The Knight's Forbidden Princess

by Carol Townend

  He glanced towards the stable and her face took shape in his mind’s eye. He could hear her gentle voice; he could see those dark eyes and that sweet smile. He wanted to help her and he wasn’t sure where to start. He leaned back against the chapel wall, conscious that this was a problem of an altogether different order. This was a problem he could enjoy solving.

  How best to help Leonor settle into her new life in Castile?

  Marry her.

  The words echoed round his brain.

  Marry her.

  He was startled by a pang of genuine regret. Marrying Princess Leonor wasn’t practical. In truth, it was impossible. Decades of mistrust lay between their peoples. There were grim and bloody events which couldn’t be swept into a corner and forgotten and far too much personal grief. His mother, for one, would never forgive him if he married a Nasrid princess.

  Lady Isabel had long been anxious for Rodrigo to marry. Ever since his betrothal to Sancha had come to nothing, she’d paraded Spanish ladies before him and sung their praises to the heavens. Spanish ladies. There was no way she would countenance his marrying Leonor. Such an alliance was unthinkable.

  Footsteps drew his attention to the stable doorway and Leonor emerged.

  Rodrigo came to his feet, gripped by a strange sense that his life was about to take a wrong turn. Now that Diego had died, the pressure for him to marry and produce an heir would undoubtedly intensify. Presently, his mother was lost in grief, but a new campaign would surely begin soon. The Spanish ladies would return. Rodrigo wasn’t interested. In truth, Leonor was the first woman who’d held his interest since Sancha had married Lord Jaime. The pity was that there was no way he could choose Leonor.

  He could help her though. He could keep her safe from the unnamed men who supported her father. He could help her find her relatives and ensure she reached them without incident.

  ‘Ready to try Amber, my lady?’ Rodrigo attempted cheerfulness.

  ‘Something is wrong, my lord?’

  ‘No, no. All is fine.’

  As Rodrigo helped Leonor into the saddle and called for his own horse, his mind was still scrambling to catch up with the Sultan’s rejection of her. Sultan Tariq didn’t want Leonor back, he considered her disparaged. Worse, he had banished her and given his men leave to punish her. Whatever that meant. Was her sister Princess Alba also at risk? He must warn Inigo without delay. Saints, what a mess.

  He studied Leonor’s profile as she gathered the reins and smiled her thanks at him. She was so poised. So beautiful. Any man’s heart would ache, simply to look at her.

  How could the Sultan wash his hands of her?

  ‘My lady, will you be content to give me a moment?’

  ‘You’ve been called away?’

  ‘No, no. I have an urgent message for my captain, it shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘I’ll wait here.’

  Rodrigo strode to the guardhouse and issued new instructions to his men regarding guard duty and armed escorts for Lady Leonor should she ever leave the castle. He asked his captain to carry further orders to the Córdoban garrison and, finally, he sent a strongly worded warning to Inigo’s town house.

  By the time he was back in the bailey, his horse was waiting by the water trough. He swung into the saddle.

  Leonor’s face was alight with pleasure as she kicked Amber into a trot. Her love of riding was obviously undimmed by the gruelling journey from the Alhambra. The Princess was a delight, she was so lovely, so full of life. As Rodrigo watched her, his mind settled.

  She wants to settle in Castile. I shall help her.

  He would do everything in his power to protect her. Everything. And if that meant writing to Lord Jaime of Almodóvar to determine the whereabouts of the Princess’s Spanish family, then that was what he’d do.

  Her bravery and her innocence had captivated him. He couldn’t simply abandon her to her own devices.

  * * *

  They rode along the riverbank with Leonor’s bright eyes gazing eagerly every which way.

  The watermill soon caught her attention. ‘That is your mill, my lord?’

  ‘It belongs to the village, I help with the upkeep.’ Rodrigo spoke absently, half of his mind was still mulling over the ramifications of the Sultan’s letter.

  ‘Oh?’ Her expression was open. Interested. ‘Inés told us that mills outside Al-Andalus usually belong to the lords, who are paid whenever they are used.’

  ‘That is often the case. However, I granted this mill to my tenants some years ago.’

  ‘You had no loss of revenue?’

  ‘Not to speak of.’

  Her face creased in bafflement. ‘My father would never have done such a thing.’

  ‘I am not your father,’ he said flatly.

  Leonor didn’t answer at first. Did she judge all men by her father’s measure? The thought was dispiriting.

  ‘I imagine the villagers are happy about the mill, my lord.’

  ‘Aye, it gives them a measure of independence, and as long as they remember to give the Church the tithes it is owed, all is well.’

  ‘Tithes.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘The word is unfamiliar—no, I remember—the Church is entitled to a proportion of the harvest. Is that not so?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  When some of the light left her eyes, Rodrigo realised that Inés must have taught her about the tithes due to the Church and that Leonor was once more thinking about her. ‘You are concerned for your companion. That is perfectly natural.’ He reached across and gently squeezed her arm.

  ‘My lord, I care about her very much.’

  ‘So I see. My lady, I haven’t forgotten my promise. I have sent a detachment of scouts to look for her, they are to scour the route that we believe Enrique took. If your duenna is anywhere near the boundary, my men will find her.’

  ‘Your men will enter my father’s kingdom?’

  ‘If necessary.’

  Some of the anxiety left her face. ‘Thank you, my lord. I shall pray that your men come to no harm.’

  Rodrigo’s throat tightened. This woman was a jewel, she cared, genuinely cared, for everyone who came within her orbit. She was nothing like her father. In truth, the gulf between what Rodrigo had seen of her behaviour and what he knew of the Sultan was so vast, it was astonishing Leonor was his daughter.

  Water weed was streaming along with the flow of the river. He was watching Leonor when a new thought knocked him back. What if she isn’t the Sultan’s daughter?

  His mind reeled, it was like being struck by an old-fashioned broadsword.

  If Princess Leonor was struggling to believe that Rodrigo’s methods were not those of her father, he was having difficulties of another kind.

  Men and women showed their true colours in a time of trial. And what had their flight from the Sultan’s palace been, if not a time of trial?

  Born and bred in the seclusion of the harem, Leonor must have felt like a fish out of water from the very start. Yet she’d held up astonishingly well. She’d been calm and dignified; she’d been kind and thoughtful.

  Rodrigo enjoyed her company. In truth, Princess Leonor was so unlike Sultan Tariq, it was almost impossible to see her as his daughter. What if she wasn’t a princess after all? Was she a cuckoo?

  Questions raced back and forth in his mind, dizzying in their speed. Staggering. Could it be true? Was that even possible? Of course it was. If—

  ‘My lord, is something amiss?’

  Rodrigo came back from his thoughts with a jolt. Clearing his throat, he forced a smile. ‘Nothing, my lady.’

  She bit her lip. ‘You fear for Inés?’

  ‘No, no.’

  I fear for you.

  Think.

  Suppose Leonor wasn’t the Sultan’s daughter, suppose the Princesses were indeed cuckoos and the Sultan knew
it...

  It would explain his cruelty towards Leonor in exiling her. Sultan Tariq knew he was not her father. Rodrigo’s thoughts raced on. There was no question that the Sultan had abducted Leonor’s mother, Lady Juana. Could Lady Juana have been with child when she was abducted? It was possible. What was the truth?

  Before her abduction, Lady Juana had been betrothed to Lord Jaime of Almodóvar. Had Lady Juana—famed throughout Castile for her modesty and chastity—anticipated her wedding vows? In short, had Lady Juana and Lord Jaime had their pleasure of each other before she was captured? Until today, such a thought wouldn’t have crossed Rodrigo’s mind. But now...

  ‘Lord Jaime,’ Rodrigo muttered under his breath. Lord Jaime would have answers. Provided Rodrigo had the gall to ask him.

  Leonor tipped her head to one side. ‘Who is Lord Jaime?’

  ‘Lord Jaime of Almodóvar’s estate marches closely with mine.’ And I want to know if he is your real father.

  Saints, this wasn’t a question he could pose in a letter, such a question would have to be asked, face-to-face. There was nothing for it, Rodrigo was going to have to visit Lord Jaime in person. And if he went to Almodóvar, he’d probably see Sancha again. His mouth twisted.

  Why was it that life had a way of forcing you to do what you least wanted to do?

  Leonor was smiling at him, open and interested as ever. His heart warmed and he was startled to discover that his decision was made. He was going to Almodóvar and he would speak to Lord Jaime. He would exchange greetings with Sancha. And the dread he had been expecting to feel?

  Gone. Thought of seeing Sancha again usually filled him with disquiet. It had simply evaporated. Rodrigo didn’t begin to understand it, but Leonor had, in some mysterious way, exorcised that particular demon. He wanted, more badly than he cared to think about, to prove to this woman that he was not cast in the same mould as Sultan Tariq. What better way than to go to Almodóvar?

  ‘I haven’t spoken to Lord Jaime in years, a visit is long overdue.’ He smiled. ‘My lady, I have reason to believe that he might be able to help you in your quest to find your family.’

  Her eyes went wide. ‘Why didn’t you mention this earlier?’

  Rodrigo looked away. He could hardly admit that he’d not mentioned Lord Jaime because he’d thought Leonor would be returning to Al-Andalus. He temporised. ‘It is complicated. Political.’

  ‘Political?’

  ‘In the past, relations between Lord Jaime and I have been strained. Suffice it to say that circumstances have changed.’

  ‘Enabling you to ask him about my family?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord, a thousand times.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Will you take me with you?’

  Rodrigo shook his head. ‘That would not be appropriate.’

  Her face fell. ‘My lord, if this touches on my family, I have to go with you.’

  ‘No, my lady, you do not,’ Rodrigo spoke firmly. ‘There are other considerations I am not at liberty to discuss with you.’

  He couldn’t ask Lord Jaime about Leonor’s parentage with Leonor present! More importantly, it could be dangerous for Leonor to go with him. With the Sultan’s threat burning into his brain, Rodrigo wasn’t going to let her travel any distance until he knew she was safe. Did the Sultan’s threat have bite? He couldn’t be sure.

  Her brow wrinkled. ‘Political considerations?’

  ‘My lady, I’m asking for your trust and patience. There’s more at stake than I’m prepared to say at this moment.’

  She leaned back in the saddle, eyes so wary he ached inside. ‘I see.’

  ‘My lady, I would be honoured to act on your behalf.’

  ‘You really believe this Lord Jaime will know about Mamá’s family?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Very well, my lord, you may act on my behalf.’

  Thank God.

  Lord Jaime would help him find Leonor’s lost relations, and he would also be able to confirm, once and for all, her true parentage. If Lord Jaime proved to be Leonor’s father, Leonor had the right to know about it, and she would wish to meet him.

  It would certainly be a challenge asking Lord Jaime whether it was possible that Lady Juana had been with child when she had left Castile. Still, it had to be done, and once that was settled, all that remained would be for Lord Jaime to confirm the whereabouts of Lady Juana’s family.

  Further, knowing the location of Lady Juana’s family might lead them to Leonor’s duenna. If Inés had escaped Al-Andalus without running across his scouts, she’d be bound to head home.

  ‘Child’s play,’ he murmured. If he wasn’t skewered for asking Lord Jaime if he’d carnal knowledge of Lady Juana, the rest should be straightforward.

  Rodrigo’s gaze strayed back to Leonor, she was so lovely, he couldn’t help it. Yet it was more than that. Leonor brought out impulses he’d lost when Sancha had married Lord Jaime. He wanted to help and protect her. He wanted to make her happy.

  ‘It would be wonderful to hear about my Spanish relatives,’ she murmured. ‘Are you quite certain I may not accompany you?’

  ‘Quite certain. My lady, I will do my utmost to help you.’

  ‘Very well.’ With a sigh, she turned her attention to the willow-cloaked island that sat midstream. ‘That island looks pretty, my lord.’

  Rodrigo followed her gaze. ‘So it is, I played there as a boy many times.’ Out of nowhere, pain ripped through him. It seemed impossible that he’d never see his brother again.

  She read his thoughts as though he’d spoken aloud. ‘Diego used to go with you.’ Her voice was soft.

  ‘Aye.’ He cleared his throat. ‘We liked to escape the castle. However dry the summers, the willows never die. There are geese and ducks and...’

  She was studying the water. ‘It doesn’t look very deep. Show me. Where do we cross?’

  He reached for her reins. ‘Allow me, this is the best place.’

  They forded the river. On the island, Rodrigo helped her dismount and tethered their horses to the branch of a tree. Swifts hurtled this way and that above them; swallows swooped low over the reed beds.

  She let out a sigh. ‘It’s beautiful. I can see why you came.’

  Rodrigo took her hand and led her to sit on the trunk of a fallen tree.

  ‘Diego loved it. He was always a bit of a rebel.’

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘Aye.’ Rodrigo stared into the branches of a willow that lay half in, half out of the water. ‘He was impulsive too, but it is a dangerous trait in a warrior.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Diego and my cousin Enrique were close. I never understood it myself, but Diego followed him everywhere.’

  ‘I recall you telling me your brother was younger than you. Perhaps his judgement was untried.’

  Rodrigo looked at her, startled at her perception, though perhaps he shouldn’t have been. For a girl who had spent her days stuck in a harem, she was extraordinarily wise.

  ‘That is true. It was hard to watch him when he grew older. When we were young, we were never apart, and then one day he seemed to shut himself off. The river bored him. I bored him. Enrique on the other hand—he and Enrique would disappear into the back alleys of Córdoba. They’d return reeking of wine.’

  ‘Your cousin led him astray.’

  ‘My cousin led him into battle. If it weren’t for my cousin, Diego would still be alive.’

  Leonor drew a shaky breath. She was looking at their linked hands. Rodrigo hadn’t released her after they’d sat down and he found the fact that she hadn’t tried to free herself oddly pleasing.

  ‘I am sorry about your brother. Truly sorry,’ she whispered.

  He rubbed his thumb over the back of her fingers. ‘It’s not your fault.’ His chest heaved, his throat was horribly tight. ‘Grie
f is not easy to overcome. Back in your father’s kingdom I thought I was over the worst of it, but coming home seems to have brought it back.’

  ‘I doubt that one overcomes grief. Perhaps the best that we can hope for is to learn to accept it.’

  Her words seemed to sink into Rodrigo’s soul and something eased deep inside. ‘You’re right. There are memories of my brother everywhere here.’

  ‘Was your brother buried in Al-Andalus?’

  ‘No. His body was sent to my mother along with the ransom demand. There’s a cemetery in the village next to the castle. He rests there.’

  Shoulders stiff, she stared at the reeds. Talking about Diego had put shadows in her eyes, even as it had eased Rodrigo.

  She glanced at him. ‘If you please, my lord, I should like to return to the castle now.’

  * * *

  ‘We’re almost home,’ Lord Rodrigo said as they passed a small orchard and approached the castle walls.

  The gatehouse came into view and Castle Álvarez loured over them, solid and imposing. It was the Count’s home, not hers, but Leonor simply nodded and wondered how long it would be before she found somewhere she could genuinely call home.

  Lord Rodrigo’s squire was outside the stable, talking with a couple of grooms.

  ‘Miguel is back, I see,’ she said.

  ‘Aye, he returned earlier.’

  ‘Your stallion is fully recovered?’

  Lord Rodrigo’s dark eyes were, for an instant, utterly blank. Leonor’s stomach lurched. This man was no dissembler, and though she’d not known him long, she knew her question had caught him off guard.

  ‘Recovered?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Oh, aye, Eagle is well.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

  Puzzled, Leonor handed Amber to a waiting groom and turned towards the keep. Lord Rodrigo was hiding something. She stifled a sigh. She liked this man more than any other and it irked her to realise he was keeping things from her.

  Admittedly, her experience of men was limited, but he’d surprised her from the first. Even in Salobreña prison, he’d seemed kind. And later, after she’d fled the palace, he’d looked after her. He’d treated her with great respect, save for that one time when he’d kissed her, and she could hardly hold that against him. That kiss, dangerously pleasurable, had been both a warning and an education. It had taught her that men could give pleasure as well as bring confusion and misery.