Malik mounted his horse, bent down and pulled his son up in front of him. He could feel the small boy trembling slightly and Malik gently wrapped his arms around his son.
‘Here’s your first lesson,’ he said, knowing that encouraging Hakim to concentrate on learning how to ride would take away at least some of the fear. Malik reached around, picked up the reins and positioned them in his son’s hands. ‘You hold the reins loosely, like this, allowing the horse to feel like they have some freedom. When you want to direct them one way or another, a gentle movement is all it takes.’
He demonstrated how to guide the horse, then let Hakim have a go.
The last person to mount a horse was Miss Talbot, and for a moment Malik wondered whether she knew how to ride. The idea of having her up on his horse, nestled between his thighs, was rather too appealing and he felt a surge of disappointment as she expertly settled on to the back of a headstrong mare. Malik watched as she rearranged her skirts, managing to look as composed as always, and felt the first stirrings of desire as he glimpsed a flash of her smooth calf before her dress settled into position.
Pushing such inappropriate thoughts away, Malik did a quick check that everyone was safe and comfortable, then they moved away from the palace. He’d decided to take only Wahid with them, not a formal full bodyguard, so they could move at their own pace and enjoy the outing. Most people in the surrounding villages would probably recognise him and the royal children, but there was a slight hope of a little more freedom if they travelled without a full escort. Sometimes Malik craved anonymity; he wanted to wander this kingdom he was so proud of incognito and enjoy some of the delights of the common man.
‘This oasis is the largest in all of Huria,’ Malik said to Miss Talbot as she drew her horse alongside his. Already Ameera and Aahil were out in front of their little group, talking animatedly to Wahid, leaving Malik with his youngest son and the pretty, young Englishwoman for company. ‘When my ancestors became rulers of Huria they understood the most important resource for a desert kingdom was water. If you controlled the water you controlled the people.’
‘That’s why they built the palace around the oasis?’ Miss Talbot asked.
Malik loved the way her eyes shone with genuine interest, he knew that she wasn’t just asking the question to be polite.
‘They built this settlement around the oasis and they built strongholds around the other sources of water in Huria.’
Malik’s face darkened for a second as he thought of the less scrupulous of his ancestors, who had held the people of Huria hostage by withholding water over the centuries.
‘Nowadays water belongs to every man, woman and child equally,’ Malik said, ‘but at certain points in our history the less principled of my ancestors used our most precious resource to hold the citizens of this kingdom hostage and enforce their rule.’
‘Surely living in such an arid climate sometimes you have to ration the water so it does not run out completely.’
Malik was pleasantly surprised to see Miss Talbot take such an interest in his country. As he talked she listened to him attentively and did not let her concentration waver to other matters. It was rather enjoyable having someone to talk to who actually wanted to interact with him.
Although he and Aliyyah had been married for nine years he had never felt able to talk to his wife about anything other than routine matters. She had not once asked him about his plans for Huria, or wanted to discuss his wishes and dreams. Most of that indifference stemmed from the fact that she resented having to marry him. Malik had known her heart was lost to someone else long before they said their marriage vows, but he had never questioned his duty to marry her and assumed she had done the same. Once they had been married for two months and Aliyyah had only ever spoken the words yes, husband or no, husband, Malik had begun to suspect her feelings about their marriage did not mirror his own. He’d never expected love, but he’d hoped for pleasant companionship, a woman to be Shaykhah of the kingdom he loved so much. In the years that followed they had led completely separate lives, only coming together to fulfil the rest of their duty and conceive heirs to the throne of Huria.
He glanced again at Miss Talbot. She was the opposite of his late wife in so many ways. Whereas Aliyyah spent most of her life locked away in her rooms, Miss Talbot blossomed in the sunlight, and where Aliyyah’s default expression was the frown, Miss Talbot’s was a smile. It was refreshing to have someone so cheerful around the palace.
‘At times of drought we do ration the water, prioritising drinking water above all else. We’ve had some tough years, but thankfully nothing too terrible in my lifetime.’
Malik watched as she digested the information, considering what he had just said. He liked how he could see her different thoughts as her expression changed.
Malik sat back in his saddle and contemplated another way Miss Talbot was different to his late wife: he was attracted to her. He could not deny Aliyyah had been beautiful; she was admired by everyone. But there had been no spark between her and Malik, no fire, no passion. Miss Talbot was a different matter. She was passionate about everything and her self-confidence and happy demeanour made her glow. Malik had found himself trying to catch glimpses of her over the past few days, wanting to see her as she walked across the courtyard or shielded her eyes from the sun. Although they disagreed on many aspects of how to raise his children, Malik loved the fire in her eyes when they argued and her determination to convince him she was right. All of these things made her attractive, qualities Malik had never paid attention to in anyone else, but when Miss Talbot looked him in the eye and smiled that genuinely happy smile, he couldn’t deny the rise in his body temperature or the desire that flared inside him.
* * *
They rode at a comfortable pace, with Ameera and Aahil ahead, pestering Wahid with questions, and Malik and Hakim level with Rachel. She felt strangely contented, riding along with the Sheikh and his children. She knew she’d done a good thing here, asking him to accompany them. Already Hakim was appreciating all the attention from his father, and Rachel had seen the Sheikh’s face as he swung his son up on to the horse in front of them. There was no questioning he cared for his children, he just needed to be shown how to demonstrate it.
They’d been riding for about half an hour when they emerged from the oasis and started into the desert proper. Although Rachel had crossed the arid terrain on her journey into Huria, she had mainly been secluded in the comfortable travelling chair, with only glimpses of the landscapes. As they mounted a rocky outcrop Rachel realised how easy it would be to get lost in the desert, even this close to the oasis. Red-orange dunes of sand spread out as far as the eye could see, gently undulating and shimmering in the early morning heat. Off in the distance she could see a rocky outcrop, but other than that the desert seemed impenetrable, and she began wondering where the first village they were going to visit was hiding.
Ever since she was a little girl Rachel had dreamed of the exotic and now she felt as though she were living the dream. She could never have imagined a place like Huria, despite her parents sending her detailed letters from their travels all over the world. They had described the deserts of Egypt and the rocky landscape of Morocco, but never had they told her of anything as beautiful as Huria. Never had they conjured images of vibrant reds and oranges, talked of lush oases, never had they stayed in such a sumptuous palace.
When she was young Rachel had begged her parents numerous times to take her with them when they set off for a new adventure. They’d always given empty, non-committal answers and always set off without her. Rachel had craved their attention, but she’d also desperately wanted to experience the excitement of exploring a new country.
Now here she was, living her life just as she wanted it, without having to rely on her parents for anything. With a wry smile Rachel admitted she’d stopped expecting much from her parents long ago. N
ot only had they always left her behind when they set off on their travels, the few times they had taken an interest it had ended in disaster. Rachel could remember one time when her parents had turned up at school unannounced. They had persuaded the teachers to let them take Rachel and her three friends on a trip to Sandhills, a sleepy coastal resort. It had been a wonderful day, full of ice cream and the pleasures of the seaside, but as it was getting dark her parents had decided to carry on their excursion and had left Rachel and her friends in Sandhills to fend for themselves whilst they continued to Brighton. With just money for a stagecoach and a brief note saying that they’d had to leave, Rachel had been abandoned again by her parents and the four girls had had to make their way back to school alone, eventually finding outside seats on a coach heading back to Salisbury. Isabelle, Grace and Joanna had thought it a grand adventure, but Rachel had felt embarrassed once again by her parents’ lack of responsibility and upset that they would rather travel on to Brighton for a night of fun than see their daughter and her friends safely back to school.
As they came over the crest of a large sand dune Malik pointed out a faint track that was visible through the desert.
‘That is the trade route from the east. We’re lucky many merchants pass through this part of the world on their way to Europe,’ the Sheikh told her as they rode further into the desert.
Rachel loved how animated he was when talking about his kingdom. It was rare to see such passion in a man. Even with her limited experience of society Rachel knew it was fashionable to be bored with everything. It was refreshing to find someone who cared so much about his duty to the people he ruled and his country.
* * *
An hour later Rachel was just starting to feel a little hot. She was blessed with a body that did not overheat and swoon like so many young ladies—in fact, she rather enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her—but even she had to admit it was more than a little warm in the desert. She was glad of the wide-brimmed hat one of the servants had dug out for her before they set off, otherwise she knew her nose would be peeling and her skin pink.
‘Not far now,’ the Sheikh said, seeming to sense her discomfort. ‘And I promise we’ll receive a warm welcome. Even the lowliest traveller can be certain of wonderful hospitality from Hurian people, it is something that we pride ourselves on.’
Their horses took them over a rocky hill and Rachel saw the small settlement beneath them in a narrow valley.
The Sheikh rode ahead and said something to his children, then pulled back so he was once again riding beside Rachel. Aahil and Ameera pulled their horses round as well and left Wahid up ahead alone.
‘This is the village of Talir,’ the Sheikh said once all his children were assembled together. ‘Although small it is strategically important—does anyone know why that might be?’
Rachel had been looking at the small collection of whitewashed houses, but now she turned her attention back to the children. She could tell Ameera had been distracted by a procession of women and young girls walking up the hill towards them, chattering and carrying baskets on their heads.
‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know.’ Aahil sounded dejected and was looking at his hands rather than meet his father’s eye.
Rachel glanced at the Sheikh and wondered whether he would plough on with his lesson or pick up on the fact that Aahil so desperately wanted to please him, gain his approval, that it consumed the young boy every day.
The Sheikh’s face softened and Rachel felt a smile of relief begin to blossom on her face.
‘I was hoping no one would know so that I could explain,’ the Sheikh said, with a trace of humour in his voice.
Rachel was impressed he had picked up that direct words of commiseration for Aahil’s lack of knowledge would probably have made the situation worse. Aahil needed to realise it was not a requirement of the Prince of Huria to know everything about his country at the age of eight.
‘The trade route we’ve been following all morning passes through this village. Traders often rest here before proceeding on through the country. It means the villagers can exchange their wares and food for whatever the traders have to offer and a few have started buying in bulk and selling in the markets to other Hurians.’ The Sheikh paused, looking at Aahil as if wondering how best to proceed. ‘Aahil, maybe you could lead our procession into the village and greet the elders. I know you’ll do a fantastic job.’
Aahil swelled with pride and Rachel was amazed to see him give his father a shy smile. She’d been working on giving the serious little boy more fun in his life, but she realised he also needed responsibility, to feel as though he was being useful in his role as Prince of Huria.
Aahil rode at the head of their party, allowing his horse to pick its own path down the winding track and entering the village just as a crowd of people emerged from their homes to greet them. An elderly man, dressed entirely in white robes, stepped forward and bowed his head.
Aahil spoke, his voice strong and confident. Malik quietly whispered a translation for Rachel’s benefit.
‘Blessings upon your village and the people of Talir.’ The Sheikh translated Aahil’s words for her quietly. ‘We are privileged to stop in such a welcoming and beautiful village. I am Prince Aahil of Huria and I am accompanied by my royal father and my brother and sister. We politely request refreshment and conversation with the village elders.’
There was a murmur among the crowd, which had grown even since Aahil had started speaking, and a few people peeled off and disappeared into various houses.
‘You are very welcome here, Prince of Huria. We are honoured and delighted to provide hospitality for you and your family. Please follow me.’
Aahil glanced back at his father with a question in his eyes. In response the Sheikh slipped off his horse and lifted his youngest son off after him. Aahil looked grateful as he dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to a young boy in the crowd before following the elderly man into the village.
Rachel felt a swell of pride as Aahil led their procession into the village. Although he had only been in her care for a few weeks, already she loved him and the other two royal children. She wanted him to succeed in whatever he did and she wanted him to feel more at ease with himself.
They were taken into a small, whitewashed house in the middle of the village and shown into a cool room. After the heat of the desert Rachel was pleased to have a break from the unrelenting sun and immediately she felt her whole body begin to cool. The elderly man invited them to sit on the low cushions around the perimeter of the room and waited until they were all seated before he sat down himself.
Rachel was sitting on the Sheikh’s left and Aahil was next to his father on the other side. As a younger woman entered the room with a tray of drinks, Rachel saw the Sheikh lean towards his son.
‘I’m very proud of you, Aahil,’ he said quietly. ‘You are growing into a fine young man and one day you will make a wonderful ruler.’
Aahil smiled shyly and looked up at his father as if wondering whether the words could be true.
‘I know I may be hard on you sometimes, but I just want you to be ready to be Sheikh when I’m gone.’ Malik paused and for a second Rachel thought he was about to tell Aahil that he loved him, but in the end he just patted the young boy on the back.
Rachel had to suppress a sigh. Malik was a good man and undoubtedly a good ruler, but he was a little emotionally closed off. Aahil idolised his father and hearing that Malik loved him would bolster his confidence and remind the young boy it was all right to let your emotions show.
She wondered if Malik ever told his children he loved them. Those three little words were powerful and the more you heard them the more you were able to give love in return.
Rachel thought of the people in her life. She might have been an inconvenience to her parents, a barrier to the lifestyle that they wanted to l
ead, but they had loved her in their own way. Then there were her friends. Joanna, Isabel and Grace, three girls whom she loved and who loved her. They might be on the other side of the world right now, but Rachel still knew they loved her. They’d been through so much together, so many ups and downs of adolescence, their shared experiences at Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies, even the secret they all kept for Grace, the secret that would ruin her if anyone found out, that bonded them and deepened their love for one another.
Rachel looked sadly at the Sheikh, wondering if his distant father or late wife had told him they loved him. Even the stern and serious Madame Dubois, headmistress and founder of their school, was rumoured to have been in love once. Every girl who had attended Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies was told the story by one of the older girls. In her youth Madame Dubois had had a wealthy lover, his identity the subject of speculation—some said a duke, some an earl, and some even thought he could be a foreign prince. There was one point of the story there was no disagreement on, however; the man was forced to marry someone else and Madame Dubois had never seen him again. His parting gift had been the building for the school.
Rachel had dismissed the story as rumour, until the night before she had left the school for Huria, when she hadn’t been able to sleep and had wandered downstairs for a glass of milk and had seen the normally unshakeable Madame Dubois reading a stack of old letters with tears in her eyes.
The older woman had looked up and caught Rachel’s eye, and said, ‘Par-dessus tout, garde votre coeur.’ Above all else, guard your heart.
Since then Rachel had known the truth: their headmistress had loved and lost.
GOVERNESS TO THE SHEIKH Page 6