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.
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