The Knight's Forbidden Princess

by Carol Townend

  Captain Vidal’s eyebrows rose. ‘Very good, my lord.’

  ‘Where was Sir Arnau headed?’

  ‘I believe he went to the stables, my lord.’

  ‘Gracias. I’ll see you in an hour, Captain.’

  Captain Vidal saluted and Rodrigo went to find his steward. Sir Arnau was obviously being discreet about Princess Leonor. Rodrigo wanted his word that that would not change.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lord Rodrigo was riding right beside her, keeping so close, their knees were bumping. This was undoubtedly why Leonor couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had kissed her and whether it was significant. He was a few years older than her, he was bound to be experienced. What might it mean that a man like that—an experienced, worldly man—should kiss her?

  Life in the harem had kept Leonor innocent, although she wasn’t entirely naive. Inés had, in her way, tried to redress the balance. Was this the lust that Inés had warned her of? Lust sounded unpleasant, even repugnant. Leonor hadn’t found Lord Rodrigo’s kiss the least bit repugnant. On the contrary...

  Leonor turned in the saddle and pushed the kiss from her mind. Through their dust trail, the walls of Córdoba appeared to melt into the horizon. She managed not to think about the kiss when Lord Rodrigo’s knights closed in around them, riding so tightly there was barely a handspan between them. She could see the curiosity in the knights’ eyes as they glanced her way.

  Father would consider that Lord Rodrigo’s touch had defiled her but, God help her, she had enjoyed it. What did that make her? And why was the Count glued to her side?

  She would not think about that kiss.

  The knights’ spurs chinked. The sound conjured a bittersweet memory—Snowstorm. As the ghost of her beautiful grey mare pranced delicately through her mind, silver bells a-chime, her eyes prickled.

  ‘My lady?’ Lord Rodrigo’s brown eyes were full of concern. ‘Are you well?’

  And there it was again. That kiss. She could see it at the back of his eyes and in the slight lift of his lips.

  * * *

  The light was failing by the time they walked across the courtyard at Castle Álvarez and Leonor was none the wiser about the Count’s motive for kissing her. Perhaps it meant nothing. Since it had been her very first kiss, she had no way of knowing.

  Fortunately, there was much to distract her in the castle bailey. She hadn’t been sure what to expect. On the surface, Castle Álvarez was remarkably familiar. The line of sentries posted at the gates and at intervals along the castle walls was reminiscent of Castle Salobreña as well as the Alhambra Palace. She recognised the sweet smell of straw coming from a cart near the stables, the bright clatter of hoofs and the ring of hammer on anvil.

  There was also much that was unfamiliar. The atmosphere, though ordered, was entirely outside Leonor’s experience. A woman was leading two goats under the portcullis. She was unaccompanied and Leonor watched in amazement as she exchanged pleasantries quite freely with one of the guards. There were other women too, three girls were flirting with one of the men on the castle walls. Guards were talking and laughing among themselves. Life in Lord Rodrigo’s castle was clearly very different to life under her father. Faces were smiling and open. Happy.

  People fell over themselves to greet their lord. ‘My lord! Thank God you are home.’

  ‘Welcome back, Lord Rodrigo, welcome indeed.’

  Something shifted inside her. It was as though the ground had tilted. Long ago Leonor had realised that her father ruled with an iron hand. Sultan Tariq ruled by fear and she’d imagined that men could be governed no other way.

  But here? Bemused, Leonor took in the smiling guards with their glittering spears, the neatly dressed women and the well-swept courtyard.

  How did Lord Rodrigo keep order, if not through fear? How did he ensure loyalty among his retainers?

  Doves cooed in a nearby dovecote. To one side of the main keep was a building with a cross on it. The chapel. Curious, for Inés had taught the Princesses about their mother’s faith, Leonor stared. The door was open, and through it she saw shadows and the pale glimmer of a candle, which was briefly blotted out as someone had passed before it.

  The keep loomed over them. Pausing at the bottom of a flight of stairs leading towards a vast double doorway, Leonor gathered up her skirts.

  Lord Rodrigo stood at her elbow. ‘Allow me to assist you, my lady.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Part of her was relieved he was so solicitous. His face—already so familiar—was reassuring in this bustling castle. Part of her was afraid. The atmosphere, so warm and friendly with its casual discipline, felt completely alien. Worse, the knot in her stomach warned that the warmth would not last. As soon as the Count’s people learned who she was, they would hate her. And where was his mother?

  Leonor had her answer soon enough. An elderly woman slipped down the stairs, smiling a greeting as she passed.

  ‘Welcome home, Lord Rodrigo.’ The woman nodded pleasantly at Leonor before her gaze returned to that of the Count. ‘Lady Isabel is in the chapel, she will be overjoyed to learn you have returned safely.’

  * * *

  Rodrigo hustled Leonor into a tower bedchamber. She gazed about in apparent puzzlement and turned to him, her dark eyes full of curiosity as she fingered a silken bedcover and gazed in what seemed like astonishment at a fine English wall-hanging and a brightly enamelled Limoges ewer.

  ‘This chamber will suit you, my lady?’

  ‘Thank you, it is very fine.’ Her gaze flickered towards the enamelled ewer and her eyes filled with questions. ‘My lord, your castle has the feel of a palace.’

  ‘Why, thank you, my lady.’

  Rodrigo found himself wondering what she’d expected, before he remembered he’d accepted her pendant under the pretence of paying for their lodgings. His lips twisted. She was an intelligent woman, any moment now she’d be demanding why he’d taken it.

  As her mouth opened, he bowed himself out. This wasn’t the moment to confess he’d sent the pendant to her father as proof the Princess Leonor was safely in his care.

  ‘Please, excuse me, my mother awaits.’

  Her face clouded. ‘She needs to know how your brother died.’

  ‘Aye.’ Shoving his hand through his hair, Rodrigo indicated the bell on the side-table. ‘My lady, should you need anything, anything at all, that bell will summon a maidservant.’

  * * *

  Count Rodrigo’s footsteps retreated down the stairs.

  Leonor wrapped her arms about her waist. For the first time in her life she felt utterly alone. And utterly confused. To say that Lord Rodrigo must dislike offering her hospitality when her father’s men were responsible for his brother’s death had to be an understatement. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to blame her, which she found remarkable. Back in his Córdoban town house, he’d told her it would be impossible to hate her. Then he’d kissed her.

  She fingered her lips. Why had he brought her here? Particularly when he himself admitted that his mother’s reaction might be hostile.

  She frowned at a golden bird on a wall-hanging. She missed Alba and Constanza. Being separated from them made her feel as though she’d lost part of herself. It would be a comfort to talk to them, although if Constanza had never left the palace, she was unlikely to see her again. As for Alba—was she safe with Lord Inigo? Had they reached Córdoba?

  Leonor squared her shoulders. When she next saw Lord Rodrigo, she would ask, no, she would demand that he tell her the instant he heard from Inigo. She must see Alba soon, they needed to decide how best to find their Spanish relatives. Their future in Spain—far from their father—beckoned.

  Pensively, she watched a lozenge of light slant slowly across the floor. Sultan Tariq’s reaction to losing his two older daughters was easy to guess at—she and Alba would be disowned. Constanza’s situation wa
s less clear. Her youngest sister, with her winning ways and agreeable temperament, had long been their father’s favourite. With luck, she’d be well cared for.

  Brightening, Leonor stared at the bell on the side-table. Mercifully, Lord Rodrigo hadn’t locked her in, because there was much she needed to know, not least of which was the whereabouts of Lord Inigo’s residence in Córdoba. The maidservant might be in a talkative mood.

  She reached for the bell and reminded herself to tread warily, she would get the best response if she said nothing about her identity. A Nasrid princess wouldn’t be greeted with open arms.

  * * *

  Rodrigo went down the twisting stairs, haunted by the look in Leonor’s eyes. She’d been trying to put on a brave face, but standing there in shabby, borrowed clothes that didn’t quite fit and those ridiculous boots, she looked small and very much at sea. What must it be like for her, alone in a foreign land with only a stranger to watch out for her?

  He hoped that she’d learned to trust him. Whilst she was in his care, no one would harm as much as a hair on her head. Did she understand that? He would protect her. He would feed her and clothe her and...

  Clothe her! Of course, that was the answer. The making of new clothes would distract her and keep her occupied. Women loved clothes.

  With a sound of exasperation, he altered course, heading for the solar. The idea of leaving Leonor friendless, even for a short time, didn’t sit well with him. His mother’s maid, Ana, would know what to do.

  As he expected, Ana was sewing in the solar with two other maids. The instant she saw him, her face lit up. She dropped her work and hurried across.

  ‘My lord, thank God you are home in one piece.’ Never one to stand on ceremony, Ana gripped his hand and lifted it to her lips in a gesture which was an echo of the time when Leonor had done that exact same thing. ‘We have been praying for you, my lord, and it is a great blessing to see our prayers answered.’

  ‘You are very kind. Ana, I have a favour to ask.’ Quietly, he drew her to one side, away from the other women.

  ‘My lord?’

  Rodrigo jerked his head at Ana’s stitchery. ‘It is a task most suited to your capabilities.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I have brought a guest with me back from Al-Andalus, and she is currently lodged in the White Tower.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘Her name is Lady Leonor.’ Rodrigo didn’t like lying, particularly not to Ana, who had known him all his life. However, it wasn’t in Leonor’s interests for him to be completely frank about her background. He would keep as close to the truth as he dared. ‘Lady Leonor had suffered a series of mishaps, but happily, I was at hand to lend her aid.’

  Ana clasped her hands below her breasts, eyes sparkling. ‘You rescued her.’

  Rodrigo held in a sigh as Ana’s eyes softened, it was obvious she believed she had stumbled on a great romance. Ever since he was a boy and his betrothal with Sancha had come to an end, he’d been the subject of much romantic speculation. He hated it, he would marry when he was ready and not a day before. He looked repressively at his mother’s maid. ‘Ana, I merely helped Lady Leonor in her hour of need. I shall need your discretion, there is to be no gossiping.’

  ‘Of course not, my lord.’

  He kept his voice brisk. ‘Lady Leonor needs several gowns, a cloak, some shoes and slippers—in brief, she needs a complete wardrobe. Please be so good as to attend to her in the White Tower.’

  ‘At once, my lord.’

  He felt his face relax. ‘Thank you. Allow her to choose the fabrics for herself. Let her take her time over it, I need her to be fully occupied for the next couple of days.’ That way, there would be no danger of Leonor running into his mother before he got his reply from the Sultan. ‘Ana, give Lady Leonor a free rein, she is to have the very best.’

  ‘Very good, my lord.’

  Rodrigo strode towards the door, thinking about Princess Leonor and the way she had reacted at the first inn. Despite the ordeal of leaving the palace, she’d peered into that kitchen with great interest. Indeed, the Princess seemed curious about everything that came her way. She thought deeply about what she saw, and if she came across an injustice, she didn’t hesitate to act. Witness her visiting the prison in Salobreña to find out about her mother; witness her donating that bangle to pay for Inigo’s treatment.

  If the Princess’s sheltered upbringing had been designed to curb her natural intelligence, it had completely failed. All of which meant that she would no doubt be desperate to explore the castle; she would want to talk to everyone and she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. She was the most singular of women.

  It is too soon for Princess Leonor to meet my mother. My mother’s wound will be too raw, and if she discovers we have a Nasrid under our roof, I cannot be answerable for the consequences.

  Rodrigo swung back and caught the seamstress’s gaze. ‘Ana, one further point.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘Lady Leonor may express a desire to explore the castle, but on no account is she to leave that chamber, she must wait for my company. As soon as I am free, I will escort her myself. Is that clear?’

  Ana curtsied. ‘Perfectly, my lord.’

  * * *

  An entire day slipped by without Leonor catching so much of a glimpse of Lord Rodrigo. She understood that he had much to attend to—his mother, problems arising from his brother’s untimely death, not to mention a myriad of other demands that a great lord must face on return from battle. None the less, his absence rankled.

  He is avoiding me. Worse, I miss him. What is he doing?

  Leonor thought about him most of the time. It wasn’t that she had nothing to do—between the maid Catalina, who had answered her summons when she’d rung the bell, and the seamstress Ana, whom Lord Rodrigo had apparently sent to help her choose fabric for some gowns, she was fully occupied.

  The maid and the seamstress couldn’t agree on anything.

  ‘My lady, the golden silk favours your complexion beautifully. It comes from Byzantium and there is none better. Please choose this one,’ Catalina would say.

  Ana would shake her head. ‘No, no, no, Catalina. Gold is far too vulgar for Lady Leonor. Something with a little subtlety will suit her far better. My lady, how about the blue damask?’

  Head whirling, Leonor stared blindly at the array of fabrics draped across the bed. There was a lump in her throat the size of an egg and she couldn’t fathom it. Absently, she fingered the blue damask. Silk. Almost everything here was silk. A king’s ransom was spread across her bed and she hated it. Was history about to repeat itself?

  Her heart sank. Her father had used gifts as a means of bending her to his will, was Lord Rodrigo doing the same? Was he trying to fence her in?

  Leonor understood that there would be difficulties should she run into Lady Isabel, but she hadn’t fled one prison to walk into another. She looked longingly at the door. ‘I shall decide about fabrics later. I need to stretch my legs. Ana, please accompany me.’

  Ana’s face fell. ‘Oh, no, my lady, I cannot do that.’

  She stiffened. ‘I am a prisoner?’

  ‘Heavens, no. My lady, you are my lord’s honoured guest.’

  Leonor looked sadly at the fabrics. An honoured guest. ‘I need to speak to Lord Rodrigo.’

  ‘He is occupied with estate business today, my lady.’ Fabric rustled as the blue damask was pushed into her hand. ‘Feel, my lady, the quality is exceptional. You will look like a queen in this gown.’

  For an instant, something flickered at the back of Ana’s eyes and Leonor wondered how much Lord Rodrigo had told her. She fingered the fabric, which was indeed pretty. ‘It is silk.’

  ‘Yes, my lady. The yarn came from the east, although it was woven in Granada.’

  Leonor dropped the fabric as though it burned. ‘I really must see Count Rodrigo.’

>   Ana’s eyes softened. ‘Later, my lady. My lord has much on his mind today. However, he has told me he intends to show you around the castle personally as soon as he may.’

  ‘He has?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. In the meantime, we shall make you a new gown, and when it is finished, I am sure you will look enchanting. You can wear it when you see Lord Rodrigo.’

  Ana seemed a nice enough woman, but Leonor wanted her to understand that she didn’t intend to moulder away in a tower. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Can it be finished by tomorrow, then? I shall certainly need it tomorrow.’

  ‘My lady, I am sure Lord Rodrigo will come as soon as he is free.’

  Ana had better be correct, because if she were not, Leonor would simply do her exploring on her own.

  I will not be shut in. I will not be shut away. Never again.

  * * *

  For two days, Rodrigo was swamped with cares and responsibilities. His heart was heavy, though he had to hide his grief over Diego’s death and comfort his mother. He paid his respects at his brother’s grave; he supported Lady Isabel at a memorial service; he made her promise to eat.

  Rodrigo didn’t forget Princess Leonor—that would have been impossible—but his hands were too full for him to see her. None the less, she crept into his every thought. After listening to his steward’s report, Rodrigo sent an envoy to Inigo’s house in Córdoba. He wanted Inigo to contact him as soon as he rode in. Princess Leonor needed to know her sister was well.

  He spoke to his captain at arms and ordered that a troop of scouts be sent into Al-Andalus to search for Princess Leonor’s duenna. He warned his captain that discretion was essential. The men were to stick to the borderlands and conceal their Spanish loyalties. Fortunately, a number of Rodrigo’s men had Moorish blood, so there would be no language difficulties.

  And when Rodrigo went back to the chapel for another vigil with his mother, he found himself praying most earnestly that his men find Inés. For if they did not, the only other avenue was for him to visit Lord Jaime and request a meeting. And meeting Lord Jaime—the man who had stolen Sancha from him—was the last thing Rodrigo wanted to do. Apparently, Sancha never left the man’s side, so if he went to Almodóvar, he’d be bound to see her.