Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [128]
“To you?” Emerson asked suspiciously. “What for?”
“So I can ride it,” his brother explained.
Before Emerson could think of a sufficiently withering response, the girls joined them. From pith helmet to boots—Sennia’s, Ramses presumed—Maryam was properly attired and looking very pretty.
However, she was not pleased with Asfur. “It’s so big,” she said, stepping back as David’s mare turned mild eyes toward her. “Isn’t there a littler one?”
Emerson, who had gone with them to the stable, made soothing noises and looked as if he wanted to pat her on the head. Even Sethos’s smile lacked its usual touch of cynicism. “Arabians are smaller than most breeds,” Ramses explained. “And Asfur wouldn’t bolt if you lit a fire under her.”
“What about this one?” Maryam asked, moving down the line of stalls. “It’s very pretty.”
The filly, a granddaughter of the original pair, poked an inquiring nose over the bars. She was pure white, like the fabled unicorn, and, like all the other Arabians, as friendly as a domestic cat.
“I don’t know,” Emerson said doubtfully. “She’s young and still a bit frisky. What about Moonlight?”
“Can’t I have this one?” Maryam let out a little giggle as the filly nuzzled her shirtfront. “She likes me.”
“She’s looking for a treat,” Ramses said, handing her one of the sugar lumps he had got from the kitchen. “It’s all right, Father, I trained Melusine myself. She can use Nefret’s saddle.”
The stableman, who had watched with amused condescension, helped them saddle and bridle Risha, the filly, and Emerson’s gelding for Sethos, who had decided to join the party.
It was he who gave the girl a hand up and a few casual reminders. “Loosen up on the reins and relax. She’s accustomed to a light hand—isn’t that right, Ramses?”
They walked the horses up and down a few times, and then took the road to Gurneh. There were quite a few people about at that time of day, some on foot, some on donkeys or driving carts. Maryam let out a cry of alarm as a camel lumbered toward them, its long face set in the ineffable camel sneer.
“Keep the reins loose,” Ramses instructed. “She knows about camels, she’ll go round it. You’re doing fine.”
The camel having been successfully circumnavigated, Maryam relaxed. “This is fun. Can we go faster?”
“Not in this mob,” Ramses said. The closer they got to Gurneh, the more people they met. They obligingly moved aside, waving and calling out. Sethos had dropped behind. Suddenly Maryam cried, “Look! That man—”
She pointed. Before Ramses could identify the man she meant, the filly bolted.
It took Ramses several seconds to gather his wits and go after them. Melusine had left the path, striking off to the left, across the open desert. She was in full gallop, but Risha had no difficulty in catching her up and keeping pace with her. A quick glance told Ramses Maryam had dropped the reins and was clinging to the pommel. He leaned sideways and caught her round the waist.
“Get your feet out of the stirrups!” he yelled.
She’d already lost them. He lifted her up and onto his saddle. Responding instantly to his touch, Risha slowed and stopped. The gelding thundered past; having seen that his daughter was safe, Sethos went on in pursuit of the filly.
“You’re hurting me,” said a faint voice.
Ramses let out a long breath and loosened his tight grip. “Sorry. I had to.”
“I know.” She leaned back against his shoulder and raised a face rosy with heat and smeared with dust. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but there were no tears. “Thank you. Is the horse all right?”
“Your father has her. Maryam, I’m terribly sorry; I can’t imagine why she bolted, she never has before.”
“I must tell you something. I never have a chance to talk with you alone—” Feeling him stiffen, she went on in a rush of words. “No, no, it’s not what you think. I wanted to ask your forgiveness for the day I came to your room and tried to . . .” A darker flush of color ran up from her throat to her hairline. “I embarrassed you and made a fool of myself, but I was only fourteen and I know now