The Sheik and the Slave

"You are certain?" Mohammed asked.

"Yes, sir. I am that." Jeremy nodded.

"Please explain in detail what you saw," Mohammed asked.

"Not much to tell really. I was taking a walk and saw the man in the cart with one 'orse leavin' the grounds. 'e did seem to be carryin' a load but I didn' see it. I only say it now as 'e kept looking back at 'is load again and again."

"Excellent. And can you describe the man?" Mohammed asked.

Edward dabbed at his eyes as the boy continued,

"Yes sir. 'e were brown 'aired, with a scruffy beard and peasant's clothes. Looked rather dirty."

Mohammed swore to himself. Nothing distinguishable. The man, his horse and cart probably fit the description of half the men in England. For all the boy's remarkable memory, it helped them not at all.

Mohammed gave the boy one gold coin.

"Thank you, Jeremy. Well done," he said.

It was not the boy's fault that all of his information was useless. Mohammed turned to Edward, who seemed shrunken and pale.

This was the second time he had lost his precious jewel. If their roles were reversed, Mohammed knew he would probably feel the same way.

"Lord Fairfax. We will find her, rest assured. I will not stop until Katharine has been returned to us," Mohammed said.

Both turned their mounts around and set back to the great house. Halfway there, they heard a yell that prompted them to rein in the horses.

"Me lords, wait!" yelled Jeremy, as he came running up to the two men.

"I do 'member somethin' tho it's prob'ly nuthin'," he said.

"Out with it, son. Whatever it is," Edward said.

"The man. The one I saw. He had an ugly lookin' scar on his right cheek," Jeremy smiled. "Does that 'elp?"

Mohammed stopped suddenly. He felt a shudder in his body.

"Are you sure, Jeremy? Absolutely sure? Think hard. It's very important," Mohammed asked.

"Oh aye sir. I 'member wonderin' 'ow 'e got it. Yes, twas the right cheek."

Mohammed swallowed once.

"Thank you, son," he said.

Jeremy turned, happy to have obliged his lord and the foreign gentlemen, his gold coin warm in his hand.

As Mohammed followed Lord Fairfax back to the great house, his blood ran cold. The demons had followed them from Arabia to England.

***

"Please, dearie. Drink the water," Abigail cooed to the young woman. Sadly, her attentions were useless. The young woman hadn't awakened since she was dumped on their steps.

She knew the stranger was a gentlewoman with her high cheekbones, golden hair, and soft white hands. The novices had cleaned the young lady and found the blood stemmed from between her legs. They had dressed her in a long, white, cotton gown, but still she had not stirred.

Abigail tried again to get the woman to drink the water, but she would not wake. She ran her fingers along the spine and binding of the Holy Bible, which she had been reading the night before.

She would read aloud to the young blonde woman and hoped the words would stir her. The nights were always the longest inside the Abbey. It was a cold, dank place and she passed many a night reading to herself or writing letters to the bishop. She brought the candle closer and began to read quietly in the room.