Читать книгу The Knight’s Forbidden Princess - Carol Townend, Carol Townend - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Princess Leonor sat on her grey mare, Snowstorm. Behind her veil, she was smiling, she loved riding and it was a rare privilege to be out during the day. Best of all, she and her sisters were finally leaving Salobreña Castle. They were on their way to the Alhambra Palace to live with their father.

Naturally, there were drawbacks. Owing to the length of the journey, they were riding through the heat of the day. It was hot and sticky and Leonor’s veil clung to her skin. However, it wasn’t often that the Princesses could see the roads and highways of their father’s kingdom. Leonor was determined to make the most of it.

Excitement bubbled inside her. Change was in the air. Sultan Tariq, may blessings shower upon him, had deigned to acknowledge his daughters’ existence.

The Sultan had arrived at Salobreña Castle a few days ago, and he’d practically turned it upside down when he’d announced that the Princesses were to travel with him to Granada. Apparently, a tower had been built especially for them in the Alhambra Palace. Sultan Tariq’s eyes had softened when he told his daughters that the tower overlooked the surrounding countryside. There was a fine view of the mountains from one side, and from the other they could look down upon the palace gardens.

The Sultan had been smiling and charming. Uncertain as to what Inés might have told him, Leonor had been dreading seeing him again, but he had greeted his three daughters with equal warmth.

‘Let me look at you. Such beauties you have become.’

Their father had seemed genuinely pleased to see them. Inés could not have told him about her unorthodox visit to the prison.

That visit haunted Leonor. She found herself chasing away the mental image of Lord Rodrigo in that narrow cell far too often. Doubtless, she couldn’t stop thinking about him because conditions in the prison were so appalling. It was a place of evil, fit only for the devil. She was ashamed her father sanctioned it.

And there was that other matter. Lord Rodrigo kissed my hand. The first foreigner she’d ever spoken to. If her father found that out, he’d have Count Rodrigo torn apart.

The Sultan had taken pains to describe the alabaster fountain in the central court of the Princesses’ new tower. He told his daughters that he’d ordered poems to be inscribed in tiles on the tower walls and that delicate arabesques adorned the arches and door frames. As Leonor watched her father’s smiling face, as she listened to him describing what he’d planned for them, her anger for the years of neglect began to fade.

And her fears for her future? Hope was starting to flower. They weren’t to languish in Salobreña until the end of time. Finally, she and her sisters were going to become part of their father’s court. Life could change. She even dared to hope that her father might learn to be less intransigent in his dealings with his enemies.

So, here they were, riding towards the Alhambra Palace with a full escort of household knights ahead and behind them. Nothing as exciting had happened in years. True, there wasn’t much to see on this stretch of road. The landscape was bleached by the sun. Scorched weeds lined the route and there were few signs of habitation. Still, Leonor wasn’t going to allow that to lower her mood.

Leaning forward, she patted Snowstorm’s neck. As her name implied, Snowstorm was the palest of greys. Almost white, she was an exact match to her sisters’ horses. Silver bells were attached to the braids in the mares’ manes, and a gentle tinkling accompanied their every step. As their party covered the miles, the dry air was filled with faint, otherworldly music.

There were restrictions on this ride to her new life. A palace eunuch was riding at Leonor’s side. Ostensibly, he was there to hold a sunshade over her head. The sunshade didn’t do much. She knew the eunuch was really there to keep her in line. For once, she didn’t care.

It was stifling beneath her veil and she didn’t care about that either. Not today, when she was out and about in her father’s realm. Naturally, she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t resent having to look at everything through a haze of fine silk. However, today, none of that mattered. Her father had come for them. He had realised that she and her sisters had grown up and they were about to start afresh in Granada.

The previous night the royal party had taken shelter in one of her father’s hunting lodges. That had been exciting too, it was the first time that the Princesses remembered sleeping anywhere except in their apartments in Salobreña Castle.

The horses slowed. There was a disturbance up ahead, which was odd. Leonor hadn’t expected delays on this, the final leg of their journey. The King had sent heralds out in advance of their departure and his subjects had been ordered—on pain of death, apparently—to remain indoors as the royal party rode past. No one should be abroad to slow them down.

Privately, Leonor suspected that the real reason her father’s subjects had been told to stay indoors was because Sultan Tariq didn’t want anyone to see his daughters. Which was ridiculous. We are wearing veils, and one veiled woman looks very much like another. No one would see as much as an eyelash.

None the less, Leonor prayed that her father’s people had obeyed their orders. Whilst she hadn’t come up against the Sultan’s temper personally, there were tales that froze the marrow in her bones. Imprisonment—well, she’d seen that for herself—but she’d also heard that whippings and starvation were commonplace. She’d even heard whispers about summary executions.

Her saddle creaked as she peered ahead. Her father’s personal knights were bunched up in a knot. There was a lot of shouting. She clutched her reins and prayed that nothing dreadful was about to happen. Her father had made it clear that delays wouldn’t be tolerated. Whilst he had been kind to her and her sisters, Leonor couldn’t dismiss the rumours about his bloodcurdling rages.

What would happen if they stumbled across a stray peasant who hadn’t heard the orders to stay indoors? Leonor’s brow knotted. Her optimistic mood faded, like a flower that had stood too long in the searing sun. She held Snowstorm at a standstill under the sunshade so helpfully held over her and told herself firmly that they would be on their way soon.

An arm’s length away, Alba and Constanza sat on their grey mares amid a froth of full skirts and rippling veils. Like Leonor, they were wearing circlets starred with gemstones; like her, their wrists were adorned with heavy gold bracelets.

Snowstorm tossed her head and the light chime of bells shimmered about them.

Alba guided her horse closer. ‘I didn’t think this journey would take so long,’ she murmured. ‘Are you as stiff as I am?’

‘I’m a little sore, but I don’t care. Father has come for us and we shall live in a tower and look out across the mountains. We shall have our own household.’ Leonor tried to sound bright, even though she had a terrible feeling that something awful was about to happen. Could Alba hear the worry in her voice?

‘Leonor.’ Alba switched quietly to Spanish, in the way the sisters did when they wanted to converse privately. Of all the royal servants, only Inés spoke Spanish. ‘Life in the Alhambra might not be quite as you expect.’

Behind her veil, Leonor’s eyes went wide. She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You also doubt Father?’

‘I suspect he only came for us because Inés wrote to him after you visited the prison.’

Leonor stiffened her spine. She’d told her sisters what she had done and they had been so shocked, she regretted mentioning it. It seemed all she had achieved was to worry them. ‘Alba, I won’t apologise. I wanted to know about Mamá.’

Alba leaned in. ‘I don’t blame you. I am as curious about her as you.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘Inés, on the other hand, was frantic.’

Leonor didn’t need reminding. ‘I know, and for that I am deeply sorry.’

‘I’m pretty certain she told Father we’d been watching the Spanish captives when their ship arrived at the quayside.’

Leonor’s heart sank. ‘You don’t think she mentioned my visit to the prison?’

‘I doubt it, Father has shown no signs of anger.’

‘I pray you are right.’

‘Be careful, Leonor. It’s my belief Father came to fetch us so that he could keep an even closer eye on us. Life in the palace might not be the paradise you are hoping for.’

Leonor gripped her reins, it wasn’t pleasant having Alba echo her fears. Yes, the Sultan had come to escort his daughters to the palace. The question was, what would happen after that?

The horses walked on a few paces. Craning her neck, Leonor saw what was holding them up. The Sultan’s personal guard clustered around him. Nearby, a line of prisoners was lying face down in a dried-up gully by the side of the road.

Oh, no! What about Father’s orders that his subjects remain indoors? The guards in charge of these men could not have been told.

Goosebumps ran down her neck. Her father’s black horsemen lined the route. Even they didn’t dare look at the Princesses’ escort. All save one had turned to face resolutely away from the road. The lone horseman who had not turned was screaming at a prisoner. A prisoner who was on his feet. Worse, he was staring directly at the royal entourage.

Leonor’s mouth dried. Didn’t he understand? Her father would kill him! Leonor willed him to lie down with the other prisoners.

The prisoner stood straight and tall by the side of the road, apparently oblivious of any danger. His crimson tunic hung in rags from his broad shoulders and, even at this distance, his casual arrogance was unmistakable. It was the commander of the garrison at Córdoba, Count Rodrigo Álvarez.

Ice filled her veins. She ran her gaze along the prisoners prostrated along the highway. Apart from Lord Rodrigo, two other prisoners were also standing, a man in blue and another in green. Despite the irritation of having to see through her filmy veil, Leonor knew them for the Count’s comrades. One was the knight with the injured leg, the other had helped Lord Rodrigo keep him upright on the quayside.

‘The three knights,’ Leonor murmured. God have mercy.

Her father, the Sultan, may he live for ever, was glaring at Count Rodrigo. With a sense of dread, she watched her father snatch out his scimitar. He was preparing to charge!

Leonor spurred forward amid a tinkling of silver bells. Dust fogged the air, blurring the expression on the Sultan’s face. It was impossible to judge the level of his anger. Given his order that his subjects should remain indoors whilst the royal party rode past, he was likely in a fury and had only stayed his hand because Lord Rodrigo’s effrontery had temporarily stunned him.

‘Father, stop!’

The Sultan turned to her, dark eyes incredulous. ‘Daughter?’

His scimitar glittered. Leonor’s insides quivered. No one, no one, questioned Sultan Tariq, never mind gave him a direct order. She swallowed hard, desperate to avoid bloodshed. ‘The prisoner doesn’t understand.’

She prayed for calm, understanding instinctively that if her father sensed her agitation, he would react badly. And she dreaded to think what might happen if she inadvertently revealed that she’d spoken to the Count in person. That would surely condemn him to a slow and painful death. She prayed for the right words.

‘Father, it is my guess that that man is a Spanish knight, so he won’t speak our language. How can he obey an order he doesn’t understand?’

Her father’s eyebrows formed a heavy black line. ‘You are an expert on Spanish knights, Daughter?’

Dimly, Leonor heard the light ripple of bells. Her sisters had joined her, their horses flanked hers.

‘Please, Father, they won’t speak our tongue,’ Alba whispered.

‘Father, be merciful,’ Constanza added softly.

The King looked from one daughter to the other, and when his gaze returned to her, Leonor forced her lips to move. ‘The foreigners mean no insult, I am sure.’ Recalling her father’s obsession with refilling his treasury, she paused. ‘Look at their clothing, Father.’

‘Rags,’ the Sultan bit out. ‘Filthy rags.’

‘Look closer, Father, and you will see that the embroidery is most fine. These men must be especially wealthy. Kill them and you will lose much in the way of ransom.’

The Sultan glowered. ‘They are arrogant dogs. They should not be looking upon you. They must be punished.’

‘We are veiled, Father,’ Leonor said, in a cool voice. In truth, her heart was beating wildly and she felt sick with fear. She didn’t want the Spanish knights killed simply for looking their way. She gripped the reins and hoped her voice wasn’t shaking. ‘Make an example of them, Father, by all means. Please don’t kill them because they can’t speak Arabic. Be merciful, Father, I implore you.’

Alba and Constanza added their voices to hers. ‘Please, Father. We beg you.’

The Sultan watched them, face inscrutable. Then he glanced at a nearby guard. ‘Guard? Guard! Yes, you with the prisoners. Get up.’

The guard scrambled to his feet, his face as pale as parchment. He bowed so low his forehead almost touched the ground. ‘Great King?’

‘You are in charge of these insolent fools?’ the Sultan asked, indicating the three knights.

Leonor held her breath.

‘Yes, Great King,’ came the wary reply.

The Sultan tapped his boot with the flat of his scimitar. ‘You expect them to fetch something in the way of ransom?’

The guard kept his head down. ‘Yes, Great Lord. Their families have been notified and the ransom is on its way.’

The Sultan gave a curt nod and put away his scimitar. He looked at Leonor. ‘Very well, my daughter. Since you ask so prettily and your sisters have added their pleas to yours, I shall be merciful. These men shall be imprisoned in the Vermillion Towers until their ransom arrives. However, they should not have gazed upon you. For that insolence, they shall do hard labour until their release.’

He flicked his hand in a gesture of dismissal and the guard effaced himself.

Leonor drew in a relieved breath. ‘Thank you, Father.’

As she spoke, a skirl of wind raced along the highway, whisking up dust as it came. It caught the edges of the Princesses’ veils and, distracted as they were, their veils lifted. For a few tense moments, their faces were revealed and there were no barriers between them and the world.

Leonor saw everything very clearly. That was to say, she saw Lord Rodrigo very clearly, for she was looking at him and him alone. Her stomach lurched. Apart from that day she’d been watching the port from the pavilion, Leonor’s father was the only man she had gazed on without the protection of a veil. In Salobreña, distance had been her shield. Lord Rodrigo was closer now, close enough for his dark brown eyes to catch hers and, for her life, she couldn’t look away.

She could see the rise and fall of his chest. His firm mouth was crooked into a faint smile, just as it had been that day she had visited him in the prison. His hair was tousled and dusty, and a grey smudge ran across one high cheekbone. As her eyes met his, she thought she saw him dip his head. His beard was untidy, he was hung about with chains, but he held himself like a prince. A strong, well-muscled prince who stole the breath from her lungs. Despite his unkempt state, Count Rodrigo de Córdoba was surely the most handsome knight in the world.

‘Daughters, your modesty!’ The Sultan’s growl brought Leonor sharply back to reality. ‘Cover your faces!’

Leonor wrestled her veil into submission and the moment was gone.

* * *

Realising his mouth hung open, Rodrigo closed it with a snap. Before the woman’s veil had lifted, her voice had revealed her to be the girl who had given her golden bangle to pay for Inigo’s treatment. His heartbeat quickened. His mystery lady was a princess, just as he had suspected.

She was a rare beauty. His most fevered imaginings could never have conjured so sweet a face. Those large dark eyes, that twist of shining black hair, that shy yet sensual tilt to her mouth—in truth, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

A twist of longing tightened inside him. Ruthlessly, he quashed it. She was his enemy’s daughter, a Nasrid princess.

After talking to her in that cell, Rodrigo had thought about her more than once. In his mind, she had become Lady Merciful. He’d passed many an hour wondering what Lady Merciful looked like beneath her veil, and whether in fact she was his enemy’s daughter. Now his doubts had melted away.

The guard jerked on the chains. As they bit into his wrists, Rodrigo was pulled further into the ditch. He didn’t resist; the sight of the Princess had left him oddly stunned. That Princess—Lord, it wasn’t right that the tyrant’s daughter should be so lovely. She had her veil under control now, he could no longer see a thing. It didn’t matter. A man could live off one glimpse for years. The jolt she had given him had been visceral. Her face—delicate and lovely—was unforgettable.

Covertly, he watched her gather her reins and prepare to ride on. He had no way of knowing what had passed between her and her father, but it was obvious that she had interceded on his behalf.

She had saved him. She had saved Inigo back in Salobreña and now he too was beholden to her. He grimaced. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Being beholden to his enemy’s daughter made a mockery of his grief for Diego. He ought to hate her.

The royal party proceeded up the road and the horseman in him watched her critically. She rode surprisingly well, sitting straight in the saddle, her posture graceful and relaxed. Veils fluttered, bells chimed and all too soon the pretty grey mares had disappeared behind the brown stallions of the Sultan’s household knights.

Were her sisters equally beautiful? Rodrigo hadn’t noticed, he’d only had eyes for her. She was a brave woman, intervening with Sultan Tariq like that. Exasperated with himself, Rodrigo shook his head. He mustn’t allow a pair of shining black eyes to bewitch him. Even tyrants must love their daughters. Maybe she hadn’t been so brave, she must have known her father would bend to her will—he probably adored her. She was certainly impulsive, though he knew that already, for a similar impulse had driven her to visit him in the prison. It was possible that wanting to learn about Lady Juana hadn’t been the only reason for her visit, curiosity must also have played a part. She probably craved a bit of excitement.

God knows what life must be like for a pampered princess. She’d be kept closer than a nun on retreat. And those veils—Rodrigo grimaced—it must be stifling under all that cloth.

Rodrigo watched the royal party go with mixed feelings. The face that had been revealed when Lady Merciful’s veil had lifted had left him feeling wrong-footed. And more than a little confused. In his heart, he knew he wasn’t doing her justice. And justice was something that woman cared about. Briefly, the fury in the tyrant’s eyes had made it seem he was about to lash out, yes, even at his daughter, yet she’d still intervened to stop her father using that scimitar. Without hesitation, she’d drawn the Sultan’s anger on herself.

Rodrigo narrowed his gaze on the Nasrid standard as the dust enveloped the crimson and gold. Gripped by a feeling of unreality, he clenched his jaw. He had now become beholden—twice—to the Sultan’s daughter, to a princess who looked as though she had stepped out of another world. Everything about her was fresh and innocent. Had his mind conjured her? It must have done, that arresting beauty couldn’t be real. However, the way she had confronted her father certainly was. There’d been definite tension in the air. All three Princesses had been palpably afraid of what their father might do, yet they had still confronted him.

He drew in a deep breath. So. His enemy’s daughters had at least one virtue, they were brave. No, make that two virtues, they were merciful.

The dust drifted back to earth, the guards cracked their whips and the line of captives was driven back on to the highway. As Rodrigo forced his weary legs to move, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way the Princess’s gaze had held his. She had looked directly at him and every fibre of his being had snapped awake. He’d liked it. He’d also noticed a faint flush on her cheeks as their eyes had caught. He’d liked that too.

He trudged on, adjusting his pace to take account of the play of the chains. His feet throbbed, they had to be bleeding. There was dust in his eyes, dust in his hair and dust in his throat. Yet despite everything, he couldn’t get the face of the Nasrid Princess out of his head. So lovely. His enemy’s daughter. Dios mío, he was losing his mind.

Hardening his heart, Rodrigo pushed her from his thoughts. He would do far better to be thinking about the revenge he would take against Sultan Tariq when his ransom was finally paid.