‘Inés, please.’
Inés stiffened her spine and Leonor understood her pleading was in vain. Leonor was no longer talking to Inés, her beloved duenna, she was talking to Kadiga, Sultan Tariq’s faithful servant. And Kadiga was displeased.
‘Princess Zaida,’ Kadiga said, in her formal voice. ‘This conversation is unseemly, and if you continue in this vein, I shall be forced to conclude that you need disciplining. Your father, the Sultan, will need to be told. He will be gravely disappointed. For your sisters’ sake, if not your own, you must put your mother’s ancestry out of your mind. Such curiosity is not healthy—for anyone.’
* * *
Healthy or not, Princess Leonor’s curiosity could not be curbed. How could she stop wondering about her own mother’s history? Impossible. However, since it was clear that further argument with Inés would achieve nothing, she curbed her tongue and followed her sisters back to the apartments. As soon as the Princesses were safely inside, they removed their veils. Here at least, where they were waited on by trusted maidservants, there was no need for concealment.
The afternoon dragged. Leonor paced around the fountain in the central courtyard as the spray turned to gold in the sunlight. Constanza toyed with her silver lute and Alba stared moodily out of the window. The shadows lengthened. Constanza’s music filled the air and even though she knew it was forbidden, Leonor’s thoughts kept returning to her long-dead mother.
Sight of those Spanish knights on the quayside seemed to have unleashed the rebel in her. Might those knights really be her kin?
At the least, one of them might have heard of their mother. The disappearance of a Spanish noblewoman, even if it had been almost twenty years ago, must have caused a stir. Leonor would give anything to meet one of those men and speak to him.
Alba and Constanza didn’t have to say a word for Leonor to know that they too were thinking the same. That was the way it had always been. They knew each other’s thoughts so well that speech was scarcely necessary.
Evening came, and the Princesses lay on their silken cushions as their meal was spread before them. Leonor ate sparingly, barely noticing that the fish was spiced with cinnamon, or that the rice was flavoured with saffron, her mind was too busy for food. Where had those men been taken? Were they being well treated? If they were waiting to be ransomed, they would surely receive proper care. She hoped so. It was disturbing, not knowing. Had the knight in crimson secured help for his wounded friend? Were they being fed?
When figs were placed before her, Leonor peeled one with a silver knife and ate it absently as she pondered the likelihood of that knight knowing about a Lady Juana who had been stolen away by Sultan Tariq. It must have caused a scandal at the time.
Leonor set aside her knife with a sigh. It wasn’t likely that those men would be relatives.
She felt oddly nervous, as though she was on the verge of making a momentous decision. Her stomach was in knots and, most curious of all, her hands were shaking.
There must be a way to use the arrival of the Spanish knights to learn more about Mamá. This was a rare chance to talk to someone who might have heard about Lady Juana. If she let it slip by, she would never forgive herself. She had to speak to one of those prisoners.
The image of the knight in the crimson tunic came into focus at the back of her mind. Despite his chains, he had an air of command about him.
Mind working furiously, Leonor pushed the fruit bowl towards Alba. ‘Figs?’
Alba shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’
Leonor frowned and glanced at Constanza.
‘Constanza? Figs?’
‘No, thank you.’
Leonor stared at her sisters, both of whom ached to know more about their mother, just as she did. She clenched her fists. She was going to speak to that Spanish knight.
And if her father found out? Her heart thumped. She opened her mouth and swiftly shut it again. The knots in her belly were warning her that she was on her own with this. It was too dangerous to involve anyone else. If she was caught, she alone must bear the blame. Her plans must remain secret.
She glanced towards the door arch. Inés sat in the outer chamber, keeping close to her charges, as usual. Her father’s habit of punishing servants for the Princesses’ sins meant Leonor couldn’t discuss this with Inés either.
She toyed with her eating knife. Watched and guarded as they were, it wouldn’t be easy.
Yet somehow, she must manage it without inflicting her father’s anger on someone else.
Her gaze lit on a curl of manuscript next to Constanza’s lute.
A letter! She would write the Sultan a letter.
With luck, she’d never need to dispatch it, and the letter could be kept purely as a safeguard, in case she was caught. The Sultan’s wrath was legendary, and if Leonor was discovered to have visited the prison, she doubted he would listen to reason. He might, however, read a letter, especially one she had written before speaking to the knight. The letter would set out most clearly that she had acted alone, and it would stress her fervent wish to learn about her mother’s family. The Sultan must be made to understand she couldn’t rest until she knew more.
‘Inés?’
Inés appeared in the door arch. ‘Princess Leonor?’
Leonor smiled. ‘Please fetch another lamp. I shall need parchment, a quill and some ink.’
Her duenna’s eyebrows rose. ‘You wish to write?’
‘Aye.’
‘Very well, my lady.’
* * *
Shortly after cockcrow, Leonor was waiting behind a group of soldiers as the door of the prison scraped open. It had been surprisingly easy to persuade a castle guard to escort her there. The man she had approached—Yusuf—clearly had no clue he was speaking to one of the Princesses. He’d been eager to earn a little gold and no questions had been asked. So here she was, heavily veiled and disguised in the clothing of a maidservant.
Despite the ease of getting to the prison, Leonor was shaking from head to toe. If the Sultan found out... None the less, she had convinced herself that the letter she’d tucked into her jewel box would exonerate Yusuf from all blame.
The soldiers in front of her were laden with sacks of bread and flasks of ale for the prisoners. Also waiting to go inside were a handful of people who undoubtedly had paid handsomely to visit the noble Spanish captives. Leonor did her best to blend in and prayed no one noticed how much she was shaking.
Unhappily, she was the only woman and she soon realised that was enough to attract attention. Her throat was dry. This was the hardest thing she had done in her life. Not knowing what to expect, she forced herself to step into a stuffy corridor. Yusuf kept close.
They passed through another door and entered a room filled with many prisoners. Sight of so many men crammed together turned her insides to water. The smell was appalling; it caught in the back of her throat, so sickly sweet it was hard not to gag. Death crouched in every corner. Sounds were ugly. Someone was screaming in pain. Gaunt and hungry men swore at each other as they elbowed each aside to get to the food. It was grim beyond her worst imaginings.
These were her father’s enemies.
Leonor’s stomach lurched as it hit home. God have mercy, these men were here on her father’s orders. This was what her father did, he imprisoned wealthy enemies and held them until a ransom was paid for their release.
When a harsh remark was directed her way, Yusuf pressed close and muttered for her to hurry. Leonor didn’t need reminding. This was no place for a woman, that much was plain.
‘I’ll be quick,’ she whispered.
Hairs prickled on the back of her neck, the pinched faces of the captives scrabbling for bread told her that some had scarcely eaten in weeks. And these were the fortunate ones. She wasn’t going to think about what happened to those without the means to pay any ransom.
<
br /> She had long been aware of the Sultan’s cruel streak. She had always resented the way he insisted that his daughters passed most of their days locked in their apartment like birds in a cage. But this! It was hard to take it in.
Her father governed Leonor and her sisters with an iron fist, but still the Princesses had been granted their moments of freedom. They’d been given gifts and privileges.
A couple of years ago, they’d learned to ride. Three beautiful grey ponies had arrived at the castle and that summer, on moonlit nights, the veiled Nasrid Princesses had ridden out accompanied by a troop of household knights. Naturally, they’d had to ignore their escort of knights, and the only person who could speak to them had been the eunuch acting as their riding instructor. It had been such a joy to escape the castle for a while. And the Princesses had learned to ride well, albeit in the darkest hours when no one was about to see them.
Leonor stared about her at the men her father had incarcerated and her throat worked. It was hard to accept that the charming and amusing father who occasionally appeared to shower his daughters with silks and jewels was the same man who lodged his noble captives in so rank a place.
As she struggled to reconcile the two images of her father—the generous parent and the cruel tyrant—her head began to throb. It was so confusing.
Willing herself to focus on finding the knight in the crimson tunic, Leonor searched the room. Luckily, in the sea of chaos—of wounded, haggard men—that bright tunic was easy to see. She found him kneeling at the side of his injured friend. She stepped closer. His tunic was somewhat the worse for wear and his dark, handsome face was tight with worry. Was his friend dying?
* * *
The heat was a curse. Rodrigo had spent the hours of darkness persuading Inigo to drink enough to make up for what he was losing in sweat, yet despite his best efforts, Inigo had tossed and turned for most of the night.
It wasn’t surprising. Rodrigo and his comrades had been housed with about thirty other captured noblemen. It could be worse. Crucially, there was a roof, which meant there was shade in the day. Naturally, the windows high up in the walls were barred, but they were above ground and they let in both air and light and that was a blessing. Despite this, the stench was overpowering. Rodrigo didn’t like to think what an underground cell would be like.
Vaguely, he heard the prison door open. Rodrigo was aware of the rush to get to the food and pushed himself to his feet. He wasn’t interested in food though. Inigo was no better and Rodrigo was damned if he was going to lose Inigo as well as Diego. Rodrigo had to find the doctor who had ministered to Inigo the previous evening. The man had promised to return.
Ah, there he was, among the visitors. As soon as the doctor crossed the threshold, a babble broke out—shouting, coughing, groaning.
‘Doctor! Over here!’
‘Doctor, please!’
‘Help me, Doctor!’
In the general melee, Rodrigo got to the man first, practically dragging him to where Inigo lay stretched out on some sacking by the wall. Other captives crowded close, some were curious, others clamoured for the doctor’s attention.
The doctor scowled and waved the crowd back. ‘Be silent,’ he said. ‘Give us space to breathe. I will see to the rest of you shortly.’
The hubbub faded.
The doctor crouched down at Inigo’s side and touched his forehead. ‘How’s his fever? Did it abate after he drank that infusion?’
Rodrigo shook his head. ‘He’s been hot as a furnace all night.’
The doctor gave him a sharp look. ‘He’s not spoken? Has he roused at all?’
‘No, I had to force the drink down his throat. I’d be grateful if you would take another look at his leg.’
The doctor sat back on his haunches. ‘I stitched it most carefully. And that poultice is best left alone.’
‘I would prefer if you checked it, and I’d like him to have fresh bandages.’ Rodrigo spoke firmly, he’d seen a man lose a leg through neglecting to care for a wound and he wasn’t going to allow that to happen to Inigo. There would be no more deaths, not if he could help it.
A wave of grief swept through him. Diego. News of his brother’s death would kill his mother; had it reached her already? Rodrigo had bribed one of the Sultan’s officers to send his brother’s body home. Was the officer honourable? Would he do as he was asked? Rodrigo had no way of knowing.
‘Very well.’ The doctor held his hand out, palm up. ‘For another examination and fresh bandages, I need further payment.’
‘You want more? Good God, I’ve already given you my gold signet ring.’
The doctor gave a regretful smile and glanced pointedly at the other prisoners struggling to catch his eye. A trooper was doing his best to ensure they waited their turn, but it was clear he was fighting a losing battle.
The doctor spread his hands. ‘It’s hard to perform miracles, my lord. This is not the healthiest of places. In my view, your friend needs more infusions to bring down his fever. That will cost you.’ He stood up and prepared to move away. ‘So, unless you can pay, there are others who require my services.’
Rodrigo and his friends had no coin, their purses had been taken the moment they’d been captured. They’d only been allowed to keep their rings as proof of their identity and status. Rodrigo’s gaze landed on Inigo’s signet ring. Like the ring Rodrigo had given the doctor the previous day, Inigo’s was pure gold. Rodrigo had balked at taking it whilst Inigo was unconscious, which was why he’d given the doctor his own ring. Now, it would seem he had no choice.
Reluctantly, he reached for Inigo’s ring.
‘That will not be necessary,’ a gentle voice said.
A small hand reached out and a jewel-encrusted bangle was pressed into his palm. The scent of orange blossom, as refreshing as a breath of spring air, surrounded him.
Rodrigo’s jaw dropped. A woman? Here? He scrambled to his feet and found himself staring at a mysterious, feminine figure. She was swathed in black from head to toe. Everything was hidden, even her eyes were lost behind a full veil. Clearly, she’d been there long enough to overhear his conversation with the doctor.
‘The doctor will accept this as payment for treating your friend,’ she insisted, in a soft, faintly accented voice.
This mystery lady spoke Spanish? Rodrigo was gazing bemusedly at her when the doctor whisked the bangle from his palm and hunched over Inigo.
‘Sir, I am charged to question you.’ That small hand emerged briefly from within the folds of the woman’s all-encompassing gown. She beckoned at a guard who was standing so close he had to be her personal escort, then she and her escort headed for the door.
Two soldiers appeared and Rodrigo was marched out into the corridor.
Chapter Three
Leonor’s pulse was racing. She could hardly believe what she’d done. She, a Nasrid princess, was alone in a cramped prison cell with four men. Alone and unchaperoned.
Her hopes had risen when she’d realised the Spanish knight had parted with his own ring to pay for help for his injured companion. He might be her father’s enemy, but he was obviously loyal to his comrades. With luck, he’d be grateful about the bangle and would be forthcoming when she asked him about her mother.
Folding her hands tightly beneath the maidservant’s veil, she turned to Yusuf and switched to Arabic. ‘Be so good as to take the other guards outside. Wait for me there, I shall call you when I need you.’
Yusuf hesitated and for a dreadful moment Leonor’s skin chilled. If Yusuf refused to leave her, she would achieve nothing. She wouldn’t be able to question the knight about her mother within Yusuf’s hearing, for if Yusuf understood that she was asking about the Sultan’s dead Queen and her family, he’d be bound to tell his commanding officer. Then word would soon get back to her father. And that letter in her jewel box wouldn’t help her; she’d b
een deluding herself to think it would.
But it was too late for second thoughts. The die was cast and it was imperative that Yusuf leave her alone with this knight.
Yusuf eyed the knight’s chained wrists before giving a curt nod. ‘As you wish.’
‘My thanks.’ Leonor let out a sigh of relief and Yusuf marched out with the other guards.
The knight shifted. ‘If you want any sense out of me, you will need to speak Spanish.’
‘That is not a problem, sir.’
Dark eyes looked her over so thoroughly Leonor felt herself flush from head to toe. She was thankful for the heavy veil.
‘I assume you gave me that bauble because you need my help in some way,’ he said.
‘You are astute, sir.’
‘No serving wench would have such things to give away. May I know to whom I am addressing?’
‘I... No.’
He gave her a curt nod. ‘Very well. Lest you are curious, I am commander of the King’s garrison in Córdoba. Rodrigo Álvarez, Count of Córdoba, at your service.’
It was a good sign that he had told her his name and Leonor felt herself relax a little. She even took a step closer. Rodrigo Álvarez.
His hair was disordered and in need of a wash. Light from a narrow window fell directly on his face, allowing her to see the hollows under his eyes and a haze of dark beard. His eyes were almost black and fringed with thick eyelashes; his gaze was intent and focused entirely on her. His tunic was torn and dirty, and his wrists rubbed raw—they’d been chafed by his chains. His mouth edged up at a corner—it was a smile, yet at the same time, it was very definitely not a smile. Beneath it, she sensed dark, swirling pain and implacable fury. This man loathed her father, if he knew her identity, he would probably tear her limb from limb.
She lifted her gaze back to his eyes and her stomach clenched. She was astonished to discover that she didn’t feel fear when she looked at this man, though what she did feel was something of a mystery.
The Knight's Forbidden Princess Page 3