by Sarah Morgan
‘Bella, you just have to walk into a room and trouble walks up and smacks you on the cheek,’ he said wearily. ‘And there is no job in my palace that would encompass your unique skill set.’
Suddenly she was determined to show him. To show everyone. ‘You need someone in your stables,’ Bella blurted out, catching his arm as he turned to leave. She felt the muscle flex under her fingers and removed her hand instantly, stung by the sudden physical connection that threatened to burn her alive. ‘Please, just listen to me for a moment. I’m good with your horses, you said so yourself. Let me look after Amira. I’ll be her groom. I’ll train her. I’ll sleep in her box. Anything, but let me stay here.’
‘A job in my stables requires hard work and discipline. I have seen no evidence of either quality in you.’
‘I can work hard!’
‘When did you last get up at five in the morning and muck out a stable?’
‘Never,’ Bella said honestly, ‘but—’
‘Bella, you wouldn’t last a day in my stables.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Give me the job and I’ll prove you wrong.’
Zafiq stared at her in brooding silence and Bella swallowed, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he must be able to see it. This was a different man from the one she’d teased and laughed with in the desert. This man had never veered from duty and responsibility and she had no doubt that his authority was absolute. ‘Please, Zafiq. Don’t send me home.’
She saw in decision shadow his handsome face, saw his eyes flicker to her mouth, and then instantly move away as if the glance might have fatal consequences.
‘My Master of Horse is called Yousif,’ he said coldly. ‘He has complete authority over the running of my stables. If he mentions to me once, just once, that you have been anything other than an asset, then you will be on the first flight out of Al-Rafid Airport.’
‘Thank you,’ Bella muttered, her legs melting with relief as she realised he’d actually agreed to her request. She told herself that it didn’t matter that she’d probably never see him again—at least, not alone. The only thing that really mattered was that she didn’t have to go home to her old life. ‘Thank you.’
‘You get one chance, Bella, and then you’re out.’
It was back-breaking work.
Up at five every morning, Bella dragged herself down to the stables, so tired that it felt as though someone had attached lead weights to her limbs.
It didn’t help that all the other grooms and trainers viewed her with nothing but suspicion.
Yousif, Zafiq’s Master of Horse, was civil enough to her but she knew he was waiting for her to slip up. They were all waiting for her to slip up.
And she was concentrating so hard on not slipping up that she was like a cat on hot bricks.
But she’d promised Zafiq that she’d prove him wrong, and she was determined to do that, no matter how many nails she broke in the process.
She was allocated four horses to look after, including Amira and Batal, and she was horribly conscious of the responsibility she had caring for the Sheikh’s favourite and most valuable horses.
But to her surprise, she loved the work. It reminded her of her childhood, when life had been so much less complicated.
She cleaned out stables, she groomed the horses but her real responsibility was Amira and she lavished the mare with love and attention.
‘You’re the only person who isn’t waiting for me to slip on a banana skin,’ she told the mare as she brushed the horse’s coat, two weeks after she’d begged Zafiq for the job.
She wondered if anyone had mentioned to Zafiq that she was doing a good job.
Had he even asked after her progress?
‘You are caring for Amira?’
Hearing an unfamiliar male voice behind her, Bella pushed her damp hair away from her eyes and turned, automatically braced to defend herself.
Had she made a mistake? Was there something she’d overlooked?
A young man stood watching her, admiration in his eyes.
Recognising the Sheikh’s younger brother, Bella rubbed her hands over her trousers self-consciously, knowing she was filthy. ‘Your Highness.’
‘Do you know Amira has bred several Derby winners?’ He strolled into the stable and stroked the horse’s neck. ‘Batal had better win the Al-Rafid Cup for us this year, or we will lose her, and Zafiq would be devastated.’
Bella felt her mouth dry. She wondered whether it was the mention of the Sheikh’s name or the thought of losing Amira that made her feel so sick. ‘Batal will win. He’s the fastest horse I’ve ever seen.’
‘Fast and difficult. He has just thrown Kamal, his jockey.’
‘No!’ Horrified, Bella dropped the brush she was holding and Amira threw her head in the air, picking up the sudden tension. ‘He fell? Why?’
‘Batal spooked and threw him. Kamal has been taken to the hospital. He won’t be riding in the Al-Rafid Cup.’
Horrified by that news, Bella curved her arms protectively around Amira. ‘Is he seriously injured?’
‘Broken bones. Not life threatening, but enough to make sure he can’t ride Batal for the fore seeable future.’
Bella thought of what that might mean for Amira. The black stallion was the only horse in the Sheikh’s stables sure of winning the race. ‘Someone else will have to ride Batal!’
‘Batal is a killing machine,’ Rachid said flatly. ‘It is unlikely that any of the other jockeys will volunteer. Especially with Kamal now in hospital. He is the Sheikh’s top jockey. If he can’t stay on the animal, no one can.’
‘The Sheikh has no trouble riding him.’
‘Sheikh Zafiq is an exceptional rider. But he is not allowed to ride Batal in the race.’
Bella kissed Amira, unable to bear the thought of losing her.
What was Zafiq thinking at the moment, knowing that he was going to lose his favourite mare? She knew how much he loved Amira…
He must be devastated.
She tried not to think about the fact that two weeks had passed and he hadn’t even come down to the stables to see how she was getting on. He’d visited sporadically, but always when she was off exercising one of the horses. And she was reduced to straining her ears to catch snippets of conversation that involved the Sheikh. And she heard nothing but praise. After two weeks of listening to gossip, it was obvious to her that Zafiq was universally adored.
It was also obvious that he was making sure that he didn’t bump into her.
It was as if their relationship had never happened.
A mirage, Bella thought miserably. A fantasy conjured up out of the burning sands and desert heat.
She wondered if Zafiq’s brother realised he probably wasn’t supposed to be talking to her.
A terrible commotion came from the stallion’s stall and Bella stopped thinking about Zafiq and hurried to the door with Prince Rachid right behind her.
‘Batal is in a bad temper. He has only half killed one rider today and he wants another victim.’ He gave a humourless laugh. ‘He reminds me of my brother. He has also been in a volatile mood since his return from the desert.’
‘You probably shouldn’t be telling me that,’ Bella muttered, watching with a frown on her face as Batal kicked his box hard and squealed with fury. ‘I’d better go and see if I can calm him down. What’s the matter with him?’
‘He needs to be ridden properly,’ Yousif said wearily, hurrying across to the stallion who greeted him by flattening his ears to his head and showing the whites of his eyes. ‘But His Highness is busy with state business, Kamal is in hospital and the horse will allow no one else on his back.’
Bella bit her lip. ‘I’ll ride him.’ She put down the body brush she’d been using to groom Amira and wiped her shiny forehead with the hem of her T-shirt. Seeing Rachid’s eyes widen she blushed hotly. ‘Sorry. Look, you have belly dancers here, don’t you? What’s the difference?’ Hoping her thoughtless action wasn’t going to get her sacked, B
ella hurried across to Yousif. After seeing the horrified reaction when she’d appeared in a pair of miniscule shorts on her first day, she’d been so careful to wear modest T-shirts and long trousers, reminding herself that it was better to boil to death in the desert heat than be sent back to England in disgrace. ‘Let me take Batal onto the race track.’
‘That is out of the question. It is too much of a risk.’
‘For whom? Me or the stallion?’
‘A girl of your little strength would be unable to handle such an animal,’ Yousif said stiffly, ‘and a woman riding alone would be in appropriate. Go to the main barn and order one of the other jockeys to come and ride him.’
Bella pushed her sweaty hair away from her face, tempted to stick her face in Batal’s water bucket just to cool down. ‘They won’t want to. Not with Kamal lying in hospital as a horrible warning.’
‘Go and tell Hassan. If he values his job, he will exercise the stallion.’
Bella opened her mouth to point out that Hassan probably valued his neck more than his job, and then closed it again. She couldn’t afford to fall out with anyone. She was all too aware that her own job security hung by a thread.
Nodding to the grim-faced Yousif, she walked over to the barn and found several of the jockeys together, discussing who would ride Batal in the race that was looming closer.
‘Hassan—’ Bella picked out the jockey who had become a friend. ‘Give me your clothes.’
The young man put his hands on his hips and grinned suggestively. ‘You are seducing me, no? You find my masculinity overwhelming?’
Bella sighed. Had everyone read the newspaper coverage on her? ‘No,’ she said wearily, refraining from pointing out that after four days with the Sheikh, she had a whole new take on masculinity. ‘I’m saving your job and your life. But I need a spare set of your clothes. Just do it, Hassan. I’ve been up since five, I’m hot and tired and my leg is sore because Amira just nipped me.’
‘Lucky Amira.’ One of the other jockeys offered her a bowl of dates and she helped herself with a smile of thanks, never able to say no to that particular treat.
‘Good job I’m doing all this exercise or I’d be the size of a palace. Hassan, go and hide somewhere for a couple of hours. The rest of you need to say you saw him riding Batal.’
‘I wouldn’t ride that monster if it cost me my job.’ Hassan handed her a set of clothes, his expression curious. ‘What are you going to do with these?’
‘Ride “that monster” so it doesn’t cost you your job.’ Her tone flippant, Bella walked to the back of the barn. ‘Turn your backs.’ Quickly she stripped off her trousers and T-shirt and pulled on Hassan’s riding clothes.
Then she twisted her blonde hair into a tight knot and secured it on top of her head, promising herself that tonight she was going to find time to wash it. Only when she was confident that not a single wisp of blonde hair was showing, did she pull on the racing helmet.
‘You’re riding the stallion? Are you mad?’ Genuinely concerned, one of the jockeys hurried over to her. ‘Bella, you can’t do that. You’re a woman.’
‘Oh, please—’ Bella shot him an impatient look and pushed her feet into a pair of riding boots. ‘Being a woman hasn’t stopped me getting up at the crack of dawn and slaving in these stables. I learned to ride before I could walk. And anyway, do you want to ride Batal?’
The jockey pulled a face. ‘No. I have a wife and children.’ His expression sheepish, he looked at the others and they all looked away.
‘Precisely.’ Bella fastened the helmet. ‘But one of us has to do it or Hassan will lose his job. Batal lets me feed him and clean him out without biting me. Hopefully he’ll let me climb on his back.’
Perhaps he’d remember her from the desert.
Perhaps he’d remember that, for a short moment in time, she’d had his master’s approval.
Walking back across the barn, Bella removed the scarf that Hassan was wearing around his neck. ‘No one is expecting me to ride, so they won’t notice. I just need you to cause a distraction while I fetch Batal from the stable.’
Hassan grabbed her hand. ‘Why are you doing this for me?’
‘Because you covered for me when I messed up at the beginning,’ Bella muttered, struggling to position the scarf effectively. ‘It’s because of you that Yousif didn’t go to Sheikh Zafiq, and don’t think I don’t know it. Can you help me tie this stupid thing?’
The jockeys looked uneasy. ‘A woman shouldn’t be riding alone…’
‘You’re forgetting—I’m not riding as a woman. I’m riding as Hassan. And anyway, I’m only taking Batal to do some track work. I’m not riding through the streets.’ Bella fastened the scarf across her face by herself. ‘How do I look?’
The men looked at each other.
‘You have breasts,’ Hassan muttered, his face scarlet, and Bella frowned.
‘Oh. I’d forgotten about that. That’s inconvenient.’
‘Wear this—’ One of the other jockeys gave her a silk jacket. ‘It’s the Sheikh’s colours. Anyone seeing you will know you’re riding for him and it covers your—’ He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘It shouldn’t draw attention and it might keep people away from you. Are you sure you want to do this?’
Bella thought about Amira. And then she thought how Zafiq would feel if he lost the mare he’d bred from a foal.
‘Absolutely.’ She helped herself to one more date for courage. ‘Go and distract Yousif and leave the rest to me.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
ZAFIQ tapped his fingers on the table, only half listening to the interminable discussion on oil prices and investment strategy. Never before had his responsibilities seemed more arduous or his palace more stifling.
Glancing idly out of the window he could see the racetrack he’d had built a few years before. Close to his stables, it offered a training facility as well as a world-class venue for international race meetings.
A lone horse and rider galloped over the turf and Zafiq’s eyes narrowed as he instantly recognised his stallion, Batal.
Batal, who had put Kamal in hospital two weeks earlier.
Having visited the young man daily, Zafiq had given Yousif strict instructions that no one but him should ride the horse.
He was resigned to the fact that the race was lost.
And if the race was lost, so was his beloved Amira.
But someone—he couldn’t see who—was training Batal.
Whoever it was rode well, coaxing an impressive performance from the normally fractious stallion, keeping that leashed power under control with a light hand.
‘That is Hassan.’ His brother Rachid followed his gaze. ‘He has been exercising Batal since Kamal’s fall.’
‘I gave instructions that no one was to ride him but me.’
‘You’ve been incredibly busy. You had good reason not to spend time in the stable.’
Knowing that his reason for not being in the stables had golden hair and long legs, Zafiq felt the dull ache of tension spread across his shoulders. The sweet pull of temptation had been a constant companion since his return from the desert. It ate away at him, challenging his self-control.
‘Hassan is to be praised,’ he said in a neutral tone. ‘I hadn’t realised he possessed such superior riding skills. Perhaps the race is not lost after all.’
‘He has surprised us all.’ Rachid frowned. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it. I have seen him ride many times and he is competent, but not exceptional.’
Zafiq rose to his feet, intrigued by the sudden change in Rachid. Over the past few weeks his brother seemed to have grown in confidence, contributing to affairs of state in a way that he never had before.
Zafiq wondered idly what had caused the change.
Had being left in charge for a short time given him the confidence he’d lacked?
‘Batal has been acting up all week, kicking out his box and misbehaving—’ Rachid strolled to the window and watched the horse gallop arou
nd the track ‘—generally suffering from an excess of testosterone.’
All too familiar with the adverse effects of an excess of testosterone, Zafiq gave a grim smile and wondered whether a ride would relieve the almost unbearable tension.
Deciding that anything would be better than remaining in the palace for another day, he concluded the meeting.
He felt trapped. Stifled. The palace felt like a prison, his responsibilities like chains around his body.
‘Is everything all right, Zafiq?’ Rachid lingered behind after the others had left the room. ‘You seem distracted. Are you worrying about the race?’
‘everything is fine.’ This was his life. This was his duty. And he realised that he’d been neglecting his responsibility towards his younger brothers and sisters. ‘I have not seen much of Sahra since I returned from the desert. She eats dinner in the fastest time possible and I’ve received no complaints about her behaviour for several weeks. Should I be worried?’
‘She has been making a huge effort not to upset you.’
That revelation turned Zafiq’s internal radar to full alert. ‘Why? What does she want?’
Rachid grinned. ‘You know women so well.’
‘Sadly, yes.’ Accustomed to his young half-sister’s tricks, Zafiq braced himself for a shopping list. ‘What is it this time? Diamonds? Dresses? Break it to me gently.’ Turning back to the table, he started to sign the papers that Kalif had left for his attention. ‘She is progressing well in her training to bleed some poor man dry?’
‘Not all women are like my mother,’ Rachid said quietly, and Zafiq felt an immediate spurt of regret that he’d allowed his feelings to show.
He put his pen down instantly. ‘My apologies, Rachid.’
‘You don’t have to apologise. I made the comment, not you. And you don’t need to protect me any more. I’m a man now, Zafiq, and part of being a man is facing the truth. You taught me that.’ Rachid straightened his shoulders. ‘I loved my mother, but that love did not blind me to her faults. I see now what trouble she caused with her extravagant nature. The fact that our people still support our family is because of their love for you.’