The Park's Empire: Handsome Strangers...: The Prince's Bride. GINA WILKINS
the enclosure looked up, ears pricking with interest. On the far side of the pasture, a white mare whinnied and trotted toward them, a longlegged filly at her side.
“How beautiful,” Emily murmured, so riveted by the horse that she was barely aware she spoke aloud. Head up, small ears pricked forward, her tail a banner held high, the mare’s fluid gait was pure poetry. Beside her, the little white filly shadowed each movement her mother made as if attached to her by an invisible cord.
The mare slowed to a walk as she approached the fence, coming closer until she could bump her nose against Lazhar’s chest. He laughed and took a lump of sugar out of his pocket, holding it on the flat of his palm. The mare daintily lipped the cube from his hand, her strong teeth crunching the little square.
“This is Sheba,” Lazhar told Emily, straightening the white forelock between the horse’s intelligent brown eyes before stroking his palm down her nose. “And her baby, Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth?” Surprised, Emily looked at the purebred Arabian baby. The little filly’s widespaced dark eyes, dish face, beautiful conformation, and delicate-boned long legs made her a miniature copy of her mother.
“Jenna named her—Elizabeth was born the day after my sister watched the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice for the first time.”
“So she’s named after a Jane Austen heroine?” Emily laughed. Lazhar looked pained but resigned.
“Her long registered name includes Shalimar, which is what I’d hoped to use as her common name. But after Jenna began calling her Elizabeth, everyone else followed suit, and now she answers to that name only.” He sighed and shook his head. “A royal Danizian filly answering to an English name. Where’s the sense in that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like it.” Emily stretched her arm over the top rail of the white wooden fence and waggled her fingers invitingly. “Come here, pretty baby. Hello, Elizabeth.”
The inquisitive filly pricked her ears, clearly listening as Emily crooned. Tentatively she stretched her neck toward the fence, her nose not quite touching Emily’s fingertips, and blew a gust of warm air against her palm. Then she jumped back to race off, jolting to a stop several feet away before spinning to run back to her mother. The little horse stopped on the far side of the mare and peered around her mama’s chest at the humans.
Charmed, Emily laughed aloud. “She’s darling.”
“She’s pretty cute,” he agreed with a half grin.
“Will she stay here when she grows up?” Emily asked, looking around at the idyllic pastoral setting. It seemed the perfect place for a horse.
“Yes.” Lazhar gave the mare one last pat and stepped back from the fence. “We’re a breeding farm, so many of the fillies and colts born here are sold away from the stables, but Elizabeth won’t be. Her mother belongs to me, not to the palace, and I bred her to a stallion owned by the king of Saudi Arabia. She has impeccable bloodlines and she’ll live her life out here at the farm where hopefully she’ll give birth to many colts and fillies as valuable as she.”
“And just as cute?” Emily asked, turning to look over her shoulder for one last glimpse of the little filly. Sheba stood at the fence, watching Lazhar walk away, but Elizabeth was already caught up in other things, nosing at a leaf on the ground.
“Probably every bit as cute.”
They reached the stables; the doors stood open and they turned down the wide corridor that ran from one end of the huge barn to the other. Box stalls lined both sides of the alleyway and horses shifted in the occupied stalls, coming to peer out over the top of the gates to watch Lazhar and Emily go by.
Lazhar greeted them by name, stopping to introduce Emily to the individual mares and tell her a little about them.
“Back in San Francisco, when I researched you and your family on the Internet,” Emily said as they strolled on after he’d fed a mare a sugar cube from what seemed to be an inexhaustible supply. “I read an article that said the palace stables are world-famous and that your family has been breeding Arabian horses for generations.”
“That’s true,” Lazhar confirmed as they walked out of the shaded alleyway between the stalls, redolent with the scent of hay, saddle leather and horses. The cobbled courtyard beyond was surrounded by stone buildings and the narrow alleys between them led to grassy pastures. They passed grooms leading mares, Arabians with proud small heads and dainty ears, lush tails that nearly brushed the ground behind their back heels, and glossy coats. Several of them were heavily pregnant, their bellies round with foals. “The son of the first king of Daniz married a Saudi princess and part of her dowry was a stallion and mare from her father’s herd. That pair was the beginning of the Daniz Stud.”
“You have quite a family history,” Emily remarked as they strolled across a cobbled forecourt, through a stone archway, and reached a low building with Office printed on a small brass sign beside the heavy door.
“A great deal of tradition is tied to that history,” Lazhar agreed. “But unlike my ancestors, I can waive the dowry for my wife. She doesn’t need to be rich—my family has all the money it needs. I can marry where I want—and if I choose, I can wed her even if all she has in the world are the clothes on her back.”
Before Emily could react to his flat statement, he pulled open the door and motioned her inside. The office, cool after the heat outside, was empty.
“Jenna?” Lazhar crossed the room and disappeared down a short hallway. In seconds he was back. “She must be out in the stables somewhere.” He glanced at his watch. “We don’t have time to hunt for her if we’re going to visit the Jewel Market this morning.”
They left the office and retraced their steps to the palace, Lazhar leaving Emily at her door. A half hour later, after freshening her makeup and collecting her purse, she sat beside him in a gleaming silver Porsche as he negotiated the curving road leading into the city.
“This is St. Catherine’s.” Lazhar gestured to their right as they slowed for a turn.
“It looks a bit different in the daylight,” she said, gazing at the soaring arches and towers of the church. She and Lazhar had climbed the stairs and entered the quiet church after leaving the casino the night before in order to drop her winnings in the poorbox. The tower lights had glowed against the night sky and the interior had been softly lit with minimal lighting. Today, the soft rose-colored stone had a patina of age, the graceful church an elegant grande dame of buildings among her century-old neighbors. “I believe your mother said that, according to tradition, royal weddings are held at St. Catherine’s?”
He nodded, glancing at her as he downshifted to climb a hill. “St. Catherine’s for the wedding ceremony and the palace for the reception.” The breeze ruffled his hair, his eyes concealed behind sunglasses. “Remind me to introduce you to Antoine Escobar—he’s the chief of protocol for the family and can give you all the details about which wedding traditions are set in stone and what you can change if you wish.”
“Perhaps I can talk to him this afternoon?”
“If we return to the palace early enough, certainly.”
Emily made a mental note to remember the protocol chief’s name as Lazhar swung the car to the curb and turned off the engine. “We’ll leave the car here.” He leaned toward her to point out her window and down the side street. “The Jewel Market is just down the street, the large building with the pillars and dome. I thought you might want to walk from here and browse in some of the shops on our way.”
“I’d love to, thank you.”
Emily stepped out onto the sidewalk just as Lazhar’s bodyguards, parked in a dark sedan behind them, exited the car, exchanging nods with Lazhar.
“I didn’t realize the guards were following us,” she commented.
“They go everywhere with us since the paparazzi invaded Daniz,” Lazhar confirmed. “After