Lost to the Desert Warrior

‘That’s comforting to know.’ Layla sat rigid on the calm, placid mare and Raz hid a smile, oddly touched by her determination to ride even though she clearly found the whole experience uncomfortable and unnatural. So far she had fallen three times, but each time she’d insisted on getting back on the horse.

‘If you want to give up, just tell me.’

‘I don’t want to give up. I won’t give up.’ Her jaw was set, her wrists inflexible as she gripped the reins.

‘Relax,’ Raz said mildly. ‘If you relax you will not fall.’

‘We both know I am going to fall whatever I do.’

But still she got back up again. He wondered if that was a skill she’d developed during her loveless childhood. But it hadn’t been completely loveless, had it? She’d had her sister. The sister who was now missing.

He made a mental note to try again to contact Salem, even though he knew such persistence would irritate his brother. ‘Relax your wrists and lower your hands slightly.’

She did as he instructed. ‘At least it isn’t as far to fall as it is from your stallion.’

‘I promise I will not let you fall again. Don’t grip the reins so tightly—you’re pulling on her mouth.’

‘I am?’ Dismayed, she immediately loosened the reins and rubbed the mare’s neck by way of apology.

He watched, intrigued by her and wondering how such gentleness could come from so much evil.

In all the rumours that had oozed from the corrupt walls of the Citadel there had been little about the princesses and most hadn’t thought to question the detail of their existence.

‘You’re doing well.’

‘We both know I’m not doing well, but I will learn. Just as long as I don’t hurt an innocent horse in the process.’ She balanced herself carefully and then risked a glance at him. It was the first time she’d taken her eyes off the horse’s ears. ‘Thank you for being so patient.’

‘You are very easy to teach because you listen. Sit up straight. Sit down in the saddle. That’s good.’

Her jaw was rigid and he could see her concentrating, going through his instructions one by one. The mare walked forward without fuss, as accommodating as he’d known she would be.

‘She’s very pretty. Is she pure Arabian?’

‘Yes. She is brave, spirited and intelligent, like all of her breed. And very strong. She could carry you for days in the desert and not tire. It’s the reason we choose this breed for endurance racing.’ It occurred to him that she shared many of those qualities. ‘The Arab horse is surefooted and agile in difficult terrain and bred for stamina. It can withstand the daytime heat of the desert and the cold at night.’

‘You bred her?’

‘My father bred her. He gave her to me as a foal but I am too heavy for her now. She taught Zahra to ride.’

‘You mean you taught her.’

‘The horse did most of the teaching.’

‘Did your wife ride?’

She asked the question quietly and he realised how sensitive the situation must be for her.

‘She didn’t ride, but she was an artist and she loved to paint the horses. She spent hours studying equine anatomy and her attention to detail was astonishing. Her mother was an artist, too, and she always hoped that Zahra would be equally artistic. But Zahra only ever wanted to ride the horse, not immortalise its image on paper.’

‘The greatest gift a parent can give is to allow a child to be who they want to be.’

Her wistful tone caught his attention.

‘You have told me about your father, but nothing about your mother.’

‘My mother died just after I was born.’

‘So your sister—?’

‘Yasmin is my half sister. Her mother was a model who caught my father’s attention for a short time. She left when Yasmin was five and we haven’t seen her since.’

It was a brief delivery of the facts, devoid of emotion, but he could imagine how much emotion was simmering below the composure that seemed to be part of her. She’d learned to hold it all in, he thought. Learned to feel without expressing the feeling.

‘But you said you cared for your sister. How is that possible?’

She sat without moving, her gaze focused on the horse’s ears. ‘It’s possible.’

‘You were seven and she was five.’

‘We learned what we had to learn.’

The mare, perhaps sensing the sudden tension of her rider, threw up her head and he saw Layla’s fingers whiten on the reins.