The Knight's Forbidden Princess

by Carol Townend

  She drew back, breathless, and gazed into warm brown eyes. His breathing was uneven, it sounded as though he had run all the way from Córdoba.

  ‘All right so far?’ he asked, a crooked smile on his lips.

  Leonor murmured assent, though in truth, she scarcely knew what she said. Rodrigo’s kisses scattered her wits. She did know that Rodrigo was an honourable man, she would come to no harm here. With a jolt, she realised that whilst she could never marry him for his own sake, she would not mind being his lover. In truth, it would be good to be this man’s concubine.

  ‘Rodrigo?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  He was nuzzling her neck, raining a chain of kisses round her throat. Should she ever anger him, he would never beat her maidservants. He would talk to her and they might argue; he might even shout a little and she would shout back, safe in the knowledge that he would never...

  A large hand closed over a breast and she gasped. Sensations swirled through her, heady and far too distracting. ‘Rodrigo?’

  His head lifted. ‘I love the way you say my name,’ he said.

  He was busy tugging the sheet from her body, eyes dark. Hot.

  She caressed his temple. Marriage between them was impossible, but she wanted this man and he wanted her. It would have to be enough. Except—her education about what passed between a man and a woman was so very limited. Now she realised her father must have forbidden Inés to enlighten her. ‘Rodrigo, wait. Please.’

  He blinked and looked down at her, eyes half-lidded. ‘You’ve changed your mind?’

  ‘No, it’s just that I am appallingly ignorant.’ Cheeks burning, she touched his mouth with her thumb. ‘There were certain topics that we were not allowed to discuss.’

  ‘No matter, I am honoured to instruct you.’ Eyes dancing, he bent over her once more and she felt his tongue on her breast.

  Sliding her hand into his hair, she gripped his head. ‘Really, Rodrigo.’ She gasped, the sound was breathy and desperate. ‘It is extremely hard to think when you are doing that.’

  ‘You’re not meant to be thinking.’

  Leonor bit her lip and swallowed down a groan of pure pleasure. ‘W-will we make a baby?’

  He laughed. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘How...how does that work?’

  He raised his head and nuzzled her nose. ‘Saints, Leonor, you are such an innocent.’

  ‘You’re angry.’

  ‘Not at all, you are my joy. However, this would go better if you stopped thinking. Talking is forbidden.’

  ‘Forbidden?’

  ‘Surrender to feeling.’ His eyes sparkled in the lamplight. ‘Can you do that?’

  ‘I think so.’

  I am his joy.

  Easing back, he dragged off his tunic and slid between the sheets. Leonor’s thoughts scattered as she tentatively reached out her hand and touched his naked skin. He was all warm muscle. Solid. Trustworthy. Beautiful. Leaning forward, she kissed him over his heart.

  I love you, she thought. I love you.

  She could never tell him. Rodrigo deserved someone better than her. Someone whose heart wasn’t twisted into knots because of her past. He deserved a woman his mother could look at without seeing the spectre of his brother’s death. A woman his mother could accept.

  She would give herself to him because she loved him and couldn’t resist him. And should there be a child, well, she had her jewels, she had the means to care for a baby. In any case, knowing Rodrigo, he would probably want a hand in the care of his child, he was that sort of man.

  She wouldn’t marry him though; Lady Isabel would never forgive her. And he, when he came to his senses, would never forgive her either.

  Large hands gathered her to him and Leonor took that final, most difficult step, she took pleasure in obeying a man’s command.

  Words faded until all that was left was Rodrigo.

  I am his joy.

  And even though she knew she could never keep him, it was enough.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The lamplight trembled. Leonor lay, warm and relaxed, in Rodrigo’s arms. Her hair flowed over the pillows—dark, swirling tresses that smelt faintly of orange blossom. She was smiling gently to herself as she idly nuzzled his chest.

  They’d made love twice and simply looking at her had Rodrigo’s loins tightening again. He still wanted her, he’d always want her. Not that he would be so crass as to make love with her a third time. His Princess was new to this, she needed rest, she needed to recover. His desires must wait.

  He smiled down at her, happily sated, yet conscious of renewed desire. A desire he knew he would soon—tomorrow, if not tonight—satisfy. His thoughts were pleasantly jumbled. Love was, it seemed, more complicated than he’d believed. After losing Sancha, Rodrigo had guarded his heart. It had seemed easy.

  Until Leonor. His Nasrid Princess had stormed his defences without even trying. She’d had him twisted round her little finger from the outset. If he lost her—his guts tightened—Lord, that was an ugly thought. He’d never felt this strongly for Sancha.

  He needed to know Leonor was his. She was still calling him Rodrigo, which was reassuring. And he was pretty certain she would never have given him her body if she didn’t love him. Unfortunately, pretty certain wasn’t enough. He wanted the words. Did she?

  A glossy strand of black hair gleamed in the candlelight. Reaching out, Rodrigo twined it round his finger. Pure silk. Pure Leonor. He couldn’t lose her, there was to be no more running away. Their relationship had to be formalised.

  He tucked a finger under her chin. ‘Leonor?’

  She pressed a kiss over his heart. ‘Mmm?’

  Gently, he placed his palm on her cheek, angling her head so their eyes met.

  ‘I love you, Leonor.’

  Her eyes widened and he heard a slight catch in her breath. ‘That’s good to hear.’

  ‘You realise that you can no longer refuse me.’ He gestured at their entwined bodies and the rumpled bed. ‘After this, we have to marry.’

  Her whole body stiffened. ‘Have to?’

  A warning tingle skittered down Rodrigo’s spine. ‘You know we do. I love you and I flatter myself enough to think that you have a fondness for me; you wouldn’t have given yourself to me otherwise.’

  ‘No, of course I wouldn’t, but you can’t assume I will marry you.’

  Rodrigo’s blood turned to ice. ‘We must marry.’

  Eyes sad, she shook her head. ‘I am flattered, my lord, but please understand my answer hasn’t changed.’

  My lord. Just as he’d thought he’d won her, she was distancing herself from him again. Well, he wouldn’t allow it. ‘Leonor, you have to marry me.’ It was a battle keeping his voice even. ‘After tonight, we might have a child.’

  She frowned. ‘So?’

  ‘My children will know their father.’

  ‘I am pleased to hear it,’ she said calmly.

  Rodrigo was beginning to feel as though he was lost at sea in a small boat which had no oars. ‘I will not foist illegitimacy on my children. Leonor, I realise you may not be familiar with our customs, but in my world, illegitimate children do not have the rights of legitimate ones. We need to marry. Our children will bear my family name. Inherit—’

  ‘No, my lord.’ She shrugged. ‘In any case, there may not be a child. This is only one night.’

  Rodrigo wrapped a strand of hair round his wrist and tried for lightness. ‘There will be other nights, many of them.’

  Placing her hand on his chest, she eased away from him. ‘Be that as it may, I shall not marry you.’

  He swallowed. ‘Why not?’

  Dark eyes looked at him. She reached for the sheet and slowly pulled it over herself, shielding her body in much the same way as she shielded her thoughts.

  ‘Leonor,
why not? You like me. I love you. Does my love mean nothing to you?’

  ‘It means a great deal.’ Her smile was full of regret and she gave a heavy sigh. ‘Rodrigo, you must see that we cannot marry. Your mother would never forgive me. Above all, she would never forgive you. Lady Isabel hates me. The looks she gives me! Does she know who I am?’

  He clenched his jaw. ‘When you ran back to the palace with Miguel, she guessed. I admit my mother has no liking for your father, but she will learn to accept you.’

  ‘Will she?’

  ‘She will.’ Earnestly, he leaned towards her. ‘Leonor, it was Mamá who alerted me to the fact that you had returned to Granada.’

  Leonor stared. ‘Truly?’

  ‘She has a warm heart. She was wary of Miguel when he first arrived, but over time, she’s grown genuinely fond of him.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Leonor’s brow creased in puzzlement.

  ‘Miguel wasn’t always called Miguel, his family named him Hakim. I rescued him, a small scrap of a boy, a few years ago, after a skirmish on the border of Al-Andalus.’

  ‘A small boy was fighting as a soldier?’

  ‘His family served the Nasrid dynasty. Hakim had disobeyed his father and followed him into battle. The boy was wounded and his father dead. I brought him home.’

  ‘You saved him.’

  ‘Mamá saved him. It was she who tended his wounds.’

  ‘Saving a small boy is one thing, but watching your son marry a Nasrid princess, an enemy princess, is quite another.’

  ‘My mother will come to love you. I am certain of it.’

  ‘Rodrigo, she holds my father responsible for your brother’s death, she’ll not forget that.’

  ‘She will if I ask.’ He paused. ‘Although she will need time. At present, she’s struggling to accept that Diego is himself responsible for what happened to him. She was extremely distressed when I pointed this truth out to her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘In the past, I warned her that Enrique was becoming increasingly reckless. She didn’t want to hear it. Just as today she doesn’t want to hear that Diego’s death was unnecessary. If Diego hadn’t rushed to help Enrique, who’d dashed into battle too soon, he’d still be alive.’ He shoved his hand through his hair. ‘The truth can be painful.’

  Leonor bit her lip. ‘I’m causing a rift between you and your mother.’

  ‘It won’t last. Mamá will come to understand the truth, and she will accept you.’ He ran his fingertips gently down her cheek. ‘She loves me. Leonor, she’s weighed down with grief right now; you haven’t seen her at her best.’

  Dark eyes held his. ‘When we met, you were weighed down with grief. You accepted me, despite it. You cared for me when I’m sure all you wanted to do was race home. Lady Isabel hates me.’

  ‘Have faith, my love, that will change.’ Rodrigo picked up her hand, kissed it and eased out of bed. ‘It’s almost cockcrow, I have to go. Remember, I’ll be sharing your bed again tonight. And tomorrow and tomorrow and for all our tomorrows.’

  Leonor lifted an eyebrow. ‘Will you tell your mother?’

  Rodrigo held down a sigh. It hadn’t escaped him that, by focusing on his mother, Leonor had side-stepped his proposal of marriage.

  * * *

  Leonor went to sleep thinking about Rodrigo. The idea of marriage frightened her. Or it used to. She was no longer sure what she thought. If she married Rodrigo, she’d be granting him power over her. She’d have to obey him. And she’d sworn that never again would she find herself in a position of weakness.

  Oddly, the idea of marrying Rodrigo wasn’t half as frightening as the thought of losing him. That was terrifying.

  Rodrigo is a great lord, and he’ll be expected to marry. Now that his brother is dead, he needs heirs more than ever. If I don’t marry him, I’ll lose him to someone else.

  Sick at heart, she tossed and turned. She rested her palm on the pillow next to her. His scent lingered on the linens—masculine and musky. Pure Rodrigo. Safe.

  He’d made love to her so carefully. So delicately. He’d called her his joy, whereas in reality the joy was all hers. It had been a joy to give herself to him. Pure joy.

  We are meant to be together.

  The astrologer who’d cast her horoscope when she was born had foreseen exactly this circumstance. He’d warned her father, and despite every precaution her father had put in place, she’d still run away with Rodrigo.

  Leonor hugged the pillow to her and smiled. She and Rodrigo were meant to be together, it was written in the stars. Except—her smile died—what would the stars have to say about Lady Isabel?

  Clearly, the stars didn’t know everything. In the morning, she was going to give them a helping hand.

  * * *

  Directly after breakfast, Leonor went to the chapel. The bread she had eaten sat like a lump in her stomach. Nerves. The omens weren’t good, her first encounter with Rodrigo’s mother could hardly have been worse.

  The priest was kneeling before the altar, lips moving in prayer. Hearing her enter, he pushed to his feet. ‘May I help you, my lady?’

  ‘I’m looking for Lady Isabel.’

  ‘She is at the graveyard.’

  A lump formed in Leonor’s throat. The graveyard. She swallowed. ‘Where is that, if you please?’

  ‘It’s not far, leave the castle, walk past the orchard and into the village. There’s a wall with iron gates, you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Thank you, Father.’

  Leonor turned to go and the priest’s voice called her back.

  ‘My lady, don’t forget Lord Rodrigo’s orders.’

  She looked blankly at the priest. ‘Orders?’

  ‘When you leave the castle, you must take an escort.’

  Leonor smiled. ‘Thank you, I haven’t forgotten.’

  * * *

  A spray of lavender in hand, Leonor gave the ironwork on the cemetery gates a brief glance. It was very fine—flowing vines swept across each gate; roses and lilies were growing among the grapes; acanthus leaves spread across each corner. It looked like a depiction of paradise.

  She could see Lady Isabel through a gap in the ironwork. She was standing, head bowed, at one of the graves.

  Diego’s grave.

  Leonor stiffened her spine and turned to her escort. ‘Wait for me here, if you please.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  Pulse thudding like a battle drum, Leonor moved quietly to the other side of the grave and clutched the lavender. Even now, she had no idea what she was going to say.

  Naturally, Lady Isabel saw her straight away. She was weeping in silence, huge tears rolling down her cheeks. Leonor’s heart went out to her and her own eyes prickled in sympathy. The poor woman.

  Leonor said nothing, and she stood motionless as Lady Isabel’s attention turned back to the grave. Her lips were moving and she was holding a strand of glass beads. It was a rosary, Leonor recalled Inés mentioning them. At each bead, Lady Isabel paused and prayed.

  Leonor waited.

  When the beads finally stilled, Lady Isabel looked up. ‘You’ve got gall, I give you that,’ she said. Nose to the sky, she picked up her skirts and made to move away.

  Leonor held up her hand. ‘Please, my lady, I must speak to you.’

  ‘You’re a Nasrid princess. The daughter of the Sultan, our enemy.’ The rosary beads glittered. ‘I have no desire to converse with you.’

  Leonor held her ground. A rook called from a nearby tree. ‘My lady, please hear me out. I know what it is to love a father and to be rejected; I know what it is to love my sisters.’ Bracing herself for Lady Isabel’s reaction, she looked pointedly at Diego’s grave. ‘It must be terrible to lose a son, I cannot imagine the depths of your pain.’ She drew in a breath. ‘I am truly sorry you lost him
and I wish that you could accept my sympathies, but before I ask you to do that, there is something else you need to know.’

  Lady Isabel wound the rosary round her palm. Her foot tapped. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I love Rodrigo.’

  The string of beads snapped and glass beads bounced all over the path. Neither woman moved.

  ‘You, Sultan Tariq’s daughter, dare to tell me that?’ Lady Isabel’s eyes were as hard as her rosary beads.

  ‘I do. I am the Sultan’s daughter, and you must know I had no hand in Diego’s death. All I can do is regret it. Just as I regret the conflict between my father’s people and yours.’

  Silence. Then the rook cawed, harsh and loud.

  Leonor reminded herself that Lady Isabel had warned Rodrigo when she and Miguel had gone back to Granada. She needn’t have done that, she could have left well alone. She reminded herself that Lady Isabel was fond of Miguel even though she must recall that his father had served the Nasrids. There was hope.

  A deep frown scored Lady Isabel’s brow. She tipped her head to one side. ‘Tell me, I’ve been wondering, did your mother come from Baeza? Was she definitely Spanish?’

  ‘Yes, Father captured her and forced her into marriage.’

  ‘Your mother was Lady Juana, then. Sweet Mary, that’s why Rodrigo went to Baeza.’ Lady Isabel gave a huge sigh and their gazes locked. ‘He tells me very little, you know.’

  Praying that Lady Isabel’s antipathy towards her was weakening, Leonor’s gaze flickered briefly to Diego’s grave. ‘My lady, you have every reason to mislike me.’ She gripped the lavender. ‘I can only hope that you will one day accept that I had no part in your son’s death. I think it is a tragedy. Please accept my sympathies.’

  Lady Isabel’s eyebrow twitched. ‘Rodrigo tells me that what happened at the border was largely Sir Enrique’s fault. Diego was drawn into the conflict through his cousin’s stupidity.’

  ‘I heard that too,’ Leonor said carefully.

  ‘Rodrigo is most insistent that Diego should have known better.’