The tall man’s skin was deeply tanned, but his bleached brows and brilliant blue eyes betrayed him for a foreigner, albeit one who spoke perfect Arabic. ‘Not at all,’ he said blithely. ‘I was complimenting Miss Darvill here on her taste in horses—understandable now that I know she is your Royal Horse Surgeon. You must be Prince Rafiq.’ He held out his hand. ‘I have heard a great deal about your stud, and the Sabr race. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Christopher Fordyce.’
‘How do you do,’ Rafiq replied in English. The stranger might be dressed like a common man, but he had a most uncommon assurance. ‘You are a very long way from home, Mr Fordyce.’
‘Indeed. As is the delightful Miss Darvill here,’ he replied blandly. ‘You know, she is the third Englishwoman I have encountered here in Arabia in as many months. The region is awash with them! In Qaryma there was a botanist—though she’s likely back in England by now. And then, in Murimon, the Court Astronomer, would you believe?’
‘I am acquainted with Prince Kadar of Murimon. He owns one of my thoroughbreds.’
‘Lucky chap. I would very much like to own one of your highly prized horses, but I keep my ear to the ground and I know better than to ask whether you brought any along to sell today.’
Rafiq stiffened. ‘Why is that? What have you heard?’
‘Only that it’s well known in these parts that you sell only to those and such as those, and not on the open market,’ Christopher Fordyce said, a slight frown pulling his bleached brows together. ‘No need to take offence.’
‘No offence was taken, I assure you. I take it that you are here to purchase some horseflesh, Mr Fordyce.’
‘Oh, I’m just passing through.’
‘First Qaryma, then Murimon, and now Nessarah. A rather circuitous itinerary. I am sure you have a good reason for it.’
The Englishman laughed. ‘As good as reason as you do, for bringing Richard Darvill’s daughter all the way from England to tend to your Sabr runners, Prince Rafiq. You see, I told you I keep my ear to the ground. But don’t worry, secrets are my business and yours is perfectly safe with me, I promise. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Miss Darvill, it was a pleasure. Your Highness.’
‘One moment, Mr Fordyce. You understand, I am sure, that the desert is a very hostile place. You must also know, since you are so very well informed, that I have alliances with almost every Bedouin tribe. Any gossip regarding my stables, and in particular the health of my horses would soon reach me. I would take a dim view of that.’
All trace of insouciance left him. Christopher Fordyce’s eyes hardened, and so did his voice. ‘I understand your natural desire to keep your problems within the camp, so to speak, but do not deign to threaten me, however obliquely. I am a man of my word and that should be sufficient, even for a prince.’
‘Indeed. I can see that you are. You will forgive me if I have offended you.’
The Englishman smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. ‘I’m not sure if that is a request or a command, but either way it is granted.’
With the sketchiest of bows, he turned on his heel and was lost in the crowd. ‘What a very singular man,’ Stephanie said. ‘Though rather charming. Why do you think he is here in Arabia?’
‘Putting his ear to the ground,’ Rafiq said. ‘It can mean only one thing.’
‘You mean he’s a spy!’
‘And therefore, despite his charming appearance, a dangerous man. Now, why don’t we—?’ He stopped in mid-sentence. He must be mistaken. But, no. His heart sank. The black cloud of his guilt enveloped him anew.
‘Rafiq? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
She could have no idea how close to the truth she was. ‘I see Prince Salim has unexpectedly graced us with his presence,’ he said flatly.
‘The Bedouin who stole your father’s horses!’
‘The Bedouin who won my father’s horses,’ Rafiq corrected her, touched by Stephanie’s misplaced loyalty. ‘You will excuse me,’ he said. ‘I was led to believe that he would not be present today, but it seems my information was inaccurate. I must pay my respects. Wait here, where I may keep an eye on you.’
* * *
Stephanie did as he bade her, watching apprehensively. Meeting the man who had stolen—won—his father’s horses, the man who had taken the Sabr from Bharym, was obviously a daunting prospect for Rafiq. She would have wanted to turn tail and run in the opposite direction. He was a great deal more honourable than she.
He was gone only a matter of moments. When he returned, his princely expression was firmly in place, but he was walking like a man marching into battle. ‘The fair is drawing to a close,’ Stephanie said brightly, ‘I think we should go.’
‘Don’t you want to wait and see who bought your favoured horses?’
‘Rafiq, I’d prefer to leave,’ she said anxiously.
‘If there had been any change at the stables, Fadil would have sent someone.’
‘Rafiq! It is not your horses I’m worried about.’
‘Then what are you worried about, Stephanie?’
She didn’t want to upset him further, but he would be much more upset if...
‘Elmira,’ she blurted out. ‘I am afraid that Princess Elmira’s tribe may be here after all. If your information regarding Prince Salim was wrong, then it’s possible that your information regarding Princess Elmira’s tribe is inaccurate too, and I don’t want you to have to face them.’
‘It is too late for that, I’m afraid,’ Rafiq said grimly. ‘Prince Salim is Elmira’s father.’
* * *
Neither of them had spoken since they left the horse fair. Fortunately for Stephanie, her camel needed little encouragement to follow Rafiq’s across the desert, for her mind was reeling. Rafiq had married the daughter of the man who had wrested the Sabr from Bharym. Why on earth would he do such a thing? She could make no sense of it. Time and again, she opened her mouth to formulate a question, and time and again, one glance at the stiff-backed figure on the camel in front of her had kept her silent. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he was thinking.
The sun was sinking when they halted at a small oasis which she recognised from their outward journey. It was no more than a few palm trees, some scrub, and a small pool, beside which was pitched a Bedouin tent which had not been there this morning. There was no sign of life, no camels, no horses, and though the fire was set, it had not been lit. ‘I wonder where the occupants are,’ Stephanie said.
‘They have just arrived.’ Rafiq clicked his tongue, and both camels immediately dropped to their knees, allowing them to dismount, he infinitely more adroitly than she. ‘You said that you wanted to escape. “Out into the desert, to breathe the night air” were your exact words, I believe.’
‘You remembered,’ Stephanie said, pulling off her keffiyeh. ‘I can’t believe you remembered.’
‘I remember everything you say. Even the more unpalatable comments,’ Rafiq said drily.
She recalled the context of her words now with dismay. ‘The harem. I must have sounded terribly ungrateful.’
Rafiq pulled his headdress off, running his fingers through his hair. ‘As ever, Stephanie, you force me to look afresh at things. When we return, you will find the locks removed and guard gone. You may enter and leave your rooms without being observed. If you prefer, I will have a suite set aside for you in the main body of the palace.’
‘Oh, no. I did not mean—you didn’t have to go to so much trouble.’
‘As to the palace, I have had a plan of the rooms drawn up for you. Aside from the obvious exceptions of servants’ quarters and my own, you may consider it entirely at your disposal.’
‘Rafiq, I didn’t mean—you didn’t have to...’
‘Stephanie, this is my world. I am so accustomed to it that I do not question our ways. Many of our tradit
ions serve a sound purpose. Some of them are no longer valid. It was never my intention to confine you to the harem.’
‘No, you wished only to protect me. And you did not want to compromise me, or yourself.’
He smiled crookedly. ‘You do understand me, despite what you say. That is what you meant this morning, wasn’t it? That I do not trust you enough to confide in you, that by refusing to confide in you, I deny you understanding?’
She was so surprised, she could only nod.
Rafiq pushed her hair away from her face to kiss her forehead. ‘As a prince, I have been raised to remain aloof, to steer clear of exchanging confidences. But as you did not hesitate to point out, I am also a man. I don’t know if I can—how much I can—but I will try, Stephanie, to break the habit and explain a little. For you, and you only.’
* * *
Rafiq hobbled the camels while Stephanie lit the fire. The front of the tent formed an awning propped open by two wooden poles. Thick luxuriant rugs, soft blankets and huge cushions were strewn across the floor. This was a Bedouin tent fit for a prince. They sat by the fire on a heap of cushions which she had set out. They drank the tea which she had made, picked at the selection of breads, salads and cold meats which, as ever, appeared wherever Rafiq commanded them to be. Above them, the sky was indigo, the stars turning from twinkling pinpoints of light to incandescent silver discs.
Rafiq set his tea glass to one side. He was sitting cross-legged, his feet bare, his cloak and belt discarded. His night-black hair was dishevelled by his headdress. The day’s growth of his beard was a bluish shadow on his chin, accentuating his absurdly perfect bone structure, giving him a rakish air. Beside him, Stephanie pretended to sip at her tea, sneaking glances at him under cover of her fringe. She daren’t think about what this meant. She daren’t allow herself to imagine that it could mean anything.
‘My father never forgave Prince Salim for shaming him by defeating him,’ Rafiq said, picking up from a conversation he must have been having with himself, ‘even though it was his own fault that the defeat had such catastrophic consequences. As a result a permanent rift developed between Bharym and Prince Salim’s tribe while my father was still alive. I tried to bridge it when he died. It was a slow process, but I was prepared to be patient.’
‘Because Prince Salim’s horses were the direct descendants of the stallions you had lost? And because not only were they the best and therefore likely to secure victory, but by owning them you would restore the pure Arabian bloodline that had been broken.’
‘Precisely.’
‘And in doing so, restore the honour of your family name, your own bloodline.’
‘It seems I left my impenetrable cloak at the horse fair! You are absolutely right but there is even more to it than that. That is—that is what I am attempting, rather poorly, to explain to you.’
‘Elmira,’ Stephanie whispered. Not because she understood, but because it was the only possible link. ‘Elmira’s father won the race. Elmira’s father sold you the new bloodstock.’
Rafiq stared into the fire for a long time. When he spoke it was slowly, carefully. ‘He did not sell them to me, Stephanie. He gave them to me. Sufficient stallions to replenish my stables, and all guaranteed descendants from the Bharym stud.’
‘But you said—I thought—today—you said the stallions cost you more than I could imagine, and now you tell me that they were given to you...’
‘At a price.’
‘What price?’
‘Can’t you guess?’
He waited while she worked it out for herself, and when she did, she couldn’t disguise her shock. ‘That you marry Elmira!’
‘I had no choice,’ Rafiq said harshly. ‘Prince Salim would not sell them to me for any amount of gold. He coveted the power and political influence that would result from an alliance with a kingdom such as Bharym. It was not only the opportunity to establish the stud, the first vital step on the road to reclaiming the Sabr, it would heal the rift between Bharym and the most influential Bedouin tribe. I had no choice, Stephanie.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘At least that is what I thought. I had no idea then—if I had realised—but I was blinded by my ambition.’
‘Your people’s ambition.’
‘No, I will not allow you to excuse me. I am their Prince and I have a duty to them, but I cannot deny the strength of my own ambition. I told you how, as a child, I dreamt of riding the winning string of horses one day, how that dream turned to ashes when my father burned down the stables. It was very important to me, but important enough to marry for? Because make no mistake, that is what I did, Stephanie. I married Elmira solely for her dowry.’
‘She was a princess. Her bloodline—you said Prince Salim was happy with the match...’
‘Oh, it was a good match, one my Council also heartily approved of.’
‘There, you see! It all makes perfect royal sense.’
‘Royal sense?’
‘A bride with the appropriate pedigree. Stallions with the appropriate pedigree. An end to the feud your father started.’
‘Royal sense,’ Rafiq repeated dully. ‘You’re right, everyone got what they wanted, especially me. Everyone except poor Elmira. That is why my horses are plagued.’
‘That is what you meant when you said that the sickness was your fault, when you said that your misfortune was all your own making? Rafiq!’ Stephanie shook his arm. ‘Nature is to blame for the sickness, you must see that. It would have struck whether you had married Elmira or not. Whether you loved her or not.’
‘I did not love Elmira.’
For the first time when Rafiq spoke of his dead wife there was sorrow in his voice. It twisted at Stephanie’s heart for reasons she was reluctant to explore. ‘It is not a crime, in an arranged marriage, not to feel true love.’
‘There are other crimes, which must be atoned for.’ Rafiq shivered and stared into the fire.
‘Are you cold?’
‘A little.’
Stephanie was at a loss. He had clearly not told her everything, but he had told her a great deal. He had trusted her. The significance was not lost on her. She pulled his arm around her neck and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Thank you.’
Rafiq laughed gruffly. ‘For revealing the flawed man lurking beneath the perfect Prince?’
She kissed his hand, snuggling closer. ‘When I told you about Rupert, my biggest fear was that you would think me gullible, that you would judge me as harshly as I judged myself. You told me then that your opinion of me was based on what you knew of me, that what I had done in the past couldn’t change that.’
She pressed another kiss on to his hand. ‘It is the same for me. I know you for an honourable man. A man who wants desperately to do right by his people and his kingdom. A man who has sacrificed a great deal to make good on a pledge he made. A good man, Rafiq. One who, like me, may regret what he did, but who is determined to atone for it. You judge yourself far too harshly.’
‘No.’ He removed her arm gently and got to his feet. ‘It is not possible to do so.’
‘But...’
‘No.’ He held out his hand to help her up and pulled his boots on. ‘It is a beautiful night, and I brought you here to walk in the desert under the stars, if you still wish to do so? We have dwelt long enough in the past.’
She tucked her arm into his. ‘Then let us inhabit the present. Just us, just now.’
* * *
Stephanie was curled up inside the tent, sleeping under a mound of blankets. Rafiq fed the fire, listening to the sounds of the desert. They had walked for an hour, talking of little or nothing. The names of the insects which buzzed around the oasis. The constellations above them. No mention of horses. No Sabr. No Elmira.
Today was not his first meeting with Prince Salim, but it was the first time he had encou
ntered him unexpectedly. At the time, the Prince had received the tragic news of Elmira’s death with the phlegmatic resignation of a seasoned despot with a coterie of eligible daughters. A point he had been at pains to reinforce earlier today.
Rafiq groaned, dropping his head on to his hands. He didn’t need to feed his guilt with the realisation that Elmira meant as little to her father as she had to him. But he fed it all the same, adding another branch to the towering pyre.
Were all men so heedless of the effect their actions had on women? Why did not more women rebel? Stupid question. He could not imagine Elmira speaking to him the way Stephanie did. He could not picture Elmira standing up to Jasim. Could not envisage her demanding he pay her more attention, spend more time with her. Because she was happy with her cosseted if cloistered lot? Or because she was afraid to?
The question made him feel quite sick. Confiding in Stephanie had only served to make him feel more guilty for having made a partial confession. The urge to tell her the whole of it was there, like a hand in his back, pushing him over a precipice. Madness. Pointless. Not that it mattered, whether he lost her good opinion of him or not, because she was only the Royal Horse Surgeon. She’d be going back to England in a few months.
No, it was far too late to pretend that he didn’t care what Stephanie thought. Which meant it would be folly indeed to tell her the whole unpalatable truth. Sighing, he banked up the fire, for they would require coffee before they started out for the palace in the morning. Earlier today he had promised her there would be kisses tonight. Nothing had turned out as he had planned. He should have known better than to plan anything that involved Stephanie!
Rafiq pulled off his boots. He was far too overwrought to sleep. He would sit in the doorway of the tent and watch the stars. Stephanie sighed in her sleep, throwing an arm out of the cover. She had taken off her tunic, and wore only her pantaloons and camisole. He didn’t want her to get cold. Kneeling down beside her, he tried to tuck her arm back under the covers. She pushed the blanket away. He really didn’t want her to get cold. He lay down beside her, just for a minute to warm her up, curling himself into her back, and pulled the covers over both of them. He kissed the nape of her neck. He closed his eyes. She was so soft and warm. He had never slept the night with a woman before. But he wasn’t going to sleep. He was simply keeping her warm. Rafiq closed his eyes, just for a second, enjoying the comforting presence of her quietly breathing form.
The Harlot and the Sheikh Page 16
