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‘Never. I will have vengeance.’
Realising outright confrontation with Enrique would achieve little, Inigo reached for his sword belt. Apart from the Princesses’ largesse, Inigo and his companions had been surviving on siege rations. If he could get decent food into Rodrigo’s cousin, perhaps he’d see sense. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. We could have supper before you set out.’
Enrique looked blearily at him. ‘You’re offering to pay?’
‘Certainly.’ The price of a meal in a tavern was as nothing compared to the havoc that would ensue if a Castilian knight abducted a Nasrid princess. ‘If you wait a moment, we can go together.’
‘Where are you headed?’
‘I am reliably informed that the best local tavern lies about a mile outside the town,’ Inigo said. ‘The Black Sheep.’
‘The Black Sheep.’ Enrique laughed and fumbled for the door latch. ‘How appropriate. Very well, I accept. See you later.’
‘What’s the hurry?’ Inigo frowned, he didn’t want to let Enrique out of his sight, he didn’t trust him an inch. ‘Allow me to settle up here, we can go together.’
He also needed a moment to leave a message for Rodrigo. Rodrigo would want to know about his cousin’s latest folly, he would object to this plan as much as Inigo. Sir Enrique de Murcia couldn’t be allowed anywhere near the three Princesses.
Enrique shook his head. ‘I’ve had my fill of this place, I’ll see you at the inn.’
‘Good grief, Enrique, you can surely wait until I’m dressed!’
He spoke to an empty doorway.
Tension balling in his gut, Inigo asked Mo to look out for Rodrigo and his squire, making sure Mo understood to give them clear directions to The Black Sheep.
‘Mo, his name is Rodrigo Álvarez, Count of Córdoba. Please be sure he understands it’s the best inn hereabouts and that I shall meet him there.’
Mo smiled. ‘Certainly, my lord.’
‘My thanks.’ Inigo strode into the lamplit street praying that Enrique would wait for his supper. The sooner Inigo got to that inn, the better he would feel.
Guillen cleared his throat. ‘You wish to leave straight away, my lord?’ His eyes were shadowed and his voice anxious. ‘Didn’t you mention a barber?’
Inigo ran his hand ruefully through his hair and beard. ‘That will have to wait, we need to find that inn with all speed. I feel uneasy leaving Sir Enrique on his own.’
A line formed on his squire’s brow. ‘We—that is I—may have to delay. I’m sorry, my lord, one of Raven’s shoes was loose. I asked a groom to take him to a blacksmith to shoe him.’
‘A smith is working at this hour?’ Inigo asked, coming to an abrupt halt outside the stable. They ought to hurry. Left on his own, Enrique was a liability. However, Guillen looked so woebegone, Inigo didn’t have the heart to chastise him. ‘Hell burn it, Guillen, you’re not to blame, horses often cast shoes, but the timing couldn’t be worse. With Enrique set on revenge, anything might happen. I wanted to sober him up with food.’
‘I know, my lord, and I’m sorry.’ Guillen brightened. ‘If you go ahead, I can meet you later.’
Inigo shook his head, the idea of leaving his squire alone in Granada while he went tearing after Enrique didn’t sit well with him. ‘No, lad, we only have one letter of safe conduct. We’d best stick together.’
Inigo collected his horse, Soldier, and he and Guillen were soon at the smithy. Irritatingly, the blacksmith was deep in conversation with a neighbour and Guillen’s horse wasn’t ready. It was necessary for Inigo to impress upon the man that speed was of the essence. A gold dinar did the trick, and while they were waiting for Raven to be shod, they called for more lamps and Guillen was able to act as Inigo’s barber.
At length, Inigo and Guillen hauled themselves on to their horses and took to the road. The whole operation had taken far longer than Inigo had anticipated. He could only pray that Enrique had fallen into a stupor at the inn.
The lights of the town faded, and moonlight became their guide. The road was a silver thread winding through groves of orange and olive. The air hummed with cicadas.
Eventually, stronger lights gleamed, they had reached The Black Sheep. A small area of scrub had been roped off and was serving as a paddock for the tavern’s customers. A couple of old men—grooms presumably—sat beneath a tree, guarding a handful of horses. Enrique’s wasn’t among them.
Inigo held in a groan. ‘Guillen, this doesn’t look good.’
‘No, my lord.’
Leaving their mounts with the grooms, Inigo and Guillen went into the inn. It was crammed to the rafters with big-bellied, prosperous-looking men in fine brocades. Merchants. A couple of shepherds huddled in a corner. The noise was deafening.
No Enrique. And no sign of his squire, either. The innkeeper, a cloth about his waist, approached and greeted them in Arabic.
‘My apologies, I don’t understand,’ Inigo said, over the din. The smell of roasted chicken filled the air and his stomach growled. ‘Do you speak Spanish?’
The innkeeper shook his head and gestured towards the serving hatch where a boy was filling bowls from a blackened cauldron.
The boy joined them. ‘Sir?’
‘I am looking for a friend, a knight. He would have had his squire with him.’
‘They are Castilian?’ The boy hesitated. ‘And the knight had been drinking?’
Inigo grimaced. ‘You could say that.’
‘They have gone, sir.’
‘When?’
‘Not long.’
‘Which direction did they take?’
‘I heard them mention the Alhambra Palace.’
Dear Lord, Enrique had a death wish. Inigo snatched a hunk of bread from a tray and tossed it at his squire.
‘Guillen?’
‘My lord?’
‘Get back outside. Stop them unsaddling the horses and keep an eye out for Rodrigo. If he arrives, don’t let him dismount. I’ll grab provisions and follow you.’
His squire dashed off and Inigo secured a couple of bundles of food—chicken, bread and cheese. Lord, this was supposed to be his first night of freedom and it looked as though he was going to have to spend it preventing Rodrigo’s wretched cousin from despoiling an innocent girl.
Guillen reappeared. ‘My lord, Count Rodrigo has arrived.’
Inigo left the inn. Seeing Rodrigo and his squire were still mounted, he let out a breath of relief. Thank God for reliable friends.
‘Take this.’ He thrust a food bundle at Rodrigo. ‘Save it for later.’
‘Later?’ Rodrigo frowned. ‘Inigo, what in hell’s going on?’
‘Enrique’s in trouble again.’ Inigo said, hauling himself into the saddle.
‘Madre mía, this must stop. Last time we rushed to Enrique’s rescue, Diego died. Cousin or no, I’ve no wish to see him again.’
Inigo nodded. Diego’s death had upset him, and he could only begin to imagine the depth of Rodrigo’s grief. What must it be like to lose a beloved younger brother? His jaw tightened. ‘We have no choice.’
Rodrigo’s expression was bleak. ‘Don’t we? Enrique never learns, as far as I’m concerned, he can stew in his own juice.’
‘Not this time.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘He’s drunk.’
Rodrigo looked at him. ‘Is that all? Good grief, given the conditions we’ve endured, you can hardly blame him for that.’ He glanced meaningfully at the tavern. ‘I wouldn’t mind a drink myself.’
‘If only it were as simple as that,’ Inigo said. Trusting Rodrigo and the squires to follow, he dug in his spurs and cantered on to the road that led back to the Alhambra Palace. The lights of the inn fell back, they would have to rely on the moon.
Rodrigo soon caught up. ‘Slow down, man. What’s going on?’
‘Enrique’s been muttering about revenge all day. Wants to make the Sultan pay for treating us like slaves.’
Rodrigo swore. ‘There’s no way he can get to Sultan Tariq, the palace is a fortress and he rarely leaves it. Not to mention that entire battalions answer to the Sultan’s command and we are in his heartlands. Leave it, Inigo. My cousin can get himself out of the mire this time.’
Inigo grimaced. ‘You wouldn’t be so sanguine if you knew what he was planning.’
‘Surprise me.’
‘He’s going to abduct the Sultan’s daughters.’
‘What? That’s insane.’
‘I assure you, it’s true. Enrique’s going to lure them out of that tower.’
‘They’d never leave the palace.’
Inigo raised his eyebrows and, voice filled with doubt, Rodrigo repeated himself. ‘No, they’d surely never leave the palace.’
‘Rodrigo, hear me out. Enrique has made contact with someone inside the palace, a maidservant or duenna of some kind, I believe. It’s already arranged. The Princesses want to run away. They’re to meet your cousin tonight.’
‘What? We’ve only been released a day, how on earth has Enrique managed to organise it in that time?’
‘He didn’t give me any more details.’
‘You’re certain it’s tonight?’
‘That’s what he said. Rodrigo, your cousin’s a madman when the drink is in him.’
Rodrigo grunted in acknowledgement. ‘Unfortunately, he’s a madman with a will of iron.’
‘Well, he’s after vengeance tonight, and he’s decided the Sultan’s daughters will give it to him. I’ve never seen him quite so set on anything.’
‘I’ll thrash him when I see him,’ Rodrigo said curtly. ‘Those Princesses are very young. Sheltered. What do you reckon he’s after, ransom? You don’t think he’d harm them?’
Inigo gave a harsh laugh. ‘His reputation with women is not good.’
‘He’s a married man.’
‘Don’t make the mistake of judging your cousin by your standards. Enrique is roaring drunk and he wants revenge.’
A muscle flickered in Rodrigo’s jaw. ‘If my cousin carries off just one of the Sultan’s daughters, he could set off a minor war. And I’m not just referring to here in Al-Andalus. If Enrique’s father-in-law believes my cousin has slighted his daughter by carrying off a Nasrid princess, he will never forgive him. Enrique must be stopped. When did he set out?’
‘He’d gone when I got here. The innkeeper says he left about an hour ago.’
‘I take it he took his squire with him?’
‘Aye.’
Inigo and Rodrigo gave their horses the spur and they and their squires flew into the night.
Chapter Three (#ua1002de1-2b82-5548-9c3d-30d1466b6297)
In the grounds of the Alhambra Palace
The night of the Princesses’ escape had arrived. Leonor and Alba were leading the way even though they had never been in this part of the grounds. The iron gate that marked the entrance to the disused sally port had been almost impossible to find in the dark, and the gardens were so quiet all Alba could hear was her own breathing, fast and flurried. Despite the warmth of the night, she shivered as she peered into the secret tunnel to the outside.
A few yards in, a torch flickered and hissed. Beyond the torch, a gloomy corridor ran deep into the earth. Alba had heard mutterings about this tunnel. Some said it was a secret passageway into the palace, others that it was an escape route for previous sultans fleeing murderous relatives. This last might well be true, many of her father’s predecessors had had their lives cut short by ambitious brothers. Her nails dug into her palms. Whatever its use, the passage smelt dank and looked terrifying. Shadowed and seemingly without end, it couldn’t have been used for centuries.
This was their route to freedom? Was it safe?
It was certainly narrow. Alba hated confined spaces, normally nothing would persuade her to set foot in a tunnel like this. Unfortunately, life in the palace had become intolerable. The sally port was her only way out. God was good though, and the rusting iron gate on the palace side was open, as her duenna, Inés, had promised.
There would be no turning back.
Alba had no regrets. No, that wasn’t entirely true. She deeply regretted having to leave Hunter, her pet monkey, behind. She’d had to do it though, Hunter was exuberant and far too noisy to come with them. He would have given them away in a heartbeat. Alba had wept when she left him in the care of a maidservant.
Another regret was the songbirds. The Sultan had given each of the Princesses a pair of songbirds in a gilded cage. Earlier that evening, Alba had released hers into the wild. Like her, they must take their chances away from the palace. Leonor, too, had freed her songbirds, Constanza had not. A maidservant would care for Constanza’s birds.
In the flare of the flickering torch, Alba noticed the tremble of Leonor’s veil. Perversely, it gave her heart to see that her brave older sister was unnerved.
‘Where’s Constanza?’ Leonor whispered. ‘We can’t leave without her.’
‘She’s just behind, stop fretting. She’ll follow us, she always does,’ Alba said.
Alba had often wondered if she and her sisters were close because they were triplets or because they had been brought up together. Had the Sultan’s policy of isolating them from the rest of the world, indeed, of isolating them from almost everyone except for a handful of servants and their beloved Spanish duenna strengthened the bond between them? The three Princesses ate together, they laughed together, they cried together. They would escape together too. Once in Spain, they would start anew. Together.
Alba gave Leonor a gentle push. ‘Hurry, for pity’s sake, Father’s guards are everywhere.’
Leonor went into the tunnel. A huge key hung on a hook below the torch, it was as rusty and ancient as the gate. Leonor grabbed it and thrust it at Alba.
