Royals: A Dutiful Princess. Leanne Banks
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rel="nofollow" href="#u1d6592ce-0e46-5630-9d3f-e3e2e587c2d5">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.’