The Knight's Forbidden Princess

by Carol Townend

  * * *

  When the sun rose the next day, a distant chipping sound could be heard somewhere in the gully. Leonor peered out of a window on the wild side of the tower. Nothing. Just a shadowy crevasse filled with rocks and choked with shrubs and brambles. The noise was a mystery.

  She turned to Constanza. ‘What’s that chinking sound?’

  ‘Maybe there’s a quarry nearby.’

  Whilst the Princesses waited for the Sultan’s summons, Leonor lay on her silken cushion and stared at the mountains. The elusive tapping continued throughout the morning at random intervals. It would start, and then stop, and then start again. Leonor could still hear it when the summons came.

  ‘My ladies, your father is ready to see you.’

  Leonor and her sisters reached for their veils and followed a servant through the sunlit gardens that led to their father’s apartments. Doves drank from jetting fountains; butterflies flew drunkenly through the hot air; bees buzzed in the lavender. So much beauty and it meant nothing. Leonor clenched her hands into fists and they remained clenched as she and her sisters passed through a shady antechamber and under the series of arches that opened on to the Court of the Lions. Her slippers whispered across the marbled courtyard and they were shown into one of the smaller audience chambers.

  Robed in white, Sultan Tariq lay on an elaborately carved couch that was heaped with red velvet cushions. A huge ruby glittered in his turban, and several rings vied for attention with a golden sword belt.

  As was the custom, the Princesses prostrated themselves before rising to kiss their father’s hand. His dark eyes were sparkling and his expression benevolent. Leonor felt herself relax.

  ‘My daughters, the sight of you gladdens my heart.’ The King gestured expansively at a gilded coffer on a nearby footstool. ‘Here, I have a gift, you may share it between you.’

  ‘Thank you, Father.’ Constanza stepped forward and opened the coffer.

  Sugared almonds, the coffer was brimming with them. Leonor looked at the almonds and then back at her father’s face as he watched Constanza take one. Constanza couldn’t lift her veil, not with the King’s personal guard lining the walls. She ate the almond delicately, slipping it discreetly under her veil.

  The Sultan gave her an indulgent smile. ‘I know you like them.’

  ‘I like them very much, Father, thank you,’ Constanza said.

  Her voice was soft and quiet and very polite. Only someone who knew her intimately would understand that her response was not particularly heartfelt. Constanza didn’t care for sugared almonds any more than Leonor did.

  Leonor felt wretched. Sad. And horribly ungrateful. Their father’s generosity was wasted. We aren’t dolls to be dressed up in silks and velvets. Sweetmeats were all very well, but to be truly happy, she and her sisters needed more. They needed to be accepted for themselves.

  Constanza and Alba felt as she did. With every day that passed, they were becoming more and more withdrawn. Moving to the Alhambra Palace had changed nothing.

  We cannot go on like this, something must be done. We need to get out. We need to meet other people. We need friends. We see Inés and our servants; we see the eunuchs and a handful of slaves; we speak to our father. We see no one outside the palace, we have no friends. Nothing will change until I tell him. It’s possible he doesn’t understand.

  Leonor stiffened her spine and put a smile in her voice. ‘May I speak, Father?’

  The Sultan waved an expansive hand. ‘Of course.’

  ‘We’ve not seen much of Granada. Father, we’d like to explore the city.’

  The Sultan’s eyebrows almost vanished into his turban. ‘Explore Granada? Certainly not! It’s dangerous. You are my precious daughters and you must remain in the palace, where you can be safely guarded.’

  Leonor clasped her hands together and lowered her head. Well schooled by Inés over the years, she knew the King found pride in a woman repulsive. Perhaps he would respond to a show of humility. ‘At Salobreña,’ she persisted softly, ‘we were permitted to ride out at night. With a suitable escort, naturally.’

  The Sultan’s eyes went as hard and as dark as obsidian. ‘You were children then, that is no longer possible. From this day forth you will confine yourselves to the palace gardens, and then only with an escort.’

  ‘But, Father—’

  Sultan Tariq’s face darkened. Brusquely, he gestured at one of his knights. ‘Captain, escort my daughters back to their tower.’

  The captain bowed. ‘At once, Great King.’

  Anger burning in her breast—we need to get out, we need friends—Leonor touched her forehead and bowed in obeisance.

  Before they could blink, the Princesses found themselves back at the entrance to their tower. The guards saluted and stood back and the Princesses filed inside.

  As the door shut behind them, Leonor heard the most ominous of sounds, the grate of a key in a lock. Her breath caught.

  ‘Was that what I think it was?’ Alba asked. Her cheeks were as white as milk.

  Leonor lurched for the door and wrenched at the handle. She pushed and pulled. It didn’t budge.

  ‘It’s locked?’ Constanza asked, hand at her throat.

  ‘Locked.’ Leonor wrenched off her veil. Pushing past her sisters, she stalked for the stairs, not stopping until she reached the chamber at the top. Jaw set, she frowned at the gorgeously tiled walls, at the lacy plasterwork ceiling, at the cheeping birds in their gilded cages. Those poor birds...

  Marching for the nearest birdcage, she unhooked it from its stand.

  Alba came in, the monkey clinging to her shoulder. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Something I should have done when these poor creatures were given to us.’ Gently, Leonor put the cage on the window ledge and opened the door. The songbirds fell silent. One of them hopped along the perch, head tipped to one side. ‘Go on, take your chance,’ Leonor murmured.

  ‘Leonor, you mustn’t!’ This from Constanza. ‘What about the hawks? They’ll never survive.’

  Leonor said nothing, she simply watched as the boldest songbird sidled to the cage door and, with a whirr of wings, took flight. The second bird swiftly followed.

  ‘They were not created to live in cages.’ Turning on her heel, she marched to the next cage.

  ‘No!’ Constanza gripped her arm. ‘Those are my birds. I won’t risk them to the hawks. Leave them.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  With a shrug, Leonor looked at the third cage and raised an eyebrow at Alba. ‘Alba? What about yours? Will you free them?’

  Alba’s brow knotted. ‘I’m not sure, I’ll think about it. As Constanza says, there are hawks out there. And this morning I saw an eagle.’

  ‘Very well.’ Leonor flung herself on to a cushion. Her blood was boiling. How could their father treat them like this? She was so enraged she could barely think. ‘My birds must take their chances. They will survive, I am sure of it.’

  Her sisters came to sit either side of her and then all three of them were frowning at the distant mountains. That mysterious chinking sound was still coming from the gully outside the palace walls.

  Chink, chink. Pause. Chink, chink.

  ‘Face it, Leonor,’ Alba said, on a deep sigh. ‘Father will never let us leave. We will never marry. We are prisoners just like those Spanish noblemen.’ She pushed to her feet and began pacing the chamber.

  ‘The noblemen will be free when their ransom is paid,’ Leonor pointed out. ‘We, on the other hand...’

  She dug her nails into the silk fringe of her cushion. Their father had locked them in. She wanted to shout, she wanted to scream. Next to her, Constanza sighed, unpinned her veil and draped it across the window ledge.

  Leonor twisted the cushion fringe. She wasn’t alone in her frustration. She had lost count of th
e times she had seen Alba stalking up and down with Hunter on her shoulder. Alba was always on the move, she prowled the tower like a caged beast. As for Constanza, drooping sadly on the cushion next to her, all life seemed to have left her. Since arriving at the Alhambra, Constanza had hardly uttered a word. She trailed about after her sisters, silver lute in hand. On a good day, she played the lute. Mostly, she stared at the enamelled tiles, silent and listless.

  Inés poked her head through the door arch and smiled brightly. Either she was oblivious of the mood in the chamber or she was ignoring it. ‘My ladies, we have ice fresh from the mountain. Do you care for refreshment? Chilled fruit juice?’

  Inés was speaking in Spanish today, which probably meant she was missing her home. Of course, it could simply be because the Princesses had removed their veils. Leonor didn’t know why, but since moving into the tower, they’d taken to speaking Spanish more than they ever did in Salobreña Castle. It was, she supposed, their small and secret rebellion, a way of preserving some part of their Spanish identity. It was no longer enough.

  Their father had locked them in, drastic measures were called for.

  ‘Ladies, some refreshment?’ Inés repeated.

  Leonor struggled to frame a polite response. ‘Thank you, a cool drink would be lovely.’ The distant chinking in the crevasse caught her attention once again. It echoed around the chamber walls, louder than ever. ‘Inés, what is that noise? Is there a quarry nearby?’

  Inés came to the window. ‘It’s prisoners, I expect. There was a great flood after the last storm, water poured off the mountain and threatened to undermine the palace walls. I’m told it happens often. Your father has ordered the gully cleared.’

  ‘Prisoners?’ Leonor couldn’t help but think of Count Rodrigo. Had he and his friends been ransomed yet? For his sake, she hoped so—he didn’t look the type of man to take kindly to forced labour. ‘I pity them, working in this heat.’

  Inés left to fetch the iced fruit juice and Constanza picked up the silver lute.

  * * *

  In the gully at the base of the palace wall, Rodrigo hurled another rock on to the cart with a satisfying crash. Anger burned in his chest. He’d had his fill of Granadan hospitality. Forced labour, indeed. Sultan Tariq had earned his poor reputation. Noblemen shouldn’t be breaking rocks, it made a mockery of all the laws of chivalry. Not to mention that it was boring beyond belief.

  Noticing the guard’s attention was fixed on a group of men working with chisels further downhill, Rodrigo eased his aching back and caught Inigo’s eye. ‘Heard anything concerning your ransom?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be long.’ Another rock thudded on to the cart and Inigo flexed his injured leg with a grimace. ‘You?’

  ‘God alone knows, I can’t get a word out of our jailers.’

  ‘I reckon you’ll be back in Córdoba within the month.’

  ‘I’d better be.’

  An ale skin swung temptingly from the side of the cart. Glancing at the distracted guard, Rodrigo reached for it, took a long draught and passed it to Inigo.

  ‘Gracias. Thank you.’ Inigo drank, tossed the ale skin Enrique’s way and tipped his head to one side. ‘Faith, listen to that. Unless I’ve finally lost my mind, I can hear music.’

  Astonishingly, Inigo was in the right, though the music was faint. It seemed to be drifting down from a tower set high in the palace wall. ‘Sounds like a lute.’ Rodrigo gave a puzzled frown. It was a Spanish folk song.

  ‘Dios mío, I know that tune.’

  An odd thrill rushed through him. Could the Princess be in that tower? She was fluent in Spanish and her curiosity regarding her mother’s background meant it was possible she would know the tune. Grief and boredom temporarily forgotten, he felt a smile form.

  Inigo smiled back. ‘I wouldn’t expect a song like that to be floating out of the tyrant’s palace. Rodrigo, you have a good singing voice, would you care to demonstrate?’

  Rodrigo glanced towards the guard, cleared his throat and began to sing.

  The guard, naturally, let out a shout and strode towards him, face dark with anger.

  The guard’s whip snaked his way and, as Rodrigo put up his arm to deflect the blow, he would swear he saw the flutter of a banner—or a silken shawl, perhaps—through the window at the top of the tower.

  * * *

  Leonor was humming under her breath when she heard it—a man singing along to Constanza’s playing. From the direction of his voice, he was in the wilderness beyond the walls. One of the prisoners must have recognised the tune.

  His voice was strong and true. To Leonor’s ears it was unusually strong, for the only men she’d heard singing were palace eunuchs. And fine and well trained though the eunuchs were, they weren’t half as moving. This man’s voice was so deep. No eunuch, he.

  A quiver went through her as Lord Rodrigo stepped into her thoughts. Which was ridiculous, it couldn’t possibly be the Count of Córdoba. Unless... No. Surely her father wouldn’t put a count to breaking rocks?

  Resting her elbows on the wide ledge, she leaned out. At the foot of the wall stood a cart, half-filled with rubble. Three men were grouped near it, their faces upturned.

  Lord Rodrigo! Her breath stopped. The Count was singing and his comrades were grinning up at her. Seized by a rebellious flash of fury—her father wasn’t going to dictate her every action—she snatched up Constanza’s veil and waved it like a pennon.

  A few yards further down the gully, a guard was stalking towards the knights, whip in hand. Loathe to make matters worse, Leonor ducked out of sight. She heard the snap of the whip and flinched.

  Constanza stopped playing. ‘Leonor, whatever’s the matter?’

  Leonor gestured for Constanza to play on. ‘Don’t stop.’ The idea of Count Rodrigo being whipped was deeply upsetting. An honourable man didn’t deserve such ill treatment. ‘Please, go on.’

  Lightly, Constanza touched the strings and the Spanish folk song danced around the chamber and out into the gully. A different voice picked up the refrain.

  Had that whip struck him? Leonor must not look.

  She had to look. Pulled by an invisible force, she turned back to the window.

  ‘What is it?’ Alba asked.

  And then Alba was leaning her elbows on the window ledge next to Leonor. She had barely stuck her head out when Constanza’s playing faltered a second time. Inés was back, tray of refreshments in hand.

  ‘Leonor! Alba!’ Inés set the tray down with a bang. ‘Come away from that window! Saints, how many times must I tell you? You shouldn’t lean out of the windows like common street girls.’

  Leonor’s chin went up. ‘Father has locked us in.’

  Inés shook her head. ‘And that justifies a flagrant disregard for his wishes?’

  ‘He shouldn’t have built this tower by the mountain if he didn’t want us to look at it.’

  Inés drew closer. ‘Without your veils, you are half-dressed. You must wear your veils by the windows, lest you are seen.’ Gently, she touched Leonor’s cheek. ‘You are too stubborn for your own good, my dear. The King is already in the darkest of moods; anyone would think you’re asking for more punishment.’

  ‘Inés, he locked us in!’

  Inés sighed, her eyes were sad. ‘And sold your horses, I know. As I say, he is most displeased.’

  Leonor felt the colour drain from her face. ‘What?’ She must have misheard. ‘Father has sold our horses?’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that,’ Alba said, eyes wide.

  Inés seemed to sag. ‘He didn’t tell you.’

  Alba gripped Inés by the wrist. ‘It’s not true, he wouldn’t. Not our horses!’ Alba’s voice was fierce, she loved her animals.

  Guilt swamped Leonor, this was her doing. ‘He’s selling them because I asked if we could ride into Granada.’

  ‘N
ot at all.’ Suddenly, Inés looked very old and very tired. ‘Your father sold your mares the day after you arrived in Granada. He didn’t appreciate your interference with those Spanish knights.’ Her gaze rested briefly on each of the sisters. ‘He must have decided you needed punishment.’

  Alba clenched her fists. ‘Why didn’t he tell us?’

  ‘Must a king explain his actions? Sultan Tariq hopes that you will come to understand that his authority should never be questioned.’

  Leonor’s tongue turned to stone. Half of her ached to look outside to see what was happening to Lord Rodrigo; the other half was ablaze with anger. Father had sold Snowstorm! Finally, she found words. ‘Even by his daughters?’

  Her duenna’s smile was sad. ‘Especially by his daughters.’

  Chapter Six

  Thank the Lord, the light was fading. Rodrigo dropped the last rock on to the cart with a sigh and wondered if they would get meat that night. Meals in the Vermillion Towers were frugal, though there was usually enough to keep body and soul together. They were given basic labourers’ rations—hard bread, cheese, olives. They’d had lamb once. Meat was especially welcome even if, as in this case, it had been poorly seasoned and boiled to shreds.

  Rodrigo was lining up with the others, preparing to return to the cells, when the overseer caught his eye. ‘You, over here.’ The overseer’s Spanish was strongly accented. He lobbed a sack at Rodrigo.

  Rodrigo’s eyebrows lifted. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Food.’ The man jerked his thumb at the foot of the Princesses’ tower. ‘You and your comrades eat by the wall.’

  Rodrigo stared, a break in routine was unheard of. Was this a trick of some kind? A trap?

  ‘You have an hour,’ the overseer said. His eyes glittered through the dusk. ‘You will remain chained and you will be watched, there will be no chance for escape.’

  ‘Who arranged this?’

  ‘I cannot say.’

  ‘Is everyone to be allowed this privilege?’

  The man shook his head impatiently.

  ‘Why? Why us?’