The Princess's Secret Longing. Carol Townend
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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.