Well, that was easily remedied. He would care for her, he would guard her with his life, but there would be no more bed-play until he could be sure that she felt something for him.
He frowned over the top of her head, confused as to why this mattered, confused by the strange direction his thoughts had taken. No woman had troubled him in this way. Ever. He was becoming a stranger to himself. Well, if he kept his distance, no doubt these unsettling thoughts would leave him.
* * *
The sun climbed and almost immediately, Jasim found himself regretting his vow to keep his wife at arm’s length. Where she was concerned, keeping himself to himself was well-nigh impossible. Time and time again, he would jerk out of his abstraction to find himself nuzzling her head or finding an excuse to stroke the back of her hand.
Riding with Zorahaida before him was proving such a trial that he heaved a sigh of relief when their party arrived in a village to find a small horse market was underway. The horses stood in awnings, tails swishing.
Zorahaida gripped his arm. ‘Jasim, look, horses! May we stop? Please?’
‘Very well.’ Jasim had no objection, that tantalising scent was driving him to distraction. Moreover, the plane trees planted about the market square offered welcome shade and their own animals needed rest. Not to mention the men. Jasim caught their captain’s eye. ‘We’ll stop here a while.’
‘Very good, Master.’
While the knights headed for the cool beneath the trees, Farid came for Blade and Maura appeared with the tasselled sunshade.
Their wedding procession being something of a circus, the entire village turned out to watch. Men and women gathered in doorways; children stared, open-mouthed—everyone seemed eager to bear witness to Jasim ibn Ismail and his Nasrid princess passing through their village. All was exactly as his clever wife had predicted.
The tavern did a brisk trade with food and drink. Serving girls appeared with jugs of ale on trays. Bowls of nuts and olives were put before them and more food ordered.
Jasim’s clever wife waved away an offer of refreshment. Her attention hadn’t shifted from the horses under the awnings.
‘My thanks, but no. Later, perhaps,’ she said, turning back to him. ‘Jasim, they’ll be untethering those horses soon to spare them from the heat. May we look at them before they’re led away?’
‘If that is your wish.’
Maura and the sparkling sunshade accompanied them as they crossed the square and Jasim’s gaze was immediately caught by a grey mare. She was a beautiful creature, with strong legs, well-muscled haunches, a proud arching neck and a flowing mane. Her lines were perfect.
‘Oh, Jasim,’ Zorahaida breathed. She, too, had seen the mare.
With a sigh of delight, she walked across and was soon deep in conversation with the horse trader.
‘Zorahaida, if you like her, I will buy her for you,’ Jasim said. ‘Though you must try out her paces first. She might be jumpy.’ He eyed his wife’s divided skirts and was thankful that the fabric looked reasonably robust. The previous day he had surprised her by lifting her on to Blade’s back without warning. Today his wife’s clothing was far more suitable for riding than the filmy excuse for a garment she had been wearing then.
‘That is generous, Jasim. I should like to try her out, although if I like her, I shall buy her myself.’ Her voice warmed. ‘Remember all those coins.’
He stepped closer. ‘Zorahaida, I would be honoured to buy her for you. Think of her as part of my wedding gift to you. But I would see you take a turn about the square; I’ll warrant she’s feistier than Snowdrop and I’ve no wish to see you thrown.’
The mare was indeed feisty although Zorahaida proved herself well able to control her. It had never occurred to Jasim that his wife would be so fine a horsewoman, he was impressed. She paraded about the market, testing the grey mare at a walk, at a trot, even at a canter. He could only be thankful she didn’t try a gallop, though he could tell she wanted to. She was so taken with the mare that she didn’t notice Jasim when he began haggling with the trader over the price. She simply kept on riding, round and round, her veil floating behind her like a jewelled banner, oblivious of the stir she was causing.
It was plain she and that grey mare were going to be inseparable. There would be no more sharing a horse. Perversely, Jasmin felt a pang of regret which he immediately squashed. Given his wife’s familiarity with horses, it was only right she should have her own mount.
He turned back to the horse merchant. The price for the mare settled, he went on to bargain for a decent saddle and harness. There were no silver bells, but the leather was of good quality and the tack well made. Zorahaida rode up as he closed the negotiations, and he helped her dismount. They led the mare to the shade near the tavern.
He turned to Zorahaida. ‘You will take refreshment now, I hope.’
‘Indeed.’ Her voice was warm and filled with pleasure. ‘A thousand thanks, Jasim, she is perfect.’
Jasim was only glad she hadn’t insisted on paying for the animal herself. He liked buying her things, he realised, he would do it again soon. Having seen her seated at a table in the shade, he beckoned for the innkeeper who rushed to bring them ale, savoury pastries, nuts and almond cakes. It was too hot for wine.
Zorahaida fingered the edge of her veil and leaned towards him. ‘Jasim, I don’t wish to shock the villagers, do you think I ought to retire to our carriage to eat?’
He jerked his head towards the women in the doorway. ‘They are not wearing veils, and everyone is being most respectful. I am sure, if you are subtle, the villagers would be honoured if you ate here.’
He handed her a cup of ale and took one for himself, smiling as she discreetly lifted her veil to drink.
‘Have you decided on a name for your mare?’
‘I shall call her Spirit,’ she said, setting down the cup and reaching for an almond cake.
Farid and a couple of knights from the guard had wandered over to where Spirit was tethered and were admiring her. Jasim watched them with a sense of relief.
‘It’s good to see my squire and your men are on easy terms.’
She glanced across and gave one of her brisk nods. ‘Yes, it is very pleasing.’
As Jasim took time to study her knights and servants, he was struck by an unsettling thought. ‘Zorahaida,’ he lowered his voice. ‘Have you thought what will happen to your people when we reach Mondragón Palace?’
She gave a shaky breath and set the almond cake to one side.
‘I confess when we left the Alhambra, I was rather distracted,’ she murmured. ‘It hadn’t occurred to me, but they can never go back.’
‘My thoughts exactly.’
‘Jasim, they are loyal men and they do not deserve to suffer because they aided us.’
He covered her hand with his. ‘Nor shall they. When we reach home, I shall speak to my uncle. There is always space for loyal men.’
‘Thank you, Jasim.’
She lifted her veil long enough to send him a dazzling smile, and Jasim felt his stomach swoop. What this woman did to him. His need for her was an ache in his belly, he was uncomfortably aware he would desire her until the end of his days. What worried him most was that he was coming to see that desire wasn’t the sum of it. Affection might not be enough. He felt utterly baffled.
As Zorahaida turned her attention to a bowl of pistachio nuts, Jasim knew he was in deep trouble.
* * *
Each day on their ponderous progress, Jasim discovered more about his princess. Her powers of organisation were impressive, and her reach seemed as long, if not longer than that of Sultan Tariq. How she had achieved this, when ‘hedged about’ all her life in the Alhambra, as she had put it, was a mystery. After a few days, Jasim learned something else. The Sultan’s third daughter was beloved. Everywhere. Her reputation alone opened doors all over t
he Emirate.
Jasim never asked what her outriders said to the dignitaries and village headmen, he could only guess, but after that first night, news of their progress spread like wildfire. Each stopping place welcomed them with open arms. There were smiles everywhere. He was used to studying faces, and he would swear the delight was genuine.
There were simple households...
‘Princess, we are honoured to have you stay with us. You must be tired after your journey, permit my wife to accompany you to your chambers where you may bathe and rest. Your husband shall join you later.’
There were rich merchants’ houses, where generations of the same family had built their houses on foundations left behind by the Romans.
‘Princess, God is good that He sent you to our humble house. Please come this way.’
The wine was rich in these houses, and the food anything but humble.
They rode through barren wildernesses, where the summer heat had withered the wildflowers at the trackside. Fearsome rock formations loured over them and hawks circled the skies, hunting for prey. At length they were admitted into the fort that housed the Governor of Antequera.
‘Princess, Antequera welcomes you,’ the Governor said. ‘If you desire to see our bathhouse, it is naturally open to you and Jasim ibn Ismail. We have given you and your esteemed husband a set of chambers in the tower. Should you desire to explore the district before you press on to Madinat Runda, my knights will be happy to escort you on the morrow.’
In the tower chamber they looked out on to an ancient landscape the Visigoths would have recognised. A plain stretched into the distance and on the skyline, they found themselves staring at a rocky outcrop that looked, ominously, like the head of a sleeping giant.
After two weeks of such journeying, Jasim’s opinion of his wife had grown by leaps and bounds. Keeping apart from her physically was an ordeal he battled with hour by hour, day by day. There were unexpected benefits to his restraint. It helped him see beyond mere physical attraction. Whenever he found himself aching to touch her, which was often, he pushed his desires aside and focused on watching her. On talking to her.
By journey’s end Jasim knew he had in his keeping a genuine treasure. Zorahaida was beautiful and clever. She was adored by all who knew her and hundreds who didn’t because her concern for everybody was totally genuine, it came from the heart. Despite the restrictions imposed upon her by Sultan Tariq she had a formidable reputation.
* * *
When their party reached the southern gate of Madinat Runda, Jasim had lost count of the ways she astounded him.
She had achieved all this from that tower at the edge of the Alhambra?
She was a woman in a million, and he would do all in his power to keep her.
Chapter Eleven
‘Not far now,’ Jasim said, gesturing at the imposing city gate ahead of them. ‘Welcome to Madinat Runda.’
Zorahaida reined in and stared. It was late in the afternoon and the sun still played over the walls and gatehouse. She could tell from shadows thrown by a cluster of palm trees at the roadside that this was the south gate. Madinat Runda was clearly well fortified and, judging by the soldiers patrolling the ramparts and the sentries at the gate, it was as strongly guarded as Granada. Jutting up from behind the city wall, a slim minaret pointed to heaven.
She nudged Spirit towards the gate. She felt queasy, and it was nothing to do with the length of their journey or the food she had eaten. She was apprehensive. So much hung in the balance. The rift between Sultan Tariq and this district had been long-standing. Jasim had mentioned his father’s involvement, yet antipathy remained. Was it entirely due to the Sultan? Zorahaida wouldn’t be surprised if the Governor refused her houseroom.
‘Will your uncle the Governor be in residence?’ she asked.
‘Very likely.’ Jasim’s amber eyes crinkled at the corners and his saddle creaked as he reached for her hand. ‘Zorahaida, there’s no need to be nervous. My uncle will be delighted to meet you.’
Would he? Zorahaida wasn’t so sure. Swallowing, she nodded and turned the subject. ‘I read that Madinat Runda has been a settlement for thousands of years.’
‘That’s true, settlers have been here for ever.’
‘Because of the cliffs on the western side?’ The cliffs and the deep gorge carved in the land by the River Guadalevín were well known.
‘Aye. The cliffs are as vital today as they were in antiquity. They make the city easy to defend.’
The Captain of their party spoke to the guards and they were waved through the gate. As they passed into the city, Jasim went on talking. Zorahaida struggled to listen. Her husband had behaved with great chivalry on their journey. They had shared chambers and on occasions beds, but it hadn’t escaped her that in all that time he’d barely touched her. It was possible he’d been concerned about them being overheard, but she didn’t think that was holding him back. He hadn’t forgotten about the poppy juice.
Notwithstanding, he was trying to put her at ease. At heart, he was a kind man.
‘Tomorrow, when you are rested, I’ll take you to see the gorge,’ he was saying. ‘There’s a zigzag path down to the bridge at the bottom. I believe the Romans built it.’
‘Thank you,’ Zorahaida murmured.
They clopped through a military-looking square with a fort and several outbuildings—barracks, stables and storerooms. When they were almost clear of the fort, they took a left-hand fork. Along one side ran a sturdy wall with steps leading to the top.
Jasim saw where she was looking. ‘I don’t recommend going up on to that wall, the cliff falls away from here. There’s no guardrail and the drop is dizzying.’
On her right, Zorahaida saw another minaret and, above the rooftops, another.
They came to a halt by a small iron gate. ‘Here we are. Welcome to Mondragón Palace.’
‘This looks as though it is part of the fort,’ Zorahaida said, puzzled.
‘It is close to the fort, but I can assure you this is the Governor’s residence.’
* * *
Though not entirely comfortable, the next couple of hours were less of an ordeal than Zorahaida had feared. Once inside the palace, Jasim swept her along columned walkways that were paved with clay tiles. She glimpsed many courtyards, some shaded by date palms, others cooled by marble pools or fountains. At last they stepped through a horseshoe arch and stood in a courtyard to rival any in her father’s palace. Galleries ran along two sides, supported by marble columns. The arches were decorated with coloured tiles—glossy blue diamonds, bright yellow stars and crimson and blue swirls. Here and there some of the plasterwork needed repair, but the overall effect was stunning. Through another arch, she could see what looked like a water garden.
‘This is all part of your uncle’s palace? Jasim, it is so like the Alhambra, it is uncanny.’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘You were expecting a hovel?’
‘Certainly not, though I am not sure what I was expecting. This is beautiful.’
‘I am so pleased you like it,’ came a dry voice behind her.
Zorahaida whirled about. Jasim’s uncle, Governor Ibrahim ibn Osman, was shorter than his nephew. He was wearing a white turban, a loose over-tunic and soft house shoes. His eyes were brown and thoughtful and his beard grey and neatly trimmed. She couldn’t help but note that he had not called her by name. She hung back as Jasim gripped the Governor’s arm.
‘Uncle, it is my great pleasure to introduce my wife, Zorahaida. As you know, she is Sultan’s Tariq’s youngest daughter.’
Lips tightening, the Governor spared her the briefest of glances. ‘So, it’s true?’ He turned back to Jasim. ‘When the messenger arrived with news of your marriage, I wasn’t certain I believed it. All these years, I’ve been suggesting you take a wife and when you finally do, you marry the Sultan’s daughter.’
; Jasim frowned and responded curtly, but Zorahaida missed exactly what he said because one thought alone had taken root.
Jasim isn’t married. I am his only wife.
She felt a distinct flash of relief. There were no rivals in the harem. And if she had any say in it, there never would be. She wanted him all for herself.
A door latch clicked, and soft footsteps hurried overhead.
‘Jasim? Jasim, is it you?’
A young woman leaned over the gallery handrail, her face alight with joy. It gave Zorahaida a jolt to see her without a veil, though Jasim had already mentioned that in his home women were not obliged to wear them. Instead, the young woman was wearing a simple headband and her hair, a glossy mass of dark curls, flowed down well past her shoulders.
The young woman gave an excited little skip. ‘Jasim, I am so glad you are back. Don’t move, I’m coming down.’
She arrived in the courtyard just as Hunter skittered in. Chattering loudly, the monkey scrambled on to Zorahaida’s shoulder. Maura stormed in and, briefly, all was chaos.
‘I’m sorry, Princess,’ Maura panted. ‘Hunter’s too fast for me. The instant I opened his basket the little demon was away.’
The young woman watched, her eyes as round as coins. And Zorahaida would swear she saw the Governor’s lips twitch.
Hunter gripped Zorahaida’s shoulder, trembling all over, still chattering, obviously indignant.
‘Hunter, you are exaggerating,’ Zorahaida said, ignoring the startled look the Governor gave her. Hunter invariably calmed when she talked to him, she wasn’t about to stop when he needed it most. ‘You were allowed out every day.’
Small fingers caught at her veil, catching her hair. Zorahaida flinched and reached up to stroke him.
Yes, the Governor was definitely smiling. Let him, she thought. Why shouldn’t I talk to Hunter? People talk to their horses, don’t they?
‘Don’t worry, Maura,’ Jasim said. ‘I dare say Hunter likes confinement no more than the rest of us.’
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