The Sheik and the Slave

“Lady Katharine. Your thoughts on her.”

“I-I don’t know the lady well enough to speak.”

Mohammed smiled. He was the supreme politician-in-training.

“No, Daleel. You do not know her. But you know that she is a foreigner and that I wish to marry her. So what I ask is this: how do you think she will do in Arabia as my wife?”

Daleel cleared his throat.

“Will the Lady Katharine convert to Islam?” he asked.

“We have not discussed it.”

Daleel looked away and then spoke.

“The Qur’an allows a Muslim man to marry a Christian woman provided she believes,” Daleel said. Mohammed nodded and Daleel continued.

“The Qur’an states ‘Do not marry women who associate others with Allah until they believe. A slave woman who believes is better than one who associates others with Allah even though she allures you.’” But if she believes, then she will be accepted. And because you love her, the people will come to love her. But it will take time.”

Mohammed smiled.

“You give me hope,” he said to Daleel.

“There is always hope, Inshallah,” Daleel replied. He bowed slightly and then smiled back.

Mohammed laughed and it felt wonderful. He felt wonderful. Things were looking well.

He clasped Daleel on the back.

“Make the arrangements,” he said. Daleel bowed and turned to leave. “There is one thing more, Daleel.”

Daleel smiled and turned to his master.

“Under penalty of death, tell no one of my plans. And I mean not a single, living, soul.” His words rang out cold.

Daleel’s eyes widened.

“Yes my lord. It shall be as you say.”

Mohammed sighed. A weight had been lifted off him. There would be progress, finally.

***

Katharine lay in the small bed and studied her son. She never tired of looking at him and she always seemed to discover something new.

The sea blue of his eyes sometimes changed color, and his hair was brown, but sometimes lighter in the sunlight. His limbs were so chubby and healthy.

She delighted in him. She adored him and her heart swelled as she watched him squirm next to her.

She wanted very much to give Mohammed a daughter and her son a sister. Her heart tugged. She had already spoken to Abigail to make the arrangements to return to England. Now that she was recovering, she need not stay in Ireland any longer. She had spent too much time away from her home and family, who were probably frantic over her disappearance.

No one at home knew of her little son. She realized that everything had changed. Mohammed was a father, and her parents were now grandparents.

She kissed his chubby cheek and smiled down at him.

“You and I will go back to England and you will meet your grandparents,” she told him. He cooed and she smiled again.

“And you will meet your father,” she added.