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
