of her heartbeat was only an echo of the thunder of horses’ hoofbeats. The breeze from the sea tugged gently at her hair, but she longed to feel it whipping in the wind as she raced wild and abandoned across fields without boundaries. Today, every flower and tree and shrub in the gardens, every fountain and vine-draped arch and pillar, seemed like the bars of a prison to her. A very beautiful prison, it was true, but a prison nonetheless.
And something else. Today as she ran, she thought of the way a garden feels when it rains—a contradiction of freshness and excitement and anticipation, but also a bit of gloom and sadness, a yearning for the sun’s familiar warmth. And all of her insides seemed to quiver like the leaves of flowers and shrubs and trees when the raindrops hit them.
The palace gardens were vast, and Leila knew every inch of them, including hidden nooks and bowers where she occasionally sought refuge from turbulent thoughts like these. Today, though, it wasn’t refuge she wanted. After this morning, she very much needed to confront those disturbing thoughts, face them head-on, and then, if at all possible, decide what she was going to do about them. For this she had chosen a spot she was almost certain would be empty at that hour—the private terrace adjacent to the family’s quarters where she sometimes took breakfast with her sisters, or her mother and her mother’s faithful servant, Salma, who had once been Leila’s nanny. The terrace faced northeast and overlooked the sea. Now, approaching midday, it would be shaded, with a nice breeze from the sea to cool her burning cheeks while the gentle trickle of the fountain and the heady scent of roses would, she desperately hoped, help to calm her fevered thoughts.
Never had Leila so desired to be alone with those thoughts! Oh, such humiliating, embarrassing thoughts. And so she was dismayed to find, as she plunged headlong through the arched portal that was the garden entrance to her retreat, that someone was there before her.
Worse, a stranger. A woman with drab brown hair—rather frizzy—was sitting in a chair beside the fountain, reading a paperback book.
Leila’s headlong plunge had already taken her several steps onto the terrace before she realized it was already occupied. She lurched to a halt, arms flung wide, body tilted forward, and uttered a soft, disappointed, “Oh!”
The woman quickly set aside her book, a romantic novel, by the looks of the cover. She smiled, and Leila recognized her then—the woman who had been talking with Cade Gallagher during the banquet the night before. She felt a jolt of excitement, then an alarming twinge of jealousy. But it was fleeting. The woman wasn’t very pretty, and besides, Leila told herself with a mental sniff, she’s old. At least forty.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, and Leila noticed that she had an accent just like Elena’s. “Gee, I hope I’m not where I shouldn’t be. I was looking for someplace cool and quiet, and…well, the roses just smelled so good….”
“No, no, it is quite all right.” Leila had been raised to be polite to her elders. She advanced, hand outstretched. “I am Leila Kamal. Please—do not get up.”
In spite of Leila’s assurance, the woman half rose and at the same time managed to execute an awkward sort of curtsey. “I’m Kitty.” And oddly, it was she who sounded out of breath, though it was Leila who had been running. “Elena’s friend.”
“Yes, I saw you last night at the banquet. You were talking with Mr. Gallagher.” Leila spoke slowly, absently. An idea was beginning to take shape in her head.
“That’s right!” Kitty looked pleased, perhaps flattered that Leila had noticed her. Then her pleasure changed to concern. “My, but you look warm. Would you like something cold to drink? There’s a lot more here than I’ll ever need.” She indicated a water-beaded pitcher and several glasses sitting on a tray on the glass-topped table an arm’s length away. “It’s some kind of fruit juice, I think—got a little bit of a bite to it. It’s not quite up to sweet tea, but it’s pretty good.”
“Thank you,” Leila said with an absent sigh, then gave the plain woman a friendly smile. “I have been watching the polo match. You do not care for polo?”
She sat down in a chair beside the table and only then realized she was still holding what was left of her hat. She glanced at it, frowning.
“Well, you know, it’s not really my sport. I’m more a Dallas Cowboys fan,” Kitty began apologetically, then gave a gasp of dismay as she, too, noticed Leila’s hat. “Oh, my goodness, what in the world happened? That’s a real shame.”
Leila shrugged and placed it on the tabletop. “The wind blew it onto the field and the horses trampled it,” she explained matter-of-factly as she poured herself a glass of the blend of pomegranate and grape juices. She sipped, and found it nicely chilled and just slightly fermented. She lowered her lashes, veiling her eyes, and casually added, “Elena’s friend—Mr. Gallagher—got it back for me.”
Kitty chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, that sounds like something Cade would do.”
Leila flashed her a look of what she hoped was only polite interest. “You know this Mr. Gallagher—Cade—very well?”
“Not real well, no—mostly through Elena.” But then Kitty gave a little smile and sort of waggled her shoulders as she settled back in her chair, reminding Leila so much of her favorite source of gossip, Nargis, that she almost laughed out loud. “He is a good-lookin’ man, though, isn’t he?”
“He is handsome,” Leila said in a considering tone, then made a brushing-aside gesture with her hand as she picked up her glass. “But surely such a handsome man must be married.”
Kitty shook her head, looking gleeful. “Uh-uh—he’s not.”
Leila glanced at her in surprise. “Really? Then…surely, someone special—a girlfriend?”
“Not that I know of.” The expression on Kitty’s face reminded Leila now of the palace cats—she all but purred. “Lots of girls, I imagine, but, nope—no one in particular. Elena would have told me if there was.”
“But that seems very strange,” Leila said, frowning. “What do you suppose is the reason? There must be some reason why a man of his age—he is what, thirty?”
“Thirty-six,” Kitty promptly supplied. “I know, because Elena told me he’s six years older than she is.” Thirty-six…ten years older than I am. But that is good—
Startled by the thought, Leila guiltily slammed it into a drawer, hidden far away in the back of her mind.
“Perhaps,” said Leila with a sniff, “he is not a good man.”
“Cade?” The other woman looked taken aback, even mildly affronted. Then she chuckled. “I’m not sure how you mean that, honey, but if you mean ‘good’ like in decent, honorable—that sort of thing—then I can pretty much tell you there’s probably not a better man alive. Cade Gallagher is so honest it’s scary. Oh, I hear he’s tough when it comes to business, but judging from the way I’ve seen him with Elena—” She interrupted herself to lean forward like a conspirator. “His parents are dead, you know, just like Elena’s—they’re all the family each other’s got.” She sat back with a little wave of her hand. “Anyway, as far as I can see, the man’s got a heart like a marshmallow.”
“Marsh…mallow?” The word was unfamiliar to Leila.
Kitty laughed. “It’s a kind of candy—real soft and gooey, you know? And sweet.”
Sweet?
