‘Papa is the son of a Scottish farmer, Rafiq. The officers of the Seventh like to think they are more blue-blooded than their horses—and they pride themselves on their horses’ lineage. They dare not shun Papa outright, but none would ever invite him to spend his leave on their family estates. Not that my father would accept such an invitation, unless it was to spend time in their stables. Papa has never been the least bit interested in pedigree, human or equine.’
If only he had been, if only he had taught his daughter to make the distinction, she might not have made such a catastrophic mistake. ‘What do the Princes of Bharym witness from this viewing gallery then,’ Stephanie asked, in a determined effort to lighten the mood, ‘if not ritual punishment?’
Rafiq duly obliged. ‘The Dash of the Camels,’ he said with a grin.
She was so surprised she burst out laughing. ‘The Dash of the Camels. It sounds like an Arabian version of a Scottish Reel. I take it that it’s not a dance?’
He shook his head, smiling. ‘It is a race, three times around the circumference of the piazza, riding camels bareback. They have a similar event, I am told, in Sienna, Italy, known as the Palio. Though they take it much more seriously, and they race horses.’
She gazed down on the square which was not actually a square, but an out-of-shape rectangle, with what looked like some hair-raisingly tight corners, and said so.
‘You are right,’ Rafiq said. ‘We lay down wet sand, but it is still very, very tricky. Though of course that is part of the challenge for the riders.’
‘And a source of amusement for the spectators, presumably? Where do the crowds stand?’
‘In the middle of the piazza of course.’
‘There are certainly advantages to being a prince. You have a prime view, and you’re not likely to be stampeded.’
‘It is true, a number of the camels do finish riderless, but we put up barriers to prevent them from endangering the crowds. It is a fun event, a spectacle for the populace,’ Rafiq said. ‘Every village enters their best jockey and camel, they parade it around the piazza ahead of the race, and there are prizes for the best-looking one, and the ugliest.’
‘Do you refer to the jockey or the camel?’ Stephanie said, laughing. ‘I would imagine the ugliest camel prize to be hotly contested. To my eye they seem to have been constructed from a jumble of disparate parts selected from a number of different animals. And as to their smell...’ She made a face. ‘Whether it is produced from the front end or the rear, both are noxious. When is this Dash? I would love to witness it.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve missed it. It took place six months ago. I don’t put any of the royal camels forward since the Dash is a race belonging to the people. Besides, though it seems to have escaped your notice, my camels are white thoroughbreds and extremely rare, though I admit that a pedigree does not preclude the particular camel perfumes you allude to,’ Rafiq said, with a smile. ‘I took the liberty of ordering refreshments for us, I hope you don’t mind.’
Stephanie, thinking that she would be unlikely to mind any liberty Rafiq chose to take, followed him to the back of the room, where a set of screens concealed an alcove containing a table laden with covered dishes, and a mountain of multi-coloured cushions.
‘Everywhere we go, sumptuous banquets appear as if by magic. I do not mean to sound ungrateful—it is simply that your world and mine, they are so very different.’
‘I was thinking only this morning, that very same thing,’ Rafiq said, waiting until she had settled at the table before seating himself with his usual fluid grace. ‘I have never met anyone like you before. And now you are blushing. Are you truly so unaccustomed to receiving compliments? I find that very difficult to believe.’
‘I am perfectly happy to be complimented on my skills as a veterinarian.’
‘Being a veterinarian, Stephanie, no matter what you may think to the contrary, does not preclude you from being an attractive woman.’
He smiled that smile again, and it did exactly what it did every time. Every particle of her was alerted to his presence. Every bit of her focused entirely and only on him. On his mouth. On his eyes. On the hard muscled body seated tantalisingly close to her. Her mouth went dry. ‘We agreed we could not afford to be distracted.’
‘Last night, this morning, caring for Batal together, proved where our priorities lie, don’t you think?’
‘I—I suppose it did, although we still—afterwards, we did kiss.’ Her heart was pounding. Her voice sounded odd.
‘A tender and heartfelt thank you, born of relief. Am I wrong to suggest that we might indulge ourselves, now that we have proved we won’t compromise our relationship as prince and veterinarian?’
She wasn’t sure what he was proposing, but she was curious to know. She bit her lip, laughed shakily. ‘I was thinking the other day how liberating it is to realise that one can only lose one’s reputation once, but the situation—our situation—it is not the same, but...’
‘Will you tell me what happened,’ he asked gently, ‘help me to understand why it is so difficult for you to trust me?’
She grimaced. ‘I do trust you. I’m simply not sure that I can trust myself. It is a sordid tale, which does not cast me in a good light. I fear your good opinion of me will be destroyed if I tell it.’
‘My good opinion of you is based on my knowledge of you as I have come to know you, Stephanie. Your past cannot change that.’
‘Do you really believe that? My past has shaped me. I thought I had left it behind, but it followed me here. I want to be rid of it, but my mistakes continue to haunt me. The best I can do is ensure I don’t repeat them.’
* * *
Her words made Rafiq shiver. They could have been his. Would he be similarly haunted for ever by his past? It was unthinkable. He was sure that the mule’s survival was a portent. The fates were no longer colluding against him. Stephanie had turned them in his favour.
He turned on the cushions to face her. ‘I think you are quite mistaken,’ he said firmly. ‘The door can be closed on the past. When we have atoned for our mistakes, then their shadow no longer stalks us.’
‘You think so?’
‘I am certain of it,’ he said in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘Now, tell me about the ghost that haunts you.’
She took a deep breath, clearly bracing herself. ‘His name was—is Captain Rupert Thornhill of the Seventh Hussars. My father’s regiment.’ Stephanie rolled her eyes. ‘My first error of judgement. He joined the Seventh two years ago. The Thornhills are a very old, established English aristocratic family. Rupert was—is rich, very well connected. My second error of judgement. He is also very dashing and charming, hugely popular, and exceedingly good looking.’ Stephanie’s smile was twisted. ‘My worst error of judgement was to believe that such a man would choose me. I was dazzled and I was very flattered. I allowed my heart to rule my head—something I never do. I believed myself in love.’
Rafiq fought his rising anger. He could imagine the man, paying well-practised court to her, wooing her. And Stephanie, naïve despite her years following the drum, falling
