The Royals Collection. Rebecca Winters

intended to take a quick look at the caves.’

      ‘Why?’

      Because this was her last-ditch attempt to re-establish contact with him. There were prehistoric paintings in the caves, to which, on one memorable occasion, Jazz had added her own childish daub. Sharif had been furious and had ordered her painting removed. Tyr had defended her, insisting Sharif needn’t worry as the rainy season would soon see to that. And it had, washing away Jazz’s painting, leaving the art of prehistory untouched. They had explored the caves endlessly when they were younger. Maybe revisiting them would light that spark again, she hoped.

      ‘What are you playing at, Jazz?’ Tyr called after her as she set off.

      ‘Nothing.’ She shrugged as she quickened her stride. ‘Just progressing our catch-up plan.’

      ‘Your catch-up plan.’

      Jazz looked so appealing in pale, figure-hugging riding britches, with the long, concealing shirt she wore over them rippling in the breeze. A flowing dark veil completed the picture, and, whether this was sensible or not, Jazz was the best thing he’d seen since he last saw her the previous night.

      ‘I’m going to ask Sharif if we can open the caves to the public,’ she explained, slowing to view the cliff path ahead of them. ‘We should share the history of Kareshi. All we’d need to do is to build a proper path with handrails up this cliff and train some guides.’

      We, we, we. As Jazz continued to ride her enthusiasm, he wondered if he was guilty of overreacting, or if Jazz still imagined they could live together here? Surely she’d had time to think about it, and had realised what a bad match they were?

      It seemed not, and as Jazz started up the cliff, he brushed away a twist of unease and followed her.

      ‘Be careful when you come up here, Tyr. This scree is treacherous.’

      ‘Jazz!’

      His heart stopped as she wobbled precariously on the edge of a narrow ledge. Bounding up, he dragged her to safety, and for a few intense moments they just stared at each other, and then, conscious he was still holding on to her, he lifted his hands away.

      ‘Don’t make such a fuss, Tyr.’ Jazz was straightening her shirt as she spoke. ‘I know this terrain like the back of my hand.’

      ‘Terrain changes over time, and just as sand can slip away beneath your horse’s hooves, these small loose stones are deadly underfoot. You could have gone over the edge.’

      ‘But I trust you to save me.’

      He flinched as she touched his arm. ‘Then you’re mad.’ He turned away before the urge to unloop Jazz’s veil and kiss the life out of her overwhelmed him.

      And that was all they had time for before Jazz’s riding boot hit a patch of loose stones and she started to slide away from him. Yanking her back, he stared into the face of a woman he wanted, a woman who, judging by the look on her face, badly wanted to be kissed. He didn’t need any encouragement. Removing her veil, he looped it around her neck and drew her close. Her breathing quickened and her lips parted. ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

      His answer was to dip his head and brush his lips against hers. Jazz responded as he’d hoped she would, melting against him as she reached up to link her hands behind his neck. He pulled away, cursing himself for the loss of control when he felt her trembling. ‘And now we really should be getting back.’

      ‘You’re right,’ she agreed, swallowing deep. ‘Do you mind if I take hold of your hand for the rest of the way down?’

      ‘Be my guest.’

      By the time they reached level ground, reason had thankfully re-entered his thinking. ‘You’re going to ride into the village ahead of me.’

      A frisson of concern tore through Jazz. The tone of Tyr’s voice had changed so completely. He’d kissed her. Tyr had kissed her. But in the short time it had taken them to walk down the cliff path together, he had grown distant again. The fact that Tyr could cut himself off so completely, and in so short a space of time, frightened her. There was so much she didn’t know about him, and it distressed her to think things were so messed up between them she was in real danger of losing the friendship of a man she had loved since she was a child.

      As they mounted up in silence, Jazz reflected that if the past few weeks had taught her anything, it was that she couldn’t write the script for a perfect life, because everyone had different aspirations. Tyr’s dream was to rebuild, then move on to the next project, while hers was to stay and develop what she started. His kiss had been a fleeting reminder of what might have been, but Tyr obviously thought the kiss was a mistake. The time she’d spent with him had been an unexpected gift, but it was over now. Urging her mount into a brisk trot, she watched Tyr turn his horse around and head in the opposite direction as he took the long way back to the village.

      * * *

      Disbelief racked Tyr. He’d kissed Jazz? What the hell was he thinking? He’d been back at the village for just under an hour when she came to tell him the news. She found him at the village hall, where he was fine-tuning the Internet connection, which he’d managed to get back up.

      ‘I thought you should know,’ she said.

      ‘That’s putting it mildly. Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me everything in Sharif’s mail.’

      ‘You know what email’s like. You write one thing and the person at the other end reads something else. I mailed Sharif to explain that we can sort this mix-up out between us, but what I didn’t know was that the headman had already mailed Sharif to tell him how happy everyone is at the prospect of us staying on here, once we are married. Please don’t be angry, Tyr. This is just a terrible misunderstanding.’

      ‘This is like a sandstorm from hell,’ he argued.

      Closing down the computer, he steered Jazz outside. The time for worrying what people thought when they saw them together was long past, but Jazz was right in saying it was too late for recriminations. ‘When is this ridiculous ceremony supposed to take place?’

      ‘Tomorrow.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘I’m sorry, Tyr, but there’s no such thing as a long engagement here.’

      His face turned thunderous. ‘No kidding.’

      Tyr had every right to be angry, Jazz conceded as he marched her down the dusty village street towards her pavilion. He left her at the door without a backward glance. He was mad and she didn’t blame him. There was no way out of this now, for either of them, unless Tyr was prepared to risk his friendship with Sharif, and she doubted he would ever risk that. She had hoped for enough time to plan a way forward together, but there was no time, and now they were further apart than they had ever been, which meant she was faced by the bitter prospect of a loveless marriage to a friend she’d lost for ever.

      No! No! No! His mind was splintering into a thousand pieces, all of them emblazoned with the same word: No. Did he want this sham marriage? Did he want to deceive the people he’d come to care for in Kareshi? Did he want to subject Jazz to a farce on a grand scale? No again. Jazz was innocent, and the people of Wadi village were only guilty of wanting to share their princess’s happiness. Having a princess of Kareshi marry in their village was a dream come true for them. How could he walk away from that? And now he’d spoken to Sharif he had confirmation that if he walked away from this, Jazz would never be able to lift her head in Kareshi again. He had to give Sharif credit for remaining strictly neutral throughout a very difficult conversation: ‘You’re my friend and Jazz is my sister,’ Sharif had said. ‘I trust you to work this out between you.’

      He didn’t sleep that night. How could he sleep with Jazz lying half naked in a bed close by? Jazz with her storm cloud of jet-black hair drifting round her shoulders and that sweet mouth begging to be kissed.

      He should never have kissed her. He should have stayed away from her.