LITMIR.BIZ

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alarm, a triumphant smile flickered into being. ‘I believe I know who you are.’

      Leonor closed her eyes. ‘You can have no idea.’

      ‘But I think that I do.’ He leaned in again and lowered his voice. ‘Your questions betray you, Princess. All of Christendom knows that Sultan Tariq stole a Spanish noblewoman named Lady Juana and made her his Queen. It was the scandal of a lifetime. And who else but one of his daughters would want to know about that long-dead Queen?’

      Heart in her mouth, it was a moment before Leonor trusted herself to speak. Count Rodrigo mustn’t realise he had stumbled on the truth! The last thing she needed was for her father to find out from someone else that she had been visiting the prisoners. ‘You are wrong.’

      ‘Show me your face.’

      ‘Never.’

      ‘You are one of the Princesses.’

      ‘I am not.’

      ‘You, my lady, are a liar.’ Count Rodrigo’s voice was little more than a whisper and yet she had never heard anything more threatening. ‘Won’t you tell me your name, Princess?’ He laid his hand on his heart and gave a slight bow. Filthy and dishevelled though he was, she had never seen anyone look less subservient. ‘I swear not to tell anyone you have been here, your secret will be safe with me.’

      Thoughts in chaos—what had she done?—Leonor swept to the door and reverted hastily to Arabic. ‘Yusuf, we’re leaving.’

      * * *

      Rodrigo Álvarez, Count of Córdoba. The name reverberated in Leonor’s mind as she hurried back to the apartments. Absently, she rubbed the back of her hand. It still tingled. Count Rodrigo hadn’t touched her actual skin, yet her hand was all hot. How could so slight a touch affect her so strongly? What might it feel like if he kissed her skin, rather than the veil?

      Her sandal caught on a flagstone and she missed her step. The feelings that the Count had unleashed inside her were astonishing, although she’d be the first to admit she hadn’t been sure what to expect. She’d imagined him to be—what?—overbearing, like her father?

      Count Rodrigo had been angry and resentful and not a little intimidating. Yet, filthy and half-starved though he was he, he’d kept his anger in check. He’d been more thoughtful and courteous than she’d dared hope. And that wry smile—why, at times, he’d even seemed amused.

      How would Father have behaved in like circumstances?

      Leonor wasn’t sure, but she was fairly certain that her father wouldn’t have been half as forbearing.

      The Count did have a certain rough charm. Thoughtfully, she glanced at her hand, it felt as though it had been branded. Lord Rodrigo’s kiss had branded her. Did all men have this power? Was this why her father denied his daughters the company of men?

      Abruptly, she shook her head. That couldn’t be the reason she and her sisters were kept in seclusion. It was more likely their father was saving them for some dynastic alliance.

      Leonor had reached the sun-warmed courtyard near the rosemary bushes when Inés stepped out from behind a pillar. Her duenna wasn’t wearing her veil and her face was chalk white. In her hand was the letter Leonor had written to her father.

      Heart plummeting, Leonor glanced at Yusuf. ‘Thank you, Yusuf, that will be all.’

      Inés stalked up and took Leonor’s elbow in an iron grip. ‘Come with me, young lady.’

      ‘You’ve been through my jewel box!’

      ‘You left an anklet in the bathhouse, I was tidying up after you. And a good thing too.’

      ‘You’ve read it?’

      Inés watched Yusuf’s retreat, pursing her lips until he had left the courtyard. ‘Indeed, I have.’

      ‘Inés, it’s addressed to the Sultan, not you.’

      ‘You’ve been into the prison! What were you thinking?’

      ‘Inés, I never intended to send that letter, unless...’ Her voice trailed off.

      ‘Unless you were caught?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Inés brandished the letter. ‘Are you aware that this puts Yusuf in grave danger?’

      ‘I—’

      ‘Did you know he has a wife and children?’

      ‘No, I didn’t. However, I don’t believe the letter puts him in danger. I take responsibility for my actions. I made a full confession.’

      ‘Sultan Tariq is not a confessor. Forgiveness does not come easily to him.’ Inés snatched Leonor’s borrowed veil from her head and her lip curled. ‘What is this rag? It’s not fit for a Nasrid princess. Where did you get it?’

      ‘I shall not say.’

      Inés glared at her. ‘It matters not. If your father had received this letter, he would have had the truth out of you soon enough. And then the owner of this veil would be lucky if she received only a thousand lashes.’

      Inés’s tone of voice was colder than the snow lying on the peaks of the Sierra Nevada. Leonor felt terrible. ‘I realised my mistake once I got to the prison, but by then it was too late to back out.’ She gazed earnestly at Inés. ‘Please be calm. No one discovered me, we can destroy the letter and no harm done.’

      Inés gave a brusque headshake. ‘I cannot believe what I am hearing. Princess Zaida, your behaviour is beyond unseemly. You tricked your way into the prison and spoke to an enemy captive. Further, this letter betrays an appalling want of responsibility. It condemns Yusuf; it condemns the maid who lent you her veil; and it condemns me. I have done my best with you. As the Sultan’s daughter, you should know better. Do you hate me so much?’

      ‘Of course I don’t hate you! How could I? You have been a mother to us, you have taught us so much.’

      ‘Not enough, apparently. Were you really prepared to bring your father’s wrath down on the entire household simply so you may flirt with a stranger you glimpsed on the quayside?’

      Leonor bit her lip and surreptitiously rubbed the back of her hand against her gown. ‘I wasn’t flirting.’

      ‘Then what were you doing, pray?’

      ‘Asking about Mamá.’

      Inés put her hand to her throat. ‘You talked to a foreign captive about the Queen?’

      ‘Inés, please understand—’

      ‘Enough! My lady, you need to know that the Sultan forbade me to tell you and your sisters anything about your mother.’

      Leonor’s eyes widened. ‘What? You weren’t to tell us anything?’

      ‘I am afraid not.’ Inés lowered her gaze. ‘Over the years I have told you far more than I should.’

      ‘Why did you do it, then, if you fear Father so much?’

      A sparrow flitted across the rosemary-scented courtyard and vanished into a bush. Inés sighed heavily. ‘I missed home and the three of you were naturally so curious—I couldn’t help myself. It was a grave mistake.’

      ‘Does Father know you taught us Spanish?’

      ‘Faith, no! He’d kill me if he found out.’

      Guilt lodged, heavy as a stone, in Leonor’s belly. ‘I am sorry, I didn’t understand.’

      ‘What’s done is done.’ Inés looked warily at her. ‘You spoke Spanish to that nobleman, I expect?’

      ‘Aye.’

      Inés gave a heavy sigh, her eyes haunted. ‘Did he know to whom he was speaking?’

      ‘I...I

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