In the escape from Yemen, there will be stops to give the horses a breather during the dark of night. Madeline Davis would use some of that time to check Lord Ava, to be sure that the exertion hasn't reopened any wounds and that his hands are up to the task of managing a horse.
As the doctor checked her patient, she spoke to him softly but clearly enough for him to hear. "I know that you don't wish our apologies or our thanks, but I - if anyone - owe you both. Even tied as the rest of us were, you leaped to our rescue - and were cruelly beaten for it. And then ..."
"Stop," he interrupted, placing one hand on her shoulder. "Madeline, ah, Dr. Davis," he quickly corrected himself and continued, a tiny bit flustered with himself, withdrawing his hand. "It was my fault. I should not have risen to the bait. The young prince has a cruel wisdom beyond his years; he knew exactly how to make me react. I knew that it was best to wait, patiently looking for an opening away from the ambush. But when he ordered those beasts to take you away," and he swallowed, "to his harem, I could not stand it and reacted badly. It is a good thing that you and the others were able to rescue me, for I was not in a good position to rescue you." He gave a rueful smile. "At least all I have to show for it are some bad memories and a ruined shirt." She couldn't help noticing that the shirt did hang in tattered strips, revealing a well-muscled chest and shoulders.
The movement of his hand reminded Madeline that, to check his wounds, she had once again lost her hold on the burka - abaaya, Diamond had called it. It was, according to the harem girl, much like a man's outer robe although women wore it draped from their crown and the harem women's were of the finest materials. She clutched it closed once again. But, somehow, the hand holding the robe closed found itself nestled up against her shoulder, a small unconscious reminder of the warmth of his hand. "You have given me a memory of Anglish gallantry that I will never forget," she said softly. "But, ah, your poor skin should have more protection than this." Her free hand gently set some of his shirt tatters in motion. "We were told that this robe," she lifted the clutching hand slightly to move the black drapery, "this - abaaya - is not so different in cut from a man's, uh, mishla. Would you wear it? It could keep the sand thrown up by the wind from cutting into the new-grown skin of your wounds." Madeline couldn't keep from blushing even though her words were serious; it took a great deal to make the offer given how she felt about the way she was dressed underneath. "I would not have my work undone and you scarred unnecessarily."
He blinked once and shook his head. "No, no, you need to wear that. The evening is not yet cold, ah, I will be fine. Your healing of my wounds seems to be perfect. I have not felt better." He struggled with himself for a moment. "And now I must apologize to you. When I first woke up, feeling at last that blessed surcease of the pain, I felt like I was floating, warm and rested. And, in these lands, the legends of heaven are that one wakes up to a beautiful woman, and so I, ah, was... I did not mean to address you as a houri rather than as Doctor Davis. Please accept my apologies for my weakness."
Madeline's eyes dropped. "I had not been told about houri. I thought that - given how I am dressed - you said the nicest thing possible to me. Please do not apologize for it, my lord." She smiled, "I should not mind being mistaken for an angel, rather than an agent of pain."
Qidan's business-like command broke over the impromptu confessions, "It's time to mount up. We must be further away from Sanaa before dawn." With a bow, Lord Ava saw the doctor to her horse.
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