Aspirations of a Lady's Maid

by Eva Shepherd

  Vaguely recalling that dark shape by the trellis, Zorahaida swallowed down a feeling of nausea. All she could see was sunlight gilding the dancing leaves of a vine, the darkness had gone. ‘Someone was there? Is that what you are saying?’

  Another gulp. Maura’s veil was trembling, she was terrified.

  ‘Who was it? Did you see?’

  Maura’s head dipped. Her reply was inaudible.

  ‘Maura?’

  ‘He...he was standing in the shadows, Princess. It could have been anyone.’

  Anyone? Zorahaida doubted it. She cast her mind back to the moment she’d arrived at the pond, trying to conjure the dark shape she’d seen. Stocky build. Bull-necked. A sense of solid strength.

  ‘Abdul ibn Umar,’ she said. Abdul ibn Umar was commander of Sultan Tariq’s household knights, the head of his personal guard.

  Maura let out a little moan. ‘I didn’t say it was Abdul ibn Umar.’

  Zorahaida looked at her. ‘I would take my oath it was the Commander under that arch.’

  If her father’s commander had been watching, why hadn’t he intervened?

  A cold stone lodged in Zorahaida’s belly. Could he have pushed Yamina into the pond?

  The rivalry between her father and his heir, Prince Ghalib, had become bitter of late. Had her father’s hatred of his brother driven him to order the murder of an innocent child?

  Indignation burned in Zorahaida’s breast and she glowered in the direction of the Court of the Lions. At this time of day, her father would be meeting his counsellors in an adjacent chamber. To put it mildly, he would not take kindly to an interruption.

  An icy calm descended on her. She didn’t want to believe her father could order his niece’s death. Yet she knew the tales. The history of the Nasrid dynasty was long and filled with bloody feuds. Brother fought brother in the ceaseless bid for power. Betrayals were commonplace. More damning than that though, Zorahaida had seen for herself how the Sultan had kept his brother incarcerated for many years in Castle Salobreña. Yet feuding with his brother and heir was one thing.

  Would he actually try to kill Prince Ghalib’s tiny daughter?

  It was possible. The Sultan had always been jealous of his brother’s ability to father so many children when the Sultan himself had only sired three girls, Zorahaida and her sisters.

  I cannot let this pass.

  Bile in her throat, Zorahaida jerked her veil from her belt. It was damp with pond water and clung to her skin. None the less, she must wear it, at least until she was back in her apartments. If the Sultan found out she’d run out of the tower with her face bared to the world, he would have an apoplexy.

  ‘I pray whoever was standing there didn’t see me,’ she muttered, though it seemed a forlorn hope. Turning towards the Court of the Lions, she beckoned for Maura. ‘I need you to come with me.’

  Maura hung back. ‘Must I?’

  ‘I would be grateful for your assistance. My father needs to know that it is unacceptable for one of his men to stand by when his brother’s daughter is drowning.’

  Maura made a squeaking sound and stood like a rock, slowly shaking her head.

  Zorahaida sighed. ‘Very well, I shall go on my own.’ The tone of her voice was dry. ‘If you could manage to find Prince Ghalib, I imagine he would like to know his daughter is safe.’

  ‘Of course, Princess.’

  Maura scuttled off and Zorahaida took in a sustaining breath. Now for her father.

  * * *

  The door to the council chamber adjoining the Court of the Lions was closed. The Commander of the Sultan’s household knights was, as Zorahaida had foreseen, standing guard before it, huge arms folded, feet planted stolidly apart.

  ‘May I help, Princess?’

  Commander Abdul ibn Umar’s voice was courteous, though his eyes were cold as stone. And Zorahaida didn’t miss the insolent curl to his lip as he took in her damp veil and the water streaks staining her clothes.

  Hiding her anger, she kept her voice calm. ‘I need to speak to my father, Commander. Would you be so good as to ask him if he is free?’

  Commander Abdul ibn Umar bowed. ‘As you command, Princess.’

  It wasn’t long before the door of the council chamber was opened and Zorahaida was announced.

  Sultan Tariq, ruler of the Emirate of Granada, was seated on his wide, gilded throne. He was clad in white and a great ruby glinted in his turban. His crimson slippers rested on a large footstool. Slaves stood at the Sultan’s either hand, palm fans in hand, valiantly attempting to create a breeze.

  Despite the slaves’ best efforts, the atmosphere was oppressive. The hanging braziers didn’t help, smoke was wafting from them like grey snakes, filling the council chamber with the heavy scent of frankincense. The red and gold standard of the Nasrid dynasty hung limply in a corner, as though melting in the heat.

  Hurrying in, Zorahaida fell at her father’s feet and kissed his silken slippers.

  Commander Abdul ibn Umar, she couldn’t help but notice, took up a position behind her father, along with a handful of fellow officers, her father’s most trusted knights.

  ‘Father, a thousand blessings upon you.’

  Gold rings glinted as a languid hand gestured for her to rise.

  A smile began to form on her father’s face. ‘Daughter, you bring me joy, as ever.’ The smile faded as the Sultan took in her dishevelment. ‘But what is this? Your clothes are creased, and your veil—its dripping on the floor. What has happened?’

  Heart in her mouth, Zorahaida decided bluntness was the only approach. Her father was a capricious and harsh master, she feared servants were beaten most days, but thus far she’d never known him to hurt a child. At the back of her mind remained a seed of doubt. Yamina was the daughter of her father’s heir, Prince Ghalib. Even though the Sultan had all the power, rivalry between the brothers was nothing new.

  ‘Father, something dreadful has happened in the gardens. I came straight here, confident you would want to be told.’

  The Sultan’s eyebrows formed a dark black line. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yamina fell in the lily pond.’

  The Sultan stroked his beard. ‘Dear me, poor little thing.’ His voice dripped with insincerity.

  Zorahaida’s anger flared and she fought to keep calm. Nothing would be achieved by alienating her father, yet this couldn’t be ignored.

  ‘Father, Yamina cannot swim.’ She paused, her gaze flickering briefly to the Commander. ‘Furthermore, while Yamina sank beneath the lilies, your commander stood idly by.’

  Her father sucked in a breath. His face was an expressionless mask. ‘My niece has drowned? May the angels protect her.’

  ‘No, Father. You will be relieved to hear that Yamina is safe.’

  Commander Abdul ibn Umar leaned forward and whispered in her father’s ear.

  Sultan Tariq’s eyes flashed, dark and hard as obsidian. ‘You saved her, Daughter. My commander saw you.’

  ‘Yes, Father, I saved her.’ Zorahaida cleared her throat, biting her lip beneath her veil.

  She had heard that tone of voice before. Polite. Formal. Distant. Zorahaida knew her father and she shivered. Never had he used that tone with her. I am his favourite, she reminded herself. Father loves me. He will be angry, but he will never hurt me.

  She clasped her hands together. ‘Father—’

  ‘Enough! Zorahaida, your insolence is disappointing. Worse than that though, is your disobedience.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Father, but I didn’t disobey you. All I did was pull my cousin out of the water.’

  Slowly and with such menace that her stomach turned over, the Sultan shook his head.

  ‘You were running, tearing about the gardens like a wanton.’

  Her mouth fell open. ‘Father, I—’

  ‘Where was your veil
?’ Several veins bulged in the Sultan’s neck. ‘Your face was seen. Seen. What has happened to you? You are a disgrace.’

  Rising from his gilded couch, the Sultan stepped towards her. Zorahaida’s chin lifted.

  ‘What, no apology, Daughter? No show of contrition. Very well.’

  He lifted his hand, rings flashing and struck her cheek. The thump of flesh meeting flesh stole Zorahaida’s breath and she reeled sideways, seeing stars. Stunned.

  ‘Daughter, you anger me. Get out of my sight.’

  * * *

  The next morning, Zorahaida lay on a cushion next to a window in the uppermost chamber of her tower, staring at the distant peaks of the Sierra Nevada. Even now, her face throbbed. She had a blinding headache.

  ‘Princess, if you would turn your head a little,’ Maura said, quietly. ‘You need more balm on that cheek.’

  Obediently, Zorahaida submitted to Maura’s gentle hands. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You will be bruised for a time, Princess,’ Maura said.

  ‘It is no matter.’ Zorahaida spoke calmly, though her insides were churning. She’d never been hit before. Her father had hit her and that was bad enough, but what terrified her most was that he had taken his commander’s side over hers. It made her think the unthinkable. Father feels guilty. Had he asked Commander Abdul ibn Umar to kill Yamina? Had he ordered her drowned? His own niece?

  She reminded herself that, to her knowledge, Sultan Tariq had never brutalised a child. He was cruel. He dismissed servants on a whim. He beat them. He attacked anyone who threatened to defy him, including the three Castilian knights with whom her sisters had run away. The knights had been prisoners at the time, they’d been chained and unarmed. Helpless. That hadn’t stopped him. Zorahaida would never forget how the Sultan had charged at the knights with his scimitar drawn. Fortunately, when Zorahaida and her sisters had intervened, he’d calmed down.

  Zorahaida had always been confident of calming him. Of making him see the error of his ways.

  Not so yesterday. Violence ran through the Sultan’s veins. She remembered the way his gold rings had flashed as he had struck her. Gold rings. Zorahaida had read several sacred writings and she understood that as a man, her father shouldn’t be wearing gold rings. Much that he cared. Her father took heed of no one’s opinion but his own.

  Had he ordered Yamina’s death? Hinted that something might happen to her? She no longer knew.

  A soft rap on the door broke into her thoughts and Sama came in, carrying a gleaming casket.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Princess, Prince Ghalib sends you his warmest greetings and begs that you accept this humble gift as a token of his everlasting gratitude and esteem. It’s a jewel box.’

  The box was gilded metal, decorated with enamelled panels of great beauty. Zorahaida took it and ran her fingertips over the delicate enamelwork. Geometric patterns covered the lid—diamonds, lozenges and stars. The colours were extraordinary: vivid reds, the brightest of blues, greens gleaming like emeralds.

  ‘How beautiful, it looks as though it came from France,’ she murmured.

  ‘Aye, your uncle said it is from Limoges.’

  Turning the key, Zorahaida lifted the lid. On a bed of velvet, lay a pink rosebud with the dew still upon it. Tears stung the back of her eyes.

  ‘Sama, please convey my thanks to Prince Ghalib. Tell him I will treasure his gift, it is beautiful.’

  ‘At once, Princess.’ Sama stood for a moment frowning at Zorahaida’s face. ‘Does it still hurt?’

  ‘Not as much as it hurts inside,’ Zorahaida said. The thoughts she couldn’t say, not even to Sama, she kept to herself.

  What hurt most was how helpless she felt. All hope had been crushed. She had believed that her father would eventually mellow. She had thought him capable of change as he grew older. She couldn’t have been more wrong. In truth, he was getting more irascible and ungovernable by the day.

  ‘Sama, did you speak to Imad about collecting my sisters’ pigeons?’

  ‘They will be collected on the morrow.’

  ‘And you informed him that I should like to go with him?’

  Sama’s face fell. ‘Oh, Princess, I thought...after yesterday... I am very sorry, I told him you had changed your mind.’

  ‘Sama, that was wrong of you, I intend to go.’

  Maura gasped. ‘Princess, you cannot!’

  ‘I think you will find that I can.’

  ‘No. Princess, please don’t.’ Sama hesitated. ‘Last time you were almost caught. What if the Sultan, may he live for ever, finds out? After yesterday, he’ll kill you. And if he doesn’t kill you, he will certainly harm your guards.’

  ‘Or us,’ Maura put in, quietly.

  Zorahaida looked at her handmaid. ‘Maura, you need not fear. Our guards are loyal and intelligent. They know when Father’s men are looking the other way. I shall take the greatest care and I will not be discovered.’ She stood up, gently probing her bruised cheek. ‘If I don’t get out, just briefly, I swear I shall lose my wits. Please, Sama, convey my message to Imad.’

  ‘As you command, Princess.’

  Copyright © 2020 by Carol Townend

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  ISBN-13: 9781488065873

  Aspirations of a Lady’s Maid

  Copyright © 2020 by Eva Shepherd

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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