obvious answer is that it was stolen property and nothing to do with the mine. Maybe part of a robber’s buried ill-gotten gains that were never reclaimed.’
‘Then we must turn our attentions to the place where you found this.’
He slid the bangle over her wrist. The gold took on a new warmth. The eyeless serpent seemed almost to come alive. ‘It suits you,’ he said.
Tahira shivered. ‘I like it too well, but I should not wear it if we’re going to dig.’
‘We’re not. Keep it on for now. I have other plans for tonight.’
* * *
The horses were tethered to a stunted tree just out of sight of the camels. One grey filly, one chestnut colt, both with the distinctive profile and high-carried tail of the Arabian thoroughbred. Tahira stopped in her tracks. ‘Where on earth did you lay your hands on such magnificent creatures?’
‘I borrowed them.’
‘Borrowed?’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘From whom? A most generous friend, to lend you two pure-bred Arabians.’
‘Not a friend, exactly. And he’s not actually aware of how generous he’s been.’
There was a teasing light in his eyes, but Tahira began to feel slightly sick. ‘You can’t mean—please tell me you didn’t steal them.’
‘Certainly not,’ Christopher said indignantly. ‘They’ll be returned to their rightful owner before first light.’
‘Whose horses are these?’
‘They are ours to enjoy, for now.’
‘If you took them from a Bedouin—you would be committing a less heinous crime if you stole his wife, you do know that?’
‘I have no need of a wife, Tahira, either my own or any other man’s. Don’t you like these horses?’
‘That is not the point.’
‘Oh, but it is the only point. Come, introduce yourself.’
She could not resist, and as she ran her fingers over the highly-strung horse’s muzzle, Tahira’s fear gave way to awe, and to excitement. ‘I can’t believe you took such a risk for me, it is an outrageous thing to have done. Thank you, though I wish you hadn’t—but, no, that is a lie.’
She ought to demand that he return the horses right now, but the grey was gently nuzzling her fingers, and the deed was done now, and a few more hours surely wouldn’t make any difference. ‘She is beautiful, thank you,’ Tahira said.
Christopher smiled. ‘You certainly have an affinity with horses.’
‘I get it from my mother who, as you know from my necklace, was a Bedouin herself. Mama taught me to ride, but I have not done so for many years.’
‘Why not?’
She hesitated, but recalling the conversation earlier with her sisters, and Alimah’s yearning to learn to ride being thwarted made her speak out. ‘My brother does not appreciate my—what did you call it?—affinity with horses, since he has none himself,’ Tahira said scornfully. ‘Mama was always saying that I had a strong ration of her Bedouin blood, and that he had none. I’m afraid it was one of the things she was rather—she seemed to enjoy pointing it out,’ Tahira said, grimacing. ‘She told him that he would be better sticking to camels.’
‘Let me guess. When she died, he put a stop to your horse riding.’
‘My youngest sister longs to learn to ride, but she has never been permitted to even sit astride a horse. I blame myself. It was not only Mama who boasted of my prowess—when I was younger, I was not above teasing him, and he—my brother has a very, very long memory.’
‘So he’s vindictive as well as petty and insecure.’ Christopher said something vicious under his breath. ‘A pathetic excuse for a man. If I could but get my hands on him...’
‘No! Please, don’t misunderstand me, I would very much like to see him forced to grovel, whether you chose to use those fists you have clenched or that fearsome scimitar, but—’ Tahira broke off, exclaiming impatiently. ‘You have gone to an immense amount of trouble to arrange this treat and exposed yourself to danger in the process. Let us not pollute the night with my brother’s presence.’
Christopher uncurled his fists slowly. He gave himself a little shake, stretched out his fingers, as if to reassure himself that they had not re-formed into fists, then forced a smile. ‘Right, now as you can see, even my ingenuity has failed to provide us with saddles, though I’ve fashioned makeshift reins from some rope.’
‘Oh, that is absolutely fine. I can ride bareback,’ Tahira said. ‘Will you help me up—having boasted about my horsemanship, I’m not going to disgrace myself with a very rusty scrabbling mount.’
But she was pleased—and relieved—to discover that all she needed was his cupped hand to land gracefully on to the horse, even more pleased to discover that it all came back to her, as if it had been a few minutes instead of many years since she’d had the pleasure. The grey filly was frisky but responsive, allowing her an excellent view of Christopher’s easy, lithe vault on to the back of the chestnut colt, and instant mastery of his steed.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Wherever you wish. The night is yours.’
As she fastened her headdress over her face, Tahira’s eyes met his, and the low flame of desire stirred in her belly. A breeze ruffled the soft cotton of her cloak. Above them, the light haze of cloud cleared leaving a carpet of stars, and crescent of white-gold moon. She adjusted the rope halter, turned the mare towards the flat expanse of desert to the east and, urging her horse into a gallop, prepared to claim the night.
The gentle breeze became a roar in her ears. Her headdress and cloak flew out behind her. She could hear the steady drumbeat of the horses’ hooves on the sand, see the puffs of the sand flying up as they raced, the blur of acacia trees, the startled eyes of some desert creature. And on she rode, skirting between two huge dunes, the sand becoming softer, forcing them to slow, allowing her to turn her head to the side, finding Christopher there, just as she had known he would be, keeping up effortlessly but holding back too, content to let her lead.
Was she being reckless, riding so wildly after all this time? Yes, yes, yes, she was. The ground grew firmer. The grey responded happily to the call for another gallop, and Tahira flew off again, giving herself over to the elements, caring not where they travelled, not wanting it to end, until the horse began to labour.
She reined in. Christopher pulled up beside her. ‘Another five minutes or so further on, and we will happen upon an oasis,’ he said.
She didn’t ask him how he knew, though it saddened her that this foreigner should know her own land so much better than she. The oasis was tiny and uninhabited, a small cluster of palm trees, a tiny scrap of lush green screened from the desert on one side by tall thick grasses, bordered on the other by an alluring pool of water, inky-black in the moonlight. Breathless, Tahira dismounted, pulled off her headdress and stooped down to cool her hands in the water, but when she made to drink it, Christopher stopped
