The Playboy Sheikh's Virgin Stable-Girl (2 page)

Eleni swallowed as she stared down at the goblet. ‘I think the drink will please you, Highness.’

‘Then give it to me,’ he ordered silkily.

At this, she was forced to lift her gaze upwards as she held the juice towards him and as Kaliq stared into her face he felt the first shimmering of astonishment. For she had green eyes—pale green and glittering! The fabled green eyes of Calista—a throwback to warriors from Persia who had briefly conquered this land and its women many centuries ago, before being defeated by one of his ancestors. Legendary eyes—rare and lovely and spoken of in the palaces and tea rooms—but he had never seen them before now.

‘By the desert storm,’ he murmured beneath his breath, a strange wild beating in his heart as he sipped some of the juice and stared into them. ‘Such beautiful eyes.’

But then the cards began to fly from the dealer’s hands and Kaliq turned his attention to the game, the servant dismissed from his mind, her eyes forgotten.

There was a lot of money at stake, but it soon became clear to Kaliq that he and Gamal were playing to a different agenda from the other men, and soon their natural aggression ensured that there were only two of them left in the game. But Gamal was drinking too much alcohol—and Kaliq knew that there was one place in the world where you could not afford to be drunk, and that was at the poker table.

As the dealer skimmed them each two cards he saw Gamal try and fail to hide his smile of triumph and Kaliq sensed that his moment was drawing near. He looked up to find that the green eyes of the servant girl were fixed on the table with a look of terror. Was she perhaps worried that her master would gamble away all his livelihood, and her job into the bargain?

Glancing down at his own cards, Kaliq leaned forward. ‘A thousand to play,’ he said softly to the soft gasp of one of the onlookers.

Gamal immediately pushed a pile of hyakim notes into the pot. ‘Three thousand,’ he croaked, licking his lips.

Kaliq leaned back in his chair, sensing the man’s greed and certainty that he was going to win and the prince smiled with the confidence of a man who held an unbeatable pair of cards in his hand. ‘You look as if you’d like to bet more, Lakis,’ he said silkily. ‘Shall we raise the stakes? I’ll allow you to make a larger bet if you wish.’

Gamal’s eyes gleamed. ‘How much?’

Kaliq shrugged. ‘Well, as you know, I have no use for money—but if you want to sweeten the pot with that Arab stallion of yours that I’ve heard so much about, then I’ll put in a million. What do you say to that, old man?’

Unable to believe what she was seeing, Eleni dropped a spoon in an attempt to bring her father to his senses but the atmosphere in the room was so tense that nobody even noticed it clattering to the ground. This was like a bad, bad dream—her drunken brute of a father threatening to use his prize stallion as a wager. Her own beloved horse and just about the only thing which kept her sane in the harsh environment in which she lived.

‘A million, you say?’ questioned Gamal greedily.

‘A million,’ agreed Kaliq.

Eleni wanted to scream at her father not to persist with this foolishness—for even she could see from the prince’s demeanour that he must hold the winning cards. But how could she possibly boldly assert herself in this company of men, and in front of their royal guest? Why, Kaliq would probably have one of his bodyguards carry her from the room and slapped into the jailhouse in Serapolis!

‘Would…would you care for another drink, Highness?’ she questioned desperately, hoping to shatter the mood with her inappropriate question.

‘Do not dare speak to me when we are engaged in play,’ snapped Kaliq.

‘Yes, yes. I’ll wager the stallion!’ butted in Gamal wildly, triumphantly slapping two kings down on the table.

Eleni bunched her fist into her mouth. ‘No!’ she whimpered, but nobody heard. She could hardly bear to watch, but it was as inevitable as watching the sun sink down over the distant mountains. Her father was going to lose, or rather, the prince was going to win—that much had been apparent from the moment he had first galloped up on his own magnificent stallion.

Slowly, Kaliq laid down his two aces—the only hand which could beat Gamal’s—and there was a collective gasp in the room. ‘My game, I think,’ he said softly.

Eleni honestly thought that she might faint, and on shaky knees she staggered to the door, not caring if it was discourteous to their royal guest to leave without being dismissed, not caring about anything—because to all intents and purposes her life was over.

She took one last look at Kaliq’s beautiful hard face and the cruel smile which curved his lips—and her fingers itched to pick up the heavy spoon she had dropped and to hurl it at his arrogant royal head. How dared he try to rob them of the one thing in their lives which brought them income and prosperity?

Half stumbling out into the now-dark night, Eleni ran to the stable block before letting herself into the stall of her beloved Nabat, who whinnied with pleased recognition when he saw her and came nuzzling around her hand for a piece of sugar.

‘Oh, Nabat,’ she whispered as she put her arms around his sleek neck and buried her face in his sweet-smelling fur. ‘Darling, darling Nabat—how will I ever be able to cope without you?’ She pulled her face back to look deep into the horse’s face, seeming to see bewilderment written in the creature’s eyes. Or was she doing that age-old thing of animal lovers and transferring her feelings onto Nabat?

This was the horse who had arrived as a long-legged young foal and even then she had seen the beauty, strength and potential inherent in the animal. But it had been an unhappy horse. She didn’t know how her father had managed to acquire the fine Arabian stallion and she hadn’t wanted to know—all she did know was that it had been badly in need of some tender loving care.

In those early days when Nabat had been fretful and rearing and baring his teeth whenever anyone went near him, it had been Eleni who had soothed him, who had taken the time to coax him to eat.

‘The animal is too highly strung!’ Gamal had complained on more than one occasion, his hand straying towards the large whip he loved to carry. ‘Maybe we should beat some manners into it!’

But Eleni had sprung to the helpless creature’s defence. ‘No, Papa!’ she had pleaded. ‘Let me try to school him for you, to settle him down so that he’s happy here.’

‘He had better be happy soon enough!’ her father had snarled. ‘Or he will find himself for sale on a kebab stand in Aquila!’

So by nights Eleni had slept in the straw at the other end of the stable—like a mother attending to a fretful newborn—and in the end she and her father had both been rewarded. For her had come the kind of unconditional love she had never been shown by a human since her mother had died. And for her father—well, he began to revel in the riches which came as a result of the horse blossoming into a soon-legendary winner of every race he was entered into.

Was that why the prince wanted him? To reap some of Nabat’s athletic glory onto his worthless and spoilt royal head?

Her arms tightened around the Arab’s neck. ‘Well, I will not leave you, Nabat,’ she said fiercely. ‘That I promise you. I’ll stow away in the very straw that transports you away from me. And when I get the opportunity, we will escape together—to find a life of peace and quiet.’

She wondered when the sheikh would come to claim his spoils. Presumably, he would need time to arrange for Nabat to be taken to the royal palace. Which gave her time to arrange how best to hide herself and the few meagre belongings she would need to take with her.

But at that moment she heard the sound of men talking—and in particular the arrogant and autocratic drawl of the sheikh’s voice carrying across the yard. And it was heading this way!

Her heart racing, she sprang away from the horse’s neck but it was too late—for the soft light of an oil-lamp spilled its light across the stable, illuminating her in its golden glow.

She could see little of the man holding the lamp—save for the hard glitter of his eyes and the pale shimmer of his silken robes—and Eleni stood there, frozen with all kinds of conflicting emotions, feeling as guilty as if she had been found in the arms of a lover.

‘You,’ said Kaliq damningly as his eyes swept over her. ‘What in the falcon’s name are you doing here?’

CHAPTER TWO

HER fears banished by the harsh reality of what was about to happen, Eleni stared at the sheikh with sheer hatred in her eyes—choking out the words as if they were sour berries.

‘I was just…just saying goodbye to my horse.’

‘Your horse?’ He stepped closer. ‘I think you forget yourself in more ways than one, girl. This is the horse I have just won from your master in a card game—and do you not curtsey when your sheikh appears before you?’

Her hurt was such that Eleni was tempted to defy him—to tell him that she would rather curtsey to a camel than curtsey to him—but what would that achieve? Because—as her father himself had boasted before he had been taken for a fool—Prince Kaliq Al’Farisi was one of the most powerful men in the whole of Calista. Why tempt the fury of a man like that?

‘Highness,’ she murmured as she sank briefly downwards.

Kaliq ran his eyes over her. There was something in her attitude which perplexed him. Something which did not quite add up. Why was a mere female servant bothered about what happened to her master’s horse?

‘Explain yourself!’ he commanded.

His voice cracked out like a whip and instinctively Eleni flinched. He was no different from her cruel father, she thought bitterly. No different from all men with their harsh and domineering ways. Did he really expect her to speak freely to him? He, who was a man and a stranger and a royal prince—especially when one of his bodyguards was hovering in the background?

‘What is it that you wish me to explain, Highness?’ Eleni questioned woodenly.

Kaliq had seen those huge eyes darting over at his bodyguard. And he remembered their alluring colour, too…As bewitching a colour as he had ever seen. ‘Be gone,’ he said, dismissing his bodyguard peremptorily.

‘But, Highness—’

Kaliq turned to the burly minder, a look of contempt curving his lips. ‘You think that I need your protection against this tiny lizard of a girl?’ he questioned, elevating his black brows in arrogant query. ‘Or perhaps you think that she needs mine?’

‘No, Highness!’

‘Quite right—for a sheikh does not concern himself with scruffy little urchins like this! So be gone,’ Kaliq repeated, with an edge of anger to his voice, and the man slipped out of the stables.

Eleni stood there, waiting for the interrogation to begin, but the sheikh was nothing if not unpredictable. Completely ignoring her, he walked over to study the horse, running his experienced eyes over the animal’s gleaming flesh and lithe limbs. Kaliq gave a slow smile of satisfaction. Up close the creature was even more magnificent than when he had seen it from a distance on the racetrack last week.

He took a step forwards but Nabat gave a nervous whinny and jerked back into the corner. Anxiously, Eleni watched and waited to see whether the prince would show the same dominance and aggression as he had exhibited at the poker table, but to her surprise he did not. Instead, he turned around and subjected her to a long, slow scrutiny which suddenly made her feel very peculiar indeed. No man had ever looked at her in such a way before. And no man should, she thought weakly, wondering what had caused her heart to pound so distractingly, or her skin to tingle and glow.

‘Stroke the horse,’ he instructed.

‘But—’

‘Do not question me,’ he cut in icily. ‘Never question the sheikh—did they not teach you that in school, girl?’

Of course they did. Basic instruction in protocol was part of the Calistan history course and taught in every village school in the country. And these days even lowly servants went to school—by order of Queen Anya, who had overhauled the outdated system and insisted that every child in the land should have the opportunity to acquire a rudimentary education.

But, unsurprisingly, Eleni’s history lessons had not included a section on how a lowly commoner should behave when she was alone in a stable with a sheikh! And not just any sheikh, either—but the arrogant playboy who was about to take from her the only thing in the world which she had ever truly loved.

‘Forgive me, Highness,’ she said unconvincingly.

Kaliq’s eyes glinted. In his thirty-six years he had heard enough variations on deference to know that such respect was distinctly lacking in this girl’s attitude. In fact, her whole manner simmered with a kind of suppressed anger. How dared she? And what lay behind such intolerable insolence?

‘Stroke the horse,’ he repeated silkily.

This time she could not refuse him. Eleni approached Nabat, who immediately came trotting out from the corner, making little snorting sounds of delight as he began to nuzzle at her hand for sugar. And the warmth of his dear breath on her fingers was enough to dispel Eleni’s nerves and for her to momentarily forget where she was, and with whom.

‘No, no, my sweet!’ she laughed. ‘I have no treat for you today!’ She heard the intake of the sheikh’s breath and she looked up to find him watching her as a snake might fix its eyes on the charmer.

‘Who are you?’ he questioned slowly.

‘My name…is Eleni.’

He shook his head impatiently. ‘Your name is of no interest to me.’ Staring deep into her distractingly beautiful eyes, he lowered his voice. ‘I want to know why you are so familiar with a creature of such value as this.’

‘Because…’ Eleni bit her lip. She could see the hard and forbidding lines of his face and her heart sank. What a fool she was. Did she really think that she would have been able to stow away and be smuggled into the royal stables in order to be near her beloved horse? Couldn’t she imagine how formidable this man’s anger would be when he discovered her, as discover her he inevitably would?

No. So could she not risk telling him the truth?

‘Because I have cared for this horse since he first came to these stables!’ she declared. ‘When Nabat was little more than a badly treated young foal!’