Carol Townend - The Princess's Secret Longing

Fuelled by anger, the Princesses had begun a forbidden flirtation from the top of the tower. At night, when the palace was lost in sleep, they had listened to the knights singing. Realising the men were half-starved, they’d sent food baskets down on a rope. In short, they’d ignored all protocols and had behaved quite outrageously. Inés, who had come from Spain with their mother the Queen, and was herself Spanish, encouraged them.

No one had dreamed anything would come of it. It had been a rebellion, a way for the Princesses to channel their anger. Sultan Tariq had locked them in the tower; he had sold their ponies; he refused to listen to reason.

Throughout this dalliance the Spanish knights were distant, mysterious figures, prisoners of their father. Other than that, the Princesses knew next to nothing about them. It was a measure of their seclusion and desperation that they only had these men—strangers—to help them escape.

Inés had contacts outside the palace and she wanted the Princesses to be happy. She had laid her plans with care. The three knights were supposed to spirit the Princesses out of the Emirate of Granada and into the Spanish Kingdom of Castile where they would be beyond the reach of their tyrannical father.

Castile. Alba had longed to see it all her life. In the years since the Queen’s death, Inés had taught the Princesses Spanish. Sultan Tariq might have isolated his daughters, but that hadn’t stopped them from learning that they had relatives in Castile. They were determined to find them and make a new home for themselves. They would be together, and they would be safe.

Alba peered warily about. The terrain around the disused sally port was all in shadow. It was lightly wooded, resembling the scrubland overlooked by the Princesses’ tower—namely a gully, clothed with shrubs and trees, and choked with rocks.

Where were the knights? Her breath was flurried. Nerves, she supposed.

And then she saw them. Six men. Three she recognised as the knights, the others must be their squires. The knights were arguing, their words were sharp and angry. Alba’s stomach knotted. Angry men wouldn’t be much use. The dark wood seemed to tilt, she was dizzy with an overwhelming mix of excitement, exultation and fear. She had escaped the palace. She and her sisters were free. Could they trust these men? Were they dangerous?

The odd phrase reached her.

‘For pity’s sake, Enrique,’ one of the knights ground out. ‘Will you see sense?’

A second knight cut in. ‘Enrique’s my cousin, I’ll deal with him. Rest assured, no one will be hurt.’

Alba recognised the second knight as Count Rodrigo. Leonor had managed to speak to him in private once, and she’d told Alba his name some days ago.

In the distance, dogs were barking. Alba’s heart jumped. Had her father released his hunting dogs? Filled with fear, she tried to see through the trees. It was impossible.

With a start, she realised that Count Rodrigo was standing next to Leonor and he too must have heard the dogs, for he cocked his head to listen, took command of Leonor’s torch and put it out.

The dark intensified. One of the other knights approached and bowed over Alba’s hand. He was touching her.

Alba froze. Save for her father, in her whole life no man had presumed to touch her. She willed herself not to react. This knight was her means of escape. He was not a palace guard, he was Spanish like her mother, and Inés had explained that a Spanish knight would not think it odd or shameful in any way to touch a woman. In the Kingdom of Castile, men often greeted women by bowing over their hands in this manner. For a princess who’d been shielded from men, it was disquieting.

‘My lady, I believe you can ride?’ the knight said.

Please, sir, be kind .

Alba found her voice. ‘Certainly, my lord.’

‘This way, if you please. You must ride astride, I’m afraid.’

Alba peered through her veil, but with the torch extinguished she could hardly see. Even so, she knew him. It was the knight her father’s men had wounded, the one who had hobbled off the captives’ galley when it had made port at Salobreña. He had spent weeks as Sultan Tariq’s prisoner and she had no idea how he would treat her.

Would he seek revenge for his imprisonment? He was a nobleman, he was bound to have pride, pride her father’s treatment must have dented. At best, he was bound to resent the weeks spent away from Castile.

His tall masculine shape made a black silhouette against the night sky. He was waiting for her decision. Realising she must accept his assistance—and swiftly—if she was to win her freedom, Alba allowed him to help her on to his horse.

Her entire body quivered as he mounted behind her and took up the reins. She was sharing a horse with a Spanish nobleman. A nameless foreigner. Her father’s enemy. Yesterday, it would have been unthinkable.

‘Your name, sir?’ she whispered.

‘Inigo Sánchez, Count of Seville,’ he murmured. Then, as a blood-curdling howl cut through the dark, he urged his horse on.

God be merciful.

They forged on through undergrowth that prickled and scratched. The stars and moon were gone, the darkness thickened. The air was close and muggy. Alba clung to the saddle, praying the horse didn’t stumble. The last thing they needed was a poor horse screaming in agony because it had broken its leg. Sounds were harsh—the thud of hoofs, the baying of the hounds, an ominous rumble of thunder.

Water splashed on the back of Alba’s hands. A storm. Months of drought was coming to an end.

Count Inigo reined in. Count Rodrigo drew up alongside, Leonor sat before him on the saddle.

Count Rodrigo gestured at the ground. Small rivulets were swirling around the horses’ hoofs, rainwater from a storm high in the mountains was rushing down the gully.

Alba swallowed a groan, it had been a hot, dry summer and a flood was inevitable.

‘The riverbed is prone to flash floods,’ Lord Rodrigo said. ‘We’ll use that in our favour. Get the river between us and the palace. With luck, it’ll confuse the dogs.’

‘Good idea,’ Count Inigo said. She felt his hand on her hip, settling her more securely before him.

Leonor touched her elbow. ‘Alba, is Constanza behind us?’

Alba twisted to look along the way they had come, her rain-sodden veil clinging to her neck. There was no sign of Constanza. Ominously, other than the two knights and their squires, she could see no one else.

‘I don’t know, I haven’t seen her.’

Leonor turned towards the squires. ‘And you, sirs, have you seen my other sister?’

‘No, my lady.’

Leonor looked at Count Rodrigo. ‘My lord?’

Lord Rodrigo held up his hand. ‘A moment, if you please. Inigo, our chances of escape will be better if we separate. I’ll head south-west. They won’t be expecting that.’

Count Inigo shifted . ‘Understood.’

‘God willing, I’ll be in Córdoba in a week.’

‘Very well, I’ll meet you there.’ Lord Inigo gave his horse the spur and they surged up the riverbank.

Drenched with rain, they pelted into the unknown with Lord Inigo’s squire keeping close as a shadow. Alba felt the drumming of the horse’s hooves in every bone and kept praying that they didn’t lose their footing. May God preserve us. Most of all, she focused on keeping her seat. Panic was a breath away. She had no wish to end up alone in this storm-soaked wilderness so close to the palace. The Sultan’s troops might catch them. This time Father’s punishment would be...

Her mind refused to go down that road. They had done the right thing. They would get away. But what had happened to Constanza?

Lord Inigo’s chest pressed against her back. His arms were locked firmly around her.