Lost to the Desert Warrior

And Yasmin was out in the desert alone and lost.

Her smile faded.

She hoped Salem’s knowledge of the desert was as good as it was reputed to be and that he’d find her sister quickly.

They rode for several hours, until time blurred and sleep overcame her. Several times she was jarred awake as her head hit his shoulder, and eventually he shifted position to give her somewhere to rest her head.

‘Sleep, Princess.’

And she did, because her body gave her no choice, exhausted by the exertions of the past twenty-four hours. Her last coherent thought before her brain shut down was that sleeping against his chest like this was the safest she’d felt in her life.

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE WAS SNUGGLED against him, lulled to sleep by the movement of the horse.

The closeness of her disturbed him as much as the realisation that she was nothing like he’d imagined her to be when people had spoken her name. He’d visualised someone pampered and privileged. Someone spoiled and entitled. When he’d first seen her in his tent he’d assumed she was an opportunist, switching sides to protect herself before the inevitable shift in power.

At some point from her arrival in the camp to her falling asleep against him his view on her had become clouded, and now he was forced to admit he didn’t know what he was dealing with.

Dawn rose over the desert, and in the distance he saw the familiar shape of trees and tents clustered around the small, lush oasis that marked one of his favourite places on earth.

His heart clenched as it always did when he arrived here.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought her, but what choice did he have?

Alerted to their presence, people emerged from tents. The rising sun glinted off the dunes and Raz brought his horse to a halt.

‘Princess?’ He spoke the word softly and she stirred against him, her hand locked on the sleeve of his robe.

Raz looked down at that hand. Her fingers were slender and he realised this was the first time he’d seen any part of her other than her face. ‘Layla!’ He used her name for the first time and she came awake with a start, her eyes blurred with sleep as she tried to focus and orientate herself.

‘I fell asleep?’

‘For several hours.’ He held the stallion steady and then dismounted in a smooth movement. ‘Swing your leg over the saddle and I’ll help you down.’

She did it without fuss, but the moment her feet touched the ground she winced and gripped the horse for balance. They’d ridden for hours and she was already aching and bruised from her ride from the Citadel. He knew virtually nothing about her but suspected only dire need would drive her to steady herself against his horse.

The stallion gave a snort of disapproval and threw up its head in disgust.

Raz put his hand on his horse’s neck and spoke calmly. ‘Your muscles will soon become accustomed to riding.’

‘I’m fine, really.’

‘You are hoping never to see another horse in your life,’ he said dryly, ‘but horses are an essential part of my life. I own several stud farms. Two in the US, one in England and one here in Tazkhan.’

‘I know. Your aim is to promote the highest standards in breeding. You specialise in endurance and racing. People send mares from all over the world to be covered by your stallions. You rode in the endurance team on your favourite horse, Raja.’

He hid his surprise. ‘You know a great deal about my horses.’

‘I know nothing about your horses.’ This time she was the one to speak in a dry tone. ‘But I will try very hard to learn.’

‘Is that what you want?’

She hesitated. ‘Of course. Although I can’t promise I’ll show any aptitude. I’m not very coordinated and I’m not sure animals like me much.’ Hesitant, she reached out and patted the stallion’s neck. ‘Is this Raja? I’m incredibly grateful to him for not throwing me off.’

‘I bred him. He was sired by my father’s stallion.’

‘He’s beautiful. But big.’

Presumably her legs had steadied because she stepped back and looked around her for the first time.

‘Where are we? We can stay with these people? In their homes? Will we be welcome?’

There wasn’t a place in the desert where he wasn’t welcome, but he didn’t say that to her.

‘The Bedouin pride themselves on their hospitality. A visitor may stay three days and three nights, after which he is considered sufficiently refreshed to be able to continue his journey.’