Читать книгу Royals: A Dutiful Princess - Leanne Banks - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

SHE’D HAD THIS crazy idea that if she stayed out of the way until the links with Qadar were safely established and the final arrangements for her wedding to the emir were in place, it would be too late for her to do anything about it. The decision would be taken out of her hands. All good for Kareshi. Borders secured for all time through her marriage to the emir.

But when you put three Skavanga sisters into the mix, with Britt’s business brain calling foul on the suggested arrangement between a very wealthy Kareshi and a less well-off Qadar, and Eva ranting that no one in their right minds could possibly want to spend the rest of their lives with a man they hadn’t even been to bed with, backed up by a chorus of concern from Leila, you were left, not with a melodious chorus of agreement and support for her decision, but with a rowdy chorus of dissent.

And then there was Tyr.

And Sharif.

And the fact that, far from being happy on her tiny gilt chair squashed in between all the heavy hitters and fashion press in the front row of every show in town, Jazz was thoroughly fed up. If she had to watch another unlined, asymmetric rag passing itself off as a work of art, she might have to resort to wearing a hemp sack for her wedding.

Her wedding.

It was definitely time to go back to Kareshi before she lost her nerve to go ahead with what she still stubbornly believed was the best thing she could do for her country. Wedding negotiations between Kareshi and Qadar must be close to complete by now, surely? And even that sounded wrong. How could two countries get married?

She was planning to marry a country?

Heaving a sigh so loud it made Jazz’s neighbours on the gilt chairs turn to look at her with surprise, she confronted the marriage plans she’d thought made such sense and realised they were full of holes. How could she help her country if she was stuck away in Qadar? She needed to get away from the flashing lights and loud music to the quiet of the desert, where she could rethink her plans for the future. Bringing out her phone, she was just about to start making travel plans when a message from Eva flashed up.

Tyr is working at Wadi village.

And?

And good morning to you, Princess Prim.

Eva? What do you want me to say???

Is sexual frustration hindering your ability to think straight? If so, please call this helpline now—

EVA!

Just thought you’d like to know. Fashion shows treating you well?

Zzzzzzzzzzz

Why are you still there?

My thoughts exactly.

Jazz paused a moment before asking the question drumming at her mind.

What’s Tyr doing in Kareshi?

Not looking for a patsy to perform the dance of the seven veils for him in his harem like the Evil Emu of Qadar, that’s for sure.

EVA!!

What good are you to Kareshi if you’re trussed up in feather handcuffs?

Not sure the emir would go for that.

Are you prepared to take that chance?

There was a long pause while Jazz digested this and squirmed uncomfortably on her chair.

OK, I give in. *big sigh* Tyr’s setting up an Internet connection at Wadi village, so if you hurry...

What’s that got to do with me?

He needs fizzers and gum to keep him sane. You can take them with you.

But I’m not going to Wadi village.

Yes, you are.

There was a very long pause and then Jazz tapped in a message.

Miss you, Eva.

Miss you too, brown eyes. See you in Kareshi?

Never say never to a billowing Bedouin tent J xx

She could be part of Eva’s world, and part of the new world Sharif was working so hard to build in Kareshi, or she could become Princess Prim—embittered old spinster, twisting around in her own web of gloom, Jazz concluded as she put her phone back in her bag. The alternative was marriage to a man she didn’t know. And if the emir did decide to shut her away in his harem, Eva was right: What use would she be to Kareshi then?

The least Eva had done was make her think. Excusing herself politely before the lights went up on the second half of the show, Jazz picked up the hem of her flowing silk robe to brave the hazard of big bags and small feet as she made her escape from fashion fantasy island to the reality she had been avoiding for far too long.

* * *

Jazz knew she had made the right decision in coming back to Kareshi the moment the royal helicopter lifted her high above the rolling plain of verdant green immediately surrounding Sharif’s principal palace smack bang in the middle of the desert. ‘A garden in the desert’ was how the world’s press described this area, and that was all thanks to her brother’s vision.

Sharif was her idol. Her brother was Kareshi’s idol, and one day she hoped to equal his achievements.

And she wouldn’t do that in Qadar.

But she still had that niggling sense of guilt, because she had always chosen duty over self-indulgence every time, and coming back here to Kareshi seemed like the biggest self-indulgence of all when there was nowhere else on earth she would rather be. But if, by staying in Kareshi as the unmarried sister of the sheikh, she became a burden to Sharif, she would never forgive herself. So, wouldn’t it be easier to go along with the emir’s plan?

Easy was not an option for Jazz Kareshi, or for her brother, Jazz reminded herself. When Sharif took the throne there had been endless conflict until he proved himself a worthy leader. Their dream was for all the people of Kareshi to live together in harmony, and now Jazz wondered if perhaps she had taken her personal crusade a step too far. Sharif had never asked her to appease the traditionalists by marrying the ultra-conservative Emir of Qadar. When had that idea seemed the only sensible solution? Now she was back in Kareshi, the answer seemed clear. She had to stay here, to work here; this was where she belonged.

As she rested back in her seat to consider this change of plan, the royal helicopter soared high over Wadi village, where Eva had said Tyr was staying.

Tyr.

Tyr had a special affinity with the desert that had brought them together when they were young. Staring down through the always disturbingly see-through Perspex floor beneath her feet, she wondered what he was doing and if he was alone. Tyr shouldn’t be alone. The shadows behind his eyes called for friendship and support to remove them. She had to thank Eva for rattling her out of going down the wrong path and bringing her back here. There were people who needed her far more than the Emir of Qadar. People like Tyr, whose soul was wounded, and who had returned to find peace in the vastness of the desert and real purpose in his work. She would like to help him, but would he let her?

Shifting position, Jazz knew she had to stop dreaming about Tyr Skavanga and what he meant to her. They had both moved on, and Tyr had made it clear at the party that he didn’t want or need her company. She couldn’t save the world—not even her own small part of it, let alone get to the bottom of those shadows behind Tyr’s eyes.

But that wouldn’t stop her trying, and it wouldn’t stop her dreaming, either. And dreams had to be big, or what was the point in having them? If Tyr Skavanga was working at Wadi village, she was bound to see him. She often rode out that way.

As the helicopter came in to land, she accepted that it might be necessary to trim her dreams to fit reality. Even if he were interested, Tyr would want more from a woman than a shrinking virgin, and Jazz dreaded the reality of sex. Somehow marriage to a man she didn’t know had held far less fear than any physical association with someone she did know, perhaps because marriage to the emir had always had an air of unreality about it.

While Tyr Skavanga in all his randy, delicious state was all too real.

That evening with Tyr at the party had sent her primal senses rocketing off the scale, because even she could sense that Tyr was a highly sexed hunter in the prime of his life, while she was a virgin who knew nothing about sex, except in theory. And what she’d heard was hardly enticing—except when Eva got started, but then Eva had always liked to shock, so it was never possible to be sure if what Eva said was absolutely true.

‘You can take your safety belt off now, Princess Jasmina.’

The pilot’s voice sounded shrill and metallic in her headphones as he switched off the engine, and she bit back a smile at the thought of how lucky she was that he couldn’t read her thoughts. She’d keep her safety belt well and truly fastened until the day she got married, thank you very much.

* * *

Tyr was coated in sand from head to foot after trekking for hours over rugged terrain. There had been a shift in the pattern of the sand dunes since the last storm, meaning the four-wheel drive couldn’t take him any closer to the village. He’d radioed to make sure the vehicle could be collected before the next storm closed in, and then he set out on foot. It was a relief to know Jazz was half a world away with this bad storm closing in.

Pausing to shift his backpack into a more comfortable position, he thought back to his schooldays, when Sharif had taken pity on him during the holidays because Tyr had three sisters. But when Tyr had arrived in the desert he had discovered that his troubles had only just begun, because Sharif’s one sister had been more aggravation than his three put together. At first he’d thought it would be an easy matter to shake Jazz off when she tagged along, but they hadn’t had a horse fast enough to get away from her. They’d devised all sorts of cunning plans, but Jazz had always outrun them. They’d be relaxing beside the oasis while their horses drank their fill when she’d appear round a palm tree to taunt them, until finally they gave in, and their exclusive gang of two became three.

Cresting the dune overlooking Wadi village, he stared down as if he expected to see Jazz waiting for him. Of course she wasn’t there. She was in Milan, pretending to be a fashionista. And even if she had been waiting for him, they could never recapture those innocent days. Time had changed them both too much for that. Squinting his eyes against the low-lying rays of a dying sun, he set out on the last leg of his journey.

* * *

Had she ever been so happy to tug on riding gear?

Nope, Jazz concluded, not even bothering to check her appearance in the mirror. The sun was up and the grey light of dawn was slowly giving way to a warm buttery glow. It promised to be a fabulous day for riding, if she got out before the sun rose too high, turning everything from comfortably warm into the fiery pit of hell. With her hair tied neatly back, and her close-fitting breeches covered by one of the long, concealing shirts she wore for riding, she only had to pick up her hard hat at the door and she was ready to trial her new stallion. Spear was said to be impossible to ride. She’d see about that. Kindness combined with firmness always won the day with a difficult stallion, and Spear was such a beautiful beast.

Now, why should Tyr Skavanga flash into her mind?

Where beautiful beasts were concerned, Tyr was a prime example, that was why.

Maybe she’d catch sight of Tyr if she rode by Wadi village.

She was a princess with responsibilities—she had to remember that.

Okay, so she wouldn’t go that way, not unless the wind blew from the east, in which case she didn’t want the sand in her face, and so then she would have no option but to turn in the direction of Wadi village.

Leaving her bedroom, Jazz raced down the stairs and minutes later she was in the stable yard. Crossing to the half-open door, she whispered to Spear and caressed his ears, for which she received a whinnying reply and a good nuzzle as the horse set about searching her pockets for mints. Resting her cheek against his warm, firm muscular neck, she revelled in the stallion’s tightly contained strength, and her thoughts flew back to Tyr. What was he doing now? Would he be thinking about her?

Don’t be ridiculous!

But there was a chance Tyr might be preparing to ride out. Dawn and dusk had always been his favourite times to ride too, because dawn was so beautifully still and silent, while dusk was cool.

Talking quietly to her horse, Jazz led her magnificent stallion into the yard. ‘You are a bad boy,’ Jazz breathed as the stallion threw back his head, resisting her attempts to calm him, ‘but you’re very handsome,’ she soothed as she sprang lightly into the saddle. The stallion was impatient for his morning run and skittered sideways until she brought him back under control. Shifting her weight, she coaxed him forward at a controlled canter, rather than the flat-out gallop Spear was aiming for.

Having passed beneath the stone archway that divided the safe, controlled environment of Sharif’s racing stables from the desert beyond, they entered the wild, unpredictable frontier, as Jazz always thought of her desert home, and, drawing in a deep breath of joyful anticipation, she lightened her grip and gave Spear his head.

The wind ripped her veil off as she galloped across the dunes. She was at one with the powerful beast as he surged forward, and that was the best sensation in the world. Spear had exceeded all her expectations and anyone who said she couldn’t ride him because he was too strong for her was so wrong. She could do anything if she put her mind to it, and Spear was perfection. It was just a pity about the wind. Blowing from the east, it gave her only one option, which was to head in the direction of Wadi village.

She decided to take a short cut. It was a riskier route than going round the dunes, but much quicker. The climb up the final dune was the most testing, but when she reached the top she could see the oasis where she had used to swim with Tyr, and Wadi village, spread out like a twinkling toy city in front of her.

* * *

The cold water of the oasis hitting his heated skin was a pleasure Tyr had anticipated since the moment he woke up. There was nowhere else on earth like this; nowhere that assaulted his senses quite so comprehensively with such contrasts of hot and cold, shade and light, and sheer vastness. Everything was extreme in the desert. That was why he liked it. There were no grey areas. There was just constant challenge and danger. Easing his shoulders, he prepared to dive in.

And was stopped by a shriek.

Swinging round, he saw the stallion’s legs buckle beneath it as it started the long slide down the dune. It was a relief to see the rider instinctively kick away the stirrups and leap off its back to avoid being crushed beneath half a ton of horse. Recognising the rider, he grabbed a towel and began to run.

‘Jazz!’

He powered up the bank of the oasis. The next few seconds passed in a disorientating blur of sand and spinning horse as Jazz and her stallion rocketed down the slope. He jumped clear as the horse skidded past him with its legs pounding uselessly at the air. Jazz took a little longer to arrive, before landing at his feet in an untidy sprawl. Hunkering down, he made a quick assessment. She was winded. She was shocked. She couldn’t speak. Apart from that, her colour was good and she was breathing, always a plus.

‘Tyr?’

Letting go of her hand, he sat back on his heels.

‘My horse?’ she gasped out.

‘Unharmed.’ He glanced at the banks of the oasis, where he could see Jazz’s horse sucking in water. ‘Are you okay?’ He sounded gruff and guessed he was probably more shocked than Jazz. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be swanning around in Italy, buying next year’s thrift-shop donations?’

‘Sorry?’ She gave him a look that came straight from the old days. ‘Did I get off at the wrong stop?’

Hiding a smile, he stared sternly down at her. ‘This could have been a really serious accident, and we still don’t know if you’ve been hurt.’

‘Only my pride,’ she admitted, struggling to get up.

He pressed her down. ‘You’re not going anywhere until I check you over for injury. And, apologies in advance, but I will have to touch you.’

‘No, you won’t,’ Jazz flashed, doing her best to roll out of reach.

‘For purely medical reasons,’ he said, patiently bringing her back again. ‘Believe me, I have no wish to do this.’

Much. His fingers were on fire at the thought.