The Sheik and the Slave
Page 18
Edward looked startled as the man spoke and settled himself onto a small chair.
"I have wondered,” Edward mused. “She has been so distant of late, and I suspected the marriage between her and Jamie was one of convenience.”
He sighed. He only wanted his spirited daughter’s happiness, and knew this strong man would be a good match, despite their different backgrounds.
“But now that James is dead and she is…“
"She is what?" Mohammed asked, standing before the older man.
Edward shook his head.
"Well that's just it, dear boy. She…she has disappeared. My darling girl has vanished.”
"Vanished? Tell me. What has happened?" Mohammed asked. He was visibly shaken.
"I know very little. She was last seen walking the grounds. 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. Why would someone want to harm her?" he asked Mohammed, his eyes filling with tears. "She has no enemies."
No, Mohammed thought. There he is wrong. Katharine made quite a few enemies in Arabia. And they must have followed her here to finish what Yasmeen started.
***
Mohammed and Edward remained on their horses as they examined the young stable boy named Jeremy who stood below them. He was 16 years old, with a mop of red hair and blue eyes. The young boy swallowed nervously as he stared at the Arab and Lord Edward.
"I seen 'im comin' down the path 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."
"Excellent. And can you describe the man?" Mohammed asked.
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.
Mohammed gave the boy one gold coin.
"Thank you, Jeremy. Well done," he said.
It was not the boy's fault that all of his information was useless. Mohammed turned to Edward, who seemed shrunken and pale.
This was the second time he had lost his precious jewel. If their roles were reversed, Mohammed knew he would probably feel the same way.
"Lord Fairfax. We will find her, rest assured. I will not stop until Katharine has been returned to us," Mohammed said.
Both turned their mounts around and set back to the great house. Halfway there, they heard a yell that prompted them to rein in the horses.
"Me lords, wait!" yelled Jeremy, as he 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 an ugly lookin' scar on his right cheek," Jeremy smiled. "Does that 'elp?"
Mohammed stopped suddenly. He felt a shudder in his body.
"Are you sure, Jeremy? Absolutely sure? Think hard. It's very important," Mohammed asked.
"Oh aye sir. I 'member wonderin' 'ow 'e got it. Yes, twas the right cheek."
Mohammed swallowed once.
"Thank you, son," he said.
Jeremy turned, happy to have obliged his lord and the foreign gentlemen, his gold coin warm in his hand.
As Mohammed followed Lord Fairfax back to the great house, his blood ran cold. The demons had followed them from Arabia to England.
***
"Please, dearie. Drink the water," Abigail cooed to the young woman. Sadly, her attentions were useless. The young woman hadn't awakened since she was dumped on their steps.
She knew the stranger was a gentlewoman with her high cheekbones, golden hair, and soft white hands. The novices had cleaned the young lady and found the blood stemmed from between her legs. They had dressed her in a long, white, cotton gown, but still she had 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 Holy Bible, which she had been reading the night before.
She would read aloud to the young blonde woman and hoped the words would stir her. 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 letters to the bishop. 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, at first, to persuade Mohammed to bring him from Arabia. However, Mohammed had been set upon the disastrous idea of marriage to the Infidel and he had wanted Abdullah's guidance and support regarding the marriage.
Daleel, the younger advisor, had made the journey to England also, but had quickly returned home. He had never been outside of Arabia, so the foreign food had turned his stomach and the cold had chilled him to the bone. He had not been well and had to be sent back to the palace. He had begged Mohammed's pardon for his weakness. Abdullah had always known him to be a weak and foolish boy.
Abdullah had asked to stay on in England to be of service, and Mohammed had agreed. Unknown to anyone else, Abdullah had been in communication with Jean Baptiste in Arabia and had paid the man in gold to take care of the problem. Though Katharine had disappeared that night with Yasmeen, Abdullah was under no illusions that she would be gone forever. The sheik was bewitched and he would find her; of this, Abdullah had no doubt.
Abdullah knew that he must make certain she disappeared for good this time.
Jean Baptiste was a Frenchman through his mother's side, but his father had been an Arab slave trader. Jean Baptiste was infamous in Arabia and had been imprisoned several times, but he always managed to escape severe punishment. After he committed a brutal assassination, he became a wanted man, although certain people began hiring him for unspeakable acts.
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 undertaken 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 Qur’an intensely. The book of Surah in the Qur’an had been quite an eyeful.
It had read: "And do not marry idolatress until they believe and worship Allah alone. And indeed a slave woman is better than a free idolatress even though she pleases you."
The Qur’an stated it quite clearly. Mohammed must take a woman of the Islamic faith rather than woman who does not believe in Allah.
The holy book continued: "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. His large hands were clasped together as he pondered it.
How would the people of Arabia accept him as their leader and guide of the Islamic faith when he aligned himself with the Infidel? It was unthinkable. Even if they did accept her in the beginning, eventually she would bear fruit of their relationship and surely the woman would raise a child outside the Islamic faith, thus severing the child's ties to Allah. Unthinkable!
He had to save Mohammed from himself, so he put together a
plan. He would pay Jean Baptiste's passage to England and lay the trap. He had watched her on the large property at home, and in her world. It was easy to see why Mohammed was enchanted by her.
He had seen her billowing skirts seductively wrapping around her legs as she moved, and knew she was a woman in her prime. He thought of his beloved wife, Safa, who was older now and had born him several sons, but who was not beautiful. However, Safa had been an obedient wife and raised their sons as servants of Allah.
He had been like a hawk watching the little grey mouse. It had unsettled him at first. She didn't stand a chance. But if the plan went well, she would be gone before Mohammed knew anything at all. She would be sold into the white slave trade and never been seen again. Inshallah.
However, it seemed that his plan to have her kidnapped had gone awry. Almost a week had gone by, and he had not heard from Jean Baptiste. When he and the girl boarded the ship bound for Arabia, he was to have sent a gold coin to Abdullah as confirmation that they were gone. Abdullah had received nothing.
He seethed inside. The girl is like pollen, and men swarm like bees in the warm sun to smell and taste her. The barbarian probably took the woman to sample her for himself. Fool! he thought.
The longer they were in England, the more likely it was that Abdullah’s plan would be discovered. Damn him! Abdullah thought.
***
The words trickled over her tongue lovingly. She had always loved the French language, even though it wasn't her native tongue. The French Bible had been a gift to her from the bishop, and she used it to keep herself well-versed in the foreign language as well as God’s word.
Bessie, the young red-headed novice, was attentively doing her needlepoint while Penelope was listening to the Abbess read. The three women were seated around the bed of the unknown woman as Abigail continued to read. She glanced quietly at the woman.
"Isn't it sad?" Penelope asked the Abbess. "She's ever so lovely. Where are her people?"
Before Abigail could speak, Bessie answered her friend.
"Maybe she was kicked out of her home…because of the baby.” She whispered the last words.
"Bessie, what did I tell you about that?" Abigail sternly reprimanded the girl.
"I'm sorry," Bessie said.
Abigail shook her head at the two young girls. Novices were always trying until their period of training ended after one year.
"Off to bed, both of you. I'll stay a while longer and read," Abigail said, dismissing the two novices.
***
Bessie and Penelope roomed together inside the small cell. As soon as they entered the room, Bessie changed out of her plain novice garb and into a cotton dress.
"Be a love and don’t tell on me," Bessie whispered.
Penelope rolled her eyes. Bessie had taken to disappearing at night. She didn’t know where she went and didn’t want to know.
"You're a disgrace. We are novices, here to serve the Lord."
Bessie snorted.
"You may be, not me. I'm here because my father is trying to get rid of me. I've other ideas of serving and they have nothing whatsoever to do with the Lord."
Penelope changed into her small nightgown and felt her nipples pucker in the cold air.
"Go on then. I won’t tell," she said.
Bessie smiled and raced across the stones, leaving the convent by a kitchen door.
***
Bessie had been bored the entire day. The day had been filled with prayer, more prayer, and work. She had been on her knees half the day on the cold stone floor and it irritated her. She knew of much more exciting things to do on her knees that had little to do with prayer.
She took the large brush in one hand and combed the girl's long tresses. Across the bed from Bessie was the Abbess, reading the French Bible.
Bessie remembered the time she and the local milkman's son had been alone in her father's church one Sunday morning. It had been a cold morning and her nipples had hardened underneath the worn cloth of her dress. Ben had seen her nipples harden and had begun to rub his leg against hers. She told him playfully to stop, as the church services were to start soon, but he had continued his attentions.
Eventually, she had ended up against her father's pulpit with Ben's cock buried deep inside her pussy. She had milked him dry and smiled at the thought. She had sat through her father's service on chastity and virginity with Ben's cum dripping down the inside of her leg.
***
Bessie sighed. She drew the brush through the girl's golden hair as the Abbess continued reading.
She looked at the girl longingly and her heart felt heavy. She must have been a woman of a great house and then cast down because of the baby. Or maybe she was married and the man had died? Bessie's mind whirled and wondered. She saw that the woman wore no ring. The poor baby, she thought.
Just as the Abbess turned a page of the book, the woman began to moan in her sleep. It startled both woman, and the Abbess dropped her book in her haste to get to the girl.
"Did you hear that, my dear?" Abigail asked Bessie.
"Yes, Abbess. It sounded like gobbledygook," Bessie confirmed.
"No, no. It sounded like something else," Abigail said as she looked down at the girl sleeping.
She touched the girl’s forehead lovingly and found it burning with fever.
"I'll return shortly. Watch over her," she told Bessie.
***
Abigail settled herself behind the large walnut desk, pulled out a sheet of parchment from the drawer, and dipped her quill pen into the ink.
The letter was dated accordingly and began: To Father O’Day of Kilkenny Grey Friary.
Abigail finished the lengthy letter and would await a response. If the girl was as ill as she suspected, she must risk the journey to Ireland to have the Father in Kilkenny look after her. He was renowned throughout the land for his knowledge of medicine, and he could look after the young woman through this difficult time. Abigail breathed a sigh of relief when the letter was sent. If anyone could help her, it was Father O’Day.
***
Abigail quickly scanned the letter she received from Kilkenny and then closed her eyes in relief.
“Praise be to God,” she murmured silently.
Father O'Day would accept the girl in Kilkenny and take care of her during this time. She must make immediate arrangements to take her to Ireland.
Chapter 17
Mohammed cradled the glass of brandy in his large hand. Alcohol was forbidden in Islam, but he knew why people succumbed to its lure. He was desperate for news of Katharine, and so far the trail was cold. Lord Fairfax had tried to find out what had happened to her, but had been equally unsuccessful.
When the boy mentioned the man with the scar, Mohammed felt his blood run cold. He knew of a man from Arabia who was a well-known mercenary. He had committed crimes for which he was never held accountable, and he had eventually fled Arabia.
Jean Baptiste was a mercenary whose barbarity and cruelty was for sale to the highest bidder. Mohammed knew of the man by face and reputation, and was chilled to the core to think of Katharine in Jean Baptiste’s clutches. What was even worse was that someone had hired Jean Baptiste to make Katharine to disappear, and Mohammed wondered who that might be.
That Katharine was in his hands, pregnant with their child, caused him to shudder. He cursed Allah silently and then hung his head in his hands. Where was she? How was he to find her?
Mohammed turned to his greatest advisor and friend, Abdullah, sure in the knowledge that he would help him. Together with Lord Fairfax, they would find Katharine.
***
Katharine’s vision swam but finally focused. A kindly older woman sat beside her, sleeping. The room was bare except for the bed, a single chest of drawers, a small table, and a chair. It was sparse in decoration, except for a single cross nailed to the wall.
She couldn’t remember how she had come to be there, but she did remember the vile man and his abduction of her.
Her head ached and she settled into a disturbed sleep.
***
Jean Baptiste nursed his beer, slowly sipping the drink.
His plan had to abduct the woman and make a purse of gold in Arabia was gone. Everything had been perfectly planned until he had had that bitch alone. He was irritated and, as an old habit, he fingered the deep scar on his face.
He had only wanted a brief taste of the woman, and nothing more. He had been without a woman for a while and had been beckoned by her soft curves, sea-colored eyes, and lush lips. Her curves were made for sex; that much was clear.
Abdullah had wanted her on the ship to Arabia, but he never said anything about Jean Baptiste sampling the goods for himself. He had only wanted a quick taste, for his cock to be milked, and then to take her to the destination. But, the trollop had turned on him like a wild banshee.
He downed the beer and asked the barmaid for another. He watched the barmaid’s bottom twitch as she walked away and he stroked his cock.
With bright red hair and a plump figure, Jean Baptiste thought she would do just as well.
He went outside the tavern and relieved himself. When the barmaid came outside for a bit of air, he grabbed her arm.
“No, don’t,” she gasped, but he was too strong for her.
“Quiet,” he told her.
His cock was already straining his breeches as he thought of the young blonde’s face. He pressed the barmaid into the back wall of the tavern.
Someone had begun singing a bawdy song inside and a fiddler joined in. Soon the whole place was alive with music and glasses clinking. No one would be able to hear the red-haired girl cry as her skirts came up against her wishes.
“It will be over soon,” he told her roughly.
His body anchored her to the wall as he pushed her legs to wrap around his waist.