The Sheik and the Slave

“A beautiful man. My son’s father.”

“And?”

“We fell in love.”

“Of course,” Abigail said.

“But I was taken from him. I miss him so. I miss everything about him.”

“Is he dead?” Abigail asked softly.

“No. No. But it’s very difficult. He’s not from here and I don’t fit in his world.”

“My dear. It doesn’t matter now. You have your child, his son.”

“Yes,” she said. Katharine gazed down at the sun-kissed son as he lay sleeping.

“Does this man love you?” Abigail asked.

Katharine smiled and nodded.

“Yes. He does.”

“Then my dear, nothing more must be said. I will write to this man and he will come for you.”

“I’m frightened,” Katharine spoke suddenly.

“Of?”

“I don’t know. What if he doesn’t want me anymore? What if he only wants his son?”

“Nonsense, my child. I will write him and he will come,” said Abigail. She patted Katharine’s hand. “You will see.”

***

Katharine lathered the soap into her hands and moved along her shoulders, arms and torso. She lingered over her breasts and one hand delved between her legs as her fingers found the small tight passage. The birth had been long over, and she carried the scars from the surgery that had been performed. She had settled back to her original weight and was once again a woman of beauty.

She often went with the novices to town for fresh vegetables and fruits, and she attracted many glances from men.

Abigail had written to Mohammed, as promised, but had not known where to send the letter at first. A hotel in Paris, lodgings in London, and finally an address had been tracked down in Arabia. It would be months before they might hear news of him, and Abigail knew the time was hard on Katharine.

Indeed, Katharine was as beautiful after the birth of her son as she had been before. Her curves were lush and full, and her breasts more so after the birth. Abigail had watched several of the novices eye Katharine’s beauty with envy and awe, but she was a lovely woman, and her manners were impeccable. She was also a loving mother to her small son.

Katharine was lonely and missed the time she’d spent with Mohammed. She missed his attentions to her and knew it was only a matter of time before they were reunited.

At night, when she lay alone in her bed, she caressed her body and thought of him. Her hands became his dark ones moving over her light skin. His fingers were inside of her, and his body filling hers and spilling his seed inside her with another son.

She watched her son closely and knew he resembled Mohammed very much. There would never be any doubt that he was the father and she the mother. Though he was dark haired, his eyes were the color of the sea. Her heart swelled at the sight of him.

She ached that she had not been able to feed him from her own breasts, but she knew that their next child would have that benefit. She knew with certainty that she and Mohammed would be together again, and that many children would be the result of their union. She clung to that hope. Indeed, it was the only thing that made all the hell she had been through bearable. She would be with him soon.

***

Safiya smiled into the looking glass. She was all but queen in the palace. All had fallen into place. Mohammed had been true to his word and looked after her, but he barely acknowledged her.

He gave her a large suite of rooms in the palace, but kept his distance from her. Safiya was treated like a true lady, and after being the daughter of a poor sheik, she was glad to have the choicest meats and sweets, and musicians to play at her command.

She combed her hair and pinned it up, and watched as her father pranced around the garden. He was so pleased with the turn of events, and he counted the money that would soon be in his hands. He would build his own small palace and have his own harem. He would own camels and other livestock and be a wealthy man.