They had been betrothed for an age. Inigo was uneasily aware that he’d not seen her in years. That must change, and quickly. His brush with death had brought home to him the importance of marriage. Of getting heirs. He had dallied long enough.
He fixed his gaze on where he thought—prayed—north was and grimaced. In Córdoba, he would have to see the Princess safely stowed before he arranged his marriage. He had no clue how to deal with her. She was a Nasrid princess, for pity’s sake. He would consult with Rodrigo, between them they would think of something. Then, with the Princess safe, Inigo could seek out his betrothed.
He’d marry before the year was out. He needed sons, someone to steward the family lands. After Margarita had given him a son or two, he could rest easy in the knowledge that her greedy brother, Baron Fernando, would never lay claim to his lands.
Baron Fernando Marchena de Carmona had a reputation for deviousness and double-dealing. Put bluntly, Inigo didn’t trust him. He’d never liked him. While Inigo understood his father’s wish to forge an alliance with their close neighbours, the idea of Baron Fernando becoming his brother-in-law filled him with misgivings.
If Inigo’s marriage to Margarita proved childless and Inigo were to die without an heir, Baron Fernando wouldn’t hesitate to stake a claim to Inigo’s lands. Neighbour or no, Baron Fernando wasn’t fit to rule. Inigo wanted better for his land and his people.
Inigo tightened his hold on the Nasrid Princess, brought his face closer to her damp hair and inhaled gently. Jasmine. Yes, he’d take his oath Princess Alba’s hair was fragranced with jasmine.
The rain slackened, the storm was blowing itself out. When the stars reappeared, Inigo was thankful to see they were, as he had hoped, headed in a northerly direction.
The Princess remained quiet, apparently resigned to the length of the ride and her slightly ignominious mode of transport. She had to be finding this an ordeal, when Inigo had seen her on the road to Granada, she’d been riding a delicate grey mare bedecked with silver bells. The attendant entourage had been huge. Knights. Servants carrying sunshades. Sultan Tariq himself...
Inigo glanced over his shoulder, God help him, Guillen was trailing, they might have to slow down. Had Raven’s shoe worked loose? It might not be the shoe though; Raven wasn’t as fast or robust as Soldier.
He reined in to allow Guillen to catch up and the Princess looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes glittered, in the dusky light of the stars and moon, they were enormous.
‘I haven’t heard the hounds for a while, my lord. Do you think we have outrun them?’
Her voice had a soft, husky quality that sent a frisson of awareness down Inigo’s spine.
‘I believe so, my lady.’
Inigo studied her, or tried to. The light wasn’t strong enough for him to make out much more than her face and her eyes, which were framed by dark eyelashes. The glimpse he’d had of her on that pretty mare had revealed her to be extraordinarily lovely. However, it had been but the briefest of glimpses and Inigo was conscious that he’d been starved of feminine company for so long that he might have exaggerated her appeal.
While he waited for Guillen, Inigo smiled down at her. ‘You must be missing your grey mare.’
Those long eyelashes swept down, and she stiffened, an almost imperceptible movement but he could hardly miss it, given how close they were.
‘Alas, the grey mares are no longer in the palace stables,’ she murmured. ‘My father sold them.’
‘Oh?’
The Princess didn’t choose to enlarge and as Guillen drew abreast, Inigo didn’t press her.
‘Are we going to stop, my lord?’ Guillen asked in his hopeful voice.
‘Is Raven’s shoe giving you trouble?’
‘No, my lord. Raven seems fine.’ Guillen gave a loud yawn.
‘I’m sorry, lad, I know you’re exhausted,’ Inigo said. Guillen hadn’t been prepared for this race through Al-Andalus any more than Inigo had. ‘We’ll rest soon. Sir Enrique’s folly caught us all unawares.’
‘Sir Enrique’s folly?’ The Princess laid a delicate hand on Inigo’s forearm and a dark eyebrow lifted. ‘Are you saying that you didn’t plan to come to the sally port, Lord Inigo?’
Inigo saw no reason to lie. ‘My lady, I had no such plans until the last moment. My sole aim was to leave Al-Andalus and get back to Castile as quickly and safely as possible.’ Conscious of the Princess’s innocence, Inigo picked his words with care. If Princess Alba had spent her days cloistered with her sisters, she would have no experience of life outside the palace. She must be afraid, and he didn’t want to add to her fears. ‘However, when Sir Enrique, Lord Rodrigo’s cousin, you understand, revealed he was planning to...er...to help you and your sisters escape, I decided that Lord Rodrigo and I should join him. We wanted to ensure all went smoothly.’
At first the Princess didn’t respond. In the east, the horizon was shading to dawn. As Inigo looked at it, he could feel those small fingers, clenching and unclenching on his sleeve.
‘My lord, I am sorry to have inconvenienced you,’ she said coolly. ‘Please be assured, you will be rewarded for your assistance.’
Inigo almost choked. She thought he wanted a reward? What kind of man did she think he was? ‘I want no reward.’ The only reward he craved was to return to Seville in one piece and get on with his life. ‘It is my pleasure to take you to Córdoba where you may join the other Princess.’
Her dark eyebrows snapped together. Her fingers dug into his arm. ‘My lord, you must remember there are three of us. Leonor went with your friend, Lord Rodrigo. Did you see Constanza?’
Inigo hesitated. ‘I am not sure I saw your other sister,’ he said carefully. Rodrigo had sworn to deal with Enrique. Inigo hoped nothing had gone amiss. He caught the gleam of white teeth; the Princess was biting her lip.
‘Constanza never left the palace? I could have sworn she was following.’ Her voice was small. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d lost heart though, Constanza is, well, wary of change.’
‘It saddens you to think of her living alone in the palace.’
She shot him a startled look and nodded. ‘We have always been together.’
Inigo nudged Soldier into a walk. With the dogs no longer hot on their heels, speed was less important. It was just as well, the horses needed a change of pace. Hearing a stifled yawn, he said, ‘We shall rest soon, my lady.’
‘As you wish.’
Inigo was himself fatigued. His leg gave a twinge, a slight discomfort that was, he realised with a rueful smile, keeping him alert. And thank heaven for it, he must keep his wits about him until he had found somewhere safe for them to recover their strength. A secluded campsite would be better than nothing. It would have to be soon; the light was strengthening.
They set off again and Inigo was eyeing the terrain, peering into a small olive grove at the side of the road, when Princess Alba pointed.
‘My lord, look.’
A
