. I’m starved.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  The inn door flew open, spilling light across the yard. Inigo marched towards them, Guillen at his heels.

  ‘Take this,’ Inigo said, shoving a bundle into Rodrigo’s hand. ‘Save it for later.’

  ‘Later?’ Rodrigo’s nostrils twitched, the bundle contained food. At a guess, roast fowl of some kind. ‘Inigo, what in hell is going on?’

  ‘Enrique’s in trouble again,’ Inigo said curtly. He hauled himself on to his horse.

  Guillen handed Miguel a similar bundle to Rodrigo’s and then he too mounted.

  ‘Madre mía, this must stop.’ Rodrigo leaned on his saddlebow. ‘Last time we rushed to Enrique’s rescue, Diego died. Cousin or no, I’ve no wish to see him again.’

  Inigo spoke through gritted teeth. ‘We have no choice.’

  ‘Don’t we? Enrique never learns; as far as I’m concerned, he can stew in his own juice.’

  ‘Not this time.’

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘He’s drunk.’

  Rodrigo felt himself relax. ‘Is that all? Good grief, given the conditions we’ve endured, you can hardly blame him for that.’ He glanced pointedly at the tavern. ‘I wouldn’t mind a drink myself.’

  Inigo’s eyes glittered. ‘If only it were as simple as that.’ He dug in his spurs and his horse sprang forward, on to the road that led back to the Alhambra Palace.

  The Alhambra Palace? Rodrigo’s spine prickled. He kicked Eagle’s flanks and urged him level with Inigo. ‘Slow down, man. What’s going on?’

  Inigo reined back to a walk. ‘Enrique’s been muttering about revenge all day. Wants to make the Sultan pay for treating us like slaves.’

  Rodrigo swore under his breath. ‘There’s no way he can get to Sultan Tariq, the palace is a fortress and he rarely leaves it. Not to mention that entire battalions answer to the Sultan’s command and we are in his heartlands. Leave it, Inigo. My cousin can get himself out of the mire this time.’

  Inigo grimaced. ‘You wouldn’t be so sanguine if you knew what he was planning.’

  ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘He’s going to abduct the Sultan’s daughters.’

  ‘What? That’s insane.’

  ‘I assure you, it’s true. Enrique’s going to lure them out of that tower.’

  Rodrigo saw the gleam of dark, kohl-lined eyes; he heard the chink of golden bracelets. ‘They’d never leave the palace.’

  Even as he spoke, Rodrigo found himself wondering if that were true. The first time he’d seen the three Princesses, at the port of Salobreña, his Lady Merciful had shown signs of rebelliousness—she hadn’t been wearing her veil. Given the Sultan’s insistence that no one as much as looked as his daughters, it had been a serious breach of etiquette. There’d been other proof of her rebelliousness—her visit to the prison; that incident when she’d intervened on the road to Granada; the food baskets.

  Rodrigo’s stomach tightened. Saints, all three Princesses had been involved on that occasion. And if that weren’t bad enough, the nightly lute-playing surely proved they were all capable of flouting the rules.

  Dios mío, there was no doubt of it. As the weeks had passed, the Sultan’s daughters had broken rule after rule. Who could say what they might do next?

  ‘No, they’d surely never leave the palace,’ he muttered again, but even he could hear the doubt in his voice.

  Inigo’s brow was furrowed. ‘Rodrigo, hear me out. Enrique’s made contact with someone inside the palace: a maidservant or duenna of some kind, I believe. It’s already arranged. The Princesses want to run away. They’re to meet your cousin tonight.’

  ‘What?’ Rodrigo couldn’t believe his ears. ‘We’ve only been released a day, how on earth has Enrique managed to organise it in that time?’

  ‘He didn’t give me any more details.’

  It hardly seemed possible. Enrique had conspired to steal the Princesses from the palace? Rodrigo narrowed his gaze on the Sultan’s highway. Bleached white in the moonlight, it wound up into the hills ahead of them, apparently empty of traffic.

  Checking that Miguel and Guillen were bringing up the rear, Rodrigo raised his voice to carry over the thud of the horses’ hoofs. ‘You’re certain it’s tonight?’

  ‘That’s what he said. Rodrigo, your cousin’s a madman when the drink is in him.’

  Rodrigo grunted in acknowledgement. ‘Unfortunately, he’s a madman with a will of iron.’

  ‘Well, he’s after vengeance tonight, and he’s decided the Sultan’s daughters will give it to him. I’ve never seen him quite so set on anything.’

  Rodrigo stared bleakly at Inigo. ‘I’ll thrash him when I see him. Those Princesses are very young. Sheltered.’ Tension balled in Rodrigo’s gut. ‘What do you reckon he’s after, ransom? You don’t think he’d harm them?’

  Inigo let out a short laugh. ‘His reputation with women is not good.’

  ‘He’s a married man.’

  Inigo snorted. ‘Don’t make the mistake of judging your cousin by your standards. Enrique is roaring drunk and he wants revenge.’

  A pulse ticked in Rodrigo’s jaw. Inigo was right, this could get very ugly. ‘If my cousin carries off just one of the Sultan’s daughters, he could set off a minor war. And I’m not just referring to here in Al-Andalus. If Enrique’s father-in-law believes my cousin has slighted his daughter by carrying off a Nasrid princess, he will never forgive him. Enrique must be stopped. When did he set out?’

  ‘He’d already gone when I got here. The innkeeper says he left about an hour ago.’

  ‘I take it he took his squire with him?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Swearing under his breath, Rodrigo gave Eagle the spur. Doubtless he should be worrying about the insult this would represent to Enrique’s wife, Lady Berenguela, and her family. Enrique could set all Spain in a ferment. The uneasy truce with Al-Andalus would be put in jeopardy.

  Yet he couldn’t stop worrying about the sort of vengeance Enrique might wreak on three Princesses foolish enough to leave their father’s protection. His stomach growled and he barely noticed. All he could think about was whether the young woman he’d been dreaming about from dawn to dusk was walking blindly towards disa
ster.

  * * *

  Rodrigo and Inigo left the horses with their squires some way from the palace and crept up the ravine on foot. The Princesses’ tower was dark, a wall of blackness reaching to the sky. On previous nights, it had looked like a lantern with the shutters at the top flung wide and light streaming into the night. Tonight, the entire palace seemed to be deep in slumber. Most importantly, there was no sign of Enrique.

  Relief flooding through him, Rodrigo turned to Inigo. ‘He must have changed his mind.’

  ‘If he has, then I’m surprised.’ Inigo scratched his head. ‘I’ve never seen him quite so determined.’

  ‘Well, he’s not here. No one is. Come, dinner awaits.’

  The wind was getting up. Rodrigo gave the tower a last look. Was his Princess asleep? How soon would it be before she forgot about the foreign knights who had serenaded her and her sisters? Impatient with himself—the beautiful young woman he had met so unexpectedly was certainly not his—Rodrigo turned away. Leaving the palace to its sleep, he and Inigo headed back for the horses.

  A cloud blotted out the moon. The path grew progressively more challenging as one by one the stars winked out and the dark edged in. The atmosphere was so stifling you could cut it with a knife. In the distance, Rodrigo heard a rumble of thunder.

  ‘Storm on its way,’ Inigo muttered.

  They found Miguel and Guillen and swung back on to their horses.

  An owl screeched as they approached the road which led back to the tavern and, through the scrub on their left hand, a light flared. Rodrigo glimpsed a long section of wall and the unmistakeable gleam of a guard’s helmet. This must be another part of the palace. He’d heard it was vast. He signalled for silence.

  On their right, the owl screeched a second time, it was suspiciously close. Briefly, Rodrigo shut his eyes. Enrique was in the habit of using the cry of an owl as a signal, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d used it to draw their attention. He shot a glance at Inigo and, sure enough, the screech sounded again, slicing through the hot air. When it came a fourth time, Inigo’s horse tossed his head.