‘As to that, my lady, I cannot say. What I can say is that Lord Rodrigo is as chivalrous and honourable as the day is long. He would never baulk at facing the truth, however unpalatable.’
Lady Isabel gave her a thin smile. ‘I am coming to see that you, Lady Leonor, are a wise woman.’ She gestured at the lavender. ‘Well? Are you leaving that for Diego, or not?’ Eyes glistening, she turned abruptly and strode, veil trailing behind her, towards the iron gates and Leonor’s waiting escort.
Leonor had forgotten about the lavender. Carefully, she placed it next to the headstone and composed a prayer for Diego. Shortly after that, she followed Lady Isabel out of the cemetery.
* * *
Rodrigo tracked his mother to the storeroom, he’d been told she was checking the castle’s supply of herbs and spices. He was relieved to see that she was alone.
‘Mamá, I’d be grateful if you’d find alternative sleeping accommodation for Ana,’ he said.
‘Oh? Why’s that?’ His mother shut the door of the spice cupboard and locked it with a key hanging from her waist.
‘From now on I intend to share my bed with Lady Leonor.’
His mother raised her eyebrows and said mildly, ‘Every night?’
‘Yes, Mamá, every night.’ Rodrigo frowned. Braced for an argument, he was puzzled by his mother’s calm response.
‘Father Pablo will be shocked,’ she murmured.
‘So be it.’
‘You love her?’
‘Very much.’
‘Will you marry her?’
‘She’s refused me.’
His mother drew her head back. ‘That does surprise me. Rodrigo, it might be better if you took her to Córdoba. You can’t keep her here unless you are wed. My ladies will be outraged and there are those among your knights who will not approve.’
He shrugged. ‘I can release them from their service, and they may go elsewhere. Lady Leonor stays.’
Lady Isabel gave him the most searching of looks and her mouth softened. ‘Very well. If Lady Leonor is your choice, I will support you. This morning she impressed upon me how deep her feelings are for you.’
Rodrigo went still. ‘You spoke to her this morning?’
‘Aye, she sought me out. I confess I was pleasantly surprised. She has the look of her mother, you know. I can see it now. Will you ask for her hand again?’
* * *
Inés came as promised and stayed for a week. During her visit, she and Leonor were inseparable. In the day, they visited Lady Alba in Córdoba. Occasionally, Rodrigo would accompany them on rides about the estate. In the evening, Rodrigo sat at table in his hall and watched Leonor and her duenna deep in conversation.
Leonor barely spared him a glance. Except at night. When he joined her in her bedchamber, she was as attentive and welcoming as a man could wish. Rodrigo was impatient for more. He wanted to set a permanent seal on their relationship, he wanted her hand in marriage. Unfortunately, though Leonor gave him her body every night, her heart remained guarded. The words he ached to hear remained unspoken.
He couldn’t fathom her reasons. Leonor wouldn’t give her body to someone if she didn’t care for them. Though the words had yet to cross her lips, he was certain she loved him. He told himself that patience was all, Leonor must realise they belonged together.
* * *
Then came the evening that Constanza’s reply arrived.
Rodrigo took the scroll to their chamber. Moonlight was streaming through the open shutter, bathing their bedchamber in pale light.
Leonor was standing in semi-darkness, combing her hair. Her gaze flew to the scroll and she dropped the comb. ‘It’s from Constanza?’
‘Aye.’
Taking the letter, Leonor broke the seal and moved to sit in a pool of lamplight on the bed. She read greedily, hair tumbling over her shoulders like shiny black silk. She chewed her lip. She gasped. There was more biting of her lip.
Rodrigo rubbed his chin. Clearly, whatever Constanza had written, Leonor didn’t like it.
‘What does she say?’
Imperiously, she held up her hand. ‘One moment.’ She hunched over the letter again, and when her gaze finally met his, she looked stricken. ‘Zorahaida,’ she murmured. ‘She will always be Zorahaida.’
‘Zorahaida?’ Rodrigo asked. Then he remembered, Zorahaida was the name the Sultan had given his third daughter. He looked quizzically at Leonor. ‘Do you have two names?’
‘Mamá named me Leonor, to my father I am, or rather I was, Princess Zaida.’
‘Princess Zaida, I like it.’
‘I prefer Leonor.’
‘Then that is what I shall continue to call you, my angel.’
‘Thank you.’ She bent over the scroll. ‘Constanza says she’s happy at the palace. How can that be?’ Her frown deepened and she ran her fingertips over the script as though caressing it. ‘I don’t understand it, but this is definitely Constanza’s own hand.’
‘And that surprises you?’
‘Given the contents, yes.’
Rodrigo sat down and gently swept her hair back over her shoulders. ‘If Constanza wrote it, you have to accept it.’
‘She can’t stay at the palace! She can’t.’
‘Leonor, you are not your sister’s keeper.’
‘No, but...’
Rodrigo stared at the letter. It was written in Arabic, lines of pretty curlicues that were a mystery to him. ‘What else does she say?’
‘That she belongs at the palace, and if she changes her mind, she knows where to find us.’ Leonor looked desolate.
‘My love, it’s not that bad.’
‘Isn’t it?’
Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. She was devastated.
It was then that he realised. Her father wasn’t the sole reason Leonor refused to commit to him, her sister was part of the problem. From the moment Leonor had emerged from that sally-port, worry for Constanza had been tearing her in two. Leonor felt guilty, guilty that Constanza had stayed behind when she had won her freedom.
Constanza stands between us.
‘Princess Constanza loves you, I’m sure,’ he said gently.
She wiped away a tear and glanced at the letter. ‘Aye, so she says.’
‘There you are, then. Let her go. Give her responsibility for her own life. Leonor, you feel guilty that you have escaped when she did not, and there truly is no need.’
She stared. ‘That’s exactly what I feel. How did you know?’
Rodrigo cleared his throat. ‘Diego.’
‘You mean because you came back from Granada and he didn’t?’ She gripped his hand. ‘Rodrigo, none of that was your fault, you told me that Diego chose to follow Enrique.’
‘He did.’ Rodrigo smiled sadly. ‘It doesn’t make it any easier. Diego made a mistake and the rest of us must live with the consequences.’
‘You’re saying that Constanza must be allowed to make mistakes?’
‘Aye. Your sister must make her own decisions. Set her free. Allow her to do what she wants with her own life.’ Rodrigo’s heart cramped. He’d learned that lesson years ago, with Sancha too. God save him, it had taken all his strength and fortitude. It would kill him to release Leonor if she insisted on it. Yet he knew he’d do it. ‘Love doesn’t come with chains,’ he murmured.
She let out a trembling sigh and set the letter aside. ‘It’s hard.’ She gave a watery smile and leaned against him. ‘If Princess Zorahaida never leaves the palace, she will never know joy like ours.’
Rodrigo felt himself go still. ‘Joy?’
‘Joy.’ She turned to him, expression warm. ‘I want her to have what we have.’
‘Constanza chose the palace,’ Rodrigo said, pointedly eyeing the letter. ‘She hasn’t changed her mind. Release her, Leonor. Give her the pr
ivilege of choosing her own path. She may well find her joy there.’
Against his shoulder, he felt her nod. A small arm slipped around his waist. When she hugged him to her, his heart turned over. His Princess wasn’t given to initiating gestures of affection and he hoped it meant what he thought it did.
‘I am blessed to have found you,’ she murmured. ‘Rodrigo?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I love you.’
Carefully, noting absently that his hand was shaking, Rodrigo took her chin and tilted her face to his. He sealed her declaration with a kiss that was very firm and probably far too possessive. Delightfully, she made no objection and, even more delightfully, when he had finished, a faint flush of colour stained her cheekbones. She was the most beautiful woman in creation.
He cupped her cheek and ran his forefinger round her ear, smiling as she pressed against him. ‘I have waited a long time for those words.’
‘I have loved you a long time, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before.’
‘I understand. Leonor, you will be my bride.’
She kissed his chin. He was thankful to see the sparkle was back in her eyes. He could see the grey flecks. ‘Will I, my lord?’
‘You will. And there will be no more talk about moving to Baeza. You may visit Sir Alfredo, but you are not going to stay there.’
Her eyes narrowed and her chin lifted. ‘I will if I wish to.’ She was trying, not very successfully, to hide a smile.
‘You, my lady, are a tease. Confess it, you have no wish to live in Baeza.’
She shook her head and the smile appeared.
‘Marry me.’
‘Very well, Rodrigo, I will.’
Choked with emotion, he pulled her close, buried his face in her neck and inhaled. Leonor. His joy. And soon, God willing, his Countess. His fingers searched for the ties of her gown.
‘One moment.’ Gently disengaging herself, she rose and padded to the window. Hand on the shutter, she stared into the night.
Rodrigo came to stand at her side. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘The stars. The moon. The way the heavens are constantly on the turn. Did I tell you that when my sisters and I were born, Father had astrological charts cast for us?’
Rodrigo looked sceptically at her. ‘What did the charts say?’
‘They foretold a future away from the palace.’ Her eyes danced and her fingers linked with his. ‘Father was told to guard us closely when we reached marriageable age.’
‘Truly?’
‘Truly. The stars brought you to me.’
Smiling, Rodrigo shook his head.
‘You don’t believe it.’
‘It’s a pretty idea, but I believe we make our own destiny.’ Rodrigo put his arm about her shoulders. ‘Come to bed, my love.’
With a last glance at the moon, Leonor closed the shutter and gave him a dazzling smile. ‘I am happy. I am free. Rodrigo, I will love you all my life.’
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story,
watch out for the next book in the
PRINCESSES OF THE ALHAMBRA miniseries, coming soon!
And if you can’t wait till then,
check out Carol Townend’s
KNIGHTS OF CHAMPAGNE miniseries
LADY ISOBEL’S CHAMPION
UNVEILING LADY CLARE
LORD GAWAIN’S FORBIDDEN MISTRESS
LADY ROWENA’S RUIN
MISTAKEN FOR A LADY
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE OUTLAW AND THE RUNAWAY by Tatiana March.
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The Outlaw and the Runaway
by Tatiana March
Chapter One
Arizona Territory, 1882
Rock Springs was no different from other Western towns Roy Hagan had seen. Perhaps the single thoroughfare was shabbier than most, the signs over the stores a little more faded. The bank stood at the northern end, just before the boardwalk started. A square building of adobe brick, it had three tall windows that glinted in the midday sun, however the frosted glass prevented prying eyes from seeing inside.
Roy rode past the bank, reined his buckskin to a halt outside the mercantile and dismounted. The two men with him, Zeke Davies and Joe Saldana, also got off their horses.
After tying their mounts to the hitching rail, all three men stepped up to the boardwalk, boots thudding in an unhurried cadence. Saldana wore Mexican spurs with big rowels that made an arrogant jangle as he walked. All three wore their hats pulled low and long dusters that covered their gun belts.
“You stay here,” Roy ordered, talking in a guarded voice that carried no more than a whisper. “Roll a smoke, light up. Keep your eyes on the street. Count the number of people you see—men, women, children. Pay extra attention to anyone who goes into the bank.”
The other two nodded. Neither of them spoke.
“I’ll check out the store,” Roy went on. “Then I’ll come back outside and we’ll sit down over there.” He gestured at a timber bench near the saloon entrance. “I’ll go into the saloon, buy three glasses of beer and bring them out. For an hour, we laugh and joke while we survey the town. We don’t get drunk. We don’t get into arguments. If anyone approaches us, we’ll be friendly and polite. Is that clear?”
His associates nodded again. Saldana was tall and thin, with a droopy mustache and a long, pointed chin. Davies was compact and muscular, with a square face that gave him the belligerent air of a bulldog. Roy hardly knew either of the pair. All but one of his former associates had been shot to pieces while robbing a train in New Mexico a few months ago. Roy and the only other survivor, Dale Hunter, had taken refuge in the maze of canyons between Utah and Arizona, where they had drifted into joining the Red Bluff Gang.
Most of the outlaws in the gang had a bounty on their head and only left their remote hideout to do a job. Roy had no wanted poster out on him, for despite his distinctive looks he’d never been identified in the course of a robbery. The lack of notoriety served him well, for it allowed him to ride from town to town, scouting out potential targets.
Alert and tense, Roy cast another glance along the somnolent street. A stray dog lay panting in the shade of the water trough by the hitching rail. A tall man in a leather apron had stepped out of the barbershop and stood on the boardwalk, drinking coffee from a china mug. Somewhere in the distance, a woman’s voice was calling for a child to come inside and eat.
Sati
sfied everything remained peaceful, Roy turned around and strode in through the open doorway of the mercantile. As he stepped up to the counter, he kept his hands pressed against the unbuttoned edges of his duster to stop the garment from flaring wide and exposing his pair of Smith & Wesson revolvers.
Inside the store, homely scents—coffee, peppermint, lamp oil—tugged at some distant corners of his memory. Roy crushed the sudden yearning for a normal, peaceful life. He would enjoy the few moments he could glimpse into that long-forgotten world and discard any pointless dreams of making it his again.
Behind the store counter, the elderly clerk climbed down from the ladder he’d used to stack bolts of calico on the higher shelves. He jumped down the last step, turned toward Roy and greeted him with a polite nod. “Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”
Alert and nimble despite his advanced years, the clerk appeared prosperous. His white shirt was pristine, his sparse hair neatly combed, the lenses of his steel wire spectacles sparkling. A man who took pride in himself and his profession. Roy felt another stab of regret, accompanied by some vague emotion that might have been shame.
“Matches,” he said. “In a waterproof tin.”
“Certainly, sir.”
While the clerk bustled about, taking a small metal box from a drawer and filling it with wooden phosphorus matches, Roy felt a prickle at the back of his neck. Slowly, he shifted on his feet. His right hand eased to the pistol hidden beneath his duster, while his left hand went to the brim of his hat, making the twisting motion appear natural as he turned sideways to survey the store.
Between the aisles of merchandise, a young woman had paused in her task of sweeping the floor, and now she stood still, fingers clasped around the long handle of the broom. Medium height, middle twenties, she wore a faded green dress that revealed a full figure with feminine curves. Her hair was light brown, with a touch of gold where it had been exposed to the sun. From the few strands that fluttered free from her upsweep, Roy could tell her hair would pull into a riot of curls if left unconfined.
He tugged at the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”
Still and silent, the girl stared at him from the corner of her eye, not facing him squarely. Roy’s posture stiffened. He was used to women staring at him, but there was something different in this girl’s perusal.
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