‘Father will arrange for us to be married?’
Inés grimaced. ‘Possibly,’ she murmured. ‘Although it is equally possible that the Sultan will want to keep you pure.’
Leonor felt herself tense. ‘What does that mean?’
‘The King might not wish you to ever marry,’ Inés said. She wasn’t meeting Leonor’s eyes and somehow that was more worrying than anything.
‘Please continue.’
‘I am not certain I can. It was something I was told years ago, and I am not sure I believe it.’
Leonor had never liked not knowing what her future might be. If her father was arranging her marriage, she hoped to have a say in the choice of her future husband—she wanted to get to know him before they married. She had fretted about this for years and in all that time it had never occurred to her that her father might not want his daughters to marry at all.
Father might not want us to marry? Inés must be wrong. What were they to do, if they weren’t to marry?
‘Inés, for the love of God, you can’t leave it at that. What were you told? Does Father plan to have us married or not?’
Inés stared bleakly at her feet. ‘After the three of you were born, Sultan Tariq consulted his astrologer and your horoscopes were cast. The Sultan was advised that once you and your sisters reached marriageable age he should be watchful. The astrologer warned him to gather his daughters under his wings.’
Leonor frowned, it all sounded extremely ominous. ‘To gather us under his wings? What on earth might that mean?’
‘I’m sorry, my lady, I have no idea. However, since you have clearly reached marriageable age, I have no choice but to write to the Sultan and inform him of that.’
Worry scored lines on Inés’s face. Leonor forced a smile. ‘I understand; you must write to Father.’
Her heart felt like lead. What would the Sultan do? Were she and her sisters to be kept closeted all their lives? Was that why they’d been kept so ignorant of the world? She touched the back of her hand where Count Rodrigo had kissed it and, for the first time in her life, looked into the future with fear in her heart.
Leonor had always assumed she would one day be married. Never in her worst nightmares had it occurred to her that all that lay in front of her might be a life of pampered imprisonment.
Such a life would shrivel her soul...it would kill her. She must have some say in her future. She must.
* * *
No one told captives anything. A month had dragged by and Rodrigo was tramping wearily along a dusty highway, one in a long line of prisoners headed for God alone knew where. He was covered in grit and his skin itched. The sky was a solid block of blue. The heat had been building all day and Rodrigo’s clothes were drenched with sweat, he felt as though he was locked in an oven.
Instinct told him this was the road to Granada, but the terrain was unfamiliar and the guards resolutely uncommunicative. Not to mention that there was the language difficulty, neither Rodrigo nor his friends knew more than a couple of dozen words of Arabic.
Inigo walked along in front of him. And Enrique? Rodrigo trained his gaze on the front of the line, but his cousin was lost behind a curtain of dust. The three of them had spent most of the time since their capture trying to keep together and it wasn’t easy. Just then, Inigo glanced over his shoulder and sent him a terse smile.
Praise God, Inigo’s leg was improving every day; the wound hadn’t festered and his limp was barely noticeable now.
Salobreña lingered in Rodrigo’s mind as a stinking hellhole, he wasn’t sorry to leave it. His lips twisted as he thought back to when they’d been herded into the prison yard. Inigo hadn’t come back to his senses until long after that mysterious young woman had given her jewelled bangle to pay for further treatment. Rodrigo hadn’t told Inigo about her largesse, although since then not a day had passed without her slipping into his thoughts.
That husky voice was unforgettable. And, despite his mystery lady’s veil, he’d been able to tell that she had a slender body and a proud bearing.
It was strange how the veil made her more fascinating rather than less, a man couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath it. Something about her told him that despite her proud bearing, she was young. And frighteningly innocent. Rodrigo’s lips twisted as he recalled the outrage in her tone when he’d kissed her hand. It hadn’t been his finest hour. He’d kissed her to distract her; he’d kissed her out of anger.
It had been surprisingly stimulating. He was unlikely to see her again, although if he did, he would enjoy testing her with a more measured kiss. Since talking to her in that cell, he’d spent many nights with her scent twisting through his dreams. Orange blossom and woman. It had been tantalising and very frustrating.
Could the stories of three identical Nasrid Princesses be true? Might his mystery lady be one of them? Her questions had all concerned Sultan Tariq’s dead Queen, Lady Juana, so it was possible.
Guilt preyed on his mind. Rodrigo had told the truth when he’d said that he didn’t know any Lady Juana. He’d never met her, though he had heard of her. All of Christendom knew of Lady Juana’s scandalous abduction, and Rodrigo more than most had reason to regret it. Should he have told that girl what he knew?
He grimaced. Her questions had caught him off guard. They had opened old wounds, wounds which, despite the passing of many years, still smarted. By the time Rodrigo had himself in hand again, the girl had swept out of the cell.
I frightened her off.
Should he have told her?
Lord, no. He’d never see the girl again and what was the point of delving into the past? The best thing he could do would be to put the entire incident out of his mind.
On the other hand, her bangle had bought Inigo more treatment. She had certainly saved Inigo’s leg, and possibly his life too. Which left Rodrigo with an inconvenient sense of obligation towards her. Scowling at the road ahead, Rodrigo told himself to forget the entire incident.
Doubtless, his mysterious visitor had many bangles.
Still, he felt bad that the girl had gone away with none of her questions answered. He could at least have told her that when Lady Juana disappeared she had been betrothed to Count Jaime of Almodóvar.
His nostrils flared. Doubtless, Count Jaime would be able to answer the girl’s questions in more detail. Not that she was ever likely to meet him if she was indeed a Nasrid princess.
Rodrigo and Count Jaime weren’t exactly on speaking terms. It wasn’t that he and the lord of Almodóvar were enemies, but they certainly weren’t friends. Perhaps, when Rodrigo was finally free of Al-Andalus, he’d let Lord Jaime know that someone in Salobreña Castle had been asking about Lady Juana. Perhaps.
Scowling at a stone in the road, he toed it into the ditch and marched on. What the devil was he doing thinking about Count Jaime? He’d far rather be wondering about his mystery lady. Had she been among those women in the castle tower on the day their ship had docked? Why had she singled him out for questioning? There were plenty other prisoners in Salobreña to choose from. She must have been watching him.
He felt a smile form. The thought that his mystery lady might be the dark beauty who’d leaned out of that window had a certain appeal. If she was a princess, she was his enemy’s daughter.
Faith, what was he doing? It was pointless thinking about her. He’d only allowed himself to do so because back in the prison it had been either that or dwell on the horror of Diego’s