The Knight’s Forbidden Princess. Carol Townend

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,