"What?"

Her finger began to trace the puckered scar. He flinched as if she'd burned him. Her eyes flew to his face. "Is it still tender?"

He shook his head. "You just surprised me." His voice was gritty. "It's an old knife wound. I got it years ago."

Her fingers followed the path of the scar up his thigh. "It looks as though it was very deep." His thigh was so hard and muscular. It was growing even harder under her stroking finger. Was the memory of how he had received that wound causing the tension she felt in him? "Has it healed properly?"

"I think so. It hasn't bothered me since then." The muscles of his thigh were becoming knotted with tension. "Until now."

"Now?" she asked. "Perhaps carrying me all that distance..."

"No." He suddenly brushed her hand away and jumped to his feet. "It's fine. Would you like to see the stables and the obstacle course?"

Her eyes widened. "I thought you said we were playing games today."

"I changed my mind," he said through his teeth. "I'm not up to a long, intimate game of Monopoly today. We've got to get out of here." He disappeared

into the bathroom and returned with a small portable dryer. He handed it to her. "Blow your hair dry while I hustle the servants to bring the rest of your wardrobe. I particularly specified sports clothes. I hope to heaven they sent jeans and not bikinis. Philip's women usually aren't into sports activity outside of the bedroom."

"But you said I was too weak to tour the stables today."

"You are. I'll carry you."

"But that's ridiculous. I can wa—"

His hand covered her lips. "Zilah, stop arguing." Suddenly he smiled with such warmth that it took her breath away. "Friends have to compromise. I'm giving you what you want, aren't I? Now you have to yield an inch or two as well."

She would have given him anything he wanted to keep him smiling at her with that roguish sweetness.

She kissed his palm as gently as he had her own a moment before. "Okay," she said softly. "An inch or so won't hurt me. But only for today, Daniel."

"Only for today." He turned away and headed swiftly toward the door. "We'll take it one day at a me."

Six

Daniel lifted Zilah easily to the top rail of the white wooden fence that separated the stableyard from the pasture. "There, you can have a bird's-eye view and still not get in the way of the grooms who are exercising horses. In the morning the stable area has a tendency to get as busy as Churchill Downs before the Kentucky Derby."

Zilah swung her leg over the rail to straddle it. Her gaze traveled eagerly over the long, low stable that was as spotless as the grounds themselves, and then crossed the fence to the lush green of the pasture, which contained a variety of obstacle jumps. "I can see that. What a wonderful place. It reminds me a little of a picture of the Calumet stables I've seen."

"It should," Daniel said dryly. "Philip's father sent a trainer to Calumet to study methods and architecture before having this stable built. Nothing but the best for his only son." He leaned lazily against the fence and lit a cigarette. He blew a thin stream of smoke into the air before studying her with narrowed eyes. "You seem to have livened up a bit. You were very quiet on the way from the house." He looked down at the tip of his cigarette. "Did you get through to your mother?"

The smile faded from her face. "Yes." She looked out at the obstacle course where a groom, who looked little more than a child, was fighting a huge black stallion for control. Despite his size, the boy seemed to be a fine horseman, she thought. "She was very happy. She said she looked forward to seeing me soon." The words were stilted. "She cried."

"That must have been upsetting for you," Daniel said gently. "Are you close?"

"We used to be." She shifted restlessly. "It's been a long time since we've seen each other." She was silent a moment before she spoke again. "She's uncomfortable around me now. I think she still feels a sense of guilt."

"Guilt? Why should she feel guilty?"

"She shouldn't. I tried to tell her that." Zilah's ands clenched unconsciously on the rail. "She blames herself for my . . . illness, for leaving me with

grandmother while she was working. That's one of the reasons I came back to Sedikhan. No one should have to live with guilt like that. I wanted to show her that I'm well and happy now."

"And are you?"

She lifted her chin. "Of course." Her gaze

returned again to the boy on the black horse. "Look, he's going to jump him." She frowned. "Aren't the bars awfully high? That must be a six-foot jump."

Daniel's eyes hadn't left her face. "All of Philip's grooms are very competent. You don't have to worry about him."

"He doesn't look old enough to be that competent. He can't be more than eleven or twelve."

His head turned casually to glance out at the pasture. He muttered a low curse, tossed his cigarette to the ground, and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot. He was up on the rail beside her with one swift movement. "Pandora. Philip's going to murder her."

"That's a distinct possibility," Philip El Kabbar said grimly as he joined them on the bar. He had changed to tan riding pants and a white shirt. His worn black boots were of the finest leather, and he looked even more intimidating than he had earlier this morning. "If she doesn't kill herself first."

"Pandora? That's a girl?" Zilah asked, surprised. The slight figure in the black ribbed sweater and frayed jeans appeared to be both wiry and strong. The gray cap pulled down over her eyes completely hid her hair and shadowed her face. It was no wonder Zilah had mistaken her for a boy.

"Her gender is debatable," El Kabbar said. "She doesn't recognize the fact that she's female as yet. She knows only she's either going to win the Olympics or be the greatest jockey since Willie Shoemaker. She hasn't decided which choice will win her ultimate approval."

"Pandora Madchen," Daniel supplied. "She's the daughter of Karl Madchen, the doctor Philip imported to set up a dispensary here at the compound."

"Correction. She's the devil's daughter," the sheikh said. His eyes were narrowed intently on the small figure bent low over the horse's neck as she urged him toward the jump. "The gypsies must have left her."

"Are you going to try to stop her?" Daniel asked curiously. "That's Oedipus, isn't it? I thought you forbade her to ride him."

"I did. But it's too late to stop the jump. If I go out there and try to drag her off now, I'd probably spook him." El Kabbar's eyes were turquoise flints in his set face. "I'll have to wait until she makes the jump and brings him around."

Zilah shivered. El Kabbar's anger was all the more intimidating for its leashed menace. "She's only a child," she offered tentatively.

"She's fifteen, Miss Dabala," El Kabbar said without shifting his eyes from the girl on the horse. "Old enough to obey orders, if not to have a modicum of common sense. One or the other is mandatory here at the stable."

The black stallion's muscles were gathering for the jump, sinews tense and ready. Then he was rising in the air and floating over the jump as if it were three feet instead of six. He landed on the other side with faultless precision.