The Knight's Forbidden Princess

by Carol Townend

  Unfortunately, the Count was being evasive. It was extremely disappointing. She gripped her skirts and mounted the stairs, more upset than she cared to admit. The part of her that had enjoyed kissing him at his house in Córdoba wanted, no, longed, to consider him her friend. Something which wasn’t possible if he couldn’t be completely truthful with her.

  I haven’t known him long, she reminded herself as she nodded at a sentry and entered the great hall. It was such a pity. She really liked him, and she desperately didn’t want to discover that he was just like her father.

  She must be strong. She must wait and watch and not be precipitate. Lord Rodrigo seemed kinder and more thoughtful than Father, but she mustn’t forget that when it suited him, even the Sultan was capable of kindness. She scowled at a tapestry at the far end of the hall and wished she understood why her father had shut his daughters up in that tower. Why had he taken away their ponies?

  She felt a light touch on her elbow. Lord Rodrigo gave her a charming smile and she steeled herself against it.

  ‘Allow me to accompany you to the solar, my lady.’

  She gave him a brusque nod and preceded him to the stairwell.

  * * *

  ‘Lord Jaime will be with you shortly, Lord Rodrigo,’ the maidservant said. She waved at a tray of pottery goblets on a side-table. ‘Would you care for some wine?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The maidservant poured him his wine, whisked out of the solar and closed the door. Rodrigo was alone. Since his conversation with Lord Jaime was of a delicate nature, he had left Miguel in the great hall, deep in conversation with Lord Jaime’s falconer.

  This was Sancha’s solar.

  It was as large and airy as the solar at Castle Álvarez. Daylight flooded through a wide window glazed with coloured glass. Bright spots of colour—blue, red, green—splashed over the walls and floor. The roof beams were heavy. Decorated with exquisitely intricate patterns, they put Rodrigo in mind of Arabic designs in the cathedral at Córdoba. The solar hearth was empty. It was too hot for a fire.

  Rodrigo was staring at a heap of cushions on a wall bench, wondering whether he was looking at Sancha’s work, and puzzling over how it was that he felt nothing more than idle curiosity, when the door opened and Lord Jaime walked in.

  ‘Lord Rodrigo, it’s a pleasure to see you. I am honoured by your visit.’ Moving to the side-table, Lord Jaime helped himself to wine. His eyes danced. ‘It’s been a long time, my lord. I confess I’d hoped to see you years ago.’

  Rodrigo grimaced. ‘Aye, it’s been far too long. Past time to bury the hatchet.’

  ‘Sancha will be delighted. She’s talked about you over the years, and it pained her when you refused to see her.’ Lord Jaime fixed him with a look. ‘She’ll be joining us later.’

  ‘I look forward to it,’ Rodrigo said. He was startled to realise he meant it. Once, the idea of seeing Sancha with Lord Jaime would have been nothing less than torment. Now—nothing, he felt absolutely nothing. ‘Lord Jaime, before Sancha arrives, there’s something I must ask you.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It concerns a scandal that took place years before you met Sancha.’ Rodrigo leaned his hip on the side-table. ‘When you were betrothed to someone else.’

  Lord Jaime’s jaw slackened. ‘Juana? You’ve come to ask about Juana? Lord, she disappeared when you were a boy, I’m surprised you even remember her.’

  Rodrigo’s smile was crooked. ‘You are my senior, my lord, but only by six years. The gossip certainly did the rounds. To be honest, I never heard much, as there was little in the way of detail.’

  With a sigh, Lord Jaime rested his boot on a fireguard and gazed into the empty hearth. ‘That was a blessing.’ He lifted his head. ‘Lady Juana and I were the same age, we were sixteen when we were betrothed. We loved each other. Lady Juana was quite the beauty.’

  Having seen her daughter, Rodrigo could well believe it. He nodded. ‘Lord Jaime, the story of Lady Juana’s abduction has practically passed into folklore, but in all the tales, I never heard mention of her family. What happened to them? Where did she come from?’

  ‘Baeza. Juana was the eldest daughter of Sir Pedro.’

  ‘Sir Pedro?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Rodrigo had heard of Sir Pedro of Baeza and his whole body relaxed. Thank God he had something to tell Leonor. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  News that Leonor’s mother came from Baeza was priceless. Leonor would be able to visit her relatives. Among family, she would no longer feel alienated, and if all went well, she and her sister would have a base from which to make a home.

  And then there was their lost duenna, Inés. If she was still alive and his scouts hadn’t managed to track her down, there was a good chance that she’d return to her homeland. Baeza. They had somewhere to go in the search for Inés.

  Lord Jaime was watching him, eyes puzzled. ‘Rodrigo, you didn’t have to come to me to have that question answered. Your mother would know. She would surely remember. When Juana vanished, Spain was turned upside down in an effort to find her.’

  Rodrigo made a decisive negative gesture. ‘I have another question, my lord, and believe me, it is not one I could ask my mother. I had to come in person to speak to you.’

  Lord Jaime waved an expansive hand. ‘Please continue.’

  ‘Thank you. This next question is not merely delicate. I fear you will find it impertinent. Be assured, I would not ask it if it were not imperative to do so. In brief, shortly after Lady Juana was abducted, she gave birth to three daughters.’

  Silence fell over the solar. Outside, Rodrigo could hear sentries tramping along the boardwalk. A horse whinnied.

  Lord Jaime stared. ‘You’re questioning Lady Juana’s virtue?’

  ‘I am.’

  Lord Jaime shook his head. His eyes took on a faraway look as he peered down the years. ‘My lord, you cannot have heard of Lady Juana’s reputation. She was the sweetest girl I ever saw. Fresh. Young. Innocent and loving.’ He cleared his throat and his mouth curved in a reminiscent smile. ‘Not to mention that she was the most beautiful woman ever to draw breath. You were too young to know, but I was a foolish youth. Wild. Reckless.’

  ‘So are many young men,’ Rodrigo murmured.

  ‘That they are. Notwithstanding, all that changed the moment I met Juana.’ His voice was earnest. ‘She was such an innocent, you see, and she trusted me. I could never have betrayed her like that. When Juana was abducted, she was still a maiden. Innocent and pure.’ He gave a heavy sigh. ‘We were waiting for our wedding day. It was her wish. It ripped me apart when she vanished, I thought I would never recover.’

  ‘And then, years later, you met Sancha.’

  ‘Aye.’ Lord Jaime’s expression lightened. ‘Sancha captivated me in an altogether different way. She was so unexpected, a blessing that burst into my life like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. I never meant to hurt you, lad, but once I’d met her, well, all I can say is that nothing was ever the same.’

  Leonor flashed into Rodrigo’s mind and it struck him that Leonor had had the same effect on him. This was why his mother’s never-ending parade of Spanish beauties had left him cold. Until meeting Leonor, part of him had been clinging on to his memories. Today it was blindingly clear that what he had once felt for Sancha paled into insignificance next to his feelings for Leonor. ‘I understand,’ he said.

  Rodrigo almost wished he didn’t because he yearned for a woman he could never have. He yearned for a Nasrid princess.

  Light footsteps sounded on the stairs and Lord Jaime leaned in, adding quietly, ‘We both regretted that our love hurt you, but we hoped that you would come to terms with it.’

  The latch clicked and the door swung open to reveal a young woman in a tightly laced red-and-black gown.

  ‘Rodrigo!’ Face alight with pleasure, she rushed o
ver and dipped into a deep curtsy. ‘Oh, it’s such a pleasure to see you.’

  Rodrigo took her hand and bowed over it. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you too, Sancha. You look well, as beautiful as ever.’

  ‘Flatterer.’ Skirts rustling, Sancha went to stand by her husband. She tucked her hand into his arm and reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘All’s well, my heart?’

  ‘All’s well.’

  A brief exchange of news followed, though Rodrigo scarcely heard a word. It was a relief to see Sancha so happy. Dimly he heard her telling him about three children—Sancha with three children, imagine!—but his mind was elsewhere.

  Lady Juana had been a maid when she had been captured, therefore Lord Jaime was not Leonor’s father. Rodrigo accepted Lord Jaime’s testimony completely. If Lord Jaime said that Lady Juana had been innocent when she was captured, then that was the truth.

  It was extremely disappointing. Rodrigo had been certain that Lord Jaime must be Leonor’s father. Leonor would doubtless find it easier to settle in Castile if she felt wholly Spanish. She would feel she had more of a right to belong.

  And if I had been able to prove that Leonor wasn’t a Nasrid, there could be no objections if I offered for her hand. There would have been no political ramifications; his mother would have raised no objections...

  It was a pity in other ways too. Leonor’s feelings for Sultan Tariq must be hideously confused. On the one hand, she must hate him for confining her and for refusing to allow her to explore her Spanish heritage. On the other hand, she was bound to feel love for him, he was her father.

  Rodrigo had hoped to lift her out of her confusion. It wasn’t to be. Lord Jaime wasn’t her father, that honour went to Sultan Tariq. In time, Leonor might untangle the threads, there was good and bad in everyone. No man was a saint.

  As Sancha rattled on, Rodrigo realised that the question that taxed him most was whether Leonor’s relationship with her father had spoiled her for all other men.

  He came back to the present to find Lord Jaime and Sancha looking expectantly at him. It was time to take his leave. ‘My thanks, both of you, for your hospitality.’

  Lord Jaime clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You are most welcome.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Next time, perhaps you will be free to tell me why you were so curious about Lady Juana.’

  Rodrigo smiled. ‘Perhaps I will.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Ana, has Lord Rodrigo set out for Almodóvar?’ Leonor asked. She’d been cooped up in the tower bedchamber all morning with Ana and Catalina and she needed to speak to him. Ever since seeing Count Rodrigo’s luxurious town house in Córdoba and then this grand castle, she’d been wondering why he’d taken her ruby necklace. He was clearly no pauper, so it made no sense.

  Why did he want my necklace?

  ‘The Count rode out when it was barely light. I’m not sure where he went, I am not in my lord’s confidence.’

  ‘Very well.’ Leonor resigned herself to wait. The question remained, a niggling doubt, a blot on her otherwise good opinion of him. She liked the Count in so many ways, he was kind and open and apparently honest. Yet regarding that necklace, she was certain he was keeping something from her.

  There was also the matter of her recent confinement in this apartment, although when she had queried him on it, he’d told her the entire castle was at her disposal. His only proviso had been that, should she leave the castle grounds, she must take an armed escort.

  Leonor smiled at Ana, deciding she would put that to the test this very moment. ‘Ana?’

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘I seem to recall seeing an orchard outside the castle walls.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘I’d like to stretch my legs; will you accompany me?’

  Ana exchanged startled glances with Catalina. ‘You would take a walk, my lady? In this heat?’

  Leonor tipped her head to one side. ‘I’d like to see that orchard. There’ll be shade.’

  Ana gave her a look that said her wits were wanting if she desired to walk out at noon, but none the less, she shrugged. ‘Very well, my lady, I would be delighted to accompany you. My lord mentioned that you must have an escort if you leave the castle. Shall I alert the guardhouse?’

  ‘Please do.’ Leonor let out a silent breath. Relief. Lord Rodrigo had not left instructions for her to be confined. The escort was, she prayed most fervently, merely his way of ensuring her safety.

  * * *

  The orchard was divided into sections. Lemons, oranges, pomegranates. Water trickled along stone channels that criss-crossed the ground. At the end of the nearest channel, Leonor could see the water source—a small, walled aqueduct. She had seen similar aqueducts in the gardens of the Alhambra Palace and her heart cramped as she stared at it.

  I will never go home.

  A bench sat in the shade of an orange tree. Leonor made her way towards it with Ana. The armed escort stood watchfully on the road a few yards away.

  It was peaceful. Sparrows twittered in the branches above them. Cicadas hummed. The air was rich with the scent of ripening fruit. A flash of purple in the corner of Leonor’s eye drew her gaze back to the road. A Spanish lady was heading purposefully towards the bench. She was tall and gowned in rich purple. Several golden chains hung about her neck, and her ring bore a ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg.

  Ana jumped to her feet and sank into a deep curtsy. ‘Lady Isabel.’

  Leonor smothered a gasp. Lord Rodrigo’s mother!

  Lady Isabel made a twitching motion with her hand. ‘Thank you, Ana. You may leave us.’

  Mind spinning, Leonor scrambled to her feet. She had no clue what to say, it was as though her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  Has Lord Rodrigo told his mother about me? Does she know who I am? Does she hold a grudge against me because of Diego’s death?

  Lady Isabel’s eyes were disturbing, they were brown like her son’s, but there the resemblance ended. Her expression was cold and more distant than the far mountains. Leonor swallowed.

  Curtsy.

  She wasn’t used to curtsying, but somehow, she managed it. Lord Rodrigo’s mother was surely due some respect. Her curtsy wasn’t returned.

  Lady Isabel’s lips thinned. ‘Catalina told me you were in the orchard. I came to see what my son had brought home with him.’

  Leonor stiffened, never in her life had she been addressed in so insolent a manner. ‘I don’t care for your tone, my lady.’

  Lady Isabel snorted. ‘Your opinion is of no moment.’ Slowly, insultingly, she looked Leonor up and down. ‘I don’t think I like you. What are you that my son brings you home and installs you in the family apartments without introducing us? Are you his mistress?’

  ‘His mistress?’ Leonor wasn’t sure what to say, her duenna’s tutelage had only gone so far, and she was unfamiliar with some Spanish terms and customs. However, she knew her father had many concubines. ‘Is a mistress the same as a concubine?’

  Lady Isabel’s face froze. ‘Don’t be insolent.’ Her voice dripped poison. ‘Are you sleeping with him?’

  Anger balled in Leonor’s chest. ‘I would have thought that is the Count’s business, not yours.’

  ‘Let us be frank.’ Lady Isabel drew closer and her lip curled. ‘Whatever you are to him, he won’t marry you.’

  Again, that hard gaze raked Leonor from head to toe. Leonor’s skin crawled, it was as though her clothes were being peeled away. It was humiliating.

  ‘I can see you might have a crude appeal,’ Lady Isabel continued. ‘You look like a concubine, a girl like you will never marry.’

  Leonor crushed down a surge of anger and stepped sharply on to the path. With Lady Isabel in this mood, there was no point talking to her. What had Lord Rodrigo told her? Surely he wouldn’t have admitted to bringing a Nasrid princess into the c
astle, yet what other reason could there be for this intense hostility?

  Lady Isabel blames me for Diego’s death.

  The sound of hoofbeats was a welcome distraction. Two riders were headed towards the castle, one had a stallion on a leading rein. With a jolt, Leonor recognised the stallion. A fine animal, it was unmistakeably the horse that Lord Rodrigo had left back at the first inn. Eagle, he was called.

  Utterly bemused, Leonor stared after Eagle as he was led to the gatehouse. She distinctly remembered the Count leaving Eagle in Miguel’s care. Back at that inn, he’d said he hadn’t wanted him lamed. What was going on? Miguel had returned the day before, and the Count had implied that Eagle had returned with him.

  Or had he? Leonor didn’t want to speak to Lady Isabel longer than she had to, but this she must ask. ‘I thought Lord Rodrigo’s squire brought the stallion back yesterday.’

  Lady Isabel’s veil shifted as she shook her head. ‘See for yourself, Eagle is only now come home. If you need chapter and verse, you must speak to my son.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady, I will.’

  ‘You’ll have to wait until he is back from Almodóvar. Likely you won’t have been told, but Almodóvar is the home of Lord Jaime and his wife, Lady Sancha.’ Lord Rodrigo’s mother held out her hand and made a play of examining her nails. The ruby in her ring flamed, angry as fire. ‘Lord Jaime’s wife and my son were once betrothed. My son is particularly fond of Lady Sancha. They remain close.’

  An ache bloomed in Leonor’s chest. Telling herself it didn’t matter if Lord Rodrigo had been betrothed and was fond of the woman, she tore her gaze from Lady Isabel and pointedly followed the horses’ progress. After a moment, realising her hands were bunched into fists, she slowly uncurled her fingers. He was probably conversing with Lady Sancha this very moment. It mattered not.

  What did matter was that Lord Rodrigo’s stallion was only now returning. If Miguel hadn’t been caring for Eagle, where had he been all this time? Had he been sent on another errand?