A couple of years ago, they’d learned to ride. Three beautiful grey ponies had arrived at the castle and that summer, on moonlit nights, the veiled Nasrid Princesses had ridden out accompanied by a troop of household knights. Naturally, they’d had to ignore their escort of knights, and the only person who could speak to them had been the eunuch acting as their riding instructor. It had been such a joy to escape the castle for a while. And the Princesses had learned to ride well, albeit in the darkest hours when no one was about to see them.
Leonor stared about her at the men her father had incarcerated and her throat worked. It was hard to accept that the charming and amusing father who occasionally appeared to shower his daughters with silks and jewels was the same man who lodged his noble captives in so rank a place.
As she struggled to reconcile the two images of her father—the generous parent and the cruel tyrant—her head began to throb. It was so confusing.
Willing herself to focus on finding the knight in the crimson tunic, Leonor searched the room. Luckily, in the sea of chaos—of wounded, haggard men—that bright tunic was easy to see. She found him kneeling at the side of his injured friend. She stepped closer. His tunic was somewhat the worse for wear and his dark, handsome face was tight with worry. Was his friend dying?
* * *
The heat was a curse. Rodrigo had spent the hours of darkness persuading Inigo to drink enough to make up for what he was losing in sweat, yet despite his best efforts, Inigo had tossed and turned for most of the night.
It wasn’t surprising. Rodrigo and his comrades had been housed with about thirty other captured noblemen. It could be worse. Crucially, there was a roof, which meant there was shade in the day. Naturally, the windows high up in the walls were barred, but they were above ground and they let in both air and light and that was a blessing. Despite this, the stench was overpowering. Rodrigo didn’t like to think what an underground cell would be like.
Vaguely, he heard the prison door open. Rodrigo was aware of the rush to get to the food and pushed himself to his feet. He wasn’t interested in food though. Inigo was no better and Rodrigo was damned if he was going to lose Inigo as well as Diego. Rodrigo had to find the doctor who had ministered to Inigo the previous evening. The man had promised to return.
Ah, there he was, among the visitors. As soon as the doctor crossed the threshold, a babble broke out—shouting, coughing, groaning.
‘Doctor! Over here!’
‘Doctor, please!’
‘Help me, Doctor!’
In the general melee, Rodrigo got to the man first, practically dragging him to where Inigo lay stretched out on some sacking by the wall. Other captives crowded close, some were curious, others clamoured for the doctor’s attention.
The doctor scowled and waved the crowd back. ‘Be silent,’ he said. ‘Give us space to breathe. I will see to the rest of you shortly.’
The hubbub faded.
The doctor crouched down at Inigo’s side and touched his forehead. ‘How’s his fever? Did it abate after he drank that infusion?’
Rodrigo shook his head. ‘He’s been hot as a furnace all night.’
The doctor gave him a sharp look. ‘He’s not spoken? Has he roused at all?’
‘No, I had to force the drink down his throat. I’d be grateful if you would take another look at his leg.’
The doctor sat back on his haunches. ‘I stitched it most carefully. And that poultice is best left alone.’
‘I would prefer if you checked it, and I’d like him to have fresh bandages.’ Rodrigo spoke firmly, he’d seen a man lose a leg through neglecting to care for a wound and he wasn’t going to allow that to happen to Inigo. There would be no more deaths, not if he could help it.
A wave of grief swept through him. Diego. News of his brother’s death would kill his mother; had it reached her already? Rodrigo had bribed one of the Sultan’s officers to send his brother’s body home. Was the officer honourable? Would he do as he was asked? Rodrigo had no way of knowing.
‘Very well.’ The doctor held his hand out, palm up. ‘For another examination and fresh bandages, I need further payment.’
‘You want more? Good God, I’ve already given you my gold signet ring.’
The doctor gave a regretful smile and glanced pointedly at the other prisoners struggling to catch his eye. A trooper was doing his best to ensure they waited their turn, but it was clear he was fighting a losing battle.
The doctor spread his hands. ‘It’s hard to perform miracles, my lord. This is not the healthiest of places. In my view, your friend needs more infusions to bring down his fever. That will cost you.’ He stood up and prepared to move away. ‘So, unless you can pay, there are others who require my services.’
Rodrigo and his friends had no coin, their purses had been taken the moment they’d been captured. They’d only been allowed to keep their rings as proof of their identity and status. Rodrigo’s gaze landed on Inigo’s signet ring. Like the ring Rodrigo had given the doctor the previous day, Inigo’s was pure gold. Rodrigo had balked at taking it whilst Inigo was unconscious, which was why he’d given the doctor his own ring. Now, it would seem he had no choice.
Reluctantly, he reached for Inigo’s ring.
‘That will not be necessary,’ a gentle voice said.
A small hand reached out and a jewel-encrusted bangle was pressed into his palm. The scent of orange blossom, as refreshing as a breath of spring air, surrounded him.
Rodrigo’s jaw dropped. A woman? Here? He scrambled to his feet and found himself staring at a mysterious, feminine figure. She was swathed in black from head to toe. Everything was hidden, even her eyes were lost behind a full veil. Clearly, she’d been there long enough to overhear his conversation with the doctor.
‘The doctor will accept this as payment for treating your friend,’ she insisted, in a soft, faintly accented voice.
This mystery lady spoke Spanish? Rodrigo was gazing bemusedly at her when the doctor whisked the bangle from his palm and hunched over Inigo.
‘Sir, I am charged to question you.’ That small hand emerged briefly from within the folds of the woman’s all-encompassing gown. She beckoned at a guard who was standing so close he had to be her personal escort, then she and her escort headed for the door.
Two soldiers appeared and Rodrigo was marched out into the corridor.
Leonor’s pulse was racing. She could hardly believe what she’d done. She, a Nasrid princess, was alone in a cramped prison cell with four men. Alone and unchaperoned.
Her hopes had risen when she’d realised the Spanish knight had parted with his own ring to pay for help for his injured companion. He might be her father’s enemy, but he was obviously loyal to his comrades. With luck, he’d be grateful about the bangle and would be forthcoming when she asked him about her mother.
Folding her hands tightly beneath the maidservant’s veil, she turned to Yusuf and switched to Arabic. ‘Be so good as to take the other guards outside. Wait for me there, I shall call you when I need you.’
Yusuf hesitated and for a dreadful moment Leonor’s skin chilled. If Yusuf refused to leave her, she would achieve nothing. She wouldn’t be able to question the knight about her mother within Yusuf’s hearing, for if Yusuf understood that she was asking about the Sultan’s dead Queen and her family, he’d be bound to tell his commanding officer. Then word would soon get back to her father. And that letter in her jewel box wouldn’t help her; she’d been deluding herself to think it would.
But it