His Forbidden Diamond

by Susan Stephens

  Pausing to shift his backpack into a more comfortable position, he thought back to his schooldays, when Sharif had taken pity on him during the holidays because Tyr had three sisters. But when Tyr had arrived in the desert he had discovered that his troubles had only just begun, because Sharif’s one sister had been more aggravation than his three put together. At first he’d thought it would be an easy matter to shake Jazz off when she tagged along, but they hadn’t had a horse fast enough to get away from her. They’d devised all sorts of cunning plans, but Jazz had always outrun them. They’d be relaxing beside the oasis while their horses drank their fill when she’d appear round a palm tree to taunt them, until finally they gave in, and their exclusive gang of two became three.

  Cresting the dune overlooking Wadi village, he stared down as if he expected to see Jazz waiting for him. Of course she wasn’t there. She was in Milan, pretending to be a fashionista. And even if she had been waiting for him, they could never recapture those innocent days. Time had changed them both too much for that. Squinting his eyes against the low-lying rays of a dying sun, he set out on the last leg of his journey.

  * * *

  Had she ever been so happy to tug on riding gear?

  Nope, Jazz concluded, not even bothering to check her appearance in the mirror. The sun was up and the grey light of dawn was slowly giving way to a warm buttery glow. It promised to be a fabulous day for riding, if she got out before the sun rose too high, turning everything from comfortably warm into the fiery pit of hell. With her hair tied neatly back, and her close-fitting breeches covered by one of the long, concealing shirts she wore for riding, she only had to pick up her hard hat at the door and she was ready to trial her new stallion. Spear was said to be impossible to ride. She’d see about that. Kindness combined with firmness always won the day with a difficult stallion, and Spear was such a beautiful beast.

  Now, why should Tyr Skavanga flash into her mind?

  Where beautiful beasts were concerned, Tyr was a prime example, that was why.

  Maybe she’d catch sight of Tyr if she rode by Wadi village.

  She was a princess with responsibilities—she had to remember that.

  Okay, so she wouldn’t go that way, not unless the wind blew from the east, in which case she didn’t want the sand in her face, and so then she would have no option but to turn in the direction of Wadi village.

  Leaving her bedroom, Jazz raced down the stairs and minutes later she was in the stable yard. Crossing to the half-open door, she whispered to Spear and caressed his ears, for which she received a whinnying reply and a good nuzzle as the horse set about searching her pockets for mints. Resting her cheek against his warm, firm muscular neck, she revelled in the stallion’s tightly contained strength, and her thoughts flew back to Tyr. What was he doing now? Would he be thinking about her?

  Don’t be ridiculous!

  But there was a chance Tyr might be preparing to ride out. Dawn and dusk had always been his favourite times to ride too, because dawn was so beautifully still and silent, while dusk was cool.

  Talking quietly to her horse, Jazz led her magnificent stallion into the yard. ‘You are a bad boy,’ Jazz breathed as the stallion threw back his head, resisting her attempts to calm him, ‘but you’re very handsome,’ she soothed as she sprang lightly into the saddle. The stallion was impatient for his morning run and skittered sideways until she brought him back under control. Shifting her weight, she coaxed him forward at a controlled canter, rather than the flat-out gallop Spear was aiming for.

  Having passed beneath the stone archway that divided the safe, controlled environment of Sharif’s racing stables from the desert beyond, they entered the wild, unpredictable frontier, as Jazz always thought of her desert home, and, drawing in a deep breath of joyful anticipation, she lightened her grip and gave Spear his head.

  The wind ripped her veil off as she galloped across the dunes. She was at one with the powerful beast as he surged forward, and that was the best sensation in the world. Spear had exceeded all her expectations and anyone who said she couldn’t ride him because he was too strong for her was so wrong. She could do anything if she put her mind to it, and Spear was perfection. It was just a pity about the wind. Blowing from the east, it gave her only one option, which was to head in the direction of Wadi village.

  She decided to take a short cut. It was a riskier route than going round the dunes, but much quicker. The climb up the final dune was the most testing, but when she reached the top she could see the oasis where she had used to swim with Tyr, and Wadi village, spread out like a twinkling toy city in front of her.

  * * *

  The cold water of the oasis hitting his heated skin was a pleasure Tyr had anticipated since the moment he woke up. There was nowhere else on earth like this; nowhere that assaulted his senses quite so comprehensively with such contrasts of hot and cold, shade and light, and sheer vastness. Everything was extreme in the desert. That was why he liked it. There were no grey areas. There was just constant challenge and danger. Easing his shoulders, he prepared to dive in.

  And was stopped by a shriek.

  Swinging round, he saw the stallion’s legs buckle beneath it as it started the long slide down the dune. It was a relief to see the rider instinctively kick away the stirrups and leap off its back to avoid being crushed beneath half a ton of horse. Recognising the rider, he grabbed a towel and began to run.

  ‘Jazz!’

  He powered up the bank of the oasis. The next few seconds passed in a disorientating blur of sand and spinning horse as Jazz and her stallion rocketed down the slope. He jumped clear as the horse skidded past him with its legs pounding uselessly at the air. Jazz took a little longer to arrive, before landing at his feet in an untidy sprawl. Hunkering down, he made a quick assessment. She was winded. She was shocked. She couldn’t speak. Apart from that, her colour was good and she was breathing, always a plus.

  ‘Tyr?’

  Letting go of her hand, he sat back on his heels.

  ‘My horse?’ she gasped out.

  ‘Unharmed.’ He glanced at the banks of the oasis, where he could see Jazz’s horse sucking in water. ‘Are you okay?’ He sounded gruff and guessed he was probably more shocked than Jazz. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be swanning around in Italy, buying next year’s thrift-shop donations?’

  ‘Sorry?’ She gave him a look that came straight from the old days. ‘Did I get off at the wrong stop?’

  Hiding a smile, he stared sternly down at her. ‘This could have been a really serious accident, and we still don’t know if you’ve been hurt.’

  ‘Only my pride,’ she admitted, struggling to get up.

  He pressed her down. ‘You’re not going anywhere until I check you over for injury. And, apologies in advance, but I will have to touch you.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ Jazz flashed, doing her best to roll out of reach.

  ‘For purely medical reasons,’ he said, patiently bringing her back again. ‘Believe me, I have no wish to do this.’

  Much. His fingers were on fire at the thought.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JAZZ BRACED HERSELF as she prepared for Tyr to conduct his examination. Closing her eyes, she turned her head away, as if to show him that if she must endure this personal invasion, she would do so while distanced from him in both thought and response. This was something new for him, and he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused by a woman who didn’t want him to touch her. He made the exam swift, gentling his big hands as much as he could, but Jazz felt so good beneath his touch, he found it almost impossible to remain clinically objective.

  ‘Is this really necessary?’ she demanded at one point when his fingertips scraped her breast.

  ‘Bruised ribs,’ he said tersely, consciously steadying his breathing. ‘I’m checking they’re not broken.’

&n
bsp; ‘What about the new medical facility in the village? Can’t I get checked over there?’

  The new medical facility he had only recently installed? Now, why hadn’t he thought of that? ‘I’m just making sure it’s safe to move you first.’

  ‘It’s safe.’ Jazz’s eyes flashed fire. ‘And as soon as I’ve had chance to catch my breath, I’m standing up.’

  ‘And I’ll help you,’ he said calmly. Straightening her shirt, he hunkered back on his heels to wait.

  This was not the way she’d planned it. This was supposed to be an innocent morning ride. And, okay, if it had turned into a scouting mission, she hadn’t expected such immediate and intimate contact with her target. Having Tyr loom over her while she was lying prone on the ground was having all sorts of odd effects on her body, none of them welcome.

  ‘If that snake hadn’t slithered in front of my horse...’

  ‘You’d still be up there, spying on me swimming naked in the oasis?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ She tried to get up, but Tyr pushed her down again. ‘I didn’t even know you were there,’ she defended, studiously ignoring his towel-clad frame. She absolutely refused to notice his biceps, or his formidable torso, or any other part of him that was currently brazenly on show. ‘I was taking my horse for a drink, and that’s all.’

  ‘You certainly picked a safe way down,’ Tyr remarked, his voice dripping with irony.

  ‘Past a snake,’ she reminded him acidly.

  ‘End result? You’re lying in a heap at my feet.’

  ‘A heap? I’ll have you know, I’m still in shock.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  ‘And don’t you dare look at me like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ Tyr demanded as he unfolded his massive frame.

  ‘As if I’m today’s entertainment. And don’t stand over me, either.’

  ‘You’re right. I’ll have to carry you back to the village.’

  ‘What? You can’t do that.’ Scrambling to her feet, she promptly fell down again.

  Luckily, Tyr caught her before she hit the ground. He propped her against the sturdy trunk of a palm and stood back. ‘Stay there while I put some clothes on.’

  Shivers of awareness raced through her as she closed her eyes.

  A pair of snug-fitting jeans, some desert boots and a black top later, Tyr returned. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen, Princess. You may or may not have concussion, so you’re not walking back to the village.’ He held up his hand when she began to protest. ‘You can do what the hell you want once the doctors have checked you over, but until then you’re under orders—my orders.’

  Her jaw dropped with astonishment. Her body might have other ideas, but she wasn’t completely mad. ‘I forbid you to touch me.’

  ‘You forbid me?’ Tyr laughed. Then he swung her into his arms.

  At some point she realised that the more she struggled, the more her body approved as it rubbed against Tyr’s, so she made herself as stiff as a plank. But this was no longer a game, and the implications of arriving in a conservative village in the arms of a man didn’t bear thinking about. ‘Tyr. Please. You can’t carry me into Wadi village.’

  ‘Watch me.’

  ‘You don’t understand. Some of the most conservative people in Kareshi live in Wadi village.’

  ‘I understand everything, Jazz. You forget, I’ve been working in the village for quite some time.’

  ‘Then please put me down.’

  ‘I won’t take that risk with your safety.’ Ignoring her increasingly strident protests, Tyr continued on along the bank of the oasis, where he only paused to gather up her horse’s reins before turning in the direction of the village.

  She made one final attempt to make him change his mind. ‘Please, Tyr. Put me down. I can ride back.’

  ‘You’re in no fit state to ride back. Look at you. You’re shaking.’ Halting mid-stride, Tyr blazed a stare into her face, his expression fixed and determined. ‘What am I supposed to do? Leave you here to fry?’

  ‘That might be better.’ But then she glanced up at the sky, which was rapidly changing from cloudless blue to sun-bleached white. Death was better than disgrace, right? she reasoned frantically—which made her wonder briefly if she did indeed have concussion.

  ‘How would it look to the people of Wadi village if I leave you in the desert to die?’ Tyr demanded, distracting her. ‘Let me tell you,’ he said before she had chance to reply. ‘It would look as if the man who has been working with them, the same man the villagers have grown to trust, is nothing but a barbarian who holds life cheap, and who shows total disrespect for their royal family. You’ve had a fall. We don’t know if you’re injured yet. At the very least, you’ve sustained a shock. In the absence of an ambulance rumbling over the dunes, I’m carrying you back to the medical centre, where you can be checked out and treated. Anyone on earth would understand that.’

  ‘My people won’t.’

  ‘Your people would rather have you dead?’ Tyr shook his head. ‘You don’t know them, Jazz. They love you. They talk about you and Sharif constantly. Together you’ve brought stability to Kareshi. You must never take a chance like that again. What if I hadn’t planned to swim in the oasis? What if you’d broken your leg and were stranded out here? What if your horse had run away? Are you carrying a satellite phone or a tracking device?’

  In her rush to see Tyr, she had remembered none of these things, Jazz realised, but that wasn’t something she was about to share with him. ‘They must have been lost during the fall.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ He strode on.

  Her heart sank. They had almost reached the outskirts of the village, and people were already coming out of their houses to take a look. Smiling grimly as he reassured people in broken Kareshi, Tyr continued on through the crowd. He either didn’t know or didn’t care that touching her was practically a criminal offence. And she couldn’t blame the villagers for their concern. Before Tyr had arrived on the scene, installing the Internet and bringing fresh water to the village, they hadn’t met a stranger for goodness knew how long. They led remote, sheltered lives, shielded from the world, with traditions that had remained unchanged for centuries. How long before news of her unconventional arrival flashed around Kareshi? She smiled in an attempt to reassure the veiled women, whose eyes were wide with concern for her, and nodded briefly at the men, who turned away. She was shamed in their eyes, and no excuse could possibly explain her outlandish behaviour.

  Pausing only to hand over the reins of her horse to one of the young boys who had been following them, Tyr carried her inside the clinic, where he handed her over to the orderlies like a parcel he was glad to be rid of. There was nothing wrong with his manner towards her. There was nothing but pure concern in his eyes, though Jazz doubted the traditionalists would see it that way.

  ‘I’m going to check on your horse,’ he called back as he left the building.

  ‘Thank you.’ She was uncomfortably aware of the increasing clamour of the crowd outside the clinic as the people waited for news of their princess.

  ‘I must go to them and explain,’ she told the nurse, struggling into a sitting position.

  The nurse gently pushed her down again. ‘We can do that for you,’ she said firmly. ‘Forgive me, Princess Jasmina, but you’re not going anywhere until the doctor’s had chance to take a look at you. You might as well rest back. There’s nothing for you to worry about. His Majesty has already been informed.’

  Great! Jazz’s breath left her body in a shuddering sigh. She could imagine Sharif’s reaction. Having had her beg him to arrange a marriage for her, he now discovered she was here with Tyr.

  Needless to say, by the time the nurse took her blood pressure, it was sky-high. The nurse peered at her over her spectacles. ‘Even if the doctor gives his okay, I’m goi
ng to insist that you stay here and rest. This equipment tells me you’ve been badly shaken up.’

  And not just by the fall from her horse, Jazz thought.

  Tyr needed space from Jazz and time to think. He still hadn’t got over the shock of finding her here in Kareshi, and now there was the sensation he’d caused to deal with on top of that. He wouldn’t risk losing the people’s trust. Nor did he want to damage his friendship with Sharif. Taking some of the elders aside, he decided to sort it out.

  Their reaction threw him.

  ‘No, no, no,’ he said, smiling as he shook his head to make his position clear. ‘We’re not planning to get married.’

  ‘But you must,’ the headman said in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Tyr was still smiling, still convinced that this couldn’t be a serious suggestion on the part of the headman, but his laughing gaze was met by an unwavering stare. ‘All right.’ Taking it in good part, he clapped the old man on the back. ‘We’ll sort this out—

  ‘Apparently not,’ Tyr murmured as the old man walked away. ‘Later,’ he called after him.

  The headman raised his hand, but only in acknowledgement that he’d heard Tyr, and nothing more.

  He got a really bad feeling. That encounter with the headman of the village had suggested that nothing would yield to good humour in this situation. And in truth, fudging an issue wasn’t his style. He was straight down the line. So far he’d done nothing to let these people down and he wasn’t about to start now.

  He placed a call to Sharif, but couldn’t get through. Leading his horse out of its stable, he sprang onto its back and headed out of the village. This was a mess that should never have happened. Jazz Kareshi, innocent princess, and the ruthless killing machine? If her people knew his history, would they be so keen to make a match between them? He couldn’t do that to Jazz, so the only thing he could do was to leave Kareshi.

  And how was he going to do that, when he was tied by his love for the people? His work here wasn’t done.