Leonor could feel the heat from the fire on her cheeks, it must be stifling work.
Conscious of a heavy silence behind her, she turned. Lord Rodrigo was waiting for her, a quizzical expression on his face. He gestured towards the main room.
‘My lady, if you please.’
Cursing her naivety, Leonor lifted her chin and followed him to a bench in a darkened corner. Doubtless, seeing food being prepared was an everyday experience for most people. Her stomach churned, she felt very vulnerable. Knowing so little of life outside the palace, she was bound to give herself away at every turn. And it made it worse somehow that she wasn’t sure what was making her more nervous, Lord Rodrigo de Córdoba or the fact that she’d escaped her father.
For the first time in her life, she had only herself to rely on. She had won her freedom by hurling herself into a world about which she knew next to nothing. And she was in the company of a Spanish lord who was virtually a stranger.
She gave him a sidelong glance. It would be easier if she didn’t find his dark looks so attractive. Of course, she’d realised he attracted her long before she’d allowed him to toss her on to his horse’s back. What she hadn’t bargained for was the fact that close proximity would have her tingling whenever she looked at him. It unnerved her.
Not that that mattered. What did matter was that Lord Rodrigo had already suffered at her father’s hands. She felt guilty that in rescuing her he risked her father’s wrath yet again. Sultan Tariq wouldn’t let his daughters go without a fight. They’d made a fool of him and his rage would know no bounds. Their father would be vengeful. He’d want his daughters punished, and to that end, many troops would be sent in search of them. Lord Rodrigo might have to pay a heavy penalty for carrying her away.
Was the Count honourable? Was he a patient man, or was he cast in the same mould as her father? In short, was he a tyrant? Until Leonor learned more about Lord Rodrigo’s character, she must hide her vulnerabilities. She must keep her ignorance of the ways of the world to herself.
It was fortunate that she wouldn’t have to be reliant on him for long. When she met up with her sisters, she’d have no further need of him.
‘My lady, your cloak will be damp, allow me to have it dried for you.’
He wanted her cloak? ‘My lord?’
His mouth went up at the corner. ‘Relax, I’m not about to ravish you.’
Ravish. The word was not one that Inés had taught her, but something in the Count’s smile conveyed its meaning and her cheeks scorched. She clutched her cloak to her and looked pointedly towards the girl in the cookhouse.
The girl’s sensible homespun gown wasn’t half as revealing as hers. Women had more freedom outside the palace, just as Inés had said, but none the less, Leonor’s gown with its heavily ornamented belt and airy fabrics would probably cause a scandal.
‘My clothes are not suitable. My lord, they are not practical.’
Lord Rodrigo seated himself next to her on the bench. His eyes danced. ‘You mean,’ he said softly, for her ears alone, ‘you look like someone who has just walked out of a harem.’
There was a heat in those dark eyes that Leonor had never seen before. ‘Certainly, my gowns are not suitable for life outside the palace. They will draw attention to us.’ She shrugged. ‘We left in a hurry. Besides, all my clothes are like this, I have no sensible gowns.’
‘I see.’ Lord Rodrigo leaned back, a disturbing smile playing about his mouth. ‘My lady, I should think your gown is the least of your worries.’
‘Oh?’
‘Your veil draws the eye. Spanish ladies wear veils, of course, but in the main they show their faces. If you want to look inconspicuous, you must wear your veil in the Spanish fashion. You might even try doing without one.’
‘Everyone will see me!’
‘Exactly.’
‘My lord, I am not accustomed to showing my face. People will stare.’
‘I can assure you they will stare far more when you hide your face completely. It is unusual and the unusual arouses curiosity.’ He shrugged. ‘Without a veil, you will look like that girl over there. By that I mean you will look like an ordinary woman. No one will give you a second glance. I am sure you will soon become accustomed to being seen.’
She bit her lip. ‘I shall think about it.’
‘Very well.’ The Count gestured the girl to their table and went about ordering breakfast.
Leonor’s jaw dropped. Count Rodrigo could easily have forced her to remove her veil, yet he hadn’t. He could easily have relieved her of her cloak and he hadn’t done that either. She frowned as she studied him. She wasn’t used to forbearance in a man and his calm reaction was worrying. Ought she to brace herself for an explosion of anger?
Her father always insisted that she and her sisters did exactly as they were told. Count Rodrigo—heavens, she had just disagreed with him and he didn’t seem to mind. And earlier, when she had warned him about the flash flood, he had listened to what she was saying. This man had taken her advice without a murmur. It made her uneasy and she knew it couldn’t last. Didn’t he have a temper? Didn’t he hate it when a woman knew more than he did?
Dimly, Leonor heard him asking for a private chamber where they might rest and refresh themselves. She scarcely heard the answers, she was too busy wondering what it would be like when he finally lost patience. It was rather like waiting for another storm to break, she knew it would happen, it was just a matter of when.
It wouldn’t be pretty—a man’s anger was never pretty. Clearly, she must find a way to keep him calm. She was going to have to charm him, she was going to have to remove her veil.
Taking a deep breath, Leonor lifted the hem of her veil and casually pushed it back over her head.
Two things happened. The first was that Lord Rodrigo turned to look at her. His dark features lighted in a smile so warm Leonor felt it in her toes. She forgot to breathe. Apart from her father, she had never been this close to a man without the protection of a veil. Her throat dried. It was too much, the Count was too much, his eyes seemed to hold her hostage and she couldn’t look away.
In that instant, her entire body understood why her father insisted that she and her sisters wore veils. The veils were not there to keep the world at arm’s length, they were there for their protection. Men are predators.
The excited churning in her stomach warned her that it wasn’t simply that she needed protection against Count Rodrigo. Astonishingly, it seemed that Leonor might need protecting against herself. This man—handsome, alarming, a stranger from another world—attracted her. Fiercely. Her father had been right, all along.
The second thing was that the serving girl noticed her for the first time and dipped into a curtsy. ‘Good day, my lady, welcome.’
‘Thank you.’
Leonor’s cheeks were on fire, without her veil, she felt naked. Her hands were trembling, so she folded them carefully on her lap and clasped them. She was doing the sensible thing, she told herself firmly. If her father’s men succeeded in tracking her here, they’d be looking for a woman—how had the Count put it?—a woman who had walked out of a harem.
‘Well done,’ Lord Rodrigo murmured.
His gaze held hers, moved over her entire face and stopped at her mouth. Truth be told, though he flustered her, it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.
The serving girl, having glanced her way, didn’t seem to have noticed anything unusual, and her attention was back on the Count, who was asking about payment.
‘My lord, there is no need to pay us straight away.’ The girl smiled. ‘We are honoured by your custom and your word is good here.’
Leonor frowned, there was a problem over payment? Surely Lord Rodrigo wasn’t short of money? His ransom had been paid, his people must have sent him spare coin.
She had assumed the garrison commander of Córdoba was a
wealthy man, though she knew very little about him. Perhaps she’d been mistaken, perhaps his family was poor.
‘My lord?’ Beneath the cover of the table, Leonor felt for the purse hidden beneath her clothes and extracted a pendant necklace. She pressed it discreetly into his hand. ‘Take this, please. I would not wish you to be short on my account.’
He took the necklace, fingering the ruby centrepiece with a bleak expression, and tucked it into his scrip. ‘My thanks.’ He pushed to his feet and held out his hand.
Leonor blinked at his hand. ‘We’re leaving?’
‘Certainly not. I can’t speak for you, my lady, but I need food and rest before we go any further. Come, we have use of a private chamber.’
‘You swear we are safe here?’
‘Absolutely.’ He met her gaze straight on and his eyes were sombre. ‘I have a number of questions. As I mentioned, we have much to discuss and it’s best done in private.’
* * *
Once in the chamber, the Princess allowed Rodrigo to remove her damp cloak.
Rodrigo tried not to look too closely at her clothes. As he suspected, they shrieked that she had just walked out of a harem. Fashioned from silks that were as light as gossamer, they had surely been designed to reveal rather than conceal. He tried not to notice her body either, but that was impossible. She was as slender and neat as he had guessed. Infinitely desirable. Lord, what a lovely woman.
Princess Leonor was perfect. Her face was almost too beautiful to look at. Dark eyebrows emphasised black eyes that were flecked with grey and carefully outlined with kohl. They looked as though they held a thousand secrets. Her eyelashes were long and thick. Her skin was smooth and her mouth rosy and sweet-looking. Her father was no fool, to keep this daughter hidden from men. Her body was so perfect she would tempt a monk to break his vows of chastity.
Rodrigo had brought her with him in the heat of the moment. The idea that Enrique might get his drunken, lecherous hands on her was not to be thought of. And with the Sultan’s hunting dogs baying for blood, it had been the only thing to do. In the cold light of day, however, he was certain he’d made a grave mistake.
Politically, the Princesses’ escape was bound to have consequences, the alliance between the Kingdom of Al-Andalus and that of Castile was as fragile and complicated as a spider’s web. Sadly, conflict along the borders was almost an everyday occurrence. Both sides were to blame. There were plenty of Spanish noblemen of the same ilk as his cousin, troublemakers out for personal gain. And then there was Sultan Tariq himself, urging his troops to make forays into Castilian territory in the hope of capturing knights for the ransom they would bring him.
An incident such as this—removing Princess Leonor from the palace—was bound to be misunderstood.
Sultan Tariq would never accept that Rodrigo had saved the Princess from his lecherous cousin. The Sultan knew that his soldiers had killed Diego, he’d be sure to conclude that Leonor’s disappearance was down to Rodrigo taking a bizarre form of revenge against him. Furthermore, knowing the Sultan, the entire incident would be twisted out of all proportion. Rodrigo would probably be accused of plotting to subvert the Kingdom of Al-Andalus.
Dios mío, the repercussions could destroy the delicate diplomatic balance. Years of painstaking work would be lost. He must contact the Sultan with all speed.
He stared down at her, so beautiful, so innocent and open, and was gripped with a feeling of deep melancholy. This woman was utterly unlike her father. The longer Rodrigo spent with her, the more he realised that he’d like nothing better than to spend time uncovering her secrets one by one. That was impossible. And irresponsible in the extreme. Only a madman would act on the attraction he felt for a Nasrid princess.
She needed to go home, where she would be safe. And the peace between their peoples, shaky though it was, would be preserved.
‘My lady, you do realise you must return to the palace.’
Her eyes filled with horror. ‘My lord?’
‘You have to go home.’
‘No. No.’ She backed away, took a tiny step back towards him and retreated again. ‘No, my lord, I cannot.’
‘My lady, you must. You belong in Al-Andalus.’
Hand at her throat, she shook her head. ‘I can’t go back. My lord, please understand, I won’t go back.’
‘What happened? Did you and your father have an argument?’ After a few moments, Rodrigo realised she wasn’t going to answer. He sighed. ‘Did he find out about your visit to the prison in Salobreña? Or the singing, perhaps?’
She shook her head. ‘Father knows nothing about either of those things.’
‘Well, whatever has caused this breach between you, you must return and mend it.’
‘No.’
‘Princess.’ Rodrigo kept his voice low and even. Her head was high and her mouth was set in stubborn lines, yet her fear was palpable. He couldn’t understand it, her father wouldn’t hurt her, not his daughter. ‘Your father will be worried about you. He will want to know you are safe.’
‘I’m not going back.’ She held out her hand. ‘Please, my lord, take me with you to Córdoba.’
Rodrigo frowned, she’d lost all colour. Was she so afraid? It made no sense. ‘Princess, you must return to the Alhambra.’
‘I cannot go home. Father will kill me.’
‘My lady, you’re overwrought, your father won’t kill you.’
‘I am not overwrought. It is the truth.’
Several thoughts flashed through Rodrigo’s mind as he took her hand and enfolded it in his. The Sultan wouldn’t kill his daughter! Still, there was no way he could abandon her to be found by his troops, she was too unworldly to be left to her own devices.
God help him, the last thing he wanted was to act as nursemaid to a spoilt princess. Unfortunately, for the moment, he had no choice. He would keep her safe until he could arrange for her to be sent home. But home she would assuredly go.
In the meantime, if he didn’t want her kicking and screaming every step of the way, he must play along with her. She really wasn’t fit to be left on her own.
‘Very well, my lady. Will you accompany me to Córdoba?’
Her face softened. ‘Yes, my lord, I will. Thank you.’
Releasing her hand, he absently touched his scrip. That little misunderstanding over paying the innkeeper had been a godsend. He could send Princess Leonor’s ruby pendant back to her father as proof he had her safe. Once the Sultan knew that his daughter was unharmed, he would doubtless send a suitable escort to take her back to Granada.
God willing, the Sultan would accept Rodrigo’s account of events without quibbling. With a little luck, returning the Princess might pave the way to a new understanding between their peoples. Diego’s death wouldn’t have been in vain if the Sultan learned that peaceful co-operation was possible. What a coup that would be. Rodrigo recognised he was being optimistic, but stranger things had happened.
In the meantime, his task was to guard Princess Leonor. This was a golden opportunity to teach the Sultan that Spanish noblemen could behave with honour. The Princess was as innocent as a newborn babe, and until she went home, it was incumbent on Rodrigo to keep her that way. He must protect her.
No one would touch so much as a hair on her head.
And the other Princess? The one who had ridden off with Inigo?
Rodrigo would sort that out with Inigo when they got back to Córdoba.
In the meantime, Rodrigo was in no doubt that Inigo would also treat Lady Leonor’s sister with all honour. She too would be sent back to the palace and the three Princesses would be reunited.
Rodrigo made a play of examining the chamber. Apart from the bed, there wasn’t much. A jug and wash basin sat on a coffer. There was also a platter of bread, cheese and grapes; and two cups and a flagon of ale.
He waved in the general
direction of the food. ‘My lady, you may wish to refresh yourself before resting. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to my squire.’
She sent him a sharp look and bit her lip in a way that told him she was more nervous than he had supposed.
‘You will return, my lord?’
‘Aye.’ Rodrigo was unable to meet her eyes. Guilt. He didn’t like the idea of sending Miguel back to her father to negotiate her safe return whilst she clearly imagined she had escaped the palace. It left him with a bad taste in his mouth.
Yet what could he do? His only course was to send her back. She was so vulnerable. She knew nothing about life outside the harem. Without doubt, the best place for a Nasrid princess was in her father’s care.
He ought to tell her his intentions, and he would. Eventually. First, though, he would reach an understanding with her father, then he would arrange for a suitable escort to return her—and her sister—back to the Alhambra. There was no point upsetting her before then. She wouldn’t be used to having her will denied, there was no saying what she might do.
Rodrigo had his fill of problems and he didn’t need another. His mother would be grief-stricken after Diego’s loss, and he was already behind with his affairs—both at the garrison at Córdoba and on his estate. The last thing he needed was having to deal with a spoilt, hysterical princess.
Princess Leonor went to the ewer and stared at it. Was she waiting for him to pour the water for her? Dear heaven, what next? He suppressed a sigh and reminded himself that, until today, she had never seen a kitchen. This woman had been waited on hand and foot from birth, doubtless she’d never had to pour her own water.
The Knight's Forbidden Princess Page 12
