LITMIR.BIZ

       EPILOGUE

      THEY MARRIED TWICE. Once in the quiet stone chapel where Livvy’s own mother and father had been wed, and once in a lavish ceremony in Jazratan, attended by world leaders and dignitaries—as well as a sizeable hunk of the horse-racing fraternity.

      At first it felt weird for Livvy to see her photo plastered all over the papers, with Saladin holding tightly on to her hand, her filmy veil held in place by a crown of diamonds and rubies and her golden dress gleaming like the coat of a palomino horse.

      She settled happily in the country she had quickly grown to love, determined to learn to speak the Jazratian language fluently and to see Burkaan winning the famous Oman Cup. And if people ever asked her how she had managed to adapt so comfortably from owning a B & B in Derbyshire to being the queen of Jazratan, she was able to answer quite honestly. She told them that the grandness of her husband’s palace never intimidated her, because wherever Saladin was felt like home. He travelled less than before, and everywhere he went he took Livvy with him—for he was eager to show off his new bride to the world.

      Livvy started working in the stables, whenever her royal role permitted it, and quickly earned herself a reputation among the staff of being gifted and reliable and never pulling rank. She liked to go riding with Saladin when the sun had started to sink low and the sting of the heat had left the day. Sometimes they rode to ‘their’ oasis, where they made love beneath the shade of the palm trees.

      After a gentle campaign she persuaded Saladin to have a ceremony declaring the beautiful rose gardens officially open—and invited Alya’s parents, along with her two brothers and their wives, as guests of honour. It wasn’t the easiest of meetings—not at first, for there were tears in Alya’s mother’s eyes as she tied a small posy of flowers to one of the intricate silver coils on the Faddi gates. And yes, Livvy saw tears in Saladin’s eyes, too. But Alya’s parents were persuaded to bring their grandsons to play there at any time, and afterwards they all sat beneath the shade of a tree, drinking jasmine tea and laughing as the two sturdy little boys toddled around among the scented bowers.

      It would be several years before Burkaan would triumph in the Oman Cup and many more before he was put out to stud, and a new foal—the image of his father—was born. But Peppa the cat grew grudgingly to accept Saladin’s presence in her mistress’s life and found herself happily living in the royal palace, enjoying the way that the staff fussed around her. There was a bit of a shock when it was discovered that she had sneaked out and mated with a stray tom who had been seen lurking around the back of the stables—but she proved herself an exemplary mother of five kittens.

      Wightwick Manor was never sold. Saladin decided that the house should be kept as a base for them whenever they wanted to escape the desert heat to enjoy a spell in the English countryside.

      ‘And it is important that any children we may have will grow up knowing and loving their mother’s inheritance, because your roots are just as important as mine, habibi,’ he said, tenderly stroking Livvy’s head, which was currently resting upon his bare chest. ‘Don’t you agree?’

      Livvy wriggled a little, changing her position so that she could prop herself up onto her elbow and stare into the enticing gleam of her husband’s black eyes. She trailed a thoughtful path over his chest with her finger, circling lightly over the hard muscle and bone covered by all that silken skin, and it thrilled her to feel him shiver. She liked making him shiver.

      ‘I agree absolutely,’ she said as he began to brush his hand against her inner thigh and now it was her turn to shiver. ‘And in fact, that brings me very nicely to some news I have for you.’

      His hand stilled and she knew he was holding his breath—just as she’d held hers when she’d surreptitiously done the test that morning. They hadn’t actively been trying, but she knew that Saladin longed for a child of his own, and she’d been wanting to have his baby since the moment he’d slid that wedding ring on her finger.

      ‘I’m pregnant,’ she whispered. ‘I’m going to have a baby.’

      And suddenly he was laughing and kissing her and telling her how much he loved her, all at the same time. And it was only after a little time had passed that she noticed that his hand was no longer making its tantalising journey up her thigh.

      She caught hold of his fingers and put them right back where they had started from. ‘Don’t stop,’ she said.

      ‘Is it safe?’

      She danced her lips in front of his. ‘Perfectly safe.’

      And that was how she made him feel, Saladin realised dazedly. Safe. As if he’d found something he hadn’t even realised he’d been looking for. As if she were his harbour, his refuge and his joy. As if the whole world suddenly made sense. He cradled her head in the palms of his hands and kissed her as deeply as he knew how. And thanked the heavens for that snowy Christmas night, which had given him the greatest gift of all.

      The gift of love.

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