The Harlot And The Sheikh. Marguerite Kaye

many underwater springs which Bharym is fortunate enough to possess. That is one of the reasons why our horses thrive. Though the Arabian breed is renowned for its stamina compared to other horseflesh, they are still horses and not camels.’

      More stands of trees provided shade for the stable buildings themselves, which featured a long, low façade of mellow stone in the classical Greek style, with a large central arch which provided entry to the courtyard and which was topped by a pediment carved with the image of Pegasus, the legendary winged horse of ancient mythology. Terraces flanked the inner courtyard, mirrored by the balcony which ran all the way around the first floor.

      The business of the day was just getting underway. A string of horses were being led out for their early morning exercise. Rafiq greeted the riders, a mixture of stable hands and grooms, casually by name. Formalities were dispensed with here, Stephanie noted. The men returned his salutations only with a small bow, their eyes shying away from direct contact with hers.

      ‘Unfortunately, I’ve had to despatch Jasim on urgent business,’ Rafiq informed her. ‘We had promised two of our yearlings to a Bedouin sheikh, but the transaction simply cannot be completed while the stud is under the shadow of the plague. It is imperative that both the sickness and knowledge of its presence here be kept secret, so Jasim has gone armed with a plausible excuse as a delaying tactic. It therefore falls to me to act as your chaperon.’

      Stephanie, having braced herself for a first encounter with the Master of the Horse, had mixed feelings at this surprise development. ‘I was keen to meet Jasim as soon as possible. I believe I made it clear I prefer to fight my own battles, without assistance.’

      Rafiq stiffened. ‘Your tenure is dependent on your not ruffling too many feathers here at the stables. Talk of fighting battles is not conducive to that.’

      He spoke coldly. He clearly was not accustomed to being challenged. Stephanie straightened her shoulders, wishing she did not have to look up quite so far to meet his eyes. ‘Sometimes one has to battle in order to gain respect. I would not expect you to understand that, since you are automatically accorded it,’ she said with far more confidence than she felt. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. She felt like a very small mouse looking up at a very large hawk.

      ‘Your honesty is refreshing, your resolve admirable, but your judgement is flawed. I sent Jasim away because winning the trust and respect of the other stable hands and grooms should be your first priority. Jasim would be hostile to your presence even if you were a man. You must not forget, he has failed to cure the sickness himself. As my race trainer, he has every reason to want this sickness cured, but as a man nursing considerably bruised pride, he will grudge any success you have. I am trying to facilitate that success, not patronise you, as you seem to imagine.’

      While he talked, Stephanie had the distinct impression that she was shrinking. Now, she felt as if she really was the size of a mouse. ‘I see that now,’ she said, in a voice to match.

      ‘To that end,’ Rafiq continued, as if she had not spoken, ‘I have fully briefed the men on the nature of your appointment, and emphasised the respect with which I wish you to be treated.’

      Which explained the lowered eyes, the sidelong glances she had been receiving. ‘Thank you,’ Stephanie said, in a voice which singularly failed to sound grateful.

      Rafiq laughed gruffly. ‘If you had witnessed the outrage on their faces an hour ago, you would say that as if you meant it.’

      ‘Rafiq, what I do know is that your belief in me means a great deal. Thank you.’

      ‘An apology, but not a capitulation. You are a very stubborn woman, Stephanie Darvill.’

      ‘I prefer to call it determined.’

      He had the kind of face that was quite transformed by a genuine smile. It softened the austere perfection of his looks, but paradoxically added considerably to his allure. Her body responded with a jolt of pure lust that left Stephanie smiling idiotically back, quite transfixed for several seconds, oblivious of where they were and who was watching, until Rafiq broke the spell, turning abruptly on his heel.

      ‘Come,’ he said brusquely, ‘let us proceed with your introductory tour. The stable layout is straightforward. There are horse stalls lining both walls. The tack rooms and the feed stores are at the back, and in the centre there is a training arena.’

      She followed him inside, quickly shaken out of her daze as the dry, dusty scent of the desert gave way to the more familiar one of hay, leather and the unmistakable odour of horse, but instead of calming her, it stretched Stephanie’s nerve endings still further. It was pleasantly cool in here, the slatted shutters across the high windows filtering out the worst of the harsh sunlight, the terracotta floor tiles and white-marble interior further mitigating the heat. The room was immense. A cloistered ceiling was supported at intervals by plain Doric columns, with at least thirty large stalls set on either side. As she gazed around her, her mouth was as dry as if she had swallowed half the desert. ‘And you say this layout is replicated in the other wing?’

      ‘We have at present a string of over one hundred horses. The majority are mares, obviously, for Arabian mares are most in demand for their gentle temperament, their stamina and their affinity with people, but we also have a number of stallions, mostly for breeding purposes. They are kept out in the desert in a separate paddock. There is another segregated area at the end of this wing for the mares currently in foal, and we have other paddocks for the camels, the mules, and for the horses who have been put out to pasture.’ Her expression must have looked every bit as daunted as she felt, for Rafiq smiled reassuringly. ‘Your duties will be restricted to the care of animals suffering from the infection. Everything else is Jasim’s domain.’

      Stephanie cleared her throat, striving to keep her voice steady. ‘I had no idea, I confess, of the enormity of your equine empire. The value of the horses in this part of the stable alone is inestimable. How many of them race competitively?’

      ‘None, at the moment. We have been keeping our powder dry with respect to the Sabr, until we felt we were competitive enough to win.’ Rafiq frowned heavily. ‘If this sickness persists, even if it does not strike down the horses which we have specifically trained for the race, I cannot in all conscience compete. I will not expose the livestock of others to this plague that ails us.’

      Walking down the central isle, Stephanie noted that everything in the royal stables was immaculately clean, the equipment pristine. It was obvious that these horses were extremely well cared for, and she said so.

      ‘Naturally,’ was Rafiq’s response as he stopped in front of a magnificent mare. ‘Sherifa,’ he said, opening the stall gate for her. ‘She has blessed us with three top-class foals, haven’t you, my beauty?’ The mare was a grey, with the finely chiselled bone structure, arched neck and high-carried tail so typical of the breed. She tossed her head playfully as he patted her neck.

      ‘Your affection is obviously mutual,’ Stephanie said. ‘She is a magnificent creature.’

      ‘She is indeed,’ Rafiq replied, rubbing the horse’s nose. ‘She has been with us for five years. Sherifa was my late wife’s horse.’

      ‘Aida mentioned the Princess Elmira. My condolences for your sad loss.’

      ‘The marriage was arranged. My wife died two years ago.’

      Stephanie was struggling to interpret his carefully neutral tone. An arranged marriage, but that didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t loved her. Did he imply that two years was time enough to grieve and recover, or insufficient?

      ‘You will wish to examine Sherifa?’

      It was a command, not an invitation. ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Flustered, Stephanie stepped into the stall. The mare, sensing her nervousness, backed away from her, her breath exhaling in short puffs, her nostrils flaring. She knew better than to attempt to touch such a highly strung horse when her own nerves were so taut. Closing her eyes momentarily, she took several deep breaths.

      ‘Hello, Sherifa.’ Stephanie held out her hand. The mare’s mouth