Frank on his painted stallion, Hidalgo, galloped towards her. There were shots fired, swords thrust, scimitars wielded, shouts echoing in the air. In the confusion, Jazira jerked free of the Prince's men. The camp was in an uproar. In the chaos, she slipped through tents, around camels, beyond trees where she untethered Al-Hattal, jumped on his bare back and galloped through the tents she just came through. Finally she came back to the center of confusion. Frank was on the ground fighting the Prince. Jazira reigned in sharply and shouted,
"Hok'shel'ato!"
Frank looked up and whistled for Hidalgo. The Prince shouted, "Cut them off!"
They would be his last words until he regained consciousness. Men scrambled around them, but both she and Frank galloped at full speed beyond the camp, across the sands and even when they covered a good distance they did not slow their horses. They rode neck and neck and through her veil, Jazira smiled across to Frank. The wind suddenly blew the veil aside and whipped it away behind her, a dancing purple figure finally dropping to the sand. Jazira said above the sound of horses' hooves,
"You came."
Frank grinned at her, "You knew I would."
Boldly she said, "Yes, I did."
She glanced back just once to see if anyone was following. The camp and caravan were already a distant speck on the sands. Frank followed her gaze saying, "We'd best keep off the camel roads for a while."
"Yes, don't worry, I know where there are water holes in the cliffs."
Frank smiled warmly at her, "I wasn't worried."
Jazira's eyes sparkled. Frank had come just as she had asked. There would be a reward for him, her father would see to that. . .and her smile disappeared. Her father. . .there would be no reward for Frank, from her father. He had died, she must accept it.
The sound of human footsteps woke Jazira from her dream. She lay alongside Al-Hattal in the stable. Her hair loose about her shoulders, her cheeks damp, her eyes moist. She sat up and briskly rubbed her scratchy sleeve across her eyes.
"Jazira!" Came the hoarse whisper from the groom a few feet away. "It's daybreak. Clear on out in case Lady Anne comes down for a morning ride."
Jazira stood up and when she did, Al-Hattal stood as well. She rested her head alongside his flank a moment whispering, "Good day to you Sheik of sheiks."
"Jazira!" the whisper was more urgent this time.
Jazira bent over and picked up her shoes and stockings laying among the hay. She brushed herself off quickly and said irritably, "I'm coming."
Phillips stood anxiously at the stable door looking for any sign of life from the manor house. He only glanced at Jazira briefly as she passed by him, still carrying her footwear. One morning when he had found her in the stable with her hair down, her shoes and stockings removed, he had tried to be coy and grab her, but she had kicked him in many places harder than any man ever had. Jazira had run off to the house and when Lady Davenport found him alone and doubled over she almost fired him for his lack of explanation as to why he was in such a condition. He never touched Jazira again. Instead she had won his respect. When Al-Hattal had first come to the manor the stallion was beyond control, and the sudden change of diet had been making him sick. Jazira was the only person who could handle the stallion. Phillips respected her for that too, because if anything had happened to Lady Davenport's prize he was afraid of what the punishment would be.
Phillips voice carried over the morning air to Jazira who was walking slowly, "Remember to get a bath."
Phillips kept Jazira's secret, that most nights, she came down to sleep in the stall with Al-Hattal. It was the only familiar smell to remind her of home, her father and it was the only place she had pleasant dreams as she lay near the Sheik of sheiks. But her secret was almost uncovered when the other servants told her she smelled like a horse. Jazira found it strange that the English found the smell offensive. At first she explained it away with the excuse that she was helping Phillips calm Al-Hattal in the stable. The servants accepted this reason for they had seen with eyes of terror the way the stallion had reared, and kicked and bucked after first arriving. When they were out of Lady Anne's hearing they secretly called Al-Hattal, the Devil's Stallion. However, Jazira couldn't use that excuse any longer. Al-Hattal finally grew accustomed to his new surroundings if not accepting them, and so Jazira bathed every morning.
As she washed her hair Jazira thought back to her dream and wondered: Why hadn't Frank come? Why did he not answer the advertisements? When she saw the deathly sickness in her father's eyes, she knew something had to be done or her fate was sealed. Unless there was help from a champion, her father was determined she should marry the Prince. Jazira knew him to be a selfishly immoral man, who only played the innocent with her father to secure rights to equine perfection by way of marriage. As the youngest in his family, the Prince's life revolved around pleasure and sport. Any man who would dishonor humans as he had would not hesitate to misuse an animal if it served any immediate purpose that worked to his favor. As a result, Jazira sent off the ads as if they had been written by her father, but among the last she sent off she added at the end . . .Blue C. That was over a year ago, and still Frank never came. Water from her wet hair streamed down her face. Where was the painted stallion? Where was Frank Hopkins?
