The Knight's Forbidden Princess

by Carol Townend

  My necklace! The heat left the sun so sharply, it felt like midwinter. Goosebumps ran along her arms. Count Rodrigo must have sent Miguel to speak to my father. He sent him with my pendant. Why?

  The answer dropped into her mind like a stone. Revenge. He was using her for revenge. Her necklace was being used to demand a ransom for her safe return.

  The ache in her chest intensified. No, no, this could not be.

  Yet it was the only explanation. The entire time she had been in Lord Rodrigo’s company, he’d been planning to send her home. She’d told him what life had been like in the palace and he hadn’t listened. He didn’t care. He’d sent his squire back to the Sultan with a view to sending her back to captivity.

  He’d been clever. Lulling her into thinking she was free to wander at will about his castle. She frowned at the guards on the highway and wondered what their orders really were. To protect her, as the Count had implied? Might they be there to ensure she didn’t stray? He wouldn’t want to lose his opportunity for revenge.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Lady Isabel brushed past and stepped on to the highway. Veil a-flutter, she stalked after the horses towards the gatehouse.

  The gatehouse seemed to blur. Blinking rapidly, Leonor stumbled after Lady Isabel. She’d been deceived. Lord Rodrigo had let her assume that Miguel had brought Eagle back the day before. Miguel had done no such thing. He had surely returned from Granada bearing a message from her father.

  Lord Rodrigo took that pendant as proof I was his captive. He wants to ransom me.

  A wave of nausea swept over her. The feeling of warmth she’d experienced between them had existed only in her mind. It was an illusion. She’d wanted to feel a bond with him so badly that she’d imagined it into being. She had dreamed about her perfect knight and it had suited him to play along.

  He’d never intended to help her. His brother’s death filled his mind and there was room in it for nothing save revenge.

  Hollow inside, she set her teeth. As soon as Lord Rodrigo returned, she would have it out with him.

  She wanted to believe the best of him, but it wasn’t possible. Clearly he had a heart of stone.

  * * *

  Leonor hesitated in the chapel doorway. The interior was brighter than she had imagined. Light was falling through two rows of arched windows; candles in glass lanterns gleamed on a table covered in a green cloth. That table is the altar, Leonor reminded herself, recalling what Inés had taught her. The cloth glistened with gold thread.

  ‘Enter, my child,’ a soft voice said, as a man—a priest by his garb—stepped out from behind a pillar. ‘This is God’s house and all are welcome.’

  The priest’s expression was earnest and his eyes kind. Wondering what he would say if he knew Leonor had never been in a church before, she crossed the threshold.

  ‘Thank you, Father. I came here to think.’

  ‘Please, you are most welcome.’

  The floor was covered in patterned tiles and stone benches ran along the walls at either hand. It was quiet and, after her encounter with Count Rodrigo’s mother, a balm for her wounded soul.

  ‘This is the right place for meditation,’ the priest said. ‘Your prayers will go straight to God.’ Nodding pleasantly, he left the chapel.

  Leonor was content to wait. She’d left a message for Lord Rodrigo with Ana. As soon as he returned from Almodóvar, she would speak with him.

  Her contemplation didn’t last long, and she was staring at the silhouette of a lion on one of the floor tiles when a clop of hoofs in the bailey announced his return. Shortly afterwards, brisk footsteps sounded in the chapel porch. On the altar, the candles flickered in their glass lanterns.

  ‘Leonor.’ Lord Rodrigo took her hand and brought it briefly to his lips. ‘You asked to see me?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Whenever he touched her, it felt as though he was taking possession of her. Carefully, Leonor reclaimed her hand and watched his expression grow wary.

  ‘What is it? My lady?’

  Leonor hesitated. She’d come to like this man, yet after that interview with his mother, she was filled with doubts. Despite his many kindnesses, she no longer trusted him. It wasn’t easy knowing where to begin.

  ‘My lord—’

  He tucked his thumbs into his belt. ‘I would be honoured if you called me Rodrigo.’

  She looked him full in the eye. ‘My lord, your stallion returned this afternoon.’

  He gave her a charming, if rueful, smile. ‘Ah. Did he?’

  ‘Seeing him made me wonder—if Miguel didn’t bring him back yesterday, what has your squire been doing these past few days?’

  Another charming smile came her way, Leonor steeled herself against it.

  ‘My lady, that is a question you don’t need to ask.’

  ‘I disagree.’ She closed the distance between them so they were standing toe to toe. ‘Where was he all this time?’

  Warm hands enfolded hers, setting off a pleasurable tremble in her belly. Ignoring the tremble, Leonor shook him off. ‘Answer me, if you please.’ She looked pointedly towards the altar. ‘We are in God’s house. I would appreciate the truth.’

  His face fell, and he looked appalled. ‘You think I’d lie to you?’

  ‘You lied to me yesterday when you said Miguel had brought your horse back.’

  Lord Rodrigo released her and ran his hand round the back of his neck. ‘I misled you, I admit it. It was for your own good.’

  She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘For my own good?’

  She had never felt so confused. Brown eyes held hers. Steady eyes. Warm eyes that held comfort and—something else. Uncertainty? Regret? Longing?

  ‘My lord, you sent Miguel to my father, did you not?’

  A muscle flickered in Lord Rodrigo’s cheek. He strode to the altar and a heavy sigh filled the chapel. ‘You worked this out for yourself?’

  She gave a jerky nod.

  ‘How?’

  Leonor’s mouth dried, and she almost moaned out loud. She had hoped—so much—that he would deny it and that she could believe him. Her fingers curled into her skirts and she forced out the words. ‘When I gave you my necklace at the inn, I thought that paying your ransom had impoverished you. I was mistaken. Your house in Córdoba and this castle make that plain, you’re a very wealthy man.’ Tears stung at the back of her eyes, irritably, she brushed them away. ‘My lord, how could you? I begged you not to send me back to my father. I explained what my life at the palace was like. And you still tried to ransom me?’

  He was at her side in an instant, strong fingers closing round her wrist.

  ‘Ransom?’ His voice was choked. ‘You think I asked for ransom money?’

  Leonor stared at the brown fingers encircling her wrist. ‘I suppose you thought to avenge your brother’s death.’

  He dropped her wrist. ‘It grieves me that you think so ill of me.’ His voice was harsh. ‘God help me, I thought to serve you well.’

  ‘Returning me to my father would serve me very ill. My lord, wild horses wouldn’t drag me back to the palace.’

  ‘Aye.’ His voice was softer again. Regretful. ‘My lady, believe me when I say I meant you no harm. You are the loveliest of women. Your heart is true, and you are kind and thoughtful. But you are also impossibly innocent—life in the harem has not prepared you for life in Castile. When I sent Miguel back to Granada, I didn’t ask for money. I believed the best place for you was back with your father.’ He swallowed. ‘I now see I was mistaken. You have my sincere apologies.’

  She stared, jaw slack with disbelief. It was as though the ground had dropped away beneath her feet. ‘I beg your pardon?’ Lord Rodrigo was apologising? She couldn’t believe her ears. Even more astonishing, he seemed to be admitting he’d made a mistake. ‘You...you are apologising?’

  Men never apologised,
they never admitted they were wrong.

  He laid his hand on his heart and smiled—his familiar, heart-stopping smile. ‘Forgive me?’

  Leonor’s response was slow in coming. The Sultan never apologised, he believed himself incapable of making a mistake. Lightly, she touched Count Rodrigo’s sleeve. If his apology was heartfelt, this man was a miracle and she owed it to him to hear him out.

  ‘You tried to send me home, but clearly I have not gone. What did Father say?’

  Lord Rodrigo’s jaw tightened. ‘He convinced me that returning you to Granada was not in your best interests.’

  ‘Father disowned me?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘It’s true, though, isn’t it? My lord, will you show me Father’s reply? I need to know exactly what he said.’

  Lord Rodrigo simply stared at her, an unfathomable look in his eyes. ‘Do you read Spanish?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In that case, there’d be no point you seeing it.’

  ‘Very well.’ Leonor held his gaze. ‘Then I trust you to tell me its contents.’

  He took her hand. ‘It’s not pleasant.’

  ‘Please, my lord.’

  He nodded. ‘In brief, Sultan Tariq no longer acknowledges you as his. He claims he only has one daughter, Princess Zorahaida.’

  ‘That’s Constanza,’ Leonor murmured.

  ‘So I surmised. My lady, you will not be going back to Al-Andalus. It would be dangerous.’

  ‘Father made threats against me?’

  He grimaced. ‘I shall simply say that if you are caught in his territory, his soldiers have permission to punish you. In effect, you are banished.’

  Leonor swallowed. Banished! Bile rose in her throat and she felt slightly dizzy. It struck her that being proved right was far worse than she had imagined. She felt the soft movement of his thumb against her palm, and it was extraordinarily consoling. ‘Thank you for telling me. I assume that Alba is also banished.’

  ‘Princess Alba’s name wasn’t mentioned, but I fear so. I have sent a warning to that effect to Lord Inigo’s town house.’

  ‘They have arrived there safely?’

  ‘Thus far, I’ve heard nothing. My lady, rest assured, Inigo will contact me as soon as they reach the town.’ Warm brown eyes held hers. ‘I don’t want you to worry. You will be safe in Castile.’

  She stiffened. ‘You’ve no need to feel responsible for me.’

  ‘Need has nothing to do with it.’ His lips formed a crooked smile. ‘It is my pleasure to see you safe.’

  ‘Pleasure,’ she murmured, recalling that brief and moving exchange of kisses in Córdoba. She pushed the memory aside and looked sadly at him. ‘My sister Alba and I have plans.’

  ‘Ah, yes, to find your mother’s relatives.’ Lacing his fingers with hers, he led her to the wall bench. ‘Please, my lady, be seated. Allow me to tell you what happened when I met Lord Jaime.’

  He took his seat beside her and the conversation with his mother in the orchard rushed back at her. Lord Jaime was married to Lady Sancha, whom the Count once loved.

  ‘Did you see Lady Sancha?’

  The Count stilled. ‘You’ve been talking to my mother?’

  ‘We met in the orchard.’

  ‘She was courteous, I trust?’

  Leonor felt her face freeze. She fixed her gaze on the wall behind him.

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘Your mother was...wary.’

  An eyebrow lifted. ‘Wary?’

  ‘Lady Isabel is uncertain what to make of me. She mentioned that you were once betrothed to Lady Sancha.’ A tight ball formed in Leonor’s stomach. It was horrible to think that he was still fond of Lady Sancha. She pressed her lips together, she shouldn’t have spoken. Any more and he’d be thinking she’d grown fond of him herself. Any more and—

  He reached for her hand and the instant their skin touched she felt it again. That warmth, that sense of comfort, of coming home. Was it a lie?

  Her cheeks were on fire with embarrassment and she had the sudden realisation that she wasn’t the only one to be so moved. A pulse was beating in the Count’s neck and his breath wasn’t quite steady. Her thoughts tangled.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I may have mentioned that Lord Jaime of Almodóvar is half a dozen years my senior. He is well respected throughout Castile and he married Lady Sancha of Iznájar. It is true, that in my youth Lady Sancha and I were betrothed.’ He gazed towards the altar, his smile reminiscent. ‘We were very young. I was besotted. A callow youth, you might say. It wasn’t quite the same for Sancha, and the instant she laid eyes on Lord Jaime, it was over for me. I took it hard.

  ‘All this happened over a decade ago. I can’t deny that I still hold Lady Sancha in deep affection, but what I felt for her wasn’t lasting.’

  ‘It was a boy’s love?’

  ‘Aye.’ He leaned closer and ran a lean forefinger gently down her cheek. ‘My lady, you know I didn’t go to Almodóvar to see Lady Sancha. I went on your behalf.’

  Leonor’s pulse jumped. He had found out about Mamá! ‘Pray continue, my lord. What did you discover?’

  ‘Lady Juana was born in Baeza, Lord Jaime knows your family well. He tells me they still live in Baeza.’

  ‘My family,’ she murmured. ‘I have family.’

  For years Leonor had wanted to learn about her Spanish relatives, and it was something of a shock to realise that, should she wish, she could meet them. She bit her lip, suddenly uncertain. How would Lady Juana’s daughter be received after so many years had gone by? Her new-found kin might not welcome her, they might view her as the product of a misalliance.

  ‘They...’ Her voice was weak. ‘They might not wish to acknowledge me.’

  Lord Rodrigo’s hand tightened on hers, secure and certain. Reassuring.

  ‘They will want to meet you, I am certain. You can send them a message. Indeed, you ought to write without delay and not simply on your own account.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It strikes me that if my men don’t find your duenna, she may well return to Baeza.’

  Leonor stared at their linked hands. Her head was whirling, but Lord Rodrigo was in the right, Baeza would be home to Inés as well as her mother.

  ‘You can’t lose anything by writing,’ he added.

  ‘Who should I write to?’

  ‘Sir Alfredo de Baeza, I believe he is a cousin, of sorts.’

  ‘Sir Alfredo de Baeza,’ she murmured. ‘Thank you for this intelligence, my lord, I appreciate you going to such trouble. I shall write immediately.’

  ‘You are very welcome.’

  ‘There is one slight drawback.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I can write Arabic, not Spanish. I shall need a scribe.’

  He smiled. ‘That isn’t a problem, you may use one of my scribes.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  ‘When your letter’s finished, you may give it to me, I shall deliver it personally.’

  Leonor felt herself frown. ‘Surely someone else can deliver it?’

  ‘It will be my pleasure. I can explain fully then and answer any questions they may have.’

  Leonor returned to the keep, her mood shifting like quicksilver as she sorted through her thoughts. Her father’s hateful letter—she and Alba were banished!—had crushed her. It was one thing to suspect the Sultan capable of behaving in such a way, and quite another to have it confirmed.

  On the other hand, news that the Count had found their Spanish family did much to redress the balance. She couldn’t wait to tell Alba, her sister also needed to know that they weren’t alone in Spain.

  Thank God for Count Rodrigo. She’d been a fool to think so ill of him. It was a relief to be proved wrong. Ransom hadn’t been his intention, he’d written to her father be
cause he’d truly believed she’d be better off in the palace. What was passing strange was that he had admitted his mistake.

  Leonor wasn’t planning to marry, ever, but if she did, it would be to a man like Count Rodrigo. Her chest ached. It was a shock to realise that what she was feeling was sadness, longing for something that would never be.

  Lord Rodrigo was fair and even-handed in his dealings with everyone. He considered her interests, he’d gone to Almodóvar specially to ask about her lost family. He was also devastatingly handsome, not that that signified.

  None of it signified because Leonor had vowed never to place her person in the custody of a man again. There would always be that doubt in the back of her mind—the fear of the control a husband could exercise over his wife. Lord Rodrigo might change, he might—unlikely though that might seem now—turn into her father.

  She thought about her father’s generosity, of the way he’d smiled at her when she’d amused him. That smile had been genuine, she would swear. She could also recall the sound of the key to the tower as it grated in that lock. And now—banished.

  She could never marry. Never again would a man have such power over her. Never.

  Besides, Rodrigo de Córdoba deserved someone who could give herself to him wholeheartedly. He didn’t need a wife who doubted him at the first hurdle. He didn’t need a wife who would box him into a marriage that his mother hated.

  He’d want children, heirs to inherit all this. Every muscle in Leonor’s body went rigid. Children.

  Inés had been instructed to keep the Sultan’s daughters innocent. Unlike the women in the Sultan’s personal harem, the Princesses hadn’t been taught how to pleasure a man. But Leonor and her sisters had eyes. Before their freedom had been curtailed, several of the rides around Salobreña had been most enlightening. They’d seen dogs and horses and—well, they’d seen enough to work out what might be involved in begetting children. And if what Leonor suspected was true, she didn’t think she could do that, not even with a man who kissed as sweetly as Count Rodrigo.

  No, she couldn’t do that, not even for him.