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‘Someone will be sent for them.’ He stretched out his hand.
‘Won’t the people on the boat out there have seen what’s happened and send help?’
Khaled peered at the grey shape out on the waves. ‘Not if they value their positions. The security teams don’t set foot on this beach unless they perceive a genuine threat. They’ll only approach at a sign from me.’
‘Then couldn’t you wave to them?’
He turned cool grey eyes on her. ‘You want me to wave at a gunboat and scramble security for a twisted ankle? Besides, in the time it takes for a Jeep to get here we could be back in the palace. That ankle needs treatment. The quickest route is back through the dunes.’
The horse, getting impatient, pawed at the sand with a great hoof.
Seeing her shrink back, Khaled said, ‘You’ve nothing to be afraid of. I’m the master here. He does as he’s bid.’
And didn’t that sound as much about her doing as she was told as the beast he sat upon?
But the animal was obeying him, and beyond her mistrust of it came a far more tangible sensation. Her ankle had started throbbing. Getting ice on it seemed appealing right now.
Steeling herself, Lily squeezed her eyes shut, stretched out a hand, and felt the ground fall away as she soared upwards.
It was the fear, Khaled decided. It had robbed him of his good sense. First the horror of watching Lily disappear beneath Mu’tazz’s hooves, and then seeing her in pain.
His only thought had been to get her to a doctor. He just hadn’t considered the implications of having her perched, practically naked, in his lap, and how good it would feel to hold her close. Or that she in turn would cling to him so fiercely out of a fear of her own, foisting upon him another inconvenient emotion: the urge to protect her.
Perhaps he should have hailed the gunboat. They’d have sent someone soon enough and he’d have avoided all this.
Because now Khaled realised his second mistake. Something he’d quite forgotten in his haste to get Lily back to the palace. Something that explained her reluctance to approach Mu’tazz and why her hands were now desperately knotted in his shirtfront, her face hidden in his neck.
Too late, he remembered the fearless little girl who’d been afraid of only one thing—who’d always stayed safely behind fences whenever he’d taken her brother’s mare out in the paddock. The girl whose father had died in a riding accident.
He felt her tremble and pulled her closer, cursing his inattention.
Horses. They terrified her.
Mu’tazz shifted his weight and a new shudder went through her.
‘Please can we hurry?’
Her muffled plea came from deep in the folds of hisshemagh.
He wanted to be angry with her. He’d abandoned work for the day because he’d been achieving precisely nothing. When she’d stormed out on him earlier he’d wanted to go after her, kiss her, touch her until she came apart for him again. Instead he’d come out here to ride, to the point of exhaustion if necessary—whatever it took to banish Lily Marchant from his mind.
But here she was, hurt, frightened, and he was to blame.
He gathered up the reins, folding her tighter against him. ‘You’re safe. I promise.’
The stallion began walking on command. Lily whimpered and shifted even closer. Her rump pressed into his groin, evoking memories of what had happened the last time she sat in his lap.
Khaled gritted his teeth. He needed something to distract them both.
‘Did you know our fathers met?’ he blurted.
He felt her start of surprise, but she didn’t look up.
‘Bassam knew my dad?’ she asked.
‘Met him,’ he corrected. ‘My father said it was only briefly. At a garden party in England. But you were with him at the time.’
The death grip on his shirtfront eased a fraction. ‘I was?’ She peeked up at him from beneath the brim of her hat. ‘He’s sure it was me?’
