won’t think you went against his orders, that would be perfect; thank you.’
A large chair was brought and positioned for her in the shade, where she still had a clear view of the field. She perched tensely on the edge of it, conscious that Raffa was already well into the next chukka. Glancing at the scoreboard, she saw that his side was winning by one goal. She watched him marshalling his troops as the other side drew even. His grim determination to win was obvious as he turned his pony in tight, tense circles. The members of his team responded instantly, seeming to draw themselves up in the saddle and firm their resolve.
Raffa was a king amongst men, and one who didn’t need a title to prove it, but still she feared for his safety and tensed as the air horn blew and the game restarted.
How could she relax, knowing Raffa was in danger? Her apology, difficult though that would be, was the least of her fears. Watching the riders heading for each other at full tilt, whilst swinging their mallets like deadly weapons, made her flinch each time one of them came close to Raffa.
Minutes passed while hooves thundered a tattoo on the sunbaked ground. Perhaps the most frightening thing of all was that she could sense what Raffa meant to do. It was as if they were on the same wavelength, thinking the same thoughts. She was no horse rider, but what he planned seemed utter madness to her.
Riding at full stretch, he leaned over the neck of his pony and with infinite precision swung his mallet to secure another goal. Realising she was biting her knuckles, Casey made herself sit back. This was the time to relax, while the teams changed ends—which they did after every goal.
How she wished for a world in which she and the ruler of A’Qaban were not at odds, Casey reflected, aching with tension as the air horn sounded. Raffa had a handicap of ten, which was the highest possible ranking in the game, and she had read that only one man in the world could match him. For all that, she was still gripped by a prescient dread that something would go wrong today. She must feel that way, Casey reasoned, because Raffa would never back down, however tough a fight became.
Thankfully, half time arrived without incident, though Casey shrank back in her chair as everyone from the marquee hurried outside. The end of the half was the cue for spectators to either head over to the paddock, where the polo players were gathered, or onto the field to stamp the divots down. Casey chose the latter, selecting a small patch of ground in front of the marquee on which to exercise her frustration at drawing so many wrong conclusions where Raffa was concerned.
The tip-tap of iron on the paved yard alerted her to fresh ponies being led round by the stable lads. A bell rang, signalling it was time for the riders to mount up and for everyone else to clear the field. As she watched the teams prepare, Casey offered up a silent plea that Raffa would remain unharmed in the second half. He sprang into the saddle, ignoring the attempt of a beautiful young girl to hold his stirrup for him, preferring to adjust his own equipment, Casey noticed with relief.
And there was rather a lot of equipment to adjust, Casey also noticed, beginning to wish she hadn’t looked.
Raffa flashed a glance her way, emphasising how closely tuned they were. It was a disturbing moment for Casey, as well as a reminder to keep her head clear of questionable thoughts for the remaining three chukkas.
Raffa was gone in a rattle of hooves, leaving Casey too agitated to watch the second half from her seat in the shade. She approached the fence bordering the field of play and leaned over it. She didn’t like failure any more than Raffa, she accepted, flinching back as Raffa thundered past to steal a ball, but were they too far apart in the things that mattered for them ever to work successfully together?
In Raffa’s world, she concluded, money talked. Whereas in her world it paid bills. He had thrown colossal sums of money at the auction while she had been hoping for some small personal gesture, she realised now.
She couldn’t knock him, what he’d done was great, but she had always been a romantic dreamer. But why should Raffa change any more than she could change her own frigid ways?
Casey was still mulling this over when she heard a shout. Starting back in alarm, she realised Raffa’s horse was galloping straight for her—and it was him shouting at her to get out of the way.
Raffa was almost flat on his horse’s neck as he pressed it to the limit, but as the drumming hooves beat a deadly tattoo Casey’s legs remained wooden and unresponsive. Raffa was trying to ride another man off the field, she saw in horror.
No, the other man’s horse was out of control, and Raffa was trying to push it off course because it was bolting straight for her.
Shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, Raffa and the other polo player bore down on her. She was certain they were going to ride straight over her when Raffa swerved at the last minute, somehow avoiding a collision with the fence. The other rider didn’t possess half his skill, and she screamed soundlessly as horse, rider and fence hurtled towards her.
CASEY barely registered what happened next. One moment she was watching the impending disaster play out, feet refusing to budge and brain refusing to compute what was happening, and the next she was high off the ground and safe in Raffa’s arms. ‘You saved my life,’ she managed weakly as he settled her on the saddle in front of him.
Grim-faced, Raffa remained silent as he tightened his grip around her waist.
Strength gone, she folded into him. ‘Is the other horse okay?’
‘And the rider,’ he informed her tersely. ‘The fence didn’t make it.’
She turned her head. The sight of Raffa’s strong white teeth gritted behind his face guard brought back every second of the drama in heart-stopping slow motion—the fierce cry from his throat and the blaze of his eyes as he raced to sweep her out of danger.
‘Thank you…’ It was so inadequate.
‘Please try to remain still until I have you checked over.’ Raffa urged his polo pony towards the first aid tent. ‘You little fool,’ he murmured in a low-pitched voice stretched tight with tension. ‘Why did you put yourself in danger?’
Because I was watching you, worrying about you… caring about you…
She knew Raffa didn’t expect an answer—not that she was incapable of giving him one. She could do more than rest against him like a newborn baby, with all her strength gone and no will of her own.
Shock, Casey registered groggily, willing it to pass quickly.
‘I get you out of the sun only for you to decide it’s time to hug a fence. Can’t I leave you alone for a minute?’
Once again, no answer was required, Casey registered as Raffa’s rough cheek accidentally brushed her face. She sensed he held himself responsible for the accident, and was going to remain in this severe mood for some time. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It was all my fault.’
‘We’ll discuss your part in this later.’
‘Did we win?’
‘We survived,’ he said dryly. Reining in by the first aid tent, he tossed the reins to a waiting stable lad. Swinging down from the saddle, he reached up. ‘Come,’ he said in a suddenly much kinder voice, ‘lean on me…’
He
