"Princess. Why do you always run?" he murmured in her ear and she shivered.
Oh God. She would never be free of him. He nuzzled her neck once, biting it lightly.
"Give in, princess, give in," he said.
He lifted her slightly before him and before she could cry out, he impaled her upon his thick cock. The thrust filled her completely and she cried out once.
Oh God. Katharine closed her eyes tightly. It felt like heaven. She was so stuffed.
Mohammed grunted. He filled his hands with her breasts as he pumped into her body, echoing the rhythm of the horses' hooves into the ground.
"You will always be mine," he whispered to her.
"No," she whimpered.
“Yes. You will always be mine.”
***
Katharine jerked awake in the stagecoach. The older couple and woman stared at her as she blotted her forehead with a handkerchief. The stagecoach jolted with the steps of the horses and she could feel her stomach roll. She wanted to vomit.
"My dear. Are you all right? You look feverish," asked the older woman.
"Thank you, I'm fine. I don't feel well. It must have been something I ate," Katharine told her as she settled back into the cushions.
It was only as she was falling asleep that she remembered she hadn't had anything at all to eat.
Quickly, Katharine began to dream again.
The pain ripped through her and she screamed into the room.
"That's it, little one, don't fight it," Bashasha cooed to Katharine as the spasms racked her body.
"It hurts so much," Katharine screamed as the pain tore through her body again.
Bashasha dabbed her forehead with a cool wet cloth, which helped soothe her.
"It's almost over, little one," she said.
Katharine could feel the spasm leave and she panted like a dog.
"Please, it hurts too much," she cried in exhaustion. "I can't take it."
"Of course you can, little one, it's almost over," Bashasha told her. "This is what women must do."
Kat could hear people around here scurrying to do Bashasha's bidding as she asked for more clean linen and water.
"And tell my lord Mohammed that it is almost over," Bashasha murmured to one girl.
Katharine felt another spasm of pain ripple through her body and cried out, even as Bashasha yelped in delight.
"I see the head!" she exclaimed.
Bashasha knelt between Katharine's cream-colored legs to inspect the new babe entering the world.
"I see the head, I see the head," she cried. "Push, little one. Push hard."
Katharine gritted her teeth and pushed her firstborn child out into the world. The small baby slipped out of her womb, followed by another push in which the afterbirth fell out. The cord was cut and the baby was cleaned off.
"Oh little one," Bashasha cried with happiness. "A son."
Katharine rested upon the cushions as Mohammed came inside the room.
"A son, my lord," Bashasha told him, smiling. "A son."
People were crowding into the room to look at the next Sheik of Arabia. He was small, but had no marks on him whatsoever. He was the color of honey, with dark locks and startling blue eyes.
"Princess," he leaned forward to kiss Katharine on the forehead. "Thank you. He's perfect."
Katharine tried to respond to him but couldn't. The voices around her receded as she struggled to keep them coherent. She focused on Mohammed, but suddenly the room began to grow darker and darker. She could feel herself floating away and knew she was dying. She could feel the tears behind her eyes and she tried to speak.
Only two words escaped her lips before she died:
"My son."
***
When she awoke, she was alone in the stagecoach. She looked outside the window and saw that they were stopped outside an inn. The rest of the party was inside taking refreshments.
She started to leave the stagecoach, but her stomach swam again.
"Oh," she said as she settled back. This is not a good start to France, she thought.
The weather outside was typically grey and dreary, but suddenly she relished the chance of seeing her Aunt Louisa in Paris. Louisa was the beloved sister of Anne who had married a Frenchman who traveled widely throughout the continent and had recently returned back to his hometown of Paris. Jean-Pierre and Louisa had never been blessed with any children and doted upon Katharine.
Katharine knew her chaperone, the dour faced girl Moll, must be inside taking some bread and ale with the rest of the party and was resolved to join them.
She squirmed in her seat and gritted her teeth as the whalebone corset bit into her.
She knew the damp weather, the constricting corset, and her worry over Mohammed was making her ill. She left the stagecoach and watched as two children and a dog ran through the small muddy street.
A street vendor was selling trinkets and an older woman was selling violets outside the inn.
Katharine bought a posy of violets and looked to find her party inside the inn. Then, she joined the group and asked for some stew, bread and ale. Her appetite was returning.
She knew it was only a matter of time before she and Jamie were married. Once their marriage occurred, Mohammed would have no say and would no longer be a threat to her sanity.
Still, she knew she was a coward, running away so as not have to face Mohammed. But she knew there would be no happy ending with him. That she loved him only made everything more complicated.
"And you are traveling to Paris, Moll tells us?" the older woman asked Katharine as she joined the small group.
***
The three men sat in a corner of the London coffeehouse. Each man had purchased a cup of coffee for a penny.
Mohammed starred down at the marriage license on the table. Now all that was required was the marriage be celebrated in a parish by an Anglican clergyman where Katharine resided. He had traveled to England with his trusted advisor Abdullah as well as Daleel to witness the marriage and support it once he returned to Arabia with his bride.
"Everything seems to be in order," Mohammed said in satisfaction as he looked over the license.
"Yes, my lord. But I beg you to reconsider," Abdullah hesitated to speak but knew his conscience would prick him if he did not. He had never been a man given to trifles. He spoke his mind.
"You ask me to reconsider, on what grounds?" Mohammed's voice held a hint of irritation.
"Your people will never accept her. They honor and fear Allah, and she is an outsider," Abdullah said quickly. "It is even been said that she bewitched your brother Majeed and caused trouble between him and Rana."
"This is idle gossip. If she caused trouble for Majeed, it is because he was too weak. What of you, Daleel? What do you say?" Mohammed turned to the younger advisor.
Daleel looked into the hot black liquid and began to speak.
"It is true what Abdullah says. She is not Muslim. But she has winning ways about her. She is very beautiful and well educated. I think to give her the benefit of the doubt," Daleel said quietly.
Abdullah crushed the desire to speak out again, knowing that he was alienating the sheik. He did not see what was right before his eyes! And she had bewitched Daleel as well. Daleel was young and foolish and could be swayed with delicate feminine looks.
"Thank you both for your service to me," he told them. “I will think on this.”
***
Katharine yawned as she tried to concentrate on her embroidery. She seemed to be sleeping so much lately, and she could barely stay awake at times. It was frustrating, as she tried to keep up with all the amusements her aunt and uncle had planned for her.
She was excited to visit the theater in Paris that evening, and chose to wear a sky-blue satin dress that made her eyes sparkle. Her stomacher was decorated with pearls, and the ruffles at her neckline and elbows were white. She wore her ivory-colored heeled shoes and a delicate lapis lazuli necklace at her throat. Thoug
h English women left their hair unpowdered, French women powdered their hair and Katharine did as well.
They were going to see the opera buffa entitled “La Serva Padrona,” composed by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi. The comic opera had first been performed in Paris and had prompted an argument between those who enjoyed serious opera and those who liked the comic opera. The opera was lively and Katharine found herself entranced by the music.
Her Aunt Louisa wore a silver and black gown, and Katharine noticed that Jean-Pierre admired his wife as she moved through the theater. Her uncle had purchased a private box for them, and she was in awe of the theater and their accommodations.
"Oh Katharine, you look breathtaking," Louisa whispered as they settled into their private box.
"Merci, Aunt Louisa," Katharine replied as the performance began.
The box was immediately to the side of the stage and their view was excellent. The seats were the most prestigious of the house and Katharine felt privileged. She sat behind her aunt, uncle and another couple who were their friends.
As she sat there, though she became uncomfortable. She winced as her whalebone corset bit into her. They were becoming more and more unbearable to wear.
She murmured a soft excuse to her aunt and left the box. If she walked for a few minutes, then the pain would subside, and she could still hear the music away from her seat. She walked along the hallway lined with private boxes with one hand pressed to her stomacher. She breathed in and felt her breasts rise above the neckline.
Suddenly, the door to the last box in front of her opened. She was pulled inside suddenly and heard the click of a lock.
Unlike her uncle’s box, which looked onto the stage, this particular box had the curtain closed to ensure privacy for the inhabitants.
"Surprised to see me?" Mohammed asked her quietly as he stood before her.
"No. You seem to show up in the most unusual of places," she told him. Her eyes glittered like jewels against the blue satin.
"As do you, princess. London, Paris and, of course, let’s not forget Arabia," Mohammed said. “Of course, you were fortunate to escape Arabia, were you not?”
"To escape your insane wife, I did what I had to do," she retorted. The candle lights flickered against her face and the shadows moved across her cheekbones.
"Yes, well, I have already informed you. Yasmeen is gone. I have divorced her. Her daughters are being raised in the palace without her. Her meddling has cost her dearly," he informed her, his dark face so close to her own.
"This has nothing to do with me. Are you enjoying the concert, my lord?" she asked. She tried to establish a degree of separation between them, and he almost smiled. However, this was too serious for flippancy.
"I have heard none of it. I have been waiting to speak with you. Please, be seated," he said.
"I prefer to stand," she replied.
Mohammed shrugged his shoulders.
"As you wish,” he said. “You always do as you please."
Katharine raised her chin indignantly and replied, "And you. You love playing the master."
"Yes. I was born to rule over people and things. It is not an easy position. I must sometimes weigh life or death over someone's head," he spoke quietly. “You know this, lady.”
"Why have you come to Paris? I thought everything had been settled," she said. She moved away from him and listened as the performers received several laughs.
He looked at her proud back and powdered hair. She always grew more beautiful and seemed to have a glow about her. Was it her upcoming marriage? Was she in love? The thought clenched his insides. He would never allow this marriage to take place.
"I had to see you," he said, shocking himself and her with his honesty.
Katharine turned to face him. She tried not to stare at him or his masculine beauty. He had been attractive when she had first seen him in the audience chambers. She had felt an immediate attraction to him. Wearing his flowing white robes and goatee, and exercising his power and wisdom so expertly, he had exuded power. She stood in awe of him; she had never seen a man like him. He was such a beautiful man.
Yet here in this cold Paris world, he was even more dangerous. Dressed as a dandy with a frock coat in red and gold and breeches in the same colors, he was anything but. His silk stockings and shoes were of the highest quality and his hair was unpowdered yet clubbed. But all Katharine could see was his sensual mouth and all she could do was remember him touching her. She remembered the smell of oud in the air and spreading her legs as he took her the first time.
She swayed suddenly, and he caught her in his arms. He carried her to a small sofa inside the locked box. He settled her on the sofa, kneeling at her side. Her hands rested on his forearms.
"I'm sorry, I haven't been feeling well lately," she told him.
His warm hand touched her cheek but found it to be cool and smooth, not feverish. He looked into her eyes, but she lowered them suddenly. His arms still remained around her waist, and he used them to pull her into him.
"Katharine," he whispered.
Katharine could feel his warm body, and her heart raced as he pulled them together.
"Please don't," she said.
"Why not?" he murmured into her ear. Her skin prickled at the sensation. He bit her neck lightly as he remained kneeling next to her.
"Why not? Because you fiancé wouldn't like it?" he teased. His mouth caressed her neck and his hand came up to her face.
"Tell me why," he continued. He pulled her head down as his mouth devoured hers. His kiss wasn't sweet or kind but filled with bitterness and possession.
All of sudden Mohammed growled and asked her, "Why? Why do you smell of jasmine?"
Katharine shivered.
"I don't know. I want to have a part of you with me," she replied.
He cupped her face in his hands.
"Sweet heart, you have all of me," he said.
Mohammed pulled her from the couch and into his lap on the floor.
Outside the curtains the comic opera continue, but inside the locked box, Mohammed made love to Katharine.
Katharine's legs straddled Mohammed's waist as he moved her skirts up, admiring her silk encased legs. She was so lovely. His hands moved her closer to him as he unbuttoned his breeches.
"Mohammed," Katharine began to object.
"Katharine, this is natural. You need me and I need you."
He had taken her quickly in her bedroom because he’d wanted her so badly. This time he moved slowly and kissed her neck, threading his fingers into the white powered hair.
“Oh, Katharine,” he whispered. He knew it then, what he felt for her. He knew with absolute certainty.
Katharine moved her hands on his shoulders as he positioned her over his throbbing cock.
She used his shoulders to set the rhythm and he slid into her. They both sighed in relief; the pleasure was too intense.
Katharine cried out. He wrapped his arms tightly around her as she began to ride him.
"Katharine," he breathed her name into her mouth as he kissed her again. “Dearest,” he continued.
She began to shudder and then climaxed as Mohammed pushed into her tightness and released his seed into her. His arms remained wrapped around her, and her forehead rested against his.
Mohammed began to pull down her skirts, but suddenly stopped. His hands moved to her belly, which was slightly rounded, and then he cursed. Mohammed stood up, dragging Katharine with him.
“What are you doing?” She was insulted at his treatment of her.
"When were you going to tell me, Katharine?" he demanded. His voice and face were unflinching.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. He could see confusion in her eyes.
Mohammed waited a moment and then spoke.
"You're pregnant,” he told her.
Katharine stared at him, unable to realize the truth, and then it hit her. She’d had morning sickness, strange dreams, and was sleepy all the time. She was pregn
ant.
“Is it mine?” he asked.
Katharine looked shocked and then struck him. “You bastard!” she hissed. “You took my virginity, set out to make me your whore, and then you accuse me of infidelity? You, with a harem full of women!”
Mohammed knew she was telling the truth. The child was his. “Katharine,” he began.
“No! You take advantage of me, accuse me of deceiving you, and then regret it?" she continued, pulling away from him.
"If you think the next sheik of Arabia is going to be raised by some dandy Englishman, you are mad!" he said, willing himself not to drag her before a clergyman that very night.
"How can you stop me?" she flung back at him.
"I’ve obtained a special license to marry. I have it from England," he said. Mohammed buttoned himself up as he spoke to her.
Katharine was shocked. Marriage? To Mohammed?
"We can do this two ways. So you decide which one you want, princess. We marry and raise our child together, as it is supposed to be. And you come to me willingly," he said simply.
"Or?" she asked, and swallowed nervously.
"You defy me and try to marry your Englishman. And then I swear before Allah that I will kidnap you and this time – this time – there will be no escape for you. We will be man and wife and before Allah and Arabia. You will be mine, body and soul."
With that, Mohammed stalked to the door.
"So you decide, Katharine," he said, as he unlocked the door and walked away.
Chapter 13
Katharine trembled as she sank into a heap at the side of the small sofa. Her hand clutched at the embroidered stomacher and then flew to her mouth.
He would give her no quarter and would allow her little maneuvering. There would be no discussions or long talks of what was to come. She would marry the sheik and return to Arabia.
Katharine looked around the room in desperation. What would happen now? Suddenly her hands flew down to her stomach and she could feel the roundness of it. She had not realized it until he had accused her. She felt the roundness of her belly and sighed. She had conceived that night in her bedroom, after her betrothal to James had been announced.
She let her head fall back against the sofa as her hands remained clasped around her belly. She was pregnant with his child. A smile played upon her face as she took in the news. She knew she should be devastated; she should be ashamed and degraded. She had not waited for marriage but had given her body away to a man who was not her husband.
The Sheik and the Slave Page 15
