style="font-size:15px;"> 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 traditions 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
