To the fans of the Sheik and the Slave
You are incredibly patient --and you rock!
Thank you for all your support
Nic
*
"I would see your daughter, Lord Fairfax." Mohammed handed his walking stick and hat to the butler as he followed Edward into the sitting room.
The sitting room was decorated in pastel blue and silver and showed a woman's hand but still elegant.
"I'm sorry, sir. It is an impossibility." Edward seemed pale and shaken.
But Mohammed would have none of this. He knew this was going to be an uphill battle but he was prepared for it. He would have no other woman. Kat would be his bride.
"Lord Fairfax. It is I who should beg your forgiveness. I should have approached you man to man and asked for Kat's hand in marriage long ago. I have loved her for to long and had I done so -- it would have saved us all some heartache."
Edward settled himself onto a small chair. "I expected this. She has been so distant of late, and I suspected the marriage between her and Jamie was not right."
Mohammed stood before the older man. "I want to seek her hand in marriage. Do I have your permission?"
Edward shook his head. "Well that's it, dear boy. She-she's disappeared."
"What do you mean disappeared?"
"I had business in London. I have been gone. When I returned, the house was in an uproar."
Mohammed kneeled before Edward and grabbed his shoulders. "Tell me. What has happened?"
"I know very little. She was last seen walking along the grounds. She has taken to doing that. One stable boy swears he saw a man with a horse and cart leaving the grounds. We had no goods dropped off that day so he must have taken her off the grounds in the cart. Why would someone want to harm her?" He asked Mohammed, his eyes filling with tears. "Why? She has no enemies."
No, Mohammed thought. There he was wrong. Kat had made quite a few enemies in Arabia. And they must have followed her here to finish what Yasmeen started.
***********************
Mohammed and Edward stood amid the horses as they examined the young stable boy Jeremy. He was about 16 years old with a mop of blonde hair and brown eyes.
The young boy swallowed nervously as he stared at Mohammed and Edward.
"I seen 'im comin' down the drive late," the young stable boy claimed.
"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."
Mohammed nodded. "Excellent. And can you describe the man?"
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.
He gave the boy two gold coins. "Thank you Jeremy. Well done."
It was not the boy's fault that all of his information was useless.
Mohammed turned to Edward. Edward seemed shrunken and pale.
This was the second time he had lost his precious jewel. If their roles were reversed, Mohammed would probably feel the same way.
"Lord Fairfax. We will find her. Rest assured. I will not stop until I have discovered what mischief goes on here."
He turned and followed Edward back to the great house. Halfway back to the house they heard a yell.
"Me lords, wait!" Yelled Jeremy who 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 a ugly lookin' scar on his right cheek," Jeremy smiled. "Does that 'elp?"
Mohammed stopped suddenly. He felt a shudder in his body. He grabbed the boy's shoulder. "Are you sure, Jeremy? Absolutely sure? Think hard. It's very important."
"Oh aye sir. I 'member wonderin' 'ow 'e got it. Yes, twas the right cheek."
Mohammed swallowed once. "Thank you, son."
Jeremy turned happy to have obliged his lord and the foreign gentlemen his gold coins gleaming in his hand.
As Mohammed followed Lord Fairfax he prayed his knees didn't buckle under him. The demons had followed them from Arabia to England.
*******************
"Please dearie. Drink the water." Abigail cooed to the young woman. But her attentions were useless. The young woman hadn't woken up since she had been dumped on their steps.
It didn't take an intellectual to know that the stranger was a gentlewoman. It was obvious. She was a slender woman with high cheekbones, lush lips and golden hair.
The novices had cleaned the young lady up and the blood had been much.
They had dressed her in a long white cotton night gown but she had still 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 book by the French philosopher Voltaire "Histoire De Charles XII" which she had been reading the night before.
She would read aloud to the young woman. Even if she didn't understand French, perhaps the language would stir the young woman into waking.
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 to her sister.
She brought the candle closer and began to read quietly in the room.
*****************
Abdullah was still waiting for his token of agreement to come to him to know that the plan with Jean Baptiste had worked.
It had been difficult to persuade Mohammed to bring him along with him from Arabia. But Mohammed had been set upon the disastrous idea of marriage and he had wanted Abdullah's guidance regarding the marriage certificate. Eventually Abdullah had translated the document into Arabic for Mohammed. Mohammed could have easily done so himself but he was too preoccupied with the white witch.
Daleel the younger advisor had made the journey to England also but had quickly returned home. He had never been outside of Arabia and the food had turned his stomach and the cold had chilled him to the bone.
He had begged Mohammed's pardon and returned home.
But not Abdullah. Abdullah had asked for his Lord's permission to stay on in England for his service and need and Mohammed had agreed.
But unknown to anyone else, Abdullah had been in dealings with Jean Baptiste in Arabia and had paid the man in gold.
It had all been planned so well. Jean Baptiste was a Frenchman through his mother's side but his father had been a slave trader in Arabia and was in fact an Arab.
Jean Baptiste was well known in Arabia and had been imprisoned several times but his mother had become a concubine to Mohammed's father.
She was able to intervene on behalf of Jean Baptiste and reduce his sentence. When she had died he had committed several crimes and had become a wanted man.
Abdullah knew that when his plan began to formulate in his brain, Jean Baptiste would take care of the problem -- for a fee of course.
He clasped his hands lightly together and pondered the situation.
He had not under taken the kidnapping and dismissal of the white woman lightly.
He had thought long and hard about her presence at Mohammed's side and had studied the Quran intensely.
The book of Surah in the Quran had been quite an eyeful.
It had read: "And do not marry Al-Mushrikats (idolatress, etc.) until they believe (worship Allah alone). And indeed a slave woman is better than a (free) Mushrikah (idolatress, etc.), even though she pleases you."
The Quran stated it quite clearly. It would rather have Mohammed have a slave woman who believes -- then a free woman who does not believe.
The book also continued to say: "Lawful unto you in marriage not only chaste women who are believers, but chaste women among the People of the Book...if anyone rejects faith, fruitless is his work, and in the Hereafter he will be in the ranks of those who have lost all the spiritual good."
He had hung his head in silence after reading the line. Mohammed would be lost to the ranks of the spiritual good if he took up with the woman.
How would the people of Arabia accept him as their leader and guide of the Islamic faith when he aligned himself with the ajamiyah (foreigner)? It was unthinkable.
And even if they did accept her in the beginning, eventually she would bear fruit of their relationship and would surely want to raise the child as a Christian thus severing the child's ties to Allah. Unthinkable!
He had to save Mohammed from himself. It was obvious. And then it came to him. The plan.
He would pay Jean Baptiste's passage to England and lay the trap.
He had watched her on the large property. She was a beauty and it was easy to see why Mohammed was enchanted by her.
With her billowing skirts seductively wrapping around her legs she was a woman in her prime.
He thought of his beloved wife Safa. She was older now and had born him several sons, but she did not have the beauty of this one.
He had been like a large hawk watching the little grey mouse. It had unsettled him at first. She didn't stand a chance. If the plan went down properly -- she would be taken back to Arabia before Mohammed knew anything at all.
She would be sold into the white slave trade that was an underground business in much of the Arab world.
She would end up as some man's chimney sweep, a charwoman or a maid. But all of that was ridiculous to suppose.
Once money changed hands, the blonde vixen would end up on her back taking anything and everything inside her tight body. He was sure of it.
But it was of no concern to him. She was standing in the way and had been for a long time. He had hoped that Yasmeen's scheming would get rid of the girl -- but it had not.
Abdullah knew he had to step in and do what was right for Mohammed and for Arabia.
It was all up to him. He would make certain the little chit was gone. And now she was.
But almost a week had gone by and no sight or sound from Jean Baptiste. When he and the girl boarded the ship bound for Arabia- he was to have sent a token back to Abdullah as confirmation that they were gone.
He had received nothing.
