The Knight’s Forbidden Princess. Carol Townend

Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

       1396 —Castle Salobreña in Al-Andalus—a watchtower overlooking the port

      The eldest Nasrid Princess was feeling rebellious. Today, she was using her Spanish name rather than her Moorish one. Today, she was Princess Leonor. She was supposed to be taking her siesta on a pile of tasselled cushions by a latticed window, yet sleep was miles away.

      The two other Princesses were dozing nearby. Thanks to the Sultan’s orders, the shutters of the pavilion were firmly closed and, unhappily for the three Princesses, the breeze was too weak to work its way through the lattices. The heat was suffocating.

      Leonor lifted the edge of her veil to fan herself and the chink of ruby and pearl bracelets echoed softly around the pavilion walls. With each breath, the gems decorating the fringe flickered like fireflies, and tiny rainbow-coloured lights danced over the tiled floor. Leonor frowned at the evanescent colours, at the brilliant arabesques patterning the pavilion walls, at the script flowing neatly over the door arch. ‘There is no victor but God,’ it read. Her frown deepened. As if she or her sisters could forget. ‘No victor but God’ was the motto of the Nasrid dynasty.

       We are in prison. Our father has imprisoned us at the border of his territories. Will we ever be free?

      Princess Leonor itched to toss her veil aside, but her father, the Sultan, may blessings rain upon him, had forbidden it. The three Nasrid Princesses were not to be stared at.

      In truth, the Sultan himself was the only man alive to have seen their faces. Men in general, including even the hand-picked guards on duty outside their apartment, were forbidden to look at them. To all intents and purposes, the Sultan’s daughters were invisible. Sometimes Princess Leonor felt as though she didn’t actually exist. It was as though she had winked out of sight, like a real firefly.

      She gripped her fan. It had been an age since she and her sisters had heard from their father. Did he intend to keep them locked out of sight for ever? The thought of spending her whole life in a jewelled cage was unbearable; something had to change.

      Since Leonor was the eldest Nasrid Princess, perhaps it was up to her to see that it did.

      She drew in a breath of warm air and gazed through her veil at a beam of light slanting through the latticed shutter. The shutter—yet another barrier to keep her and her sisters safely out of sight—was pierced with pretty stars. Leonor loathed the sight of them. Dust motes hung in the air. The light quivered and was darkened by a swiftly moving shadow.

      A seagull outside? An eagle? It was too hot to move.

       If I open the shutter, I could see the harbour below.

      Not that Leonor was meant to do that. It wouldn’t do for the Sultan’s daughter to lean out of the watchtower window; it wouldn’t do for a Nasrid princess to be seen.

      But the heat! Holy heaven, she was melting. If she opened the shutter, just a chink, there would surely be some breeze. The latch was within reach, the latch that she and her sisters were forbidden to lift. Dropping her fan, Leonor stretched out her hand. Even the metal was warm.

      She hesitated, picturing the castle walls straggling downhill towards the sea. The pavilion was situated in a remote tower overlooking the port—this window had to be well out of the guards’ line of sight. Who would know if she opened the shutter?

      If anyone on the quayside glanced her way, all they would see was a veiled woman in the distance.

      Leonor lifted the latch and pushed at the shutter. Light poured in. And sounds! Sounds that the shutter had muffled—the braying of a donkey, the cry of a gull, the creak of a rope. Her pulse quickened. Silk rustled as she pushed to her knees. She leaned her elbows on the embrasure and looked out.

      The wind toyed with her veil. She could smell salt and fish. And down there—seen through the film of her veil—the harbour teemed with life. There were so many people! Ordinary people who walked freely about her father’s kingdom.

      Out to sea, a ship moved steadily across the water. Hampered by her veil, Leonor couldn’t see the detail, just the shape of it, its sails filled with wind. Even the ripples on the water were blurred by her veil.

      Her throat ached. Gritting her teeth, half-expecting the heavens to fall, she reached for the hem of her veil and tossed it over her head.

      The heavens didn’t fall, but she blinked. Everything was so bright!

      The sea stretched on for ever, it seemed, its surface gleaming like beaten metal. The sun sparkled on the swell and gilded the leaves of the palm trees. Best of all, Leonor could feel the breeze caressing her cheeks. It was cool, a touch of paradise and infinitely better than her stupid fan. Bliss. When a gust of wind caught a lock of hair and tugged it free of its pins, she held in a delighted laugh.

      Below her on the wall walk, the thud of heavy boots sounded a warning, a guard was doing his rounds. Hand over her mouth lest she draw his attention her way, Leonor held herself still. Her heart thumped in time with the marching boots. If the guard heard anything and leaned over that merlon, he might catch sight of her. For her sake as well as his, it wouldn’t do to be seen, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the harbour below. Paradise was surely looking at the world without a veil. Just this once. There was so much to see. A large galley had docked and was unloading its cargo. No, not cargo exactly. Merciful God, the men walking down the gangplank were chained together in a long line. Chained.

      Goosebumps ran down Leonor’s back. Was it a slave ship? There were slaves in the castle, but they were well cared for. Leonor had never seen anyone chained like this and what she saw appalled her.

      Those men...poor things. Their bruises spoke of heavy-handed beatings by the brutes in charge of them. A powerful-looking prisoner in a crimson tunic was helping one who looked to be barely conscious. The beaten man stumbled, fighting the drag of his fetters, and it was clear that he was only standing thanks to his friend’s supporting arms. It was odd though, something was very out of place. Most of the prisoners were remarkably well dressed.

      Leonor’s gaze was drawn back to the man in crimson. He stood taller than his companions, with strong, wide shoulders. As she studied him, the word ‘warrior’ jumped into her head. Not that Leonor had ever seen a warrior close to—her father,