In the moonlight, Jazira walked towards Al-Hattal's stable. It had been one of the longest days of her life. She had seen Frank off early that morning with food she had packed for both him and his mustang. Before pulling out, he had checked his saddle, his bridle, and the cinches twice. Jazira knew it was unlike him to feel so apprehensive. He had twice thanked her for the supplies. When Frank gripped the saddle horn to mount, Jazira laid her hand on top of his and asked,
"What is wrong, Hok'shel'ato?"
He had looked at her from under the brim of his hat and grimaced answering honestly, "I have a bad feeling, something's about to go wrong."
His face was close to hers and Jazira hid the guilt she felt as she said earnestly, "You do not have to do this."
Frank looked at her with conviction, his voice was tender yet firm, "That's not it. But yes, I do have to go. I owe it to your father and to you. Besides, I've seen you with that stallion, he's part of you, in here. . ."and he took her hand and placed it on his warm chest, over his heart.
If Frank never told her that he loved her, Jazira had felt it at that moment. Storyteller nickered and Frank said, "I've got to be going."
Jazira's eyes glistened with emotion as she clasped the hand Frank had held to her own heart saying, "As it is said in England, Godspeed Frank Hopkins."
Frank turned the mare around to look at Jazira once more, then trotted down the drive. She followed them on foot until he galloped into the darkness of the morning. And suddenly she had wanted to call him back, to reassure him about his interview with Major Davenport, to tell him about the breeding book. Frank didn't know who had it, and he had never asked. Earlier she had struggled with herself whether she should tell him that Major Davenport held the sacred manuscripts, but later she had decided against it. Now that it was evening, she regretted her decision.
Jazira was glad to escape the house. Earlier, Lady Davenport had put her on edge with her sudden appearance in the hall. After Lady Wellingham's visit, Lady Davenport seemed to put the pieces together as fast as Frank and Jazira were sorting them out. As Jazira entered the stable and walked over to Al-Hattal, she realized that it did not particularly bother her that Lady Davenport's previous dislike had turned to something darker and stronger. After all, she would be leaving soon. At this moment she only wanted to see Frank, to know he was safe, that his apprehension had been for nothing. Jazira leaned her head against Al-Hattal and said,
"Should I have told him? Would it have made a difference?"
"Would what have made a difference?" a cocky voice asked from the other end of the stable.
Jazira looked up to see Phillips coming towards her. He said, "You talk to that horse all the time, ask him why he wouldn't stud that pretty little mustang of Mr. Hopkins."
Jazira looked past Al-Hattal's head and asked the groom, "Have you been drinking?"
"Not yet," came the saucy reply. He leaned against the stall asking with a mocking tone, "Do you know where "my lady" went off to this evening?"
"Why, so you can run down to the tavern?"
"Where I go is my business."
Jazira responded, "But when you return, it becomes mine."
His pride hurt, Phillips said gruffly, "Then don't stay out here, I haven't asked for your help."
Jazira caressed Al-Hattal's head saying, "I would not leave the Sheik."
Phillips taunted, "But what if Lady Davenport decides the Sheik should leave you? Just think, she could walk in at any minute and leave on your beloved stallion forever, and then where would you be?"
Phillips regretted the question as soon as it was out of his mouth, and even more so when a foreboding voice repeated it, "Yes, what would you do then, Jazira?"
Lady Davenport had just returned from a humiliating dinner at the Wellingham's. Lord Wellingham had made insinuations about her past and dark prophecies about her future throughout the seven course meal.
Phillips looked at both the raging Lady Davenport and at Jazira who prepared herself for the onslaught. She had protectively stepped in front of Al-Hattal, even as Phillips had dropped back out of sight to stand alongside a stall closer to the entrance, interested in what developed.
Lady Davenport stood masterfully in front of her servant, still wearing her riding habit, her riding crop in her hand. Phillips thought there was a indefinable majesty about Jazira as she stood ready for the attack.
Lady Davenport sneered, "The answer is, Jazira, you could do nothing. The stallion is mine, whether I possess the breeding book or not. Now, has Mr. Hopkins returned?"
Jazira said nothing. Lady Davenport snapped, her voice growing louder, "I asked you a question, has Mr. Hopkins returned?"
Jazira answered resolutely, "No."
"Finally, an answer. Let's see how many more I can get." She tapped her riding crop against her gloved palm, "Where exactly did Mr. Hopkins go this morning?"
Jazira stood stalwartly and remained silent. Lady Davenport slapped her riding crop against her hand once more, "Tell me, where he is!"
Jazira's eyes challenged hers. Phillips stood in shock as he saw Lady Davenport's riding crop rise into the air. First he heard the jingle of spurs, then he saw the cowboy's swift, long strides, and his hand grab the woman's arm, jerking the crop from her grasp saying,
"I'm right here."
Phillips felt shamed that he had not moved to intervene himself and left the stable.
