The jug was chunky earthenware, and it did look heavy. Rodrigo leaned past her, reaching for the handle at the same time as she did. The contact sent a faint frisson shooting to his groin, a definite tug of attraction. He frowned. Ignore it.
She snatched back her hand and those black eyes met his. Her eyelashes fluttered, dark crescents against perfect olive skin. ‘My apologies, my lord. I can manage.’
Rodrigo bowed and cleared his throat. ‘If you are sure, please excuse me, my lady, I really do need to speak to my squire.’
Whilst she was occupied with the washcloth and water, he slipped from the chamber and went to find Miguel.
Chapter Ten
‘You understand your orders, Miguel?’ Rodrigo asked in a low voice. He and his squire were sharing a jug of ale in the main room, and whilst no one was near enough to hear them, one couldn’t be too careful.
‘Yes, my lord. I’m to rest for a couple of hours before taking this to Granada.’ Discreetly, Miguel patted his scrip—the Princess’s ruby necklace was tucked inside. ‘I have memorised your message.’
‘Excellent. Miguel, understand that you are not to approach the palace in person, I value your hide far too much. You are not to take risks. Speak to Sa’id at the bathhouse. He has relatives in the palace guard and will know who to approach.’
‘I understand.’
‘Good lad. I’ll see you back in Córdoba. The Sultan can contact me there.’ Rodrigo pushed back the bench and got up. ‘I regret not giving you longer to sleep.’
‘My lord, I’m honoured to help, after everything you have done for me, I owe you a thousand thanks. The loss of a night’s sleep is nothing.’
* * *
Rodrigo knocked on the door of the private chamber.
‘Enter.’
The Princess was sitting on the bed, toying with the folds of her flimsy gown. Her eyes were huge and her face strained, she looked alarmingly vulnerable. The food and drink on the side-table didn’t appear to have been touched, and he walked towards it. ‘Are you thirsty, my lady?’
‘I had some ale, thank you.’
Rodrigo lifted his eyebrows. ‘You drink ale?’
Some of the tension left her expression and she smiled. ‘I admit, we’re not usually offered it.’
‘I find it refreshing, some wines are very cloying.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Would you like more?’
‘If you please.’
Rodrigo poured two measures of ale.
‘Thank you.’
She shifted to take the ale and he noticed she’d removed her riding boots. Her feet were long-boned and delicate, and her toes neat. Sweet Mary, she was wearing golden anklets. Rodrigo’s gut clenched. He’d never seen a woman wearing anklets before, and it was hard not to stare. He found them extraordinarily arousing. Belatedly, he became aware she was talking and tore his gaze from the anklets.
‘My lord, I should like to ask about your conversation with my sister.’
‘I didn’t speak to your sister.’
She gazed over her ale cup, a faint crease in her brow. ‘Yes, you did, back at the sally-port. You were talking to Constanza and then you shut the door on her.’
‘Constanza is your other sister?’
‘Yes, she was the last to leave the tower. What happened?’
Rodrigo tapped his finger on the side of his ale cup. ‘My lady, you are mistaken about Princess Constanza leaving the tower.’
‘That can’t be right, I heard her in the tunnel. Behind Alba.’
‘My lady, the woman I spoke to definitely wasn’t your sister.’ He felt his lips twitch. ‘She was far too old and was dressed most severely.’
‘Inés?’ she said in a puzzled tone. At his enquiring look, she added. ‘Inés is our duenna.’
‘Well, whoever she was, she asked me to tell you that your sister stayed in the tower.’
Princess Leonor clutched her cup. ‘That can’t be. Constanza must have come with us, I am sure she was just a little way behind.’ Her voice became small.
‘I am sorry, my lady, your duenna was most clear on that point. Princess Constanza stayed behind.’
The Princess’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘What will happen to her alone in the palace? Father will kill her.’
Rodrigo drew his head back, frowning. ‘My lady, surely you exaggerate.’
She released a shuddering sigh. ‘Father can be cruel. Although it’s just possible that he’ll be pleased with Constanza for choosing to remain.’ She was clenching the ale cup very tightly—her fingers were bone white. ‘My lord, you cannot comprehend what our life has been like. We’re never allowed out. In the main, we’re forced to keep to the tower. Father even locks us in.’
Rodrigo stared at her downbent head. It was hard to accept the Princesses weren’t given the run of the palace. What about those three grey mares he’d seen on the road to Granada, bedecked with silver bells? However, he would be the first to admit that he knew nothing of the life of a Nasrid princess.
‘My lady, you were allowed to play and sing with us.’
A tear trembled on the end of her eyelashes. She dashed it away. ‘I told you, we kept that secret.’
He laughed. ‘We made so much noise, I should think half the palace knew.’
‘Not so. Our tower is across the gardens. It is some way from Father’s state apartments. And Inés kept watch for us.’
Rodrigo poured himself another cup of ale, he wasn’t sure what to believe. He had no way of knowing the layout of the palace, and if what the Princess was telling him might be true. As for her claims that her father confined his daughters to the tower, the man was known to be a tyrant, but to imprison his daughters like that?
‘Constanza is very shy, my lord,’ she said sadly. ‘I was certain she would come with us, as she usually follows my lead.’
‘Clearly not this time.’
‘I can’t bear to think of her stuck there for ever.’ Her voice shook. ‘That tower is a gilded cage.’
‘A gilded cage has to be better than a real prison,’ Rodrigo said drily. ‘In any case, siblings are often separated.’
She blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
Diego. The pain knifing through his guts, deep and visceral, came out of nowhere. Diego. Fists clenched, he turned sharply away.
‘My lord?’
Her voice was closer. She’d crossed the chamber and was standing behind him. A light touch—her fingers on his knuckle—brought him away from his pain and his fists uncurled.
‘What is it, my lord?’
He shrugged. Forced a smile. ‘Siblings are bound to separate at some point. They marry and move away. They enter the church. They go on pilgrimage and never return.’
She drew back, suddenly pale. ‘You’ve lost someone.’
‘Haven’t we all?’ Rodrigo lightened his tone and tried another smile, but it felt as forced as the previous one. ‘My lady, there’s no law that guarantees that siblings should prosper equally, never mind that they should stay together for ever.’
‘What happened? Who have you lost?’
‘Forget it.’
‘My lord, please. You’ve lost a brother, haven’t you?’ Her breath caught. ‘You lost him in the recent conflict.’
He could see from her expression that denials were pointless. ‘Aye. My younger brother, Diego.’
She drew a shuddering breath. ‘My lord, I am so sorry, I had no idea.’ She swallowed, her eyes were no longer meeting his. ‘Please accept my heartfelt sympathies, I cannot imagine how you must feel. To lose a brother...’
‘My lady, politics are to blame for my brother’s death, not you.’
‘I don’t know how you bear to look at me. Th-thank you for treating me so kindly.’ Her black eyes lifted, they were brimming with sympathy and
something else. Hearing about Diego had made her wary of him. ‘My lord, please, I know you will want revenge on the Sultan, but I beg you, do not send me home. My father is not a kind man.’
Revenge? Rodrigo didn’t know how she did it, but when he looked at this Princess, revenge was the last thing on his mind.
He couldn’t work her out. There she stood, a perfumed, exotic beauty, glittering with gems and wearing those distracting golden anklets. And she claimed her father mistreated her?
White teeth were worrying her bottom lip. Hearing about Diego had truly upset her and she seemed genuinely sympathetic to learn that he was grieving. How could that be? They barely knew each other.
A pretty foot shifted, an anklet glittered and a bolt of pure want shot through him. Lord, this woman was dangerous, she was simply too beautiful. She was also oddly convincing, and he was tempted to believe her.
Well, there was no going back now. He’d already sent his message to her father. She was going home and all he had to do was guard her until her father’s men came to Córdoba to collect her.
‘My lord?’ Huge black eyes were watching him. ‘Please understand, my sisters and I are inseparable, we are not used to being apart.’
‘I see that,’ Rodrigo said carefully. He was beginning to feel that he had wandered into a quagmire.
‘The three of us belong together. My lord, I am sorry about your brother, but if fate allows, my sisters and I would like to be reunited. To that end, I must send a message to Constanza. I also need to speak to my other sister, Alba.’
‘Later.’ Rodrigo set his cup down on the table with a click. ‘I am beyond weary and you must be too. My lady, as you no doubt heard, it is my intention to meet up with Inigo at Córdoba. You may see Princess Alba there. Any discussion regarding Princess Constanza must wait until then.’
Hopefully, he would shortly receive word from her father. Princess Leonor must have exaggerated the Sultan’s likely response to her actions. Even though he was harsh as a ruler, as a father he would surely be out of his mind with worry to discover that two of his daughters had gone missing.
All I have to do, Rodrigo thought, turning his gaze from the beautiful body that lay beneath the diaphanous silks and satins, is keep the Princess safe until the Sultan’s escort reaches Córdoba. At all costs, Princess Leonor must be protected.
Rodrigo felt a twinge of doubt. He had been through testing times, yet it was beginning to dawn on him that perhaps his time with Princess Leonor might prove the most testing of all. She was far too distracting for his peace of mind.
‘Very well.’ She gave a delicate yawn and a dark eyebrow arch upward. ‘I confess I am tired. Where will you sleep, my lord?’
He gestured at the door. ‘I shall be just outside. Should you need anything, all you have to do is call.’ He bowed. ‘My lady, I am at your command.’
‘Thank you, Lord Rodrigo, you are most kind.’
* * *
It took an age for Leonor to fall asleep, her belly felt as though it was full of stones. Lord Rodrigo’s brother had been killed by her father’s men. Leonor knew that men on both sides had died in the fighting and her visit to the prison had given her an inkling of what some of them had suffered. But Count Rodrigo’s brother had died. Died.
How he must hate her. Her father, with his greed for ransom money, was largely responsible for Diego’s death.
Miraculously, despite the guilt that twisted through her, Leonor eventually found rest, of a sort. She dreamed she was fumbling about in the dark labyrinth of corridors beneath the Alhambra Palace. She was certain the way out was close, but she never got there. The passages ran on for ever, and she was lost and utterly alone.
It was a relief to be dragged back to reality by a brisk knocking.
‘My lady, may I come in?’
That deep voice was unmistakable.
‘Lord Rodrigo?’ Leonor heard the faint clack of the latch being lifted. Sitting bolt upright, she held the covers tightly under her chin and glared at him. ‘My lord, you said I could rest.’
Eyes impenetrable, he walked fully into the chamber and tossed a bundle on to the bed. ‘You’ve had three hours. We’ve lingered long enough. It’s possible the palace guard might pick up our trail, so the sooner we leave Al-Andalus, the better. If I must meet your father’s men, I prefer to do so on home ground.’ He gestured at the bundle, his smile wry. ‘The innkeeper’s daughter has gone to some lengths to find clothes and boots for you.’
Leonor stared at the boots. They were brown and were without question the ugliest she had ever seen. Heavy and extremely large, they looked sturdy rather than comfortable. Her own boots—soft red kidskin embossed with gold—were sitting side by side next to the wall. She couldn’t help but give them a regretful glance.
He followed her gaze and, stalking over to the red boots, picked them up. ‘These will have to be burned.’
‘Burned!’
‘They’re too showy for you to wear and we can’t leave them here. There must be no traces of our visit.’ He jerked his chin at the brown boots. ‘Those might not be what you are used to, but they won’t attract any attention. Be so good as to put them on. And hurry, we’re leaving as soon as you are ready.’
The door shut smartly behind him, leaving Leonor to blink at the clothes on the bed. Her head was muzzy with fatigue. Lord Rodrigo had said she’d been asleep for three hours, but it felt like only moments. And what did he mean by saying that if he must meet with her father’s men, he would do so on home ground? Yesterday he seemed certain they had escaped the palace guard.
She dragged the clothes towards her. There was a fine linen garment she took for a shift, a plain green gown in a more serviceable weave and a veil. Rising, she padded to the ewer when it occurred to her that though she had been affronted that Count Rodrigo had interrupted her sleep and entered her bedchamber, it hadn’t occurred to her to be afraid. Somehow in the night, she seemed to have decided that he was unlikely to hurt her. Yes, he’d lost his brother fighting against her father, but he would never avenge himself on her.
What a blessing he had been the one to take her up on his horse. She could only pray that Alba had been equally fortunate in Count Inigo. Lord Rodrigo had assured her that Lord Inigo was a man of honour and that Alba would be safe, Leonor could only trust he was right. Thus far Lord Rodrigo had been most chivalrous, surely his friends would share his ideals.
Except that the third knight—Lord Rodrigo’s cousin—had been horribly drunk. Perhaps it would be wise to reserve judgement on the characters of Lord Rodrigo and his comrades until she knew more about them.
After a hasty wash, Leonor pulled on the clothes, making sure her purse was safely hidden beneath the linen shift. Next came a brief tussle with gown lacings and the unfamiliar veil. She shook out the skirts and looked down at herself with critical eyes. The boots absolutely swamped her, her feet looked enormous.
The boots aside, the innkeeper’s daughter had found her the clothes of a Castilian lady. Well, perhaps not a lady exactly, the green gown was too plain for that. There was no gold thread, no beading or embroidery of any kind. Leonor smiled, she rather liked the simplicity. If she was going to reveal her face to all and sundry, it was surely better to be a sparrow than a peacock. In this gown, no one would give her more than a passing glance.
Had Lord Rodrigo asked the innkeeper’s daughter to find these unremarkable clothes? Had he understood how ill at ease she felt revealing herself to the world in her Princess’s clothing? Or was it simply that these were all the girl had to hand?
Impatient with herself—Lord Rodrigo’s motives should be of no interest to her—she lifted the latch and tramped through to the main room of the inn. The boots felt so heavy they might have been fashioned from lead.
The Count was sitting at the table in front of a plate of bread and sliced meat. A bowl of olives sat at his elbow.
He rose at her approach and his dark eyes took her in, head to toe. His mouth went up at the corner when he got to the boots.
‘You look very well, my lady.’ He gestured at the bread and meat. ‘It might be a while before we find an inn as welcoming as this. If you are hungry, please eat.’
Leonor seated herself and broke off some bread as he finished eating. Lord Rodrigo remained an enigma, but she was coming to see that when he said something, he meant it. He would leave when he was ready and she really didn’t care to be left behind.
‘After last night, Eagle is winded,’ he said, pushing to his feet and looking to the door. ‘I won’t risk laming him. I’ve hired a couple of fresh horses to take us to the border. Please hurry. You have until I have seen to the horses.’
She was too edgy to be hungry, but with a nod, she forced down a fig. Her brief sleep hadn’t refreshed her and she ached in every bone. Yet she understood the need for haste. They must go on, she had no wish to be caught by the palace guard, and not simply because she had no wish to return home.
What would they do to Lord Rodrigo if they were caught?
Goosebumps rose on her skin. The Count hadn’t asked to be burdened with her company, he had only carried her away because the hounds had been loosed and he’d had no wish to be caught so close to the palace. If he were found in the company of the Sultan’s daughter, he would be given a long and painful death. It was a sickening thought. Shakily, she reached for an ale cup and had a quick drink. Taking up a chunk of bread, she left the tavern.
He was in the yard holding the reins of two very ordinary-looking horses—a bony brown mare with a grey muzzle and a sway back, and a solidly built black gelding.
Realising the brown mare would never carry Count Rodrigo, Leonor approached the mare, allowed her to take her scent and patted her neck.
‘This animal is not young,’ she observed. ‘She doesn’t look strong enough to make it to those trees on that hill, never mind manage a journey to Córdoba.’
Lord Rodrigo grunted. ‘That’s why you’re riding her. Best I could do, I’m afraid.’ He put his head to one side. ‘Can you cope with that saddle? You will have to ride astride.’
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