Between the Grapevines

19. Tisa'ata 'Ashar

"Harakat," Riyad called out between the grapevines, walking toward the silver horse who lifted her head to lightly gnaw at the low hanging branches. Behind her, he saw the girl's back as she reached up to pluck another leaf from the vines. She lifted it to her nose and pulled in a deep breath of the fulfilling scent, her thumb tracing over the slight roughness of its spine. But her distraction ceased at the sound of her name.

She turned excitedly at Riyad's voice, her brow raised and eyes large in anticipation. Immediately, she placed the leaves into the bag around Ta'ira's neck and tugged the horse's reins. Riyad remained impressed at the bond she'd easily developed with his unforgiving mane, standing in his place as they moved toward him.

She smiled brightly when their eyes met. "You're back."

"Sorry I'm late," he peered down in awe at the way the orange rays of the evening sun danced across her honey-colored irises.

Harakat shook her head. "You're forgiven."

"What were you doing?" He motioned past her to the leaves she'd been placing in Ta'ira's pouch and ceased at his arrival. As if an unknown humor resided behind his words, the girl pulled her arms behind her back and dropped her head forward, keeping her eyes on his. Riyad raised his brow at the slyness of her expression. An involuntary laugh falling through his lips at her behavior. "What is it?"

The girl clapped her hand over her mouth with the exaggerated gesture, seeming to forget for a moment that she no longer needed to convey her meaning through her body. "I will not tell you," she replied. "Not yet."

"What is this?" His expression grew with exaggerated shock. "You think yourself too good for me now that you've regained your memory?"

She snorted then muffled the sound with her hand as if surprised that it had come out of her. "No. Not like that."

"Then what?" He asked.

Harakat shook her head again, this time with more evident determination. "Nothing... I have stumbled upon quite a piece of information about something," she glanced to the side suspiciously then laughed more. When Riyad narrowed his eyes at her, her smile grew more and she spun herself away from him. "Let's move from this topic. I no longer want to speak about it," she lifted her head to the sky dramatically.

A blister of competition sparked in his chest. Riyad's attention locked on the refusing girl as he followed her, his movements careful and calculated. He spoke daringly like a stalking predator. "I don't want to move, though."

"I have my right to privacy, Riyad," she continued on, leading Ta'ira back toward the camp without another glance in his direction.

"And I... have a right to know why my wife is sneaking around!" Riyad darted forward, swiping her hands from on Ta'ira's lead. Harakat squealed when he spun her in a quick circle, lifting her feet of the ground so she could not resist him.

She closed her eyes and gripped his shirt. "Riyad!"

"Tell me what you were doing!" He placed her down.

But the girl's confidence returned the moment her feet touched the ground and she slammed her hands into Riyad's chest. He flinched at her strength and placed his hand where she'd hit him. Harakat noticed, only then seeming to remember the bandage on his head. Her expression. "I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, then held his gaze for another moment to see the growing smirk on his features. Then she reached forward again and slapped his arm. "You should not have grabbed me like that!"

Riyad's hand shot up, clamping around her wrist.

This time, she flinched.

He leered dangerously. "You mean like this?"