Kitabı oku: «The Princess's Secret Longing», sayfa 4

Chapter Four

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.

‘Come, my lady.’ He took the Princess firmly by the elbow and steered her outside. ‘Was it wise giving a shepherdess so magnificent a bauble, my lady? She might use it to betray you.’

‘She won’t betray me.’ Princess Alba walked towards where Guillen was waiting with the horses. ‘She has no husband, she needs a little help.’

‘I don’t doubt it, but that bangle—it’s rather noticeable.’

‘It’s not as valuable as it looks, it’s a sheet of beaten gold wrapped around a wooden block.’

Her naivety was oddly touching. ‘My lady, it will be worth more than that woman could earn in her lifetime.’

‘She will not betray me.’

Inigo wasn’t inclined to argue, they had to find a safe haven. He did, however, unbuckle a saddle bag and pull out his spare cloak. ‘I’d like to you put this on.’

‘What’s wrong with my cloak?’

‘It is far too showy.’

The Princess shrugged, swapped her cloak for his and allowed him to help her into the saddle. Having checked that Guillen’s horse wasn’t lame, Inigo mounted behind her and they continued down the track.

Princess Alba turned her head. ‘The road divides a little way ahead. If we take the right-hand fork, we’ll find a farm.’

‘A farm?’ Inigo looked thoughtfully at her. ‘I doubt a farm is a good resting place if your father’s men are behind us.’

‘It’s quite remote, I believe. And we’ll find someone to care for your squire’s horse.’

‘The shepherdess told you this?’

‘Aye, she was extremely helpful.’

‘Very well. Thank you.’ He had underestimated her, it seemed. ‘I only hope that your faith in that woman isn’t misplaced.’

‘It is not. She understands my dilemma.’ Her eyes were wistful. ‘Her baby is beautiful, how blessed she is.’

Since one baby looked very much like another to Inigo, he didn’t respond.

The Princess yawned and went on talking. Inigo had the impression she was struggling to keep herself awake. If he weren’t so tired, this ride through the cool of the morning would be pleasant. The faint scent of jasmine, the warmth of her body. Aye, it was very pleasant.

‘I’ve never met a shepherdess before,’ the Princess was saying. ‘She told me she usually takes the baby with her when she goes out. She has a shawl and carries him on her front.’

‘The infant is a boy?’

‘Aye. My lord?’ She craned her neck and met his eyes. ‘You said you are Count of Seville. Is that where you are going?’

‘Eventually. First, I shall take you to Córdoba to meet up with your sister and Count Rodrigo.’

And then he and Rodrigo would have to work out what the devil they were going to do with two Nasrid princesses. Only when Inigo was certain that Princess Alba was safe would he return home. To Margarita and marriage. He wasn’t immortal—his encounter with the Sultan’s troops had brought that home to him as never before. He needed heirs.

The farm the shepherdess had recommended wasn’t easy to find, though they followed her directions closely. When at last they saw it, Inigo’s spirits lifted. It was set in a small dip, some way from the beaten track. The secluded location was a strong point in its favour. If the shepherdess hadn’t told the Princess exactly where to go, they would have ridden straight past it.

It had been hours since Inigo had heard the hounds and he was confident they had lost them. However, he wouldn’t relax until they reached Córdoba. Princess Alba was in his care, he must keep her safe. He reined in at the top of the rise.

Humble in design, the farmhouse was little more than a labourer’s cottage. It looked half derelict, the door sagged and there were gaps in the planking. Smoke drifted through a ragged vent in the roof. The fence around a vegetable plot was down in places and hens were scratching in the dirt. It looked like the last place a Nasrid princess would choose as her refuge.

In short, it was perfect.

‘It looks peaceful enough,’ Inigo muttered, even as he was wondering how long they could risk stopping for. The Princess wouldn’t be used to riding for hours. Stalwart though she was, she must be exhausted. Guillen too. As for the horses...

He frowned. ‘My lady, are you certain the shepherdess mentioned horses? I don’t see any.’

‘She didn’t say that we’d find horses here, my lord, only that there would be someone to care for ours.’ She smothered another yawn and looked longingly towards the farm. ‘A brief halt would be most welcome.’

Inigo dismissed the last of his misgivings. ‘Very well. I doubt your father’s men will give this place a second glance. Mind, it won’t be what you are used to.’

‘As far as I am concerned it is paradise. My lord, for the first time in my life, I am free, that counts for much.’

Wondering how soon Princess Alba would regret those words, Inigo spurred Soldier down the slope. ‘In any event, we shan’t stay long. Just long enough to ensure the horses won’t be lamed when we continue.’

To say that the occupants of the farm—two young women and their ageing father—were startled when their unexpected visitors rode up would be an understatement.

Princess Alba did the talking. Again, it was irritating not to be able to understand what was being said, though the farmer and his daughters seemed friendly. Particularly after Inigo opened his pouch and drew out a palm full of silver dirhams.

The Princess dismounted and entered the farmhouse with his cloak wrapped tightly about her. The cool of the night was dissipating, and she was probably hoping to hide her harem finery. In this, she wasn’t entirely successful. Inigo caught the telltale flutter of silk. Her boots, he noticed, were dyed blue, they looked extremely costly.

Wreathed in smiles, the farmer took Inigo, Guillen and their horses to a shack behind the main building. It immediately became clear that the man did indeed have a rare talent with horses, for he spotted Raven’s weak leg at once. Confident the animals were in the best hands, Inigo left Guillen with the farmer and returned to the farmhouse.

Princess Alba was standing by the cooking fire, watching the younger sister lift flatbread from a griddle with a wooden paddle. The girl tossed the bread on to a platter and set it on the table while her sister poured what looked like ale into pottery cups.

When the elder sister spoke, Princess Alba smiled and went to the bench by the table. ‘Here, my lord,’ the Princess said. ‘This is for us. And your squire when he gets here, of course. There’s a bowl of water to wash in on that side table.’

While Inigo rinsed away the worst of the dust, a round of goat’s cheese and a bowl of olives joined the pottery cups on the table.

The Princess sat quietly. Her bright gaze roamed the cottage, taking in the onions hanging from the beams, the bunches of herbs, a small barrel of olives. Inigo wondered if the farmer’s daughters had noticed the shimmer of silk peeping out from beneath Princess Alba’s cloak. At the least, they must have noticed those blue boots. Women noticed such things.

Inigo remembered the food baskets the Princesses had sent down when he and his comrades had been working like slaves at the foot of their tower. Those baskets had been filled with grapes, chicken, wine, dates...

He eyed the cheese doubtfully and remembered the supplies he’d brought from The Black Sheep.

‘My lady? If cheese is not to your liking, I have chicken in my saddlebag.’

‘This is fine, thank you,’ the Princess said.

She picked up an ale cup and drank with every evidence of enjoyment.

Inigo dragged a three-legged stool to the table and sat down. The sisters, clearly deciding they’d done their duty, edged on to the bench either side of Princess Alba. Leaning their elbows on the table, they stared at him. It was rather disconcerting. They stared and stared.

It was even more disconcerting when they started to giggle and mutter to each other.

Inigo shifted and broke off a piece of bread. ‘What the devil are they saying?’

The Princess smiled. ‘They think you are very handsome. They are wondering what it would be like to...’ she hesitated, flushing ‘...marry such a man.’

‘Saints, have they nothing better to do? Please ask if there is a bedchamber where you may rest a while.’

She pointed towards a stepladder, leading up to a gallery. ‘I’ve already asked. The sleeping loft is ours for as long as we need it.’

‘You take the loft. My lady, that shepherdess did well directing us here. I don’t speak Arabic, but it’s plain this farmer has a gift with horses and my squire’s horse seems to have a sprain. I’ll not relax until I know how bad it is. In the meantime, I advise you to get as much rest as you can.’

The loft was gloomy and smelled of smoke and dust. Clothes hung, formless as djinns, from hooks driven into the beams. Two mattresses lay flat on the floorboards.

Assuming the larger of the mattresses belonged to the girls, Alba went over to it and knelt. A brief scrutiny showed it to be made with coarse sacking and filled with straw. It felt extraordinary, hard and lumpy. Feathers and down must be beyond the reach of simple farmers. Alba doubted she would sleep, though she told herself sternly that she must accustom herself to living more humbly.

It was noisy in the loft, she could hear much that went on in the main chamber below. The sisters hadn’t stopped giggling. They were teasing Lord Inigo and, when his squire joined him, presumably to report on his horse’s welfare, they included him in their teasing. Interestingly, the presence of their father didn’t curb them, the teasing was relentless.

As Alba listened her cheeks burned. Was this flirting? She had never heard women talking so freely with men. Her duenna Inés had said that in the Kingdom of Castile, men and women often flirted with each other. Until now, Alba hadn’t understood what that implied because her father and her uncle kept their concubines in harems. Casual interaction between the sexes in the palace was almost non-existent.

Not so here. This wasn’t Castile, they were still in the Sultan’s territory, yet the farmer’s daughters were teasing Lord Inigo. It was most confusing. In her father’s palace, that would never happen. Women belonged in the harem and if they weren’t concubines they served the women in the harem. Was it not the same elsewhere in her father’s kingdom?

She stared up at a cobweb in the rafters, shocked at how deeply flawed her understanding of the world must be and how unprepared she was to face her new life. Not everyone in Al-Andalus could afford a harem. Unless a family was wealthy, its womenfolk would have to work. Perhaps, if she got to know Lord Inigo better, she might ask him about the differences between life in Al-Andalus and life in Castile.

Downstairs, a door banged and a brief silence fell before one of the girls laughed.

What was going on? More flirting?

Lord Inigo didn’t understand a word of what was being said, so what was the point? Maybe the girls wanted to charm him into parting with more money. Alba could think of no other motivation. Unless...

Did they truly like the look of him? Did they find him attractive? They must do.

Lord Inigo was undeniably handsome. He had unruly dark hair and Alba found his face, with its straight nose and square jaw, pleasing. She’d found her gaze straying his way more than once. His mouth was well formed and his teeth white. His body was that of a warrior—broad chest and narrow hips. Lord Inigo didn’t rush to speech and his grey eyes were alert, which would seem to indicate a keen intelligence. Alba particularly liked the slight lift to his mouth when their eyes met.

It was mysterious and curious. Those girls were obviously enjoying Lord Inigo’s company. Did he find them equally attractive? Impatient with herself, Alba frowned. It was none of her business. In any case, Lord Inigo didn’t have time for dalliance, he was eager to reach Castile.

But if he hadn’t been in a hurry?

Heavens, she must stop thinking about this. How Lord Inigo chose to live was up to him.

What was important was that the girls below, though they knew nothing about Lord Inigo, appeared to have summed him in a glance. They liked him. They weren’t the least bit in awe of him. In truth, their judgement of him was similar to hers.

They trusted him.

Earlier, when Lord Inigo had been occupied with the horses, the sisters had asked Alba, with devastating frankness, whether she was his lover. They had laughed when she had denied it. Alba hadn’t been certain they’d believed her.

Did they desire him as a lover? Alba shifted on her mattress.

She wasn’t certain what to make of him. She’d felt awkward when he’d admitted that he’d only returned to the palace to prevent—how had he put it?—Sir Enrique’s folly. She’d also felt disappointed, though she knew she was being unreasonable. It was perfectly understandable that Lord Inigo should think only of going home. Despite this, he had returned to a place he had every reason to loathe. And he’d done so because he believed that Sir Enrique was too drunk to act responsibly.

Already Alba had much to thank him for. A Spanish knight, a stranger, was turning out to be more honourable than she believed possible. Who would have imagined that a man could be so thoughtful? So kind? It was most unexpected.

Another ripple of feminine laughter came up from below. Alba sighed, stretched out her aching limbs and closed her eyes.

Her thoughts drifted this way and that. She heard the thunder as they fled the palace. She saw the dark, and felt the rain pelting against her skin. She remembered the way her heart had missed its beat when she had heard that baby crying, and she saw the expression on Lord Inigo’s face when she’d handed him the child.

Her lips curved. Truly, men were hopeless with children. Didn’t they understand what treasures they were? The shepherdess’s baby was adorable. The voices from below seemed to fade, Alba’s mind blurred and she drifted into a doze.