The Princess's Secret Longing. Carol Townend

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ