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‘It will take more than a day?’
‘It could take several days, we are largely in God’s hands.’
‘Several days?’ With a sigh, she faced forward. ‘I shall not let you down.’
Inigo dug his heels into Soldier’s flanks.
They rode in what he trusted was a northerly direction with the Princess’s words—I shall not let you down—echoing in his mind. Even though he hadn’t wanted this, he felt a reluctant admiration for her.
All Inigo had been able to think about since his release was that his days in Sultan Tariq’s prison were over. Even though he knew it was common for lords to be held for ransom after capture in battle, there’d been moments when he’d feared he would never see Seville again. His injured leg still throbbed occasionally. The wound had made him delirious for days. If it hadn’t been for Rodrigo, Inigo would doubtless have breathed his last. Thanks to Rodrigo securing the services of a doctor, Inigo’s leg had slowly healed. And Sultan Tariq had eventually settled on a ransom.
Fortunately, Inigo’s coffers were deep. He wouldn’t be crippled, physically or financially, by his ill-fated excursion into Al-Andalus.
The storm rolled on. Inigo swiped water from his face and frowned into the night. Rodrigo had far more cause for regret than he did. Rodrigo’s graceless cousin, Enrique, had a lot to answer for. Inigo had merely come away with some grim memories, an ache in his leg and the knowledge that his coffers were slightly lighter. Rodrigo, on the other hand, had lost a beloved younger brother. Inigo didn’t envy Rodrigo his homecoming. His mother, Lady Isabel, would be beside herself with grief.
They continued steadily uphill, crossing land that was lightly wooded. The baying of the Sultan’s hounds faded and other, less hostile, sounds took over—the startled bleat of a sheep, the thud of their horses’ hoofs, the cry of an owl.
The Princess—Alba—held fast. Thankfully, the trembling had stopped. She appeared to be sitting easily before him. Occasionally, a light scent flirted with Inigo’s senses. It was flowery and exotic. Jasmine? Inigo wasn’t sure, though it was pleasant. As was holding her. How long had it been since he had held a woman in his arms? Too long, clearly.
The face of Inigo’s betrothed formed in his mind. Lady Margarita Marchena de Carmona. They had been betrothed for an age. Inigo was uneasily aware that he’d not seen her in years. That must change, and quickly. His brush with death had brought home to him the importance of marriage. Of getting heirs. He had dallied long enough.
He fixed his gaze on where he thought—prayed—north was and grimaced. In Córdoba, he would have to see the Princess safely stowed before he arranged his marriage. He had no clue how to deal with her. She was a Nasrid princess, for pity’s sake. He would consult with Rodrigo, between them they would think of something. Then, with the Princess safe, Inigo could seek out his betrothed.
He’d marry before the year was out. He needed sons, someone to steward the family lands. After Margarita had given him a son or two, he could rest easy in the knowledge that her greedy brother, Baron Fernando, would never lay claim to his lands.
Baron Fernando Marchena de Carmona had a reputation for deviousness and double-dealing. Put bluntly, Inigo didn’t trust him. He’d never liked him. While Inigo understood his father’s wish to forge an alliance with their close neighbours, the idea of Baron Fernando becoming his brother-in-law filled him with misgivings.
If Inigo’s marriage to Margarita proved childless and Inigo were to die without an heir, Baron Fernando wouldn’t hesitate to stake a claim to Inigo’s lands. Neighbour or no, Baron Fernando wasn’t fit to rule. Inigo wanted better for his land and his people.
Inigo tightened his hold on the Nasrid Princess, brought his face closer to her damp hair and inhaled gently. Jasmine. Yes, he’d take his oath Princess Alba’s hair was fragranced with jasmine.
The rain slackened, the storm was blowing itself out. When the stars reappeared, Inigo was thankful to see they were, as he had hoped, headed in a northerly direction.
The Princess remained quiet, apparently resigned to the length of the ride and her slightly ignominious mode of transport. She had to be finding this an ordeal, when Inigo had seen her on the road to Granada, she’d been riding a delicate grey mare bedecked with silver bells. The attendant entourage had been huge. Knights. Servants carrying sunshades. Sultan Tariq himself...
Inigo glanced over his shoulder, God help him, Guillen was trailing, they might have to slow down. Had Raven’s shoe worked loose? It might not be the shoe though; Raven wasn’t as fast or robust as Soldier.
He reined in to allow Guillen to catch up and the Princess looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes glittered, in the dusky light of the stars and moon, they were enormous.
‘I haven’t heard the hounds for a while, my lord. Do you think we have outrun them?’
Her voice had a soft, husky quality that sent a frisson of awareness down Inigo’s spine.
‘I believe so, my lady.’
Inigo studied her, or tried to. The light wasn’t strong enough for him to make out much more than her face and her eyes, which were framed by dark eyelashes. The glimpse he’d had of her on that pretty mare had revealed her to be extraordinarily lovely. However, it had been but the briefest of glimpses and Inigo was conscious that he’d been starved of feminine company for so long that he might have exaggerated her appeal.
While he waited for Guillen, Inigo smiled down at her. ‘You must be missing your grey mare.’
Those long eyelashes swept down, and she stiffened, an almost imperceptible movement but he could hardly miss it, given how close they were.
‘Alas, the grey mares are no longer in the palace stables,’ she murmured. ‘My father sold them.’
‘Oh?’
The Princess didn’t choose to enlarge and as Guillen drew abreast, Inigo didn’t press her.
‘Are we going to stop, my lord?’ Guillen asked in his hopeful voice.
‘Is Raven’s shoe giving you trouble?’
‘No, my lord. Raven seems fine.’ Guillen gave a loud yawn.
‘I’m sorry, lad, I know you’re exhausted,’ Inigo said. Guillen hadn’t been prepared for this race through Al-Andalus any more than Inigo had. ‘We’ll rest soon. Sir Enrique’s folly caught us all unawares.’
‘Sir Enrique’s folly?’ The Princess laid a delicate hand on Inigo’s forearm and a dark eyebrow lifted. ‘Are you saying that you didn’t plan to come to the sally port, Lord Inigo?’
Inigo saw no reason to lie. ‘My lady, I had no such plans until the last moment. My sole aim was to leave Al-Andalus and get back to Castile as quickly and safely as possible.’ Conscious of the Princess’s innocence, Inigo picked his words with care. If Princess Alba had spent her days cloistered with her sisters, she would have no experience of life outside the palace. She must be afraid, and he didn’t want to add to her fears. ‘However, when Sir Enrique, Lord Rodrigo’s cousin, you understand, revealed he was planning to...er...to help you and your sisters escape, I decided that Lord Rodrigo and I should join him. We wanted to ensure all went smoothly.’
At first the Princess didn’t respond. In the east, the horizon was shading to dawn. As Inigo looked at it, he could feel those small fingers, clenching and unclenching on his sleeve.
‘My lord, I am sorry to have inconvenienced you,’ she said coolly. ‘Please be assured, you will be rewarded for your assistance.’
Inigo almost choked. She thought he wanted a reward? What kind of man did she think he was? ‘I want no reward.’ The only reward he craved was to return to Seville in one piece and get on with his life. ‘It is my pleasure to take you to Córdoba where you may join the other Princess.’
Her dark eyebrows snapped together. Her fingers dug into his arm. ‘My lord, you must remember there are three of us. Leonor went with your friend, Lord Rodrigo. Did you see Constanza?’
Inigo hesitated. ‘I am not sure I saw your other sister,’ he said carefully. Rodrigo had sworn to deal with Enrique. Inigo hoped nothing had gone amiss. He caught the gleam of white teeth; the Princess was biting her lip.
‘Constanza never left the palace? I could have sworn she was following.’ Her voice was small. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d lost heart though, Constanza is, well, wary of change.’
‘It saddens you to think of her living alone in the palace.’
She shot him a startled look and nodded. ‘We have always been together.’
Inigo nudged Soldier into a walk. With the dogs no longer hot on their heels, speed was less important. It was just as well, the horses needed a change of pace. Hearing a stifled yawn, he said, ‘We shall rest soon, my lady.’
‘As you wish.’
Inigo was himself fatigued. His leg gave a twinge, a slight discomfort that was, he realised with a rueful smile, keeping him alert. And thank heaven for it, he must keep his wits about him until he had found somewhere safe for them to recover their strength. A secluded campsite would be better than nothing. It would have to be soon; the light was strengthening.
They set off again and Inigo was eyeing the terrain, peering into a small olive grove at the side of the road, when Princess Alba pointed.
‘My lord, look.’
A dilapidated shack took shape, half hidden by the trees. A shepherd’s hut, if he wasn’t mistaken.
‘Could we stop there?’
‘I wouldn’t risk it. It’s too near the road.’ He prepared to ride on when a faint, mewling sound caught his attention.
The Princess gripped his arm. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Sounds like a cat,’ he said.
The Princess gripped his arm. ‘That is no cat.’ Her voice held a note of urgency. ‘It’s a baby. My lord, a baby is in distress, we must stop.’
Inigo looked at the Princess and back at the hut. It really was too close to the highway. ‘My lady, we can’t stop here.’
‘Yes, we can.’
Before Inigo realised what she was about, the Princess leaned back full against him, slipped lithely to the ground and hurried into the hut.
Exchanging a disbelieving glance with Guillen, Inigo handed him his reins. ‘Wait here, lad.’ He dismounted, jarring his injured leg as his boots hit the ground.
What the devil did she think she was doing, walking boldly into a shepherd’s hut dressed like a concubine from a harem? If anyone saw her, the entire area would be awash with rumour, and the world would quickly work out that one of Sultan Tariq’s runaway Princesses had come this way.
Chapter Four (#ua1002de1-2b82-5548-9c3d-30d1466b6297)
Inigo ducked into the shack, the roof was so low he couldn’t stand upright. Straw was strewn over a beaten earth floor and a box cradle stood by a crude bed. Smoke spiralled from a sullen fire and a blackened cooking pot stood on a nearby stone. It was all very primitive.
Save for the Princess, the hut was deserted. Almost. A baby was indeed crying, Inigo could see a chubby fist waving back and forth inside the cradle. He watched in disbelief as Princess Alba perched on the edge of the bed and reached for the baby.
‘Come to me, little one. Don’t cry,’ she murmured.
The door was ajar, and the first rays of the rising sun fell on the Princess’s face. Her long black hair hung about her—it was slightly dishevelled from their ride, yet it in no way detracted from her beauty. Princess Alba was every bit as lovely as Inigo had remembered. Her face was a perfect oval. As she looked down at the baby, her luxuriant eyelashes lay like dark crescents against her cheeks. Her skin looked smooth, there wasn’t a blemish in sight. Her mouth softened as she looked at the baby, it made her seem vulnerable in a way that was impossible to define.
Inigo forgot to breathe. Princess Alba was stunning. Gold gleamed at her throat, gemstones sparkled on her clothes and the sight of her cradling a baby in so humble a setting closed his throat. Such tenderness... His guts knotted with an emotion so primal he couldn’t name it.
Swallowing hard, he found his voice. ‘My lady, we must go on. We’re still in your father’s territory and we need to be discreet.’ He waved at her jewel-spangled clothes. ‘You are rather conspicuous. It is not safe for us here.’
Babe in arms, the Princess pushed to her feet. Her dark eyes sparked.
‘This child needs its mother, I will not leave until she returns.’
Inigo ran his hand round the back of his neck. The past few months had been hell. He’d done battle with her father’s army. He’d been thrown into prison with a leg wound that had festered. He’d survived the weary trudge from Salobreña to Granada, not to mention weeks of forced labour in the bramble-strewn crevasse outside the Alhambra Palace. He was tired and hungry, and his clothes were damp from the storm. Even so, he was not proof, it seemed, to the pleading in the Princess’s eyes.
‘My lord, we cannot abandon a baby.’
‘The mother won’t have gone far,’ he said firmly.
During his imprisonment, Inigo had only had glimpses of Princess Alba. He didn’t have a clear grasp of her character and he was ruefully aware that his imagination had filled in the gaps of his knowledge. His mind had painted her beautiful, and so she was. Now it would seem that, unbeknown to him, it had also painted her gentle, wise and loving.
Well, she was certainly handling that baby carefully. But as to the rest, Inigo had no clue. What was she really like? As he searched her face, all he could see was determination. Her chin was lifted, and her black eyes held fire.
‘My lord, you would not be so cruel as to leave a frightened baby alone.’
He held in a sigh. This fierceness was most inconvenient.
And yet, standing in front of that crude bed like the Queen of Heaven with a baby in her arms and her eyes so intense, she was bewitching. So protective. It was obvious that she would guard that infant with all that was in her.
Princess Alba had courage. Life in the palace could not have prepared her for the world at large, but her bravery was unquestionable. She disarmed him utterly.
She searched his face and what she saw must have satisfied her, for her fierceness faded. She bent over the baby, rocking it. Cooing gently. To Inigo’s relief the crying stopped. He hated it when children cried, he felt so helpless.
Inigo wasn’t good with babies or children. Never had been. He wanted his own, of course, a man must have heirs. Fortunately, Margarita would have charge of their children if they were so blessed. In Inigo’s experience, children, especially infants, were best viewed from a distance.
The Princess frowned at the smoking fire. Her foot tapped.
‘The mother can’t be far away,’ she said, expression clearing. ‘I shall find her. It’s my belief this child is hungry. My lord, if you please, hold the baby.’
To Inigo’s dismay, she thrust the child into his arms and squeezed past, leaving him blinking helplessly after her. He juggled inexpertly with a warm, suspiciously damp bundle.
‘My lady, no. Take the baby.’
He found himself staring helplessly at the Princess’s back. Moving to the door, he glanced warily at the child. Thumb in mouth, its eyes were open and fixed on him.
The Princess was shading her hand against the morning sun, staring through the olive trees. She must have seen something, for she looked back.
‘This won’t take a moment,’ she said, and made to leave the pathway. ‘Someone is coming.’
Inigo hurried over, wrestling with the child. ‘My lady, for pity’s sake, have a care. It’s unwise to draw attention to ourselves. Come back inside. And you had best take this baby before I drop it.’
She looked enquiringly at him. ‘Babies disturb you?’
Inigo felt a muscle tick in his cheek. ‘Not precisely.’ He had no wish to delve into his past and finally settled for, ‘Children don’t take to me. Come inside, please.’
The Princess relieved him of the child and settled it in the crook of her arm. He had no idea what experience she might have of babies, she was obviously a natural.
The light chime of bells announced the arrival of a small flock of sheep and their shepherdess. Inigo and the Princess watched her approach from the doorway.
Princess Alba’s face relaxed. ‘Here is our baby’s mother.’
Our baby. Her choice of words had an unsettling resonance. Our baby.
The mother hurried up and Inigo felt a flicker of unease. How would Princess Alba—a Nasrid princess—deal with a simple shepherdess? More importantly, how best to get her to hurry? He wasn’t entirely sure they had lost the Sultan’s men. The sooner they were outside Al-Andalus and back in Castile, the better. Before that though, they had to find somewhere safe to rest, somewhere Guillen’s mount could be examined.
Conflict between the two women seemed inevitable. There the Princess stood in her harem finery, holding the shepherdess’s baby. What would the shepherdess think? He stood casually by the door, braced to intervene.
The baby started to cry. Princess Alba smiled, spoke softly in Arabic and handed the child back to its mother.
Inigo couldn’t be certain what was said, though the shepherdess didn’t seem the least bit perturbed to have a visitor clothed in silks and hung about with a king’s ransom in gems. She nodded at the Princess, retreated to the bed with the child and unlaced her gown. His cheeks warmed, and he looked away to preserve the mother’s modesty. A brief silence fell as the baby started to suckle. Then the Princess spoke again, and the conversation resumed.
From the doorway, Inigo allowed the two women a few moments before interrupting.
‘My lady, the sun is up. We need somewhere safe to recuperate. I cannot be sure we have lost your father’s men.’
Princess Alba nodded and rose. Slipping a heavy-looking gold bangle from her wrist, she handed it to the woman. The bangle was so large the shepherdess blinked at it, mouth agape, before plunging into a flurry of what could only be thanks. The Princess responded, and when the conversation began all over again, Inigo lost patience.
