The Sheik and the Slave
***
Safiya watched her uncle pull his robe down and leave her room. She felt more disgusted than ever at the acts they performed. He took her whenever he wanted and no one stopped him.
Mohammed had never glanced at her again after that first night, and she knew he was in love with the mysterious white woman that had been whispered about. She could not compete with her and the hold she had on his heart.
She was pregnant with her uncle’s child and the thought disgusted her. She moved to the wash bin and rinsed out her mouth. She could still taste the sticky sour bitterness of her uncle’s seed in her mouth. She hated him.
She sank to the floor, crying. What would happen to her now? What could she do?
She wanted to cut ties with her uncle but knew it was impossible. As she didn’t have Mohammed’s support, she knew no one would take her word over an older man that he was taking advantage of her sexually. She had run out of options.
She packed a small bag in the early morning. She took only a few clothes, some water and food to last for a few days.
She would join her mother’s people, who might be willing to help her. She knew that the life she had dreamed of was no longer possible. She would be willing to make this change knowing that her uncle would never touch her again. She set out into the desert by foot.
***
Abdullah had thought long and hard over the one-paged note that contained his ruin and surely Mohammed’s downfall from Islam as well.
It was clear he must never know about this bastard brat that the witch had birthed.
How were they even sure that the brat was Mohammed’s? Surely the witch had spread her legs many times, and this was just an attempt to get the riches of Arabia for herself and her little bastard.
He would have none of it.
He muttered a quiet prayer under his breath. He would save Mohammed from himself. He was bewitched, but Abdullah would do what must be done to save them all.
He set the sheet of paper aflame watched as it
caught fire. The words “My dear sir” curled and turned to ashes.
Abdullah sighed and settled into his chair. He knew he must think. The young girl was pregnant and, though Mohammed was not taken with her, it was beginning.
He would drive the witch from his master’s mind soon enough. Indeed, now that he had burned the letter and Mohammed was here and the witch was in Ireland, he would never know about his son.
He chuckled lightly. He would surely have the last laugh once Mohammed married Safiya and she gave birth to a Muslim son.
***
The air was cool and the wind hit Mohammed squarely in the face. While everyone else settled down below to avoid the winds whipping around the ship, he remained on the upper deck.
Daleel had kept his word and never told a soul. How he had managed, Mohammed never asked, but he had booked passage for him in record time.
After being stagnant for so long, he was finally moving. The winds picked up again and he looked across the vast ocean with a thrill in his heart. His robes fanned out behind him and he smiled.
He was returning once again to England, and this time it was to bring home his wife.
***
Abdullah had not survived this long as an accomplished courtier to both Mohammed and his esteemed father by relying on fate. No. He relied upon his wits, and fate usually followed. It would do so again.
The white witch seemed to have the very gods of hell on her side. She was a Shayatin in female form.
But nonetheless, he would make certain that her reunion, if it ever came about with Mohammed, was a very unhappy one.
Dear Madame -
He wrote to the Abbess in a letter that was wholly fiction and partly made-up lies that were all designed to rip the white witch and Mohammed apart forever.