‘We both know I’m not, but thank you for the encouragement.’ She stared enviously at Raz and Zahra, now just specks in the distance.
‘We are all born with different gifts,’ Abdul said quietly. ‘His Highness has a particular gift with horses, but he has also had the benefit of many years of experience. He was virtually raised on horseback. The moment he could sit unsupported he was put on a horse—I think he was about six months old. He rode with his father every day until he could control the animal himself. Then he rode alone. And he has a tendency to take what many would see as appalling risks, so I would beg you do not aspire to emulate him.’
‘Not much chance of that.’ She felt a pang that she wasn’t confident enough to share that interest with him, but she knew that even if she rode each day and every day for the rest of her life she’d never be as good as Raz.
‘You have your own gifts.’ Abdul reached across and showed her how to shorten the reins. ‘And those are to be valued every bit as much as His Highness’s skills with a horse. You have courage and patience, as you have shown on numerous occasions over the past week. His Highness is growing more relaxed by the day and we have you to thank for that.’
‘You think so?’ Perhaps it hadn’t been her imagination. ‘Will you be coming with us to Zubran?’
‘Yes, because His Highness will have talks with the Sultan.’
‘And will you be at the party, Abdul?’
‘Sadly, no, Your Highness. But I feel sure you will enjoy it.’
‘Will I?’ Layla wasn’t convinced. ‘I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear.’
‘On that topic I have taken the liberty of contacting Her Royal Highness the Sultana of Zubran. She has generously agreed to assist with your wardrobe needs as there has been no opportunity to provide what you will require for such an event.’
‘I don’t want to put her to any trouble.’
Abdul cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps it is indiscreet of me to say this, but I can assure you that there is nothing Her Highness enjoys more than dressing people in clothes of her choosing. Zahra loves going to see her for that very reason. And you will find Her Highness to be a very warm and caring person once she has finished organising your life and telling you what you should be doing.’
Layla was amused and intrigued. ‘So she isn’t dominated by the Sultan?’
‘It is very much a marriage of equals,’ Abdul said dryly, and Layla felt her heart squeeze as she watched Raz ride into the distance.
Theirs wasn’t a marriage of equals, was it?
She couldn’t ride. She couldn’t swim. She was terrified of his dogs. She had no idea what was expected of her at this party.
What exactly did she have to offer him?
The realisation that she was hopeless at all the things that were important to him disturbed her, as did the thought that tonight they would be making their first public appearance together.
Never having been allowed to mingle with her father’s guests, Layla felt as if she were back in the oasis with the waters closing over her head.
‘I’d be delighted if Her Highness would help me with my wardrobe.’
If it came to a choice between inconveniencing the Sultan’s wife and embarrassing Raz she’d pick inconvenience every time. But as it turned out Abdul was correct in his summation that their hostess would be only too delighted to take responsibility for her wardrobe.
* * *
‘You’ve been hiding out in the desert together? I have never heard anything more romantic in my life! But romance can only take a girl so far and then she needs a decent spa day.’
Avery was the most elegant, capable, efficient person Layla had ever met, and within minutes they were curled up on a low sofa in an opulent room hung with beautiful tapestries and sipping tea.
‘Mmm. Whenever we’re in the desert Mal makes me drink the Bedouin variety, which is delicious, but you can’t beat Earl Grey. Now, tell me all the details and leave nothing out.’
‘Details?’ Layla sat stiff and formal on the edge of the sofa, but Avery slipped off her shoes and curled her legs under her.
‘I’m going to give you a tip, because once you and Raz are back in your rightful place in the palace at Tazkhan you’re going to be throwing open those gilded doors and entertaining the whole world and your legs will feel as if they’ve been trapped between clamps: whenever you can before a big event take the weight off your feet. And now tell me if it’s true that you escaped from the palace and rode into the desert on your father’s wild stallion? It’s too romantic for words.’