by Kim Lawrence
‘And you,’ she said, her heart aching with compassion for the boy he had been and sad for the man he had become, a man who seemed to have sealed himself off emotionally.
‘I survived but my father did not—he went to pieces, he cared about nothing...his duty, this land...and he would take her back tomorrow if she would come.’
‘Poor man...’ A little shudder ran like a chill down Abby’s spine; it must be terrible to love someone you couldn’t have...to taste a little of paradise and be thrown out.
‘Poor man?’ Zain’s nostrils flared in outrage at the suggestion. ‘He is a leader, a ruler, he has responsibilities—the people, the land relied on him and he left them. Oh, he is still here physically, but he might as well not be.’
‘You’re angry with him?’ Her heart ached for the little boy discovering his hero had feet of clay. His determination to stay single and his contempt for marriage certainly made sense in light of the family history he had revealed.
‘I’m ashamed of him.’ The words were wrenched from somewhere deep inside him and he seemed almost as shocked to have said them as she was to hear them. Zain turned abruptly away, obviously regretting that he had confided so much in her...and disturbed that he had.
‘Are you coming? We have a lot of ground to cover,’ he said in a clipped tone as he strode away.
She nodded quickly and ran to catch him up.
* * *
He was right, there was a lot of ground and all of it was the stuff of superlatives. Zain spoke of geometric patterns and symmetry but to her the corridors and courtyards, the ballrooms and paved quadrangles had no logical sequence. It was a beautiful, glittering maze, but Zain was a good guide—he didn’t try and overwhelm her with too much detail but instead told her little snippets, gossipy stories that made his ancestors seem very real people and not just the daunting historical figures in portraits that lined the gallery above the ballroom with its mirrored, domed ceiling of blue glass.
But, as fascinating as the stories he told were, Abby could not stop thinking about the present-day story, the sad, tragic tale of his parents.
‘Now, this,’ he said as they walked along a wide corridor with a vaulted ceiling, ‘is the oldest part of the Palace complex. You won’t come this way unless you’re going to the stables.’
Abby had fallen a little behind and stopped. ‘Do you think they will ever get back together?’
Zain inhaled, his nostrils flaring as he turned around to face her.
She stood her ground while his gaze swept across her face. ‘Your parents?’ she pushed out nervously.
‘You like a happy ending?’ he sneered.
She gave a little shrug, wishing she had kept her mouth shut. ‘Doesn’t everyone? Don’t you think you would be happier if you could forgive your father? He couldn’t help falling in love.’
His jaw clenched before he responded. ‘While I am grateful for your unsolicited wifely concern for my welfare,’ he told her with blighting insincerity, ‘it is not required. You are my wife on paper only, so please don’t get carried away by the job description.’
She breathed through the utterly irrational hurt that quivered through her body. ‘I’ll do my level best,’ she promised before miming a zipping motion across her lips.
He said something not in any language she understood before some of his rigidity fell away and something approaching a smile twisted his lips. ‘You, silent? That I’ll believe when I see it. But for the record you are wrong, you can help... Falling implies a helplessness that does not exist; there is always a choice.’
She searched his lean face for any sign of doubt and found none at all; he radiated male arrogance. Her insides shuddered, the mouth-drying sensation dramatic and disturbing as she continued to stare at him.
Always a choice, she mused; well, she had one now: carry on looking and feeling like this or look away; argue or bite her tongue.
She chose the latter in both cases, probably the way to go for the next eighteen months.
‘So this leads to the stables,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he said, experiencing a sense of anticlimax as he let her walk before him under a large stone arch guarded by massive, double-metal-banded doors and into the fresh air.
Abby took a deep breath and took it all in, turning her head towards the sound of thundering hooves as a string of horses with riders on their backs galloped out through the open gates. They left behind a hum of activity she hadn’t yet experienced in Aarifa.
She had encountered a few people during the tour but all had bowed to Zain and scooted out of their way, so their functions in this vast complex had not been immediately obvious to Abby.
Here was different, with everyone occupied on a specific task, be it grooming one of the horses, mucking out stables, leading horses across the cobbled yard or walking them into what seemed to be a horse bath.
‘Hydrotherapy,’ Zain explained when he saw her staring. He took her arm and steered her towards the nearest row of stables; there were three similar rows that lined three sides of the quadrangle, while the fourth seemed to house offices.
‘I know that horses are not your thing, but I thought you might like to say hello to an old friend.’ He took her across to a stable door, pausing to speak to one of the stable hands with a lack of formality that surprised Abby.
The young man moved ahead of them, tipping his head towards Abby as he passed. As they reached the stable he had gone inside he emerged leading a horse.
‘Malik al-Layl,’ Zain said, taking the ends of the reins from the stable hand and leading the stallion towards Abby. ‘I think he remembers you,’ Zain said as the horse snickered and put his head down towards Abby, who, after a self-conscious moment of indecision, extended her hand towards the animal.
‘We were not formally introduced, Malik...’ She glanced towards Zain for guidance.
‘Malik al-Layl—it means King of the Night.’
‘We were not formally introduced, Malik al-Layl, but I don’t blame you for that.’ She shot a look loaded with meaning at Zain. ‘There was a lot of anonymity going on.’ She jumped as the horse brushed her hand with velvety lips, her smile spreading. ‘I think he might remember me,’ she said, unable to hide her pleasure at the thought.
‘Once seen, never forgotten.’
Their eyes met and the something that she had sensed earlier—the crackly charge she had been conscious of several times—surfaced once again. She lowered her gaze quickly but it still hung there in the air as she pretended to look for something in the pocket of her trousers and watched covertly as Zain ran his hand down the stallion’s flank, the dangerous male aura he exuded sending little thrills through her nervous system.
‘Lost something?’
Like someone caught in the act...well, in some ways, she had been lucky her sin remained in thought and not in action, and Abby pulled her empty hand out of her pocket.
‘I was just looking for a tissue...’ she improvised. ‘I’m fine.’ The hasty addition was just in case he decided to send for someone to fetch her a gold-lined box of the things.
‘I was wondering if you’d like to have some riding lessons while you’re here?’
‘You make it sound as though I’m on holiday.’
‘It doesn’t have to be a punishment—there is nothing that says you can’t enjoy yourself.’ His eyes connected with hers, the teasing look making her feel warm and other things. ‘You might even get to like me...’
Her half-smile flattened as she realised that was the problem, the one she didn’t want to acknowledge—that it might be far too easy to like him. ‘That’s pushing it,’ she husked out, refusing to analyse why the idea scared her so much. ‘But I would like to learn to ride.’
‘Fine, I’ll...’ He broke off, his eyes moving past her in response to the sound of the clatter of hooves.
Abb
y turned her head, curious to see who had galloped through the gates just as the rider of the first horse dismounted. As the woman landed with almost balletic grace, the two men who had ridden in behind her shadowed the move but with far less elegance.
Before the riders had hit the ground, grooms were rushing up to take the reins of the horses.
The woman pulled off her riding cap and shook back a dark bell of smooth, shiny hair. She barely glanced at the man who took it from her hands then led away her mount, though she did call something out to the two men who were clearly her security detail. They bowed in response.
She then swung around and, shoulders back, head high, helmet in hand, with a swing of her slim hips she walked towards where Abby and Zain stood.
Abby looked towards Zain and found he was not looking at the tiny brunette but at her. He seemed to read the unspoken question in her eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly.
Abby put his tension down to a fear she was about to say or do something that would blow their cover. His concern, she admitted, was pretty well-founded.
‘Zain, darling!’
For a moment Zain did nothing but then he took a deep breath, lifted his hand and walked out to greet the woman.
They met somewhere in the middle, close enough for Abby to see what the other woman looked like but not hear what they were saying apart from the odd word that floated out...which sounded French.
Abby wasn’t prepared for the flood of peculiar emotions seeing them together released, rising to the surface like oil on water. She examined the woman rather than the feelings.
At a distance, there had been the suggestion of glossy perfection. Closer to, this was intensified; the other woman didn’t have a hair out of place, literally. The dark hair that swung to her shoulders in a bell-like curve was smooth and glossy and there wasn’t a single crease in the tight-fitting riding breeches that were moulded to her bottom and thighs or a mark on her whiter-than-white shirt. The knee-high riding boots she wore had a glossy sheen and clung to her calves, the darker, fitted jacket on top was nipped in where it buttoned at the waist and the scarf arranged artfully around her neck added the final chic touch.
In profile, her features looked small and neat, and next to Zain she was tiny and delicate-looking. She was just the sort of woman that brought out protective instincts in men.
The sort of woman who always made Abby feel big and clumsy. For a split second she was back at school, towering over the other girls, hearing the popular girls laugh and snigger at her in the hallways. Annoyed with herself, she forced the images away—she had moved on a long time ago, she reminded herself.
The sound of female laughter drifting across to her brought Abby’s attention firmly back to the present and she found herself clenching her teeth, her curiosity turning to something else, something that made her want to look away, but she couldn’t. She continued to watch as the woman reached out a hand and laid it on Zain’s chest... Was the intimacy of the gesture a figment of her imagination?
She watched as Zain turned and gestured in her own direction—clearly he was talking about her, but what was he saying...? The woman turned too and, lifting a gloved hand, she waved. It took Abby a split second to respond with a jerky movement of her hand.
Then the couple began to walk towards her.
By the time they reached her Abby had a very creditable smile painted on her face.
‘Kayla, this is my wife, Abby; Abby, this is Kayla, my...brother’s widow.’ Zain smoothly made the formal introductions.
Abby tipped her head, still in shock at hearing Zain call her his wife. ‘I’m very sorry...for your loss.’
The woman’s red lips stretched into a gracious smile, her mouth the perfect rosebud shape. Her diamond earrings flashed in the sunlight. ‘Thank you. It has been a difficult time...my mother insisted I go out this morning; she knew that it would help. Zain understands. He feels the same way.’
It was hard to tell from Zain’s expression if he felt anything at all. His expression was tight and stony.
Kayla clasped a hand to her chest. Not anticipating the dramatic gesture, Abby stepped back.
‘The desert...for us...’ Kayla’s glance took in Zain. ‘It is hard to explain to an outsider...it is an almost spiritual connection that cleanses the soul.’
Struggling to know what to say to this, Abby just nodded and heard herself say stupidly, ‘That’s nice.’
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here last night to greet you.’ Abby noted how the gracious smile did not quite reach her dark eyes.
‘No...not at all,’ Abby stammered.
‘Everyone wants to meet you—perhaps we could have tea one day? Go shopping... I’m sure we will be great friends.’ She leaned in and, stretching upwards, kissed the air either side of Abby’s face. Abby’s nostrils flared as she was engulfed in a cloud of exotic-smelling cloying perfume.
Without waiting for a response, Kayla turned and lifted her face to Zain.
Abby turned away, tangling her fingers in the animal’s mane but aware in the periphery of her vision that the pause before Zain bent forward was one second away from being awkward. She didn’t look as he air-brushed her cheek with his lips but turned in time to see the other woman catch hold of his hand, sandwich it between both of hers, the red nails bright against his skin, before pressing it to her chest and only then slowly releasing it.
There were tears in the corners of her dark eyes as she turned to Abby. ‘Forgive me; it’s just that I nearly lost both my men.’
Abby told herself she had imagined the emphasis and nodded, feeling a little guilty that her own sympathy felt so forced.
‘Later, Zain...?’ The tears dried as the beautiful brunette arched a brow in Zain’s direction and nodded to Abby before walking regally away, the two men falling into step behind.
‘So that is Kayla.’
‘It is,’ Zain agreed.
His response gave her no clue as to the cause of the atmosphere she’d sensed between the two of them. ‘She’s very beautiful.’
* * *
She’s poison, Zain wanted to say. Instead he gave the stallion one last pat and nodded to the man who appeared to take him away. ‘This evening Kayla has asked us to join her for dinner.’
Abby nodded but with little enthusiasm. ‘It must be very hard for her.’
‘I said you were still too tired.’
He was giving her an out but he fervently hoped she wouldn’t take it.
‘Will you be all right?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be all right?’ Abby asked in confusion. ‘It’s not as though we’re going to be living in each other’s pockets, is it? I’m sure you’re going to be busy getting used to your new role...’
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘I do intend to be more...hands-on than my brother. It will be a steep learning curve. Concerning your days, things will run smoother once you have a team of staff around you. I have selected some candidates but I wasn’t sure of you’d like to interview them personally or have Layla or one of my team do it?’
‘Staff...team...me...?’ She shook her head in an attitude of bewilderment.
‘Obviously you will have your own staff.’
‘But surely that wouldn’t be necessary—I’m not really—’
He cut across her faltering protest. ‘The world is meant to think you are really, and what do you intend to do for the next eighteen months—hide in your room? You’ll be bored stiff in two minutes,’ he predicted.
‘So you want me to fill my time with riding lessons, and what, unveiling statues, general good works...?’ The barely disguised uncertainty in her voice told him she didn’t have a clue what the royal duties of the wife of a prince were.
‘It might keep you out of trouble.’ And hopefully out of Kayla’s way. The only reason he had accepted this evening’s invite was to make it quit
e clear to Kayla that she was to keep away from Abby and to dash any expectation she had that the two of them would ever get back together.
The memory of her propositioning him in a not very subtle manner he assumed had been meant to arouse him, with his wife standing just feet away, was still fresh in his mind. The effect on him had been the opposite to what she’d intended, as Zain had stood there wondering, as he did now, how he could ever have been taken in by her, how he could have missed the naked ambition that motivated her. His response to her inappropriate overture had been constrained by the public place; this evening it would not be.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT SEEMED TO Abby that Zain took a more direct route back to the suite; he appeared lost in his own thoughts and to such a degree that she was struggling to keep up with the pace he set. So after a couple of attempts to break the silence she gave up.
At the door to her room he paused, seeming to notice for the first time that he was a little out of breath, and glanced at the metal-banded watch on his wrist.
‘Sorry, I’m late. I have an appointment with my father.’ He added, evidently feeling guilty he was leaving her alone, ‘Layla will be available if you want anything.’
She nodded absently, still absorbing the fact that she was living in a world where you made an appointment to see your father.
About to turn away, he swung back. ‘He lives quite a secluded life and my brother’s death has hit him hard, so don’t take it personally if he doesn’t want to see you.’ He sketched a forced smile that left his eyes sombre and shadowed. ‘I never do.’
She watched him stride away, tall and powerful, wondering if he’d told himself the same thing when he was a little boy who’d needed his father.
Abby spent some time responding to texts from her grandparents and a much longer one from her agent, who wanted to know where she was. She ate her supper in the small private sitting room, preferring it to the dining room—which had all the intimacy of a banqueting hall—before sinking gratefully into the scented water of a warm bath. She closed her eyes and floated but the calm she sought eluded her, her brain continuing to fire off in all directions, thoughts and questions swirling in her head.
