скачать книгу бесплатно
The Knight’s Forbidden Princess
Carol Townend
A princess captive in the tower…A Spanish knight who can set her free!In this Princesses of the Alhambra story meet Princess Leonor, who can’t escape her tyrannical Sultan father. For Spanish knight Count Rodrigo her innocence and her beauty tug at his sense of honour. He will lay down his life to protect her…but the risks are great: she is the daughter of his sworn enemy!
A princess captive in the tower...
A Spanish knight who can set her free!
In this Princesses of the Alhambra story, meet Princess Leonor, who can’t escape her tyrannical sultan father. For Spanish knight Count Rodrigo, her innocence—and beauty—tug at his sense of honor. He will lay down his life to protect her...but the risks are great: she is the daughter of his sworn enemy!
Princesses of the Alhambra miniseries
Book 1—The Knight’s Forbidden Princess
Look out for the next book, coming soon!
“A well built story with believable characters and an evocative sense of time and place.”
—Goodreads Review on Lady Isobel’s Champion
CAROL TOWNEND was born in England and went to a convent school in the wilds of Yorkshire. Captivated by the medieval period, Carol read history at London University. She loves to travel, drawing inspiration for her novels from places as diverse as Winchester in England, Istanbul in Turkey and Troyes in France. A writer of both fiction and non-fiction, Carol lives in London with her husband and daughter. Visit her website at caroltownend.co.uk (http://www.caroltownend.co.uk).
Also by Carol Townend (#u8aba68ae-2275-5b45-9842-d37b1ac1732e)
Knights of Champagne miniseries
Lady Isobel’s Champion
Unveiling Lady Clare
Lord Gawain’s Forbidden Mistress
Lady Rowena’s Ruin
Mistaken for a Lady
Princesses of the Alhambra miniseries
The Knight’s Forbidden Princess
And look out for the next book
coming soon
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The Knight’s Forbidden Princess
Carol Townend
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07369-1
THE KNIGHT’S FORBIDDEN PRINCESS
© 2018 Carol Townend
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my editor, Linda Fildew, who listened very hard (and incredibly patiently) when I was developing this story.
I’d also like to thank Joanna Maitland and Sophie Weston of Libertà! Their sparkles were invaluable. They know what I mean.
A thousand thanks.
Contents
Cover (#u193ec232-f522-5d68-8ce6-c926b57b4561)
Back Cover Text (#uc88575fd-c6ab-5501-8c60-6da2a2ed71e0)
About the Author (#u11ab692c-fce1-56d8-93c6-9ad814922dcb)
Booklist (#ua7e6cc15-b81d-5030-85a9-dad6bbd0e336)
Title Page (#u0077e664-ada9-5556-804d-3a74ce9035ee)
Copyright (#u18ca0f91-97a2-5fc5-945a-79686450cfbf)
Dedication (#u6feddef4-f966-513e-b41c-acf6de50d704)
Chapter One (#uc802a43a-8bb8-50ef-89b4-5c1c9f6d7430)
Chapter Two (#uef32abc3-6631-54f6-8d69-b45fc1cb3bb8)
Chapter Three (#u8234017b-a927-5d66-9793-9288736b2db5)
Chapter Four (#u1bfcc5bf-2e7b-591c-a8ab-190f5dea03de)
Chapter Five (#uebf111c2-8bc4-5102-9d49-f1d78bd1ba16)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u8aba68ae-2275-5b45-9842-d37b1ac1732e)
1396—Castle Salobreña in Al-Andalus—a watchtower overlooking the port
The eldest Nasrid Princess was feeling rebellious. Today, she was using her Spanish name rather than her Moorish one. Today, she was Princess Leonor. She was supposed to be taking her siesta on a pile of tasselled cushions by a latticed window, yet sleep was miles away.
The two other Princesses were dozing nearby. Thanks to the Sultan’s orders, the shutters of the pavilion were firmly closed and, unhappily for the three Princesses, the breeze was too weak to work its way through the lattices. The heat was suffocating.
Leonor lifted the edge of her veil to fan herself and the chink of ruby and pearl bracelets echoed softly around the pavilion walls. With each breath, the gems decorating the fringe flickered like fireflies, and tiny rainbow-coloured lights danced over the tiled floor. Leonor frowned at the evanescent colours, at the brilliant arabesques patterning the pavilion walls, at the script flowing neatly over the door arch. ‘There is no victor but God,’ it read. Her frown deepened. As if she or her sisters could forget. ‘No victor but God’ was the motto of the Nasrid dynasty.
We are in prison. Our father has imprisoned us at the border of his territories. Will we ever be free?
Princess Leonor itched to toss her veil aside, but her father, the Sultan, may blessings rain upon him, had forbidden it. The three Nasrid Princesses were not to be stared at.
In truth, the Sultan himself was the only man alive to have seen their faces. Men in general, including even the hand-picked guards on duty outside their apartment, were forbidden to look at them. To all intents and purposes, the Sultan’s daughters were invisible. Sometimes Princess Leonor felt as though she didn’t actually exist. It was as though she had winked out of sight, like a real firefly.
She gripped her fan. It had been an age since she and her sisters had heard from their father. Did he intend to keep them locked out of sight for ever? The thought of spending her whole life in a jewelled cage was unbearable; something had to change.
Since Leonor was the eldest Nasrid Princess, perhaps it was up to her to see that it did.
She drew in a breath of warm air and gazed through her veil at a beam of light slanting through the latticed shutter. The shutter—yet another barrier to keep her and her sisters safely out of sight—was pierced with pretty stars. Leonor loathed the sight of them. Dust motes hung in the air. The light quivered and was darkened by a swiftly moving shadow.
A seagull outside? An eagle? It was too hot to move.
If I open the shutter, I could see the harbour below.
Not that Leonor was meant to do that. It wouldn’t do for the Sultan’s daughter to lean out of the watchtower window; it wouldn’t do for a Nasrid princess to be seen.
But the heat! Holy heaven, she was melting. If she opened the shutter, just a chink, there would surely be some breeze. The latch was within reach, the latch that she and her sisters were forbidden to lift. Dropping her fan, Leonor stretched out her hand. Even the metal was warm.
She hesitated, picturing the castle walls straggling downhill towards the sea. The pavilion was situated in a remote tower overlooking the port—this window had to be well out of the guards’ line of sight. Who would know if she opened the shutter?
If anyone on the quayside glanced her way, all they would see was a veiled woman in the distance.
Leonor lifted the latch and pushed at the shutter. Light poured in. And sounds! Sounds that the shutter had muffled—the braying of a donkey, the cry of a gull, the creak of a rope. Her pulse quickened. Silk rustled as she pushed to her knees. She leaned her elbows on the embrasure and looked out.
The wind toyed with her veil. She could smell salt and fish. And down there—seen through the film of her veil—the harbour teemed with life. There were so many people! Ordinary people who walked freely about her father’s kingdom.
Out to sea, a ship moved steadily across the water. Hampered by her veil, Leonor couldn’t see the detail, just the shape of it, its sails filled with wind. Even the ripples on the water were blurred by her veil.
Her throat ached. Gritting her teeth, half-expecting the heavens to fall, she reached for the hem of her veil and tossed it over her head.
The heavens didn’t fall, but she blinked. Everything was so bright!
The sea stretched on for ever, it seemed, its surface gleaming like beaten metal. The sun sparkled on the swell and gilded the leaves of the palm trees. Best of all, Leonor could feel the breeze caressing her cheeks. It was cool, a touch of paradise and infinitely better than her stupid fan. Bliss. When a gust of wind caught a lock of hair and tugged it free of its pins, she held in a delighted laugh.
Below her on the wall walk, the thud of heavy boots sounded a warning, a guard was doing his rounds. Hand over her mouth lest she draw his attention her way, Leonor held herself still. Her heart thumped in time with the marching boots. If the guard heard anything and leaned over that merlon, he might catch sight of her. For her sake as well as his, it wouldn’t do to be seen, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the harbour below. Paradise was surely looking at the world without a veil. Just this once. There was so much to see. A large galley had docked and was unloading its cargo. No, not cargo exactly. Merciful God, the men walking down the gangplank were chained together in a long line. Chained.
Goosebumps ran down Leonor’s back. Was it a slave ship? There were slaves in the castle, but they were well cared for. Leonor had never seen anyone chained like this and what she saw appalled her.
Those men...poor things. Their bruises spoke of heavy-handed beatings by the brutes in charge of them. A powerful-looking prisoner in a crimson tunic was helping one who looked to be barely conscious. The beaten man stumbled, fighting the drag of his fetters, and it was clear that he was only standing thanks to his friend’s supporting arms. It was odd though, something was very out of place. Most of the prisoners were remarkably well dressed.
Leonor’s gaze was drawn back to the man in crimson. He stood taller than his companions, with strong, wide shoulders. As she studied him, the word ‘warrior’ jumped into her head. Not that Leonor had ever seen a warrior close to—her father, the King, may he live for ever, would never permit it. But that man, yes, he must be a warrior, his physique was truly remarkable. The wind was playing in his wavy dark hair, teasing the edge of his crimson tunic.
Leonor glimpsed a flash of gold and her eyes went wide. He was wearing a gold ring. Goodness, who was he? Why hadn’t the ring been stolen by his captors? As she stared harder, she noticed that the man’s crimson tunic was embroidered with gold thread. She looked at his neighbours and found more signs of wealth. Silver gleamed on the belt buckle of a man in a blue tunic. The man who was hurt also had a gold ring on. These three looked more like princes than slaves. Why were they chained? It didn’t make sense.
Angry voices floated up from the quayside. An overseer cracked his whip and Leonor bit her lip as an agonised groan reached her ears. The injured man stumbled again, the chains jerked and the line of prisoners came to an abrupt halt.
Leonor quite forgot her place and leaned right out of the window. She was no longer the Princess Leonor who should know better than to show her face outside. She was simply a soft-hearted young woman frowning at a sailor for whipping a man who could barely stand.
She wasn’t the only one to be so affronted. As the whip lifted a second time, the tallest captive, the one in crimson, rounded on the overseer.
Leonor’s nails bit into her palms. Anger darkened the face of the warrior-like figure and he stepped directly into harm’s way. The whip snaked towards him, and when it struck, he made no sound. He looked furious. Furious and proud. Something lodged in Leonor’s throat. Even in his anger, that man was devastatingly handsome. No slave, he.
Who were these men?
Leonor suddenly recalled hearing her duenna, Inés, muttering to one of the servants. There had been talk of Spanish noblemen chipping away at the edges of her father’s territory. There had been fighting and prisoners had been taken.
