Royals: A Dutiful Princess

CHAPTER EIGHT

AS SOON AS the doctor said she could go and the nurse released her, Jazz called the palace to arrange for the helicopter to pick her up and for her wilful, snake-shy stallion to be collected. She could have ridden him back if the nurse hadn’t mentioned a storm closing in. She wouldn’t risk her horse, so it was down to hoping the weather would hold long enough for the helicopter to fly in, and then back again to the palace.

And now she was grateful to the women of the village for being so kind to her. After standing vigil outside the medical facility, they insisted on taking Jazz to the unmarried women’s quarters, where they said she’d be safe until the helicopter came to take her home. Having grown up with her brother in the palace, she found it a fascinating experience to be drawn into village life. Everyone was so friendly, and it made her think again how much she had missed female companionship, and how her life could change for the better if she only allowed it to. She’d had the warmth and friendship of the Skavanga sisters since Britt married Sharif, and she could have the friendship of these people too, if she stayed in Kareshi.

Once inside the women’s pavilion, it surprised Jazz to see that, along with the more traditional trappings she might have expected, like silken cushions and low brass tables bearing platters of fruit and jugs of freshly squeezed juice, a large space had been allocated to a bank of computer screens faced by no-nonsense office chairs.

‘Our benefactor is Tyr Skavanga,’ one of the women explained, her sloe eyes warm with admiration behind the traditional veil. ‘He bought all the equipment and installed it for us. It’s like a miracle. The world comes to us. We can even Internet shop.’

As the women started to laugh, Jazz joined in the fun, but it did make her wonder if she was the only one being left behind where progress was concerned.

‘Distance learning,’ the same woman explained, jolting Jazz back to the present.

They joined a group of women clustered around a screen. ‘We all want to be able to work like you, Princess Jasmina,’ a young girl exclaimed, springing up.

‘Please, won’t you sit down again?’ Jazz insisted. ‘I’m here to learn all I can from you.’

Reassured, the girl continued, ‘Thanks to this link with the outside world, set up by Tyr Skavanga, we can learn to become the teachers of the future.’

Tyr Skavanga...Tyr Skavanga...

And there was so much to do here—so much enthusiasm for progress surrounding her. What was she thinking? Leave Kareshi? Was she mad? What was she so afraid of? Tyr at the party flashed into her head; Tyr rescuing her after the fall from her horse; Tyr—

Just Tyr, Jazz realised, because Tyr represented a time that was lost, and everything she feared about the future. It wasn’t Tyr’s fault he was so brutally masculine, but, though she was bold in every other area of her life, Jazz had always had a fear of men and sex—Tyr and sex—because all she knew about sex was colourful and sometimes terrifying rumour.

As the women continued to chat easily to her, Jazz knew exactly what she had to do—and it didn’t include the Emir of Qadar. Sharif would be mad with her for wasting his time and she couldn’t blame him. There would be diplomatic repercussions, but this was where she belonged. She could be of some real help to her brother here.

And then the bombshell dropped.

Another, bolder girl asked Jazz how she had dared to love an outsider.

All the women went quiet as they waited for her answer.

‘An outsider?’ Jazz queried cautiously.

‘Tyr Skavanga,’ the women prompted in a laughing chorus, as if this were obvious to everyone except Jazz.

Jazz laughed too. ‘I don’t love Tyr like that,’ she protested, maybe a little too heartily. ‘We’ve been friends since childhood. And, yes, I admire Tyr, but that’s as far as it goes.’

The women seemed unconvinced. No wonder, when her cheeks burned red. They were determined to believe she was involved in a runaway romance like the films they’d been able to watch on the Internet, thanks to their benefactor, Tyr Skavanga.

And then one of the older women took her aside. ‘Just think of it,’ she said. ‘You have already proved your worth to your brother, His Majesty, by improving the management of his racing stables. Imagine what you could do for us in Kareshi with Tyr Skavanga organising the various building programmes, while you recruit and manage the staff?’

‘What? I—? Oh, no.’ But it was a seductive thought, though what Tyr would make of it, she didn’t like to think.

* * *

Things couldn’t get any worse. Tyr was still miles from the village with a sandstorm coming. All flights were grounded. No one would be flying in or out of Wadi village any time soon to rescue Princess Jasmina. All communication links were down, and no one could predict how long the storm would last. Sensing danger approaching, his horse had started to play up, which was why he was on foot. Having tied his bandana over the animal’s eyes, he was coaxing it forward inch by torturous inch, his muscles bulging at the strain of persuading the horse to lift its hooves out of the treacherously shifting sand. He could only hope Jazz was safely housed in the village by now. He was impatient to get back and make sure of it.

The sky was an ominous greenish-yellow by the time he made it back to the village. Having fed and watered his horse, he went to find Jazz. It was his duty to do so, he told himself firmly. He found her in the village hall, where she was taking note of people’s concerns. Typical Jazz—no time like the present, even with a sandstorm brewing. She was fully veiled in deference to the traditionalists, but, even with only her expressive eyes on show, he could see enough to want her in a way he was more than certain the elders of the village would not approve of. And then she saw him and her eyes crinkled slightly. The tightening in his groin was immediate, and it was almost a relief when she turned away.

Watching Jazz amongst her people only reinforced his opinion that Jazz was needed right here in Kareshi, not in Qadar. Jazz Kareshi was one of the most valuable resources Kareshi possessed. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that Jazz belonged with her people.

How much more they could accomplish if they worked together.

Thoughts like that led nowhere. If they saw each other on a regular basis and he infected an innocent young girl like Jazz with his darkness, what then?

As it happened, Jazz took the decision out of his hands by approaching him, and, in spite of all his self-imposed warning, his heart warmed when Jazz stared up at him.

‘You’re back.’

For a few potent moments she stared into his eyes.

‘If you need me, Jazz, you only have to ask.’

‘As it happens...’

He followed her gaze to the bank of computers he’d installed, which were currently standing idle.

‘While I take a note of everyone’s concerns, you could show those who don’t know how to use the computers,’ she suggested.

‘You want me to teach school?’

‘Why not?’ She gave him a look. ‘That’s if you’re up to it.’

He held her gaze. ‘I think I can handle it. Though I’m pretty sure the Internet’s down.’

‘No excuses, Tyr. You can still show people plenty without it.’

‘Whatever you say, Princess.’

Did Tyr have to lower his voice and stare quite so intently into her eyes? Jazz glanced around to make sure no one had noticed.

‘There’s no point sitting around doing nothing as we wait for the storm to pass,’ she pointed out. ‘The children are bored, and this is a great opportunity for those who want to benefit from your expertise.’

Her heart raced as Tyr raised a mocking brow. ‘Would you like to benefit from my expertise too, Princess? Or are you already a computer expert?’

She let a shaking breath out with relief, and then noticed Tyr’s eyes were warm and teasing, as they had used to be when they were kids. ‘Just pretend you know what you’re doing,’ she suggested.

‘Oh, I know what I’m doing, Princess.’

There was something in Tyr’s tone that made her suck in a fast breath. She pushed it aside by raising her voice so everyone could hear.

‘Tyr has offered to help anyone interested in learning more about computers.’

The stampede made him smile. He’d been leaning against the wall with all his attention fixed on Jazz, but she’d stitched him up good and tight. She didn’t know how good she was, he reflected as he watched her settling people down in front of the screens. And her spirit had definitely returned in Wadi village. The people loved her, but, more importantly, Jazz was gaining in confidence all the time. The people trusted Jazz, and responded to her. They confided things they would never dream of confiding to a court official, let alone Jazz’s brother, Sharif. This was where Jazz belonged, and he could only be thankful that she was beginning to see that for herself.

And how about his pledge to stay away from her?

He glanced outside at the whirling sand. How was he supposed to predict they’d be sharing an enclosed space like this?

‘They like you,’ Jazz remarked to him when they broke for refreshments.

‘Don’t sound so surprised. I have been working here in the village for quite some time now.’

‘But I am surprised. You’re really good at this, Tyr. And here was me, thinking you were a confirmed loner.’

‘I am, but we’re trapped by the storm,’ he pointed out.

Jazz was so enthused, she wasn’t even listening. ‘What we need is a new school and more teachers. I put that in my last mail to Sharif, so I hope we get an answer from him as soon as this storm eases up a bit. Everyone’s so eager to learn.’

He smiled as he listened to Jazz spelling out her plan. His thoughts were somewhat less innocent. There was only one woman in this room he wanted to teach, and those lessons would have nothing to do with computer skills.

He glanced outside at the rapidly darkening sky. ‘I’m going to call a halt soon, Jazz,’ he said, breaking her off. ‘I want everyone safely under cover before this storm gets any worse. It’s going to be bad, so I’ll see the elderly home, and then come back for you.’

She bridled at that suggestion. ‘I’m quite capable of looking after myself, Tyr.’

‘Are you? Would that be the same way you looked after yourself when you were out riding?’

Feeling her bristle, he drew the back of his hand down her arm to lighten the atmosphere. He could not have anticipated Jazz’s response. To say she recoiled in horror was putting it mildly.

‘Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said, Tyr? You must not touch me.’

The skin around Jazz’s eyes had paled to ivory, but her eyes were almost solid black. He’d seen that same reaction before in a woman, but never in a situation like this. Passions were certainly roused. No one was looking, but anyone would think he had cupped Jazz’s breast, or worse. How innocent was she, exactly? Utterly innocent of all things sexual, he concluded as Jazz continued to glare at him.

‘I’ll see the children home,’ she said sharply, and with a swish of her veil she was gone from his side, but before she could round up her flock, the headman called the meeting to order.

Tyr shrugged and threw Jazz a rueful smile when she was forced back into his company.

‘No hope of the helicopter arriving to save me from you, I suppose?’ she gritted out during a lull in the proceedings.

He held her gaze and saw her eyes grow black. ‘Not a chance. The forecast is grim. Nothing’s coming in or out of here today.’

Including us, Jazz’s worried eyes seemed to say. ‘Did you manage to speak to Sharif?’ she asked.

‘No. Did you get hold of him?’

Jazz shook her head. ‘Everything’s down. Does anyone know how long this storm will last?’

‘If I could get the Internet up, maybe I could tell you. Best guess?’ He shrugged. ‘It’s set in for a while. I shot off an email to Sharif earlier on today to let him know you took a tumble, no harm done. I also reassured him that the women of the village are taking good care of you. I just can’t be sure the mail got through before the connection went down.’

‘So we’re stranded?’

‘Looks like it. Nothing’s changed for me, Jazz. I work here.’

But everything had changed for Jazz, her eyes behind the veil told him.

Then, remembering who she was and where her duty lay, and that she should not be holding his stare like this, she looked away as the headman began to speak.

‘Don’t worry, Jazz,’ Tyr murmured discreetly. ‘I won’t let any harm come to you.’

‘I can look after myself, Tyr,’ she murmured back. ‘Storms in the desert are nothing new to me.’

Something told him Jazz wasn’t referring to the weather conditions.

By the time things got under way, the searing heat of afternoon had faded to a comfortable warmth, while the sand flurries outside the windows had bathed everything inside the hall in a deceptively muted glow. Tyr gradually edged his way to the back of the crowd, where he could observe without being observed. As expected, there were speeches from several of the village elders, but then a group of old men ushered him forward until he found himself standing next to Jazz at the foot of an improvised stage.

‘This won’t last long,’ Jazz reassured him, knowing his dislike of being in the spotlight. ‘Just a formal vote of thanks for helping out, I think, and then you can leave.’

He hummed, wishing he felt as confident as Jazz. There was an air of anticipation surrounding them that he couldn’t account for, and when he glanced around, people smiled back at him as if they were sharing a great piece of news. The villagers’ initial shock at Jazz’s unconventional arrival at the village in his arms must have faded, he guessed, but was that it?

‘I told you things would soon return to normal,’ Jazz said confidently.

‘I hope you’re right,’ he replied with less enthusiasm, remembering his bizarre conversation with the headman.

‘I am right,’ Jazz assured him as the speeches continued on.

He was soon distracted by some alluring scent she was wearing and the seductive rustle of her robe. Jazz was certainly playing the traditional card now, and had dressed for this session in the village hall in a plain black robe with only her expressive eyes on show. Eyes and tiny feet, he noted, telling himself not to be so ridiculous as to be affected by the sight of a set of shell-pink toenails.

‘Excuse me.’

Careful not to touch him, she moved past him to stand with the elders who had invited Jazz to join them on the stage. Gesturing for quiet, she began to speak. He couldn’t understand every word in Kareshi, but he knew enough to raise his hands in a signal that he had done no more than his job when Jazz praised him and everyone turned to face him and applaud. Then the headman beckoned for him to join Jazz on the stage and the smiling crowd parted for him.

‘The headman’s just explained that we’ll be working together as a team,’ Jazz translated, leaning forward as the headman took up his position between them.

Blood rushed to his temples as the headman began to speak, but good manners forced him to remain silent until the old man had finished. He didn’t need an interpreter to judge the mood of the crowd. They were jubilant. Some of the men started clapping him on the back. He turned to Jazz, who said something in Kareshi, and the cheers grew louder.

‘What did you say?’ he demanded, but the headman distracted her and she turned away.

‘What did you say?’ he repeated when Jazz started waving to the crowd.

Jazz was like a fire burning too bright, in danger of consuming everything around her, including him. What was she keeping from him? It wasn’t enough for her to smile and nod her head in his direction, when not once had she held his gaze.

And now the headman stepped forward to speak again.

‘If there’s something I should know, you’d better tell me now, Jazz,’ he warned in an urgent undertone.

Putting a finger over her mouth beneath the veil, Jazz shook her head as the headman cleared his throat and began to speak. He was brandishing a sheet of paper, which Tyr guessed must be an email that had arrived when the Internet was still up. Who could possibly evoke this level of response simply by sending an email? Only one name sprang to mind, and that was his friend Sharif. ‘What the hell is going on, Jazz?’

‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. The headman says it’s very good news.’

For whom? he wondered.

‘I’m hoping it’s a reply to the mail I sent to Sharif, requesting more funding for the school,’ Jazz explained.

‘So what is he saying now?’ he demanded as the headman waved his arms and called for silence. A cold blade of dread sliced through him as Jazz paled and swayed. She looked as if she was about to faint. ‘What is it, Jazz? What is he saying?’

‘We’ve got the money for the school.’

‘Aren’t you happy about that?’

‘Of course I am. And the headman has just explained that we will both be staying on to supervise the setting up of the school.’

‘Both?’ He frowned.

‘Tyr—I don’t know what to say— Everything’s out of control— This is all going too fast—’

‘What is?’ he demanded.

‘The headman just confirmed that Sharif has also agreed to his request that when I do get married it will be here in the village.’

A storm of emotion hit him as cheers rose around them. ‘Not to the emir, I hope?’

‘Not to the emir,’ Jazz confirmed to his relief, but the tears in her eyes did nothing to reassure him.

‘Then to whom?’ he demanded, the punch in his gut delivering the answer before Jazz had chance to speak.

‘The headman’s somehow got the idea that I’ll be marrying you,’ Jazz told him faintly above the roar of the crowd.

CHAPTER NINE

‘WE NEED TO TALK, JAZZ.’

‘We certainly do,’ she agreed, all business now, ‘but not here and not now. These people deserve everything we can do for them, but the one thing they don’t need is our problems on their shoulders.’

The meeting was breaking up. ‘We’ve got work to do. You go and round up the children, while I make sure everyone gets home safely.’

‘And then we’ll talk,’ Jazz assured him tensely.

‘You bet we will. I’ll come and find you.’

‘Tell me you’re not thinking of coming round to check out my accommodation?’

‘The headman’s little speech has changed nothing, Jazz. I still owe it to your brother to keep you safe, so, however much of a pain in the backside you are, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’

‘I’ve lived in the desert all my life, Tyr.’

‘In a palace, Jazz.’

‘Have you forgotten our camp-outs when we were younger?’

How could he ever forget? Worms in his bed? Stones in his boots?

‘Back off, Tyr. Just leave me to work this out, will you?’

‘I’d love to,’ he assured her, ‘but something tells me it’s going to take a concerted effort to solve this one. And right now, I have bigger concerns, like making sure you’re safe. One thing I do know is that Sharif would never forgive me if any harm came to you. More importantly, I would never forgive myself.’

Straightening up, Jazz pulled the regal card. ‘My people will make sure I’m safe. And now, if you will excuse me?’

He almost bowed mockingly, but he was all out of humour and confined himself to watching from the door as Jazz shepherded the children home through swirls of sand until finally she was lost to sight.

* * *

By the time he’d delivered the last older person safely home, the storm had the village in its vicious grip. The roar of sand driven at speed by gale-force winds was deafening and his only concern now was for Jazz. Fighting against the power of the wind with one arm over his face and his bandana tied over his nose and mouth, he finally reached the large guest pavilion nestling against the cliff. His feelings lurched from concern to relief when he spotted the hurricane ropes connected to the cliff face, which Jazz had already secured across the entrance.

‘Jazz?’ Shaking the brass bell, he yelled her name again. He wanted to check the struts holding the pavilion before the wind really got up.

‘I’m coming in.’

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ she yelled from somewhere deep inside the tent.

‘You should have stayed in the hall until I came back with you to check everything was safe.’

‘How many times, Tyr?’ Jazz demanded as he closed the roar of the storm out behind him. ‘There’s no need for you to come and check up on me. Why risk your life for no reason?’

‘Maybe I disagree with you about there being no reason for me being here?’

He went about doing the job he’d come for, shaking poles and checking roof beams. ‘Move aside, Jazz. I need to make sure this structure’s safe.’

She stalked round after him. ‘Do you really think the Wadi people don’t know how to build a structure that can weather a storm?’

‘Like your brother, Jazz, I have only survived this long because I never take anything for granted.’

‘Are you satisfied now?’ she demanded, when he stood back to take one last long look around.

‘Not nearly,’ he said. ‘How long do you think you might be confined here? Do you have enough water? Enough to eat?’

‘Look around, Tyr.’

He dragged his gaze reluctantly from Jazz to take in the platters set out on low brass tables. They were laden with sweetmeats and fruit. ‘Jazz.’