‘Is it?’ she said, sadly. ‘I find myself wanting to believe that he loves me, at least a little.’
‘Zorahaida, that man doesn’t deserve you. He has a dark soul and he has treated you abominably.’ He frowned. ‘Your sisters lost patience with him and walked away. You did your best to redeem him, to no avail. Zorahaida, you mustn’t look back.’
‘I won’t, it’s just, well, he is my father. And as far as he is concerned, hope has become a habit.’
‘Hope’s wasted on Sultan Tariq.’
Zorahaida looped her arms about Jasim’s neck and kissed his chin. ‘I won’t look back, I promise.’ She gave him a coy look. ‘After what you said in the pavilion, I have more important matters to think about.’
He stilled and faint colour tinged his cheeks. ‘Go on.’
She cupped his jaw and looked deep into his eyes. She yearned for his love and she rather thought she had it. But she also remembered Jasim telling her that he had no memory of his mother. A man who had grown up without a mother’s love might need a lesson in expressing his emotions. He wouldn’t find it easy to tell her how he felt.
Her cheeks stung with heat; she would have to show him the way.
‘Jasim, when we married, you spoke only of the affection that might exist between us.’ Trembling inside, she held his gaze. ‘We haven’t been married long, and already I feel more than affection, much more. Jasim, you have brought happiness and hope into my life. You’ve taught me the meaning of love.’ She paused. ‘I love you.’
His breath stopped. Hers did too, for his eyes were shining and his smile—it simply dazzled.
‘Zorahaida, my life.’ He kissed her eyelids. ‘You mean everything to me. I love you. I thought you understood.’
She drew her head back. ‘You never told me.’
‘That’s not true, I’ve been telling you for some while. You are my life. My life.’
She fell silent. You are my life. It was an expression she had never heard until Jasim used it. ‘You first called me that after my abduction, when you climbed into the tower bedchamber for the second time.’
He grunted and kissed her temple. It was a hot kiss. It was loving and affectionate and it stirred her blood.
‘Zorahaida, I started to accept what you meant to me when I found you gone. The idea of life without you was unendurable. Miserable. Empty and worthless.’
She gave a quiet laugh. ‘My life,’ she said slowly. ‘I am your life and you are mine. I like it. Jasim, it expresses what I feel for you very well.’
They loved each other. Relief weakened her knees and perhaps it weakened Jasim’s knees too, because before she knew it, they had tumbled on to the bed and were kissing and caressing as though they’d been separated for a thousand years instead of for a brief half-hour.
* * *
As the afternoon melted into evening, Zorahaida learned much. Jasim touched her reverently, innocently and there was wonder in that. He stroked the robes from her body, and his lightest touch told her how much he loved her. In response, her body softened as it prepared to receive him.
Loving a man was, she realised, not the same as knowing how to make love to a man. Knowledge certainly helped, though it wasn’t everything.
She frowned at his turban and began to unwind it, eventually pushing it from him so it fell to the carpet with a soft thump.
‘I love your hair,’ she murmured, winding a bright strand around her fingers. ‘I never dreamed that touching a man’s hair could bring such pleasure.’
Jasim lowered his head and gently bit her neck. ‘Hmmm?’
He was licking his way from one breast to the other, as intent on her as she was on him. With love between them, his touch felt different. Warmer. More real. New feelings flowed from him to her with every caress. Feelings of joy and contentment.
Her blood was heating under Jasim’s hands. She bit back a moan and when he looked up, she framed his head with her hands and guided his mouth to hers. It was her turn to give him pleasure. She ran her tongue over his lips to tempt and to taste, and when he opened her mouth, her tongue swept in. ‘Jasim.’
He groaned. As Jasim moved over her and they became one, her last conscious thought was, mysteriously, that loving him had restored her innocence.
* * *
Shortly after cockcrow, came a knock on the bedchamber door.
Jasim rolled away from Zorahaida and opened an eye. Sama was setting a tray on a side table whilst Zorahaida slept on.
‘Your breakfast,’ Sama said cheerfully.
Jasim grunted. ‘We need sleep more than we need breakfast.’
Sama shrugged. ‘My apologies, Master. The Governor has asked that you and my mistress meet him in the pavilion in the water garden as soon as you have broken your fast.’
Jasim rubbed his face and turned back to Zorahaida.
* * *
Shortly afterwards, he and his wife were walking arm in arm through sun-splashed courtyards, past the glassy pool, the myrtle bushes and the pomegranate trees. Save for the Governor, the pavilion was empty. The distinctive fragrance of mint was coming from a pot on the low table.
Jasim could only see three cups. He came to an abrupt halt and raised his eyebrows.
‘I thought this was to be a continuation of yesterday’s meeting, where is everyone?’
Indicating they should sit, his uncle smiled. ‘There are matters you and I must settle before I take things further.’
Puzzled, Jasim took Zorahaida to a cushion and sat beside her. ‘Very well. I am guessing you are concerned about Zorahaida’s so-called death.’
To his surprise, his uncle laughed. ‘Not in the least, your wife looks extremely healthy for a dead woman. However, in part this does concern her. Jasim, you will recall that when you set out for Granada to enter the tournament, I had mixed feelings about your ambitions. Put bluntly, I feared you might prove to be as impulsive as your father. I feared more conflict between the districts, and I feared for your life. Yet you handled the Sultan with great subtlety.’ The Governor gave Zorahaida a gracious smile. ‘You won his daughter and despite the Sultan’s machinations, you and Usayd joined forces to mend fences with Prince Ghalib. In short, you have proved yourself equal to almost anything. Jasim, I’ve long suspected you had diplomatic potential and since you and your brother are reconciled, I am even more convinced of it. You and Usayd have become a team. The newfound co-operation between the two of you has given me hope for the future. With your consent, I should like to name you the head of the family after my death. You will be the next governor.’
‘Uncle?’ Jasim’s mind raced. His uncle was going to nominate him as a candidate for the governorship?
The Governor had no son, and in such circumstances, it wasn’t unusual for the head of a family to designate another male relative as his successor. Nor was this Spain where the eldest male heir tended to take precedence. In Al-Andalus, positions of great office were awarded according to merit.
Still, Usayd was the older nephew...
‘Uncle, Usayd is the firstborn.’
His uncle stroked his beard and made a negative gesture. ‘Usayd’s destiny lies on a different path, he has the heart of a merchant. There’s no shame in that, it takes rare talent to make agreements that satisfy more than one party. Jasim, your brother doesn’t have the makings of a governor. He will be relieved if you accept, he has no head for politics. Consider this, if our district is to avoid a repeat of what happened when your father fell foul of authorities in Granada, its Governor would also need a firm grasp of military matters. Not only do you command the loyalty of the Madinat Runda fort but your marriage to the Princess will be invaluable.’
Jasim nodded. ‘Aye, Zorahaida and the Prince are close.’
His uncle took a deep breath. ‘Jasim, relations between east and west have been sour for too long. It is my earnest wish that
you will at least think about my proposal.’ He directed a warm smile at Zorahaida. ‘You might like to know that my daughter’s testimony helped me reach this decision. Fatima thinks as well of you, Zorahaida, as she does of your husband.’
‘Thank you,’ Zorahaida murmured. Under cover of the table, she slid her hand into Jasim’s.
‘Well, Nephew, do you agree?’
Jasim felt a swift tug and glanced at Zorahaida. Her eyes were bright, they were shining with pride and confidence. He could see that she wanted him to agree and his heart warmed to see her faith in him.
‘Uncle, I am honoured, but—’
‘But?’
‘I’ve no wish to see you dead. God willing, you will be Governor for many more years.’
His uncle smiled. ‘It is never too soon to prepare for the future.’
Zorahaida leaned forward and caught Jasim’s eye. ‘I am sure the position of Governor is a weighty responsibility; however, it strikes me you must consider it.’
‘And so I shall.’ Jasim bowed his head. ‘Thank you, Uncle, I shall give you my decision tomorrow.’
Chapter Seventeen
Dawn was lighting the bedchamber when Zorahaida awoke and the first thing she saw was Jasim, asleep at her side. As the chamber brightened, his hair took on the colour of fire. Not wishing to disturb him, she lay on her side watching him and counting her blessings.
Jasim had come after her. He had braved her father’s wrath to bring her home and, best of all, he had confessed that he loved her.
Jasim loves me.
During the night the sheet had slipped, allowing her gaze to wander freely over his well-muscled chest. Her warrior husband. As she studied his rare colouring, she smiled. He was magnificent, she loved everything about him.
Thank God, Jasim and Usayd had set aside their differences. It was odd to think that all they’d had to do was to come to terms with themselves. After that, accepting each other had followed as naturally as day follows night.
A lock of red-gold hair fell across his eyes. Zorahaida leaned a little closer and carefully brushed it back. It was impossible not to press a light kiss to his shoulder and breathe in his scent.
He loves me. And I love him.
As the light strengthened, she was too comfortable to do anything other than lie there. This was happiness.
Someone tapped lightly on the door. After a pause it opened and Sama peeped in, her eyes bright with excitement. Zorahaida looked pointedly at Jasim and put her finger to her lips.
Sama beckoned. ‘Quickly,’ she whispered. ‘You must get up.’
Intrigued, Zorahaida slipped out of bed and headed for the washbowl. Her handmaid was next to her before she had done more than splash her face.
‘No time for that,’ Sama murmured.
Her handmaid appeared to be in a great rush. Without bothering to ask permission, she slipped a heavy silk robe over Zorahaida’s head. A heartbeat later, she had a girdle fastened about Zorahaida’s waist. Eyes shining, and filled with something Zorahaida couldn’t read—joy, perhaps?—Sama snatched up an embroidered shawl and shoved it at her.
The comb was next. Before Zorahaida had time to blink, Sama was dragging it through her hair, working so briskly she brought tears to her eyes.
‘Ow!’
‘Hurry, Princess.’
Zorahaida wound the shawl about her shoulders, put on her house slippers and allowed herself to be drawn out of the bedchamber and into the adjoining room.
Carefully, Sama shut the bedchamber door.
‘You need to go down to the central courtyard, my lady. Now.’
‘But my hair isn’t properly dressed.’
The strangest of smiles flitted briefly across Sama’s face. ‘That won’t matter. Hurry.’
Borne along by curiosity and her handmaid’s excitement, Zorahaida flew down the stairs. Hunter was in the courtyard before her, chattering in such a high pitch Zorahaida knew he too was excited. Shawl tight about her shoulders, she paused under one of the arches.
Two foreign knights were standing in the courtyard with two heavily veiled women. They were speaking quietly in Spanish. It had been years since Zorahaida had seen the knights, but she recognised them instantly. One was Rodrigo Álvarez, Count of Córdoba and the other was Inigo Sánchez, Count of Seville.
They were married to her sisters.
Heart in her throat, she stared at the women. Hunter was riding on the shoulder of one of them, tugging insistently at her all-enveloping veil. Zorahaida didn’t need that veil to be lifted to know who she was looking at.
‘Alba!’ she cried, voice cracking. With greedy happiness, she turned to the other woman. ‘Leonor!’
As one, the sisters flew into each other’s arms.
‘Let me see you,’ Zorahaida said, choking with emotion.
Leonor and Alba dragged off their veils and the three of them kissed and hugged.
Zorahaida’s sisters were clad in Moorish costume, undoubtedly to avoid attracting unwanted attention on their journey. Tears of joy gleamed in their eyes as Hunter screeched and danced from one to the other like the little devil he was. For a time, conversation took second place to hugs and kisses. Then, as the sisters calmed, words started to flow.
Zorahaida was the first to recover. She shook her head in amazement and, since all three sisters spoke Spanish fluently and it was important that her sisters’ husbands understood what was being said, she chose to speak in Spanish. Using their mother’s native tongue had been the Princesses’ way of hanging on to their heritage. The Queen their mother had died when they were too young to remember much about her, and the Sultan had refused to talk about her. The language had been their way of honouring their lost mother.
‘I was writing to you both, but I never finished and the letter wasn’t sent,’ Zorahaida said. ‘How on earth did you know where to find me?’
Leonor linked arms with her. ‘Dearest, news of your marriage reached Castile. We heard about a ridiculously extravagant marriage procession that wound through the Emirate until it reached Madinat Runda.’
With a coy look, Alba took her other arm. ‘We also heard about a Moorish knight, a chivalrous warrior who won the Sultan’s daughter at a tournament and bore her off.’
Count Rodrigo stepped forward with a smile and a deep bow. ‘Princess, once Leonor got wind of your marriage there was no stopping her. She was determined to come and find you, to see that you were happy.’ His smile dimmed. ‘I am sorry to say Leonor was blind to the dangers of returning to the Emirate with a sentence of banishment hanging over her head. She refused to listen to reason.’
With a wry laugh, Count Inigo joined them. ‘Reason? Rodrigo, your wife is a Nasrid princess. You’ve been married to Leonor for almost three years and you still expect reason?’
Alba tutted, though her eyes smiled. ‘Inigo, please, you might try for some courtesy.’
‘I am always courteous, my love.’ Count Inigo gave Zorahaida a charming bow. ‘It was the same with Alba. Once your sisters knew of your marriage, Rodrigo and I had no peace until we had agreed to escort them here. Incognito, of course.’
Delighted though she was to see them, Zorahaida sobered. ‘You ran a great risk, all of you. However, you need to be aware that there has been, shall we say, a change of the guard at the Alhambra. The risk was not as great as it might have been.’
‘A change of the guard?’ Leonor blinked. ‘We heard curious rumours about Father, you will have to explain.’
‘Certainly. However, since you appear to have travelled through the night, I assume you are hungry and thirsty?’
‘Breakfast would be most welcome,’ Count Rodrigo said.
Catching sight of Sama hovering behind a pillar, Zorahaida caught her attention. ‘Sama, we shall break our fasts in the pavilion, if you please.’ She turned back to her sisters and t
heir husbands. ‘Please come this way. I shall explain all as we eat.’
Zorahaida led her most welcome guests to the pavilion and when her sisters were sipping mint tea and their husbands were holding cups of ale, she summarised the goings on in the Alhambra in recent years. Not wishing to cast too much of a cloud over their reunion, Zorahaida didn’t tell them everything. She left out many of their father’s cruelties, although she did mention that, rather than mellowing with the years, he had gradually become more cruel and more tyrannical. If they wished for chapter and verse, that could come later.
She mentioned Prince Ghalib, and Leonor and Alba smiled when she spoke about the slowly growing bond that had developed between her and her uncle.
‘I am glad to hear the Prince is well,’ Alba murmured. ‘I always liked him.’
‘I felt sorry for him,’ Leonor added. ‘Father caged him for many years, just as he caged us.’
‘There is no need for sorrow today,’ Zorahaida said. ‘The Prince is no longer caged; he has come into his own. You should know that Father is very ill.’
Lord Inigo shifted. ‘I heard he’s quite frail.’
Zorahaida grimaced. ‘My lord, the Sultan is certainly ailing, but he is not simply frail. His mind is more disordered than ever. He has become a kind of hermit.’
‘A hermit?’ Leonor looked sceptically at her. ‘That doesn’t sound like Father.’
‘No,’ Zorahaida said, soberly. ‘Father is a changed man. He is a sad figure and he keeps to a handful of rooms. In summary, Prince Ghalib has taken over the running of the palace. The Guard, the palace officials, the servants—they have all transferred their loyalty to Prince Ghalib.’
‘Sultan Tariq has become a puppet?’ Lord Rodrigo asked.
‘Aye.’
Lord Rodrigo looked meaningfully at Lord Inigo. ‘If Prince Ghalib proves more tolerant than his brother, this could be excellent news for Spain,’ he murmured.
‘Indeed.’ Lord Inigo cleared his throat. ‘We need to discover whether Prince Ghalib would welcome the idea of friendship between our countries. Princess Zorahaida—?’
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