‘The wedding guests. A Bedouin wedding gives everyone a chance to dress up and celebrate. Word has spread that His Royal Highness Raz Al Zahki is to marry Her Royal Highness Princess Layla of Tazkhan.’ There was a brittle note to her tone. ‘Even though it is short notice, he wants as many of the local people here as possible. It’s important that it is witnessed.’
He wanted rumour spread. He wanted Hassan to hear and be afraid.
‘Even when I’m married to Raz Al Zahki, Hassan is unlikely to step aside.’
‘His Highness will know what to do.’
Layla was surprised by how much faith people seemed to have in him. She was used to living in an atmosphere of negativity and resentment, not of trust.
Nothing about this new life seemed familiar, and certainly not the dress.
She had never worn anything so beautiful. Her hair, now shiny and clean, was concealed by a veil and her eyes had been accentuated by kohl. The shiny gloss the girl applied to her mouth felt sticky and strange and Layla felt utterly unlike herself.
Any hopes she’d had of being able to sneak a look at the Kama Sutra died as she was immediately led outside. It seemed that she and Raz Al Zahki agreed on at least one thing, and that was that the marriage should take place as fast as possible.
And clearly he had also decided that there should be as many witnesses as possible, because a surprising number of people had poured into the desert camp in the time it had taken her to wash and change.
The wedding itself was a blur, conducted with an urgency driven not by feelings of sentimentality but by the knowledge that any delay could give Hassan an advantage.
Layla kept her gaze focused ahead of her, aware of what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes fixed on her—some curious, others with unconcealed hostility.
And all the time she was aware of Raz next to her, tall and powerful, doing his duty for the good of his people, his own personal wishes set aside.
The event held no emotional meaning for either of them, but they stood side by side, spoke the words required of them, and Layla felt a rush of relief that came from the knowledge that no matter what happened now Hassan couldn’t make her his wife.
As Raz turned towards her relief was washed away by reality.
She was now living in the enemy camp with a man who had no reason to feel anything but animosity and contempt for her.
The fact that this was a marriage of expediency didn’t seem to bother the guests, who danced and celebrated until Layla was almost dropping with exhaustion.
And he noticed, of course, because it seemed he noticed everything—from the slightest change in the wind’s direction to a child who had wandered off unattended.
‘Come.’
Just a single word, but delivered with such authority that it didn’t occur to her to contradict him. Or maybe it was that she was too preoccupied with what lay ahead.
She hoped the physical side of their relationship didn’t require too much input from her because she was fairly sure she was going to fall asleep the moment she lay flat.
They were halfway towards the tent when there was a sound in the distance. She heard horses and shouts and Raz tightened his hand over hers and hauled her close to his side. Moments later two men she recognised from her arrival at the camp galloped up with the Sheikh’s stallion—that same huge black beast that had become as much of a legend as its master.
Layla strained her ears to catch what they were saying and then gasped as firm hands grasped her and swung her onto the back of the animal. Less than thrilled at being back on a horse so soon after her last experience, she clutched at the stallion’s mane feeling unbalanced and horribly unsafe.
Moments later Raz vaulted on behind her and locked his arm around her waist.
‘I’m sorry to do this to you when you’re still bruised after your last encounter with a horse, but Hassan has discovered your absence.’ His mouth was right by her ear. ‘Right now he is doing everything in his power to find you. It isn’t safe to stay. We must move on.’
‘But now that we’re married—’
‘That does not make it safe. No matter what circumstances led to our marriage, you are mine now and I will protect you. You have my word on that.’
Layla heard the steel in his voice and wondered if he were thinking of his wife.
Did he blame himself for not preventing the accident that had killed her?
Had she given him yet more responsibility to add to the load he already carried?
‘Could we use a different mode of transport? I’ll slow you down. I can’t ride.’
‘I am the one doing the riding. You are merely the passenger.’
‘I’ll fall off.’ She glanced down and then wished she hadn’t. It was a long way to the ground. The stallion was enormous and she felt the power of him beneath her, felt the quivering suppressed energy, and remembered how the horse Yasmin had taken from her father’s stables had shot forward like an arrow from a bow, leaving her in an aching heap on the sand.
His arm tightened around her. ‘I will not let you fall.’
‘Can’t we use a helicopter or a Jeep or something?’
‘One of my men is flying the helicopter and another is taking a Jeep to provide a decoy. They will not expect us to be on horseback. It is the safest way.’
Thinking that he had a very different idea of the definition of ‘safe’, Layla gripped tightly with her legs and felt the warm flanks of the quivering horse pressing against her bare thighs. ‘I’m not dressed for this.’
Even as she said the words a cloak was wrapped around her and he said something to someone close by.
‘There is no time to change. You will be fine. Trust me.’
Layla was about to point out that she didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her, but the horse sprang forward and she squeezed her eyes shut.
‘Is it wise to ride at night?’
‘No. Which is why Hassan will not look for us on horseback.’
‘Is that supposed to be comforting?’ She thought she heard him laugh but decided it must have been the wind, because who could find such a dangerous situation amusing?
‘I know this area as well as you know the palace. We are following the stars and the riverbed. Now, relax and go with the rhythm of the horse. You are very tense and that will make the whole thing more uncomfortable,’
Go with the rhythm of the horse...
She told herself that last time she hadn’t had a skilled rider in control or a strong male arm wrapped around her.
‘Pull the scarf across your mouth.’
She released her rigid grip on the horse’s mane to do as he instructed.
She wanted to ask where they were going, but knew the question was not only superfluous but also potentially hazardous because the hooves of the horses sent sand flying into the air and she only had a thin layer of scarf protecting her. So she kept her mouth closed and tried to remember what she’d read about riding, and then realised it didn’t matter because he knew and was driving the horse forward, controlling the animal with one hand on the reins while the other remained firmly locked around her waist.
She was aware of the dull thud of hooves on sand, of the feel of Raz’s thighs pressed hard against hers and the brush of the cool night air on her face. A sensation tore through her that she didn’t recognise and it took her a few moments to realise it was exhilaration. With the responsibility for controlling the horse in someone else’s hands, the