She loved him because he wasn’t just playing the Prince, but because he was a prince in the true sense of the word, an honourable man who wanted what was best for his people. She loved him because he put those people first, even when his instincts were to act otherwise. And she loved him for the way he agonised over that fateful choice, even though his agonising pained her.
This morning had been magical. It had been magical, because she was in love. The fierce attraction which had drawn them together from the moment they met might be nothing more than that for Rafiq, but for Stephanie—oh, what a fool she was not to have noticed the way it had subtly changed, from physical experimentation, to powerful mutual pleasure, to a communion of their bodies, to an expression of her love. Because that’s what it had been this morning.
Thank goodness Rafiq had not guessed. She would have to make very sure that he continued oblivious, because love didn’t change a single thing between them. She wasn’t that much of an idiot. Pushing herself upright, she shook her feet dry. She was a silly fool, but no one need ever know. In a few months’ time she would return to England and get on with her new life.
Beneath her bandage, the insect bite itched. Stephanie stopped short in the act of scratching it. She had found the cause of the sickness. The terms of her appointment were for six months, but she had found a cure. The cure was prevention. Her work here was, in theory, over.
Her stomach lurched. It was too soon. Far too soon. She was not ready to return to England yet. Besides, there was still work to do. Until it was done, she refused to think about it.
‘What happened?’
Stephanie quickly scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. ‘Rafiq. I’m so sorry.’
‘Sherifa.’
He stood transfixed. The mare was still on her feet, but only just. Her beautiful glossy grey coat was matted with sweat. Her flanks were quivering, her nose was streaming, and her cough had that unmistakable harsh, hacking sound. ‘It started about four hours ago,’ Stephanie said. ‘I’ve been with her ever since. I sent for you immediately, but...’
‘I was otherwise engaged. How bad is it?’
‘Bad,’ Stephanie said, unable to prevent her voice from wobbling. ‘We have to keep her standing. I have been trying to keep her cool, keep her nose clear, but her heart is racing, and she is struggling to breathe. It is—it is bad, Rafiq. I am so sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault. Your theory—It was always—Well, now we have the proof, unfortunately, that you must have been wrong.’
‘No.’ She mustn’t cry. She mustn’t wallow in self-pity. ‘I’m afraid that Sherifa is proof that my theory was sound. You see, I—When I went out to the stallions’ oasis, I...’ She caught herself on a sob. ‘I took Sherifa, Rafiq. I rode Sherifa out to the oasis. I didn’t take her into the paddock, I left her tethered outside, but she was there. And those biting flies—when I was collecting samples, it is mostly likely that one of them landed on me, then transferred to Sherifa and—and you see there is no other explanation. It was six days ago, well within the boundaries of the usual incubation period. Sherifa is my proof, and if she dies, I will never, ever forgive myself. I am so very sorry.’
Her tears had begun again in earnest, but she ignored them. ‘We have to keep her on her feet Rafiq, and though Fadil is desperate to help, he has not your skills. Do you think...?’
‘Anything. Just tell me what to do. Anything.’
He went to the mare’s head and began to murmur to her. The slow, hypnotic tone calmed her, allowing Stephanie to cool the sick beast, but she was under no illusions. The sickness was affecting Sherifa to a far greater degree than it had Batal.
Through her tears she worked tirelessly, cooling, checking, decongesting the mare in a strict, endless sequence. She had seen Rafiq in passing over the last few days, but they had been like ships in the night. His training was relentless, her work at the stables exhausting. That the first time they were together since she admitted to herself that she loved him should be under such tragic circumstances was too awful to contemplate. Yet here they were together, with his dead wife’s precious mare fighting for survival, and if she died it was Stephanie’s fault.
She picked up the empty wooden bucket to fetch more cold water, but Rafiq took it from her. ‘I will do it. Sherifa is calm for the moment. You need to calm yourself, Stephanie, or you will be of no use to either of us.’
‘It’s my fault. If I had thought for a moment...’
‘You have proved beyond doubt the source of the disease. Even if we lose Sherifa, it means we won’t lose any others.’
‘But we can’t lose Sherifa. I know how much she means to you.’
He did not deny it. Stephanie wanted to throw herself at his feet and beg forgiveness, but that was hardly constructive. By the time Rafiq returned with fresh water, she had herself under control. ‘Thank you. If you can persuade her to drink a little, that would be very helpful, but the main thing is to...’
‘...keep her on her feet.’ Rafiq’s smile was ghostly.
‘Exactly. And tell her that she’s going to make it,’ Stephanie said firmly, ‘because I’m determined not to lose her.’
* * *
Stephanie worked with a grim resolve which seemed to increase the more the mare visibly weakened and Rafiq’s confidence fell. Though he kept up his murmuring, he was losing faith fast, and in the early hours of dawn, when Sherifa fell to her knees, despair set in. ‘We are losing her.’
‘No.’ They got her back up, thanks mostly to Stephanie’s sheer effort of will. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered to the mare, ‘but it’s not time for you to join your mistress just yet.’
He tried to block them out, but the memories took hold as he and Stephanie fought what seemed to be a losing battle to keep Sherifa alive.
Elmira putting Sherifa through her repertoire of tricks the night of the feast to celebrate the signing of the marriage contract.
Elmira riding Sherifa through the gates of the palace ahead of the train of stallions on their wedding day.
Elmira’s tears of joy when Sherifa gave birth to her first foal.
Elmira’s tears of sadness when Jasim took the foal away. Far too early, Elmira claimed. It had been early, but Rafiq had been reluctant to intercede on her behalf. The foal was a fine stallion now, one of their Sabr racing string, in fact.
Sherifa’s knees buckled again, and once again Stephanie refused to allow her to fall. ‘Shouldn’t we—isn’t it cruel to prolong her suffering?’ Rafiq asked, his voice cracked.
‘I am prolonging her life. Don’t give up on her, Rafiq. Please don’t give up.’
He had given up on Elmira. He wouldn’t give up on her mare. ‘Come on, Sherifa,’ Rafiq muttered, in the language he had learnt as a child, in the language that Elmira had always spoken to her beloved mare. ‘Your mistress would want you to show your true Arabian spirit.’
The
