do that, and that's important to me. I'm sorry, Zahir, but that's just how I feel.'
Leaving him standing there, his expression stunned and sombre, she moved across to the door and went out.
After Gina had so shockingly deserted him, Zahir bellowed for Jamal and gave him orders to get his Arabian stallion saddled up, ready for his immediate use. Less than half an hour later, ignoring his concerned manservant's plea to not ride too far lest he open his wounds, he mounted the magnificent ebony steed and rode off into the hills.
What else could he do with all the restless and unsatisfied desire that thrummed through his veins?He had to burn some of that raging fire in him away or else he would certainly go mad. And he couldn't abide staying at the palace and twiddling his thumbs for the afternoon just because his doctor had advised him to rest…not after Gina's unbelievable rebuff.
Why was the woman being so stubborn? It seriously perplexed him. There was an old saying: patience is beautiful…Right now he was far too frustrated and furious to contemplate the wisdom it was no doubt meant to impart. What would entice her to become his mistress, to realise it would give her far greater access to his body and his time than any plain, unimaginative eighteen-year-old wife, who would rather giggle with her girlfriends and feed her face than learn how to pleasure a man?
When Zahir glanced round to see a palace body guard following him on another steed, he let loose an oath. Giving his horse his head, he stirred him into a brisk canter. Then, when they were out in more open country, into a full heart-pounding gallop…
'Turn around.' Farida's look of quiet concentration was endearing as she watched Gina model the black hijab and dress that she'd loaned her, so that she could accompany herself and a male servant to the market.
After that emotional scene with Zahir in his study earlier, the unexpected trip Farida had suggested was the perfect antidote to the melancholic feelings that kept washing over her. It hurt deeply that she was apparently good enough to be Zahir's mistress but not his wife. Yet, underlying the sensation of despondency, she held on to the fact that he had at least declared he cared for her. Maybe that knowledge would give Gina something to work with? Thinking of the personal search she had started in the library, she yearned to get back there soon.
'From behind you will look just like any other young woman visiting the marketplace. It is only when people see your fair skin and sapphire-blue eyes they will know you are not a native from Kabuyadir.'
'I rather like the anonymity these clothes give you,' Gina remarked thoughtfully, running her hand down over the smooth black silk. 'Back at home women are bombarded daily by the media with what we should look like, what size we should be and what clothes we should wear—usually revealing ones. It's a refreshing change not to worry about that for once.'
'Well, I am glad they make you feel more at ease. We will have a good visit… You will enjoy it and so will I. This will be my first outing for a long time. Now, if there is anything you want at the marketplace—for instance souvenirs or a length of silk or brocade to make a dress let my servant barter for you. That is how it is done here, and it will ensure you get a good price.'
The marketplace was a sensation overload. Turning her head this way and that, Gina endeavoured to absorb as much of the sights and sounds as possible. When she was back in the UK, doing her weekly shop at the supermarket or visiting some soulless shopping mall for some so-called 'retail therapy,' buying clothes she didn't really want that would disappear amongst similar impulse buys it her wardrobe, she would certainly long for Kabuyadir and all the fascinating goods that made the market so much more exotic and appealing—so much more authentic, somehow.
Staying close by her side, Farida was the best guide she could have had. As well as pointing out various stalls that might be of interest whether—their vendors were selling colourful silks, yarns and brocades, handmade rugs or the beautifully crafted ceramics that so many visitors made a beeline for—she often added humorous little anecdotes that made Gina smile.
After about an hour of negotiating their way through the melee of people, with their