‘You will be bruised for a time, Princess,’ Maura said.
‘It is no matter.’ Zorahaida spoke calmly, though her insides were churning. She’d never been hit before. Her father had hit her and that was bad enough, but what terrified her most was that he had taken his commander’s side over hers. It made her think the unthinkable. Father feels guilty. Had he asked Commander Abdul ibn Umar to kill Yamina? Had he ordered her drowned? His own niece?
She reminded herself that, to her knowledge, Sultan Tariq had never brutalised a child. He was cruel. He dismissed servants on a whim. He beat them. He attacked anyone who threatened to defy him, including the three Castilian knights with whom her sisters had run away. The knights had been prisoners at the time, they’d been chained and unarmed. Helpless. That hadn’t stopped him. Zorahaida would never forget how the Sultan had charged at the knights with his scimitar drawn. Fortunately, when Zorahaida and her sisters had intervened, he’d calmed down.
Zorahaida had always been confident of calming him. Of making him see the error of his ways.
Not so yesterday. Violence ran through the Sultan’s veins. She remembered the way his gold rings had flashed as he had struck her. Gold rings. Zorahaida had read several sacred writings and she understood that as a man, her father shouldn’t be wearing gold rings. Much that he cared. Her father took heed of no one’s opinion but his own.
Had he ordered Yamina’s death? Hinted that something might happen to her? She no longer knew.
A soft rap on the door broke into her thoughts and Sama came in, carrying a gleaming casket.
‘What’s this?’
‘Princess, Prince Ghalib sends you his warmest greetings and begs that you accept this humble gift as a token of his everlasting gratitude and esteem. It’s a jewel box.’
The box was gilded metal, decorated with enamelled panels of great beauty. Zorahaida took it and ran her fingertips over the delicate enamelwork. Geometric patterns covered the lid—diamonds, lozenges and stars. The colours were extraordinary: vivid reds, the brightest of blues, greens gleaming like emeralds.
‘How beautiful, it looks as though it came from France,’ she murmured.
‘Aye, your uncle said it is from Limoges.’
Turning the key, Zorahaida lifted the lid. On a bed of velvet, lay a pink rosebud with the dew still upon it. Tears stung the back of her eyes.
‘Sama, please convey my thanks to Prince Ghalib. Tell him I will treasure his gift, it is beautiful.’
‘At once, Princess.’ Sama stood for a moment frowning at Zorahaida’s face. ‘Does it still hurt?’
‘Not as much as it hurts inside,’ Zorahaida said. The thoughts she couldn’t say, not even to Sama, she kept to herself.
What hurt most was how helpless she felt. All hope had been crushed. She had believed that her father would eventually mellow. She had thought him capable of change as he grew older. She couldn’t have been more wrong. In truth, he was getting more irascible and ungovernable by the day.
‘Sama, did you speak to Imad about collecting my sisters’ pigeons?’
‘They will be collected on the morrow.’
‘And you informed him that I should like to go with him?’
Sama’s face fell. ‘Oh, Princess, I thought...after yesterday... I am very sorry, I told him you had changed your mind.’
‘Sama, that was wrong of you, I intend to go.’
Maura gasped. ‘Princess, you cannot!’
‘I think you will find that I can.’
‘No. Princess, please don’t.’ Sama hesitated. ‘Last time you were almost caught. What if the Sultan, may he live for ever, finds out? After yesterday, he’ll kill you. And if he doesn’t kill you, he will certainly harm your guards.’
‘Or us,’ Maura put in, quietly.
Zorahaida looked at her handmaid. ‘Maura, you need not fear. Our guards are loyal and intelligent. They know when Father’s men are looking the other way. I shall take the greatest care and I will not be discovered.’ She stood up, gently probing her bruised cheek. ‘If I don’t get out, just briefly, I swear I shall lose my wits. Please, Sama, convey my message to Imad.’
‘As you command, Princess.’
Copyright © 2020 by Carol Townend
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ISBN-13: 9781488065873
Aspirations of a Lady’s Maid
Copyright © 2020 by Eva Shepherd
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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