She prayed for calm, understanding instinctively that if her father sensed her agitation, he would react badly. And she dreaded to think what might happen if she inadvertently revealed that she’d spoken to the Count in person. That would surely condemn him to a slow and painful death. She prayed for the right words.
‘Father, it is my guess that that man is a Spanish knight, so he won’t speak our language. How can he obey an order he doesn’t understand?’
Her father’s eyebrows formed a heavy black line. ‘You are an expert on Spanish knights, Daughter?’
Dimly, Leonor heard the light ripple of bells. Her sisters had joined her, their horses flanked hers.
‘Please, Father, they won’t speak our tongue,’ Alba whispered.
‘Father, be merciful,’ Constanza added softly.
The King looked from one daughter to the other, and when his gaze returned to her, Leonor forced her lips to move. ‘The foreigners mean no insult, I am sure.’ Recalling her father’s obsession with refilling his treasury, she paused. ‘Look at their clothing, Father.’
‘Rags,’ the Sultan bit out. ‘Filthy rags.’
‘Look closer, Father, and you will see that the embroidery is most fine. These men must be especially wealthy. Kill them and you will lose much in the way of ransom.’
The Sultan glowered. ‘They are arrogant dogs. They should not be looking upon you. They must be punished.’
‘We are veiled, Father,’ Leonor said, in a cool voice. In truth, her heart was beating wildly and she felt sick with fear. She didn’t want the Spanish knights killed simply for looking their way. She gripped the reins and hoped her voice wasn’t shaking. ‘Make an example of them, Father, by all means. Please don’t kill them because they can’t speak Arabic. Be merciful, Father, I implore you.’
Alba and Constanza added their voices to hers. ‘Please, Father. We beg you.’
The Sultan watched them, face inscrutable. Then he glanced at a nearby guard. ‘Guard? Guard! Yes, you with the prisoners. Get up.’
The guard scrambled to his feet, his face as pale as parchment. He bowed so low his forehead almost touched the ground. ‘Great King?’
‘You are in charge of these insolent fools?’ the Sultan asked, indicating the three knights.
Leonor held her breath.
‘Yes, Great King,’ came the wary reply.
The Sultan tapped his boot with the flat of his scimitar. ‘You expect them to fetch something in the way of ransom?’
The guard kept his head down. ‘Yes, Great Lord. Their families have been notified and the ransom is on its way.’
The Sultan gave a curt nod and put away his scimitar. He looked at Leonor. ‘Very well, my daughter. Since you ask so prettily and your sisters have added their pleas to yours, I shall be merciful. These men shall be imprisoned in the Vermillion Towers until their ransom arrives. However, they should not have gazed upon you. For that insolence, they shall do hard labour until their release.’
He flicked his hand in a gesture of dismissal and the guard effaced himself.
Leonor drew in a relieved breath. ‘Thank you, Father.’
As she spoke, a skirl of wind raced along the highway, whisking up dust as it came. It caught the edges of the Princesses’ veils and, distracted as they were, their veils lifted. For a few tense moments, their faces were revealed and there were no barriers between them and the world.
Leonor saw everything very clearly. That was to say, she saw Lord Rodrigo very clearly, for she was looking at him and him alone. Her stomach lurched. Apart from that day she’d been watching the port from the pavilion, Leonor’s father was the only man she had gazed on without the protection of a veil. In Salobreña, distance had been her shield. Lord Rodrigo was closer now, close enough for his dark brown eyes to catch hers and, for her life, she couldn’t look away.
She could see the rise and fall of his chest. His firm mouth was crooked into a faint smile, just as it had been that day she had visited him in the prison. His hair was tousled and dusty, and a grey smudge ran across one high cheekbone. As her eyes met his, she thought she saw him dip his head. His beard was untidy, he was hung about with chains, but he held himself like a prince. A strong, well-muscled prince who stole the breath from her lungs. Despite his unkempt state, Count Rodrigo de Córdoba was surely the most handsome knight in the world.
‘Daughters, your modesty!’ The Sultan’s growl brought Leonor sharply back to reality. ‘Cover your faces!’
Leonor wrestled her veil into submission and the moment was gone.
* * *
Realising his mouth hung open, Rodrigo closed it with a snap. Before the woman’s veil had lifted, her voice had revealed her to be the girl who had given her golden bangle to pay for Inigo’s treatment. His heartbeat quickened. His mystery lady was a princess, just as he had suspected.
She was a rare beauty. His most fevered imaginings could never have conjured so sweet a face. Those large dark eyes, that twist of shining black hair, that shy yet sensual tilt to her mouth—in truth, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
A twist of longing tightened inside him. Ruthlessly, he quashed it. She was his enemy’s daughter, a Nasrid princess.
After talking to her in that cell, Rodrigo had thought about her more than once. In his mind, she had become Lady Merciful. He’d passed many an hour wondering what Lady Merciful looked like beneath her veil, and whether in fact she was his enemy’s daughter. Now his doubts had melted away.
The guard jerked on the chains. As they bit into his wrists, Rodrigo was pulled further into the ditch. He didn’t resist; the sight of the Princess had left him oddly stunned. That Princess—Lord, it wasn’t right that the tyrant’s daughter should be so lovely. She had her veil under control now, he could no longer see a thing. It didn’t matter. A man could live off one glimpse for years. The jolt she had given him had been visceral. Her face—delicate and lovely—was unforgettable.
Covertly, he watched her gather her reins and prepare to ride on. He had no way of knowing what had passed between her and her father, but it was obvious that she had interceded on his behalf.
She had saved him. She had saved Inigo back in Salobreña and now he too was beholden to her. He grimaced. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Being beholden to his enemy’s daughter made a mockery of his grief for Diego. He ought to hate her.
The royal party proceeded up the road and the horseman in him watched her critically. She rode surprisingly well, sitting straight in the saddle, her posture graceful and relaxed. Veils fluttered, bells chimed and all too soon the pretty grey mares had disappeared behind the brown stallions of the Sultan’s household knights.
Were her sisters equally beautiful? Rodrigo hadn’t noticed, he’d only had eyes for her. She was a brave woman, intervening with Sultan Tariq like that. Exasperated with himself, Rodrigo shook his head. He mustn’t allow a pair of shining black eyes to bewitch him. Even tyrants must love their daughters. Maybe she hadn’t been so brave, she must have known her father would bend to her will—he probably adored her. She was certainly impulsive, though he knew that already, for a similar impulse had driven her to visit him in the prison. It was possible that wanting to learn about Lady Juana hadn’t been the only reason for her visit, curiosity must also have played a part. She probably craved a bit of excitement.
God knows what life must be like for a pampered princess. She’d be kept closer than a nun on retreat. And those veils—Rodrigo grimaced—it must be stifling under all that cloth.
Rodrigo watched the royal party go with mixed feelings. The face that had been revealed when Lady Merciful’s veil had lifted had left him feeling wrong-footed. And more than a little confused. In his heart, he knew he wasn’t doing her justice. And justice was something that woman cared about. Briefly, the fury in the tyrant’s eyes had made it seem he was about to lash out, yes, even at his
daughter, yet she’d still intervened to stop her father using that scimitar. Without hesitation, she’d drawn the Sultan’s anger on herself.
Rodrigo narrowed his gaze on the Nasrid standard as the dust enveloped the crimson and gold. Gripped by a feeling of unreality, he clenched his jaw. He had now become beholden—twice—to the Sultan’s daughter, to a princess who looked as though she had stepped out of another world. Everything about her was fresh and innocent. Had his mind conjured her? It must have done, that arresting beauty couldn’t be real. However, the way she had confronted her father certainly was. There’d been definite tension in the air. All three Princesses had been palpably afraid of what their father might do, yet they had still confronted him.
He drew in a deep breath. So. His enemy’s daughters had at least one virtue, they were brave. No, make that two virtues, they were merciful.
The dust drifted back to earth, the guards cracked their whips and the line of captives was driven back on to the highway. As Rodrigo forced his weary legs to move, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way the Princess’s gaze had held his. She had looked directly at him and every fibre of his being had snapped awake. He’d liked it. He’d also noticed a faint flush on her cheeks as their eyes had caught. He’d liked that too.
He trudged on, adjusting his pace to take account of the play of the chains. His feet throbbed, they had to be bleeding. There was dust in his eyes, dust in his hair and dust in his throat. Yet despite everything, he couldn’t get the face of the Nasrid Princess out of his head. So lovely. His enemy’s daughter. Dios mío, he was losing his mind.
Hardening his heart, Rodrigo pushed her from his thoughts. He would do far better to be thinking about the revenge he would take against Sultan Tariq when his ransom was finally paid.
Chapter Five
The Alhambra Palace, Granada
It should have been paradise. Instead it was a beautiful prison.
The alabaster fountain in the central court of the Princesses’ tower played continually. By day, the jets of water gleamed like fire; at night, the central pool had the sheen of silver. From the top of the tower, Leonor looked down into the palace gardens. She was filled with disquiet. Sparrows flitted from myrtle to orange tree and back again to the myrtles. On moonlit evenings, nightingales sang in the lemon trees. How could she be unhappy in so lovely a place?
The Sultan lavished every luxury on his daughters. Three pairs of songbirds were brought to the Princesses’ tower. The birds twittered and fluttered in golden cages, filling the top floor with song. A few days later, peacocks appeared on the palace lawns; they paraded up and down, luminescent feathers shimmering in the sun—turquoise, green, gold. Shortly after that, the Princesses were given a pet monkey. Alba adored him, named him Hunter, and took to carrying him on her shoulder.
A step away from the Princesses’ tower, there was even a Romanesque bathhouse. Maidservants stood under gorgeously tiled arches, linens in hand, silently waiting on the sisters’ every whim. Light filtered through fairy-tale fretwork, and the surface of the bathing pool danced and sparkled with borrowed life. There were hot rooms, and cold rooms, and a restroom for the Princesses to lie in after they had bathed. Long divans were built along the tiled walls of the restroom, and they overflowed with cushions. The silent maidservants brought iced juices, grapes, sweetmeats...
Paradise? Leonor was afraid that a snake lurked at its heart.
Her thoughts were dark. She no longer trusted her father. The look on his face when he’d confronted Lord Rodrigo had been so ugly. If she hadn’t intervened, her father would have butchered him there and then.
Tucked away in Salobreña all these years, Leonor had no real grasp of the King’s character. Unfortunately, she was starting to know him. His moodiness was chilling. One moment he was all benevolence, showering his daughters with gifts, and the next he behaved like a tyrant. It was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
It was also wrong that Leonor spent so much time worrying about the fate of the three Spanish knights. If her father could read her thoughts, he’d fly into a frenzy. She told herself that mind-reading was impossible and was careful to guard her tongue, particularly in front of Inés. It wasn’t that she feared for herself or her sisters, what she feared was drawing her father’s anger down on an innocent servant or slave. She felt unbearably edgy.
It soon became clear that Alba too was concerned. Leonor was lying on a crimson cushion threaded with gold, staring blindly into the gardens, when Alba came in, Hunter perched on her shoulder. Since they were in the privacy of their tower, the Princesses had discarded their veils.
Alba took the cushion next to Leonor. Hunter jumped from her shoulder and scampered towards a bowl of sunflower seeds, chattering happily. ‘What do you think they are doing?’ Alba murmured.
Leonor didn’t have to be told Alba was thinking about the three Spanish knights. ‘We shouldn’t be thinking about them.’
Alba’s mouth turned down. ‘I can’t help it. What did Father mean when he said they’d be put to hard labour?’
Leonor shot a guilty look at the doorway. No one was there. Constanza was playing her silver lute and the faint strains of a Spanish folk song that Inés had taught them floated up from the chamber below. Constanza’s choice of song—their duenna’s favourite—made it obvious that she too was dwelling on the fate of the men.
‘It’s dangerous to talk about them.’ Leonor kept her voice low. ‘Alba, we must dismiss them from our thoughts.’
Alba fiddled with her emerald ring. ‘Hard labour, Father said, and one of them was wounded. You don’t think they’ll be worked to death?’
Firmly, Leonor shook her head. ‘Ransom money is needed to fill Father’s coffers. They’ll be kept alive.’
‘May God have mercy on them, I pray you are right.’
Leonor rose from her cushion and went to the window on the other side of the chamber. The difference in outlooks both fascinated and troubled her. From this side of the tower, the view was of an altogether wilder landscape. At the foot of the palace wall, the land fell sharply into a deep, rock-strewn crevasse where stunted shrubs struggled to find a foothold. In the distance, the snow-topped peaks of the Sierra Nevada soared towards the sky.
‘Even in summer the mountains are capped with snow,’ she said, sinking on to another cushion as the caged birds trilled behind her. Their song blended prettily with the sound of Constanza’s lute.
‘Aye.’
Several tiny dots—birds, possibly eagles—were moving across the sky. Leonor watched them thoughtfully. Something about the location of their tower—so far from their father’s apartments—disturbed her. ‘Alba, do you think the position of this tower is significant? Could Father be sending us a message?’
Silk rustled as her sister came across. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The view from this side is completely untamed.’ Leonor pointed. The crevasse cut through the hill like a scar and ran the entire length of the palace wall. ‘Look, you can see right down that gully.’
Alba’s brow wrinkled. ‘I can see trees and boulders and not much else.’
‘Exactly. On this side of our tower, all is wild; on the other, all is cultivated. I can’t help feeling this tower is a warning. Or a threat.’
Alba threw her a puzzled look. ‘A threat?’
Despite the heat, Leonor shivered. She gestured in the direction of the gardens and tried to explain her disquiet. ‘Inside the palace walls, everything is civilised. We walk through gardens fragrant with orange blossom and jasmine; we find shade in marbled hallways where ceilings look like honeycombs and must have been made by angels. Father showers every luxury on us. Outside, however, we have that wilderness. Is Father warning what might happen if we cross him?’
‘You think he would banish us to the wilderness?’ Alba laughed. ‘Leonor, only you would say something like that. Father can be difficult, but I
am sure life will be better here.’
‘Will it?’
‘Yes! Think about the silk Father shipped in from Constantinople. Think about those gorgeous bangles, the rings.’
‘Yes, yes, the silk is very fine, but we have so much, we can’t possibly use it all. Do we need songbirds in golden cages? Do we need monkeys?’ Leonor stared in exasperation at the new bangle weighing heavily on her wrist. ‘Father loads us with jewels unearthed from the mines of India; he gives us caskets overflowing with necklaces, bracelets and anklets. We have velvet purses bulging with golden bezants and Frankish silver and I’ve no idea why we’ve been given them, we can’t spend them.’
Alba’s eyes brightened. ‘Leonor, that is a good idea! Let’s ask Inés for an escort. We’ll ride into Granada—the shopkeepers will fall over themselves in the rush to serve us.’
Leonor shook her head. ‘I’ve already tried that. Inés refused to give us one.’
Alba’s face fell. ‘That can’t be right, we could ride out in Salobreña.’
‘At night, Alba, we were only allowed out at night.’
‘Surely we will be allowed the same privilege here?’
‘Inés says not. We are women now, not girls, and different rules apply.’ Leonor reached for her sister’s hand. ‘Alba, when we set out for the palace, I hoped our lives would change for the better. I’m no longer so sure that they will.’ She looked at the songbirds and heaved a sigh. ‘We are caged, just like those birds.’
Vehemently, Alba shook her head. ‘No, no. Father’s gone to such trouble to welcome us. I’m sure he’ll allow us an escort to visit the town. Inés has misunderstood.’
‘You truly believe that?’
‘Yes!’
Leonor nodded. ‘Very well. Father has asked to see us tomorrow. I shall ask him then.’ She looked at the white-capped mountain range beyond the palace walls and smiled. ‘I would like to see more of the Kingdom than what lies inside these walls.’
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