The Princess's Secret Longing Read online

  “I would like a child...

  Will you agree to father it?”

  Part of Princesses of the Alhambra. Princess Alba longs for a life away from her tyrannical sultan father. She craves a happy family of her own, away from the palace walls she’s been imprisoned in all her life. So when honorable Lord Inigo comes to her rescue, she’s spellbound! The Spanish knight is betrothed to another, but could he be her only hope of realizing her dream?

  Princesses of the Alhambra

  Captive in the castle; rescued by love!

  Three sisters, Princesses Leonor, Alba and Constanza, fiercely loyal to each other, lead gilded but captive lives in a tower in the beautiful Alhambra Palace. Their father, the sultan, watches over them closely.

  When they catch sight of three handsome Spanish knights being held for ransom, the sisters dream of romance—and escape! Discover how they each find the happiness they yearn for in the arms of these handsome knights in this exciting trilogy by Carol Townend.

  Read Princess Leonor’s story in

  The Knight’s Forbidden Princess

  Available now!

  And Princess Alba’s story in

  The Princess’s Secret Longing

  Available now!

  And look for Princess Constanza’s story

  Coming soon!

  Author Note

  The book lying on a street stall in Granada, southern Spain, was called Tales of the Alhambra by Washington Irving. We’d been on a tour of the Alhambra Palace and the book—crammed with legends and folktales—was irresistible. I love folktales and began reading as soon as we reached a café. By the time I got to “Legend of the Three Beautiful Princesses,” shivers were running down my spine.

  Irving’s story is about three princesses who are locked up in a palace tower by their tyrannical, overcontrolling father, the sultan. The sultan has been warned by astrologers that his daughters—they are triplets—would need to be carefully watched when they reached marriageable age. Unfortunately for the sultan, the princesses catch sight of three handsome Spanish knights whom their father is holding for ransom. From that moment, the princesses dream of romance and escape. Irving’s story ends when two of the princesses flee the palace with their knights. The third princess stays behind.

  The tale filled my mind with questions. How did the princesses cope once they’d left their father’s kingdom? It couldn’t have been easy. And what about the princess who stayed behind? Why couldn’t she have a happy ending, too?

  The Princesses of the Alhambra trilogy is my take on what might have happened. It is set in Spain toward the end of the fourteenth century. I’ve given some of the key characters alternative names to suit my stories.

  Carol Townend

  The Princess’s Secret Longing

  Carol Townend was born in England and went to a convent school in the wilds of Yorkshire. Captivated by the medieval period, Carol read history at London University. She loves to travel, drawing inspiration for her novels from places as diverse as Winchester in England, Istanbul in Turkey and Troyes in France. A writer of both fiction and nonfiction, Carol lives in London with her husband and daughter. Visit her website at caroltownend.co.uk.

  Books by Carol Townend

  Harlequin Historical

  Princesses of the Alhambra

  The Knight’s Forbidden Princess

  The Princess’s Secret Longing

  Knights of Champagne

  Lady Isobel’s Champion

  Unveiling Lady Clare

  Lord Gawain’s Forbidden Mistress

  Lady Rowena’s Ruin

  Mistaken for a Lady

  Palace Brides

  Bound to the Barbarian

  Chained to the Barbarian

  Betrothed to the Barbarian

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com.

  To the RNA London Chapter.

  Thank you for the many wonderful talks and much writerly chat.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Excerpt from Scandalously Wed to the Captain by Joanna Johnson

  Chapter One

  1396—the Alhambra Palace in the Emirate of Granada

  Princess Alba lay in the dark, an unfamiliar noise had dragged her from her dreams. She turned restlessly, unable to work out what had woken her. All she could hear was a trill of birdsong. In her mind’s eye, she saw birds flying over lawns and terraces and flitting in and out of shrubs in the wilderness beyond the palace wall. They sounded happy. Free!

  A lantern glowed softly in a niche, casting a gentle light on the sleeping forms of Alba’s sisters, Princess Leonor and Princess Constanza. Their black hair was loosely tied back for sleep, just like hers, and their eyelashes lay like dark crescents against their cheeks. Princess Alba and her sisters were triplets, identical triplets.

  Alba yawned and, as she looked at her sisters, she was gripped by an odd fancy. It was as though she was looking at other versions of herself, versions which had yet to waken. Irritated, she brushed the thought aside. Her sisters’ features might mirror hers, but their characters—oh, so very different.

  The bedchamber shutters were closed, and it was so early that nothing was visible through the star-shaped patterns cut into the wood. The Princesses hadn’t been long in their father’s favourite palace—only a few days—but already Alba knew that in daytime the piercings in the shutters turned bright sunlight into starry splashes on the floor tiles.

  There it was again! That mysterious noise. Alba sat up. What could it be? The cry of a hawk? No, that was no hawk. That was surely—a baby.

  Her breath stopped. Could it really be a baby? Whose could it be? It couldn’t belong to her father the Sultan, may God exalt him. The Sultan had only sired three children, Alba and her sisters. Sultan Tariq’s unfulfilled wish for other children—more precisely, for a son—was well known.

  Alba scrambled to the window. Kneeling on a cushion, for the window was low and the floor hard, she shoved at the shutter and strained to hear more. She’d spent most of her life far away in Salobreña Castle and not once had she held a baby. A pang shot through her, violent and intense. If there was a baby in the palace, she must see it. Hold it.

  Loath to wake her sisters, Alba snatched up a robe and veil and was dressed in no time. She took the lantern to light her way, crept softly downstairs and slipped out of the tower.

  The stars were fading, the sky was turning pearly grey and the air was pleasantly cool.

  Ahead of her, paths ran this way and that. Buildings were visible as black shapes at the end of the paths. So many walls and towers. Alba had yet to learn the layout of the grounds, but in this instance, it didn’t matter. That sound, the faintest of whimpers, was her guide. There was a baby in the palace!

  Stepping on to the lawn, Alba sped past a hissing fountain. She entered a small grove of trees and was greeted by the heady scent of oranges. A section of the palace wall lay on her left hand and light glowed briefly from a guardhouse at the top. Her father the Sultan had many guards.

  Mindful of the
need for discretion, Alba tugged her veil tightly about her face. Sultan Tariq insisted that the Princesses wore veils, even when walking here in the palace grounds. Any man who caught a glimpse of her face would be severely disciplined. Alba wasn’t sure what form the punishment would take, it was enough to know that her father ruled with an iron hand. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if a guard suffered on her account.

  God was with her, she saw no guards.

  Several buildings were clustered behind a screen of myrtle bushes, the thread of sound came from the nearest. The strengthening light revealed a line of windows with arches shaped like horseshoes and a large door heavily decorated with ironwork. The door opened smoothly, and Alba entered a shadowy antechamber. An indignant wail echoed across the marble floor.

  Excitement fizzing through her veins, Alba hurried towards a curtained door arch.

  Since her father the Sultan only had three children, this building had to be part of Prince Ghalib’s harem. Prince Ghalib was Alba’s uncle. He was much younger than the Sultan and to say that he must find life difficult was an understatement.

  Prince Ghalib was her father’s designated successor, he was an heir locked in a gilded cage. Like Alba and her sisters, her uncle wasn’t allowed his freedom. Alba understood why. Insurrections were commonplace in the long and bloody history of the Nasrid dynasty. Brother would kill brother and seize power. Doubtless, Sultan Tariq feared Prince Ghalib might stage a coup and overthrow him.

  Determined to escape such a fate, Sultan Tariq had kept his brother out of the way at Salobreña Castle for years. The three Princesses had lived there too.

  During that time, Alba had seen her uncle happy and she’d seen him angry. Prince Ghalib had many faces. Underneath them all lay a dark and bitter frustration. Alba sympathised, for she’d heard that the Sultan had made his brother promise after promise.

  ‘I’ll give you a castle, dear brother, never fear,’ the Sultan had vowed. Or, ‘I’ll put you at the head of an army.’

  Her father had broken every promise. While the Sultan lived, Prince Ghalib would never be free, he was too much of a threat. It didn’t help that, unlike the Sultan, Prince Ghalib had fathered many children.

  Prince Ghalib had been brought from Salobreña Castle to the Alhambra Palace at the same time as his nieces and, like the Princesses, he continued to be granted every luxury. Except his freedom.

  Alba reached the curtained archway as the baby paused to draw breath. A woman was crooning softly, and her soft murmurings dragged Alba back to when she herself was little more than an infant. A sharp pain pierced her, like a lance to her heart. Mamá! Her mother, the Queen, had spoken to her in just such a voice. That was the voice of love, it was the most beautiful sound in creation and she’d not heard it in an age.

  Curtain rings clinked as Alba pushed inside. If the baby was Prince Ghalib’s, it would be her cousin.

  A young woman about the same age as Alba was lying on a couch with the baby. She looked across and gave a rueful smile. ‘My daughter is keeping you awake? A thousand apologies.’

  My cousin. The baby’s cheeks were red with anger and she was waving chubby fists in the air. As Alba drew closer, she looked Alba’s way and the wailing cut off abruptly.

  Alba’s heart squeezed. ‘What an adorable child.’ She tossed her veil over her head. Sultan Tariq’s strictures about the Princesses wearing their veils didn’t apply when the Princesses were in their private apartments because no man set foot in them. The same rule must apply in her uncle’s harem. No guard or manservant would dare enter the women’s quarters.

  The woman on the couch studied Alba’s face, eyes wary. ‘I’ve not seen you before.’

  ‘No.’

  Gathering the baby to her breast, the woman sat up. ‘May I ask who you are?’

  Alba smiled and, since she only used her Spanish name when she was in the company of her sisters or her duenna, she gave her Moorish one. ‘I am Princess Zoraida.’

  Her uncle’s concubine jumped up as though scalded and made a hurried obeisance. ‘Princess Zoraida!’ The baby in her arms wriggled.

  ‘Please,’ Alba said. ‘There’s no need for that.’

  The young woman swallowed. ‘There is every need.’ Her expression was haunted as she looked Alba up and down. ‘You are the middle Princess, I believe?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Dawn was breaking, and light was filtering into the chamber. The young mother looked past Alba towards the door arch, her expression pinched. ‘Where are the other Princesses, my lady?’

  ‘They are asleep. Please, do not concern yourself.’

  The concubine bit her lip. ‘My lady, I doubt the Sultan, may he live for ever, would sanction your visiting Prince Ghalib’s harem.’

  Alba held the girl’s gaze. ‘I shall say nothing of coming here.’

  Her uncle’s concubine let out a trembling sigh. ‘Thank you, my lady.’

  The baby had stopped crying, her eyes were fastened on Alba’s lantern. Gently setting it on a ledge, Alba held out her hands.

  ‘May I hold her?’

  The girl hesitated and smiled. ‘Of course. Here, my lady. Yamina is usually very good, I don’t know what has got into her this morning.’

  A warm bundle was thrust into Alba’s arms and she was transfixed by a painful emotion she could not name. Holding her cousin gave her a sense of belonging. Of completion.

  ‘Yamina is a lovely name.’

  Alba could feel Yamina’s warmth creeping into her heart. Indeed, it seemed to fill every part of her, warming her in ways that the summer sun could never warm. She’d never felt like this before, such pain—yearning, she supposed. Such joy. Yamina was a sweetheart. Alba’s unconfessed miseries coalesced into a piercing spear of longing. A baby. This was what was missing from her life. A baby. For months Alba had felt restless and ill at ease, now she knew why. Deprived of love herself, she yearned for someone to love. She yearned for a baby.

  Eyes misting, Alba cradled Yamina. She stroked her face, marvelling at the softness of her skin. Yamina was so trusting. So dear. Aching inside, Alba swallowed down a lump in her throat. ‘My cousin,’ she murmured.

  Dark eyes watched her. ‘My lady, her life will be very different to yours. You are a princess. My daughter will be fortunate if she can remain in the palace. It is lucky she is a girl.’

  ‘Oh?’

  The concubine shrugged. ‘Who can say what the fate of a male child of Prince Ghalib’s might be? However, since I have a daughter, I am hopeful she will be permitted to stay. Perhaps she will attend you, my lady, when she is grown.’

  Alba stared. This child was her cousin and she might well become a lady-in-waiting. On the other hand, life was precarious and if something untoward happened to Prince Ghalib—what then? Yamina could be forced into servitude, she could be ill treated. Alba had never seen a servant beaten, but such things were commonplace, her father the Sultan was a hard taskmaster. As for his temper, it was as black as sin. Alba had witnessed his temper first-hand...

  When she and the other Princesses had been riding from their old home in Salobreña Castle to their newly built tower in the Alhambra Palace, their father had almost killed three prisoners they had come across on the road. Spanish knights, they were being held for ransom. The knights didn’t speak Arabic and were ignorant of local custom, so they hadn’t understood they weren’t permitted to look at the Princesses.

  Sultan Tariq had been so enraged by what he saw as the knights’ insolence, that he’d been prepared to execute them on the spot. If Alba and her sisters hadn’t begged for clemency, those Spanish noblemen would surely be dead.

  There was no question but that the Sultan was inflexible and capricious. However, surely even he wouldn’t allow his niece to be beaten? Whatever happened to Prince Ghalib, she prayed her father wouldn’t force Yamina into servitude.

&nb
sp; ‘Will your daughter have a say in how she lives her life?’

  ‘No, my lady. Prince Ghalib, long may he prosper, will decide.’

  Alba held the concubine’s gaze. ‘Then her life is little different to mine. I, too, must obey my father.’

  When her uncle’s concubine looked at her, face suddenly blank, Alba knew a moment of shame. It was true that the three Princesses lived according to their father’s dictates, but their mother had been the Queen. The women living here were simply Prince Ghalib’s concubines. The life of such a woman, even one who had borne a child, was infinitely more precarious than that of a princess.

  ‘Men can be callous.’ Alba shook her head. ‘All they care about is their own pleasure. And war and conquest, of course.’

  The concubine threw a nervous glance over her shoulder. ‘My lady, you must not speak in this manner.’ Her fingers crept to a silver bangle. ‘Prince Ghalib, may blessings rain upon him, is generous. He gives me gifts. He allows me to dress my daughter in the finest linens.’

  Alba didn’t reply. The Sultan showered the Princesses with gifts too, although Alba had long suspected that the gifts were a means of their father displaying his range of influence. Frankincense and myrrh from the east, silk from Byzantium, silver from Arabia—all these and more had been given to his daughters. Not for a moment did Alba think the gifts were given out of love, Sultan Tariq didn’t know the meaning of the word. No, Alba was coming to suspect that the Sultan used gifts as a means of ensuring his daughters’ obedience. He wanted to keep them sweet. He wanted them to know how powerful he was. The question was why?

  Alba pursed her lips and wondered if she would still be living in the palace when Yamina became an adult. The thought was unpleasant on several levels. The Sultan appeared to be in no hurry to arrange marriages for his daughters. Alba had had her fill of palace life—of the endless intrigues, of the constant tiptoeing around her father’s anger. If her father wasn’t going to arrange a marriage for her, she would have to find a way to escape.