The Knight’s Forbidden Princess. Carol Townend

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      Constanza let out a soft sigh. ‘They were most handsome, Inés,’ she murmured.

      Constanza sounded bright, almost happy. With a jolt, Leonor realised that her sister hadn’t sounded half so animated in, well, in months. Clearly, Leonor wasn’t the only one to feel shut in. And through her filmy veil she would swear she could see Constanza blushing. Constanza, of all people, blushing!

      Inés made a clucking sound and shooed them towards the door. ‘Handsome—pah!’

      Leonor caught her duenna’s hand. ‘Inés, where are those men being taken? Will they be put in the dungeon?’

      ‘My lady, the whereabouts of a few Spanish captives is not your concern.’

      The glass beads on Constanza’s veil sparkled in the light, she was shaking her head. ‘How can you say that? Inés, you are Spanish by birth. Our mother was Spanish. Those men might be relatives.’

      Inés froze. ‘My lady, they are not relatives.’

      ‘They could be, couldn’t they?’ Constanza continued.

      Leonor blinked. Of the three Princesses, Constanza was the most biddable, the quietest one. Indeed, apart from her lute-playing, she was so quiet that most of the time you would hardly know she was there. It was good to hear some life in her voice. Good to think that the Spanish captives had brought a blush to her cheeks. It was almost as though her youngest sister had suddenly woken up.

      Leonor turned to their duenna. ‘Inés, you must understand, seeing those men has made us curious. You came to Al-Andalus with Mamá, you must remember what life was like before you entered our father’s kingdom.’

      ‘I remember nothing.’ Inés frowned. ‘And even if I did, the Queen was a Spanish noblewoman, that is all I am permitted to tell you.’

      ‘Her name was Juana. You did tell us that,’ Leonor said thoughtfully. Seeing those knights had made her realise that her mother’s background needn’t be shrouded in mystery. In the world beyond her father’s kingdom, there must be many people who knew her mother’s history. ‘Lady Juana. And I think you are forgetting something else. We were small at the time, but I remember it well.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘You said that Lady Juana was betrothed before she fell captive to Father.’

      Inés took a hasty step backward. ‘I did not. I wouldn’t dream of being so indiscreet.’

      ‘You told us Mamá was betrothed, I remember it distinctly.’ Leonor nodded towards the shuttered window. ‘Don’t be afraid, I won’t carry tales to Father. But you must see I am hungry to learn all I can about Mamá. What happened to the nobleman to whom she was betrothed? Who was he? What was he like? What did he do when Mamá was captured? We long to know more about our Spanish side.’

      Slowly, Inés shook her head. ‘No, you do not. It is no longer your heritage. My lady, I regret having told you anything, and I shall say no more.’

      Leonor clasped her hands in front of her. ‘Just our mother’s full name, Inés, that is all that I ask. Our memories of Mamá are so meagre. We are her daughters, surely you can tell us where she came from? She was Lady Juana of...?’

      Putting up her hand in a gesture of rejection, Inés turned sharply away. ‘You are the Sultan’s daughters and I have already told you far more than is wise. Come, we must return to your apartments in the keep. Before you know it, it will be time for the evening meal. Alba, it’s your favourite, spiced fish with rice.’

      ‘Inés, please.’

      Inés stiffened her spine and Leonor understood her pleading was in vain. Leonor was no longer talking to Inés, her beloved duenna, she was talking to Kadiga, Sultan Tariq’s faithful servant. And Kadiga was displeased.

      ‘Princess Zaida,’ Kadiga said, in her formal voice. ‘This conversation is unseemly, and if you continue in this vein, I shall be forced to conclude that you need disciplining. Your father, the Sultan, will need to be told. He will be gravely disappointed. For your sisters’ sake, if not your own, you must put your mother’s ancestry out of your mind. Such curiosity is not healthy—for anyone.’

      * * *

      Healthy or not, Princess Leonor’s curiosity could not be curbed. How could she stop wondering about her own mother’s history? Impossible. However, since it was clear that further argument with Inés would achieve nothing, she curbed her tongue and followed her sisters back to the apartments. As soon as the Princesses were safely inside, they removed their veils. Here at least, where they were waited on by trusted maidservants, there was no need for concealment.

      The afternoon dragged. Leonor paced around the fountain in the central courtyard as the spray turned to gold in the sunlight. Constanza toyed with her silver lute and Alba stared moodily out of the window. The shadows lengthened. Constanza’s music filled the air and even though she knew it was forbidden, Leonor’s thoughts kept returning to her long-dead mother.

      Sight of those Spanish knights on the quayside seemed to have unleashed the rebel in her. Might those knights really be her kin?

      At the least, one of them might have heard of their mother. The disappearance of a Spanish noblewoman, even if it had been almost twenty years ago, must have caused a stir. Leonor would give anything to meet one of those men and speak to him.

      Alba and Constanza didn’t have to say a word for Leonor to know that they too were thinking the same. That was the way it had always been. They knew each other’s thoughts so well that speech was scarcely necessary.

      Evening came, and the Princesses lay on their silken cushions as their meal was spread before them. Leonor ate sparingly, barely noticing that the fish was spiced with cinnamon, or that the rice was flavoured with saffron, her mind was too busy for food. Where had those men been taken? Were they being well treated? If they were waiting to be ransomed, they would surely receive proper care. She hoped so. It was disturbing, not knowing. Had the knight in crimson secured help for his wounded friend? Were they being fed?

      When figs were placed before her, Leonor peeled one with a silver knife and ate it absently as she pondered the likelihood of that knight knowing about a Lady Juana who had been stolen away by Sultan Tariq. It must have caused a scandal at the time.

      Leonor set aside her knife with a sigh. It wasn’t likely that those men would be relatives.

      She felt oddly nervous, as though she was on the verge of making a momentous decision. Her stomach was in knots and, most curious of all, her hands were shaking.

      There must be a way to use the arrival of the Spanish knights to learn more about Mamá. This was a rare chance to talk to someone who might have heard about Lady Juana. If she let it slip by, she would never forgive herself. She had to speak to one of those prisoners.

      The image of the knight in the crimson tunic came into focus at the back of her mind. Despite his chains, he had an air of command about him.

      Mind working furiously, Leonor pushed the fruit bowl towards Alba. ‘Figs?’

      Alba shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

      Leonor frowned and glanced at Constanza.

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