The Sheik and the Slave

by Italia, Nicola

  He moved more cotton between Katharine’s legs to stem the flow of blood and moved her shift up over her abdomen. He moved his hands over the swollen belly and ascertained the baby’s body within her.

  He held the razor up for inspection; Mother Superior averted her eyes quickly and shuddered. He made an incision about the size of a hand width to the left side of Katharine’s abdomen to avoid the location of the heart.

  Father O’Day then oiled his hands, opened the abdomen to move back the intestines, and opened the uterus. He tilted her body back during the procedure, which allowed easier access to the uterus. He asked Abigail and Penelope to rotate her back to her side.

  Penelope vomited, but wiped the back of her mouth with her hand and continued. Abigail placed clean towels around Katharine for the blood loss. Father had the women rotate Katharine again to her side and removed the newborn. He placed the bloody baby in her arms as he quickly produced a needle and silk thread. He closed the wounds with four stitches, leaving sutures. He then covered her wound in a plaster made from eggs, fabric of hemp, and clay.

  Meanwhile, Abigail had used warm water to clean the tiny baby boy, and she wrapped him in a woolen blanket. He cooed softly.

  “He’s lovely,” whispered Penelope, but both women turned to look at Katharine, who was deathly pale.

  “Father O’Day?” Mother Superior asked.

  The man’s kind eyes met hers.

  “I don’t know how she will fare, Mother Superior. Time will tell. She will have to be very strong.”

  He collected his instruments that were now covered in blood. He noticed the bleeding had subsided, which was a good sign.

  Abigail snuggled the little boy and turned to him.

  “God bless you, Father.”

  “And you, Mother Superior,” he replied before he left the room.

  Abigail cuddled the little newborn as Katharine slept on. She prayed even in that moment that she would live to see her child.

  ***

  “Please, please. Where is my baby?” Katharine asked the young girl before she had scampered off.

  Katharine watched an older woman enter the room but when she repeated the question, the woman just shook her head. Abigail didn’t recognize the language at all and backed away. She knew what would placate the woman.

  Katharine sat back on the bed. The pain in her belly was intense and she fought hard to stem the tears. She covered her face and sobbed. Everything was gone. First Mohammed, and now their child.

  ***

  The Abbess entered the room and saw the Irish girl Oona feeding the baby. They had engaged her to breastfeed when Katharine had remained unconscious even after the Cesarean section. Her daughter had been born dead, but her breasts still had milk. Father O’Day had asked for her help. She was a simple, plain girl, and she loved the baby like it was her own. He gave her a reason to live.

  He’s beautiful, Abigail thought.

  She had never seen a baby like him. He had dark, sun-kissed skin with a small mop of brown hair, but his eyes were blue like the sea.

  “Hello, Oona,” Abigail said.

  “Hello, Mother Superior,” Oona replied.

  “When he’s done feeding, we must go see her. She needs him now,” Abigail told her.

  Oona smiled back.

  “Of course.”

  ***

  Mohammed awoke to a pounding in his head. He grimaced slightly and reached for her. He longed to hold her against him, to mold her slender shape into his. He wanted to press into her until he was falling into that deep abyss, with her blonde skeins of hair falling all around them as he made love to her. He wanted her sea blue eyes dark and dilated with love.

  But then it all came back to him. She was gone and he was here alone. Nothing had come of his exhaustive search and he was becoming more and more desperate. He imagined the worst things: her held captive, in the arms of another man, raped and beaten. It even drove him to drink.

  Why? he thought to himself. In the name of Allah, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful. Why?

  Enough! He slammed his fist into the closest thing to him, smashing the glass into his flesh. The pain and blood didn’t even stop him. Enough. He exploded with anger. Enough.

  “Abdullah!” he yelled. His voice echoed in the room.

  He was up and pacing the room, waiting for Abdullah’s response.

  “Sire?” Abdullah asked.

  Mohammed knew he had to return to England. He’d had enough of waiting and wondering. Either Jean Baptiste had lied to Abdullah, or perhaps his advisor had misunderstood, but Katharine was not in Arabia. Of that he was absolutely certain.

  “We have spent enough time here. It’s time to return to England. Katharine has not been seen or heard of, and I’m convinced she’s still in England.”

  “But my lord,” Abdullah said.

  “No,” Mohammed yelled. He raised a hand to stop him. “Whatever that criminal told you, it was obviously not the truth. We have heard nothing about her for weeks. She is not here. We must go back.”

  He gritted his teeth in anger. He had allowed himself to seep into a depression for weeks looking for her and drinking his pain away, while all that time he could have been journeying back to England.

  Abdullah bowed to Mohammed, but inwardly he fumed. Safiya had not done her job. He had planned so well, but had gambled too much on one young girl’s charms. She had failed.

  “Good. Make the arrangements,” Mohammed said.

  “But my lord,” Abdullah said.

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “The girl, Safiya,” he reminded Mohammed.

  “Who?” Mohammed barely remembered the girl he had seen weeks ago.

  “Safiya. The sheik’s daughter?”

  “Oh, yes? What about her?”

  “She begs an audience with you,” Abdullah said.

  “I see. For what purpose?” Mohammed was irritated. He needed to be on his way

  “I do not know,” Abdullah said as he shrugged.

  “Fine,” Mohammed said, nodding.

  Mohammed paced the floor, irritated and angry at himself. He hoped to be on his way before the next week’s end. Mohammed remembered little of the night weeks before when the young girl had supped and danced for him. He recalled vaguely that they had been invited to the palace by Abdullah.

  The young girl was breathless as she entered the room.

  “My lord,” she said. She trembled like a frightened doe and he smiled to put her at ease.

  “How can I help you?” he asked.

  Safiya looked around the room at the Persian rugs and the pillows strewn about in haphazard fashion. Her uncle and father had threatened her with bodily harm if she did not make the sheik believe that she might be pregnant with his child. It was a necessity. She was worried about where she would live if she did not do as they told.

  “I am frightened, my lord,” she said. She lowered her eyes demurely.

  “What is the matter, child?” he asked her.

  “I am a virgin no longer,” she said, as she blushed and took a step toward him.

  Mohammed looked over at her and frowned. Suddenly, he recalled that night when she and her father and uncle had supped with him. He saw her dancing provocatively and then her naked body underneath him. He swallowed and felt sick to his stomach.

  “I fear I may be pregnant, and we are not married,” she said quietly. “My father will kill me.”

  Her face was suddenly screwed up in fright and Mohammed felt chilled as she threw herself in his arms.

  Oh Allah! What had he done? What had he done?

  He carefully withdrew from her arms. He was a man who knew his duty, even if it was against everything he wanted.

  “I will care for you, Safiya,” he told her woodenly. “Do not worry.”

  But inside, he turned to stone. Katharine would never forgive him. She would never allow herself to love and be with a man who had impregnated this young girl. She was lost and frightened with his
child, and he had taken another woman. What had he done?

  Katharine was his whole life, and now this girl who stood before him was going to ruin everything. As a grown man who was a leader among men, he wanted nothing more than to throw his head back and howl in pain.

  He would do the right thing, of course, but he wanted nothing to do with her beyond that. He would provide for her and she would have a comfortable home, but he would not give up until he had found Katharine and then she would decide their fates.

  “I am yours to command,” she said, sobbing into him. “If our child is a son, it will be the next sheik?” she asked in a childish voice.

  Mohammed saw all his dreams and desires turn to ashes as Safiya spoke.

  “Yes, Safiya. He will be,” Mohammed answered. She stopped crying and she used her sleeve to dab at her tears.

  Safiya left his chambers and his vision clouded. He willed the tears not to fall. He would not cry like a child. But the thought of losing Katharine forever was a pain in his chest he couldn’t bear. He slammed his fists into the wall.

  He would need to wait before he could venture out to sea and England. He must wait to see if Safiya was indeed pregnant and make a decision about her. If she was indeed breeding, he would make the necessary arrangements. But after, he would return to England and track Katharine down. He was honor bound to tell her the truth. And though he might lose her forever, he would tell her and then she would hold their fates in her hands.

  ***

  As Safiya left the great Sheik’s room, she skipped down the hallways, threw herself on the pillows and giggled. Her uncle’s bastard would rule Arabia. What a good joke!

  Chapter 20

  Kat steadied herself as she sat up in bed. Her body felt pained and sore, especially around her midsection.

  Her head swam and she felt as if she was walking underwater. She remembered walking to the stables and seeing Ares. She could smell the grass underneath her feet as she walked along her father’s property.

  The walls of her room were rough and there were no adornments except for a simple wooden cross.

  She heard a baby’s cry and her head jerked up. A baby?

  She had so many questions and no answers. Where was Mohammed? Where was she? And where was her baby? She remembered the man with the scar and the cabin and the floor stained red. Stained red with her blood, she remembered. She closed her eyes.

  He had taken her from her home and then tried to attack her. She had fought back.

  Her breasts were tender and heavy, and her milk had dried since she had never suckled her baby. She wanted to feed her baby and hold the child in her arms. She felt empty without the babe.

  She moved her legs over the side of the bed took a breath to steady herself. She heard voices outside and a baby’s cry.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  The older woman came toward her, followed by a woman who was carrying a baby. Katharine didn’t see the baby at first. The Abbess’ face showed concern.

  “Dear, you shouldn’t be up,” the older woman said. “Let me help you back to your bed,” she said in a soothing voice.

  Katharine took a deep breath and steadied herself. Then, she uttered softly, “Where is my baby?”

  Oona held the child tight and was still behind the Mother Superior, whom she glanced at for guidance.

  Katharine took another breath and screamed suddenly.

  “WHERE IS MY BABY? WHERE IS HE?”

  Abigail tried to calm the woman, but she was almost hysterical. She shushed the woman softly and tried her best to reassure her.

  “Shh. Don’t upset yourself, my dear. You are here among friends. We mean you no harm,” Abigail said. She took the girl’s arm and helped her into bed as Katharine’s sobs overcame her.

  Everything had been taken from her and she was exhausted

  “Please,” Katharine asked the older woman.

  “Just give me a moment, my dear, please,” she replied. The older woman left Katharine for a moment and then returned with Oona and her bundle.

  Katharine sat on the bed, crying into her pillow, when the two women entered.

  “My dear, there is no need for tears. You are safe, and so is your son.”

  Katharine looked up and sobbed out loud.

  “My son? My son?” she cried. She licked her dry lips and held out her empty arms.

  Abigail placed the baby boy in her arms, filling them and her heart.

  “My son,” she said softly. She breathed in awe at the small body.

  “My son,” she repeated. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at him.

  “I thought he was dead. I thought I had lost him,” Katharine said. Her tears trickled down her cheeks, but they were tears of joy.

  “No, dear. The Father here performed a very difficult surgery for you to have your son. You lost a lot of blood, but you were both saved. Thanks be to God.”

  “Thank you,” Katharine said. She looked into the older woman’s eyes. “For all your kindness. Thank you.”

  Abigail smiled back.

  “I will leave you alone to acquaint yourself with your son,” she said.

  She and Oona left the young mother alone.

  Katharine sat on the bed and gazed down at her son with his sun-kissed skin and eyes like the sea. She kissed him on the forehead and then rained kisses all over his face.

  She placed him lovingly on the bed and undressed him. He was perfect, with two chubby legs, a little chest, two flailing arms and eyes that danced.

  “You are perfect,” she whispered.

  She dried her tears and wrapped him in his woolen blanket. She wanted to hold him forever. He was the embodiment of her love with Mohammed and she wanted to show him the world.

  He squirmed slightly on the bed as Katharine held him close to her, kissing his tiny ear.

  “Darling,” she cooed to him. “You are loved. You are loved.”

  An hour later, Abigail knocked quietly on the door.

  “My dear. I don’t mean to intrude upon this time with your son, but I need to speak with you,” she said. She closed the door and sat beside Katharine and her son on the bed.

  “Yes, of course,” Katharine said. She held her son tightly and gazed into his little face.

  “I don’t know anything about you. You were literally dumped at the Abbey gates. So I don’t even know your name.”

  “Lady Katharine Elizabeth Rosamunde Fairfax,” she answered. Kat’s lips twitched slightly. “A bit pretentious, no?” she added playfully.

  Abigail smiled. The woman had wit.

  “I’m the Mother Superior of the Abbey that you were originally brought to in England. You may call me Abigail.”

  “So we aren’t in England?” Kat asked.

  “No. We moved to Ireland to the monastery for your safety. I knew you were carrying the child when you first came to us, and we could tell that the birth would be soon. You had complications and bleeding, and I knew Father O’Day had medical knowledge. He was able to help with the birth.”

  “I owe you much, Abigail,” she replied. Katharine’s eyes glittered with tears.

  Abigail shook her head and touched the young woman’s hand.

  “No, my dear. You have reminded me that life exists outside the walls of the Abbey. You have touched my life and reminded me of humanity.”

  Katharine’s eyes teared up and she smiled.

  “You have given me my son and kept us both from harm. I can never repay you.”

  “Oh, my lady,” Abigail said as she turned pink with the compliment.

  “Call me Kat. Everyone I care about does,” she said. She gazed down again at her son.

  “We brought a young girl named Oona to help feed your son when you were unable. The young girl is very fond of your son, Kat.”

  Kat looked down sadly, as she had not been able to feed her firstborn son, but then she brightened.

  “Of course. You did it to help my son. She helped sustain his life.”


  “Yes. She had the milk and loved him as her own.”

  “Then she will continue to do so,” Katharine said. “My breasts ache, but there does not seem to be milk.”

  “Oh, my dear,” Abigail sighed and touched Katharine’s cheek lovingly. “You have suffered so much.”

  Katharine bit her lip.

  “There is more,” she confessed.

  “Yes?” Mother Superior asked.

  “A man.”

  “Yes?” she encouraged.

  “A beautiful man. My son’s father.”

  “And?”

  “We fell in love.”

  “Of course,” Abigail said.

  “But I was taken from him. I miss him so. I miss everything about him.”

  “Is he dead?” Abigail asked softly.

  “No. No. But it’s very difficult. He’s not from here and I don’t fit in his world.”

  “My dear. It doesn’t matter now. You have your child, his son.”

  “Yes,” she said. Katharine gazed down at the sun-kissed son as he lay sleeping.

  “Does this man love you?” Abigail asked.

  Katharine smiled and nodded.

  “Yes. He does.”

  “Then my dear, nothing more must be said. I will write to this man and he will come for you.”

  “I’m frightened,” Katharine spoke suddenly.

  “Of?”

  “I don’t know. What if he doesn’t want me anymore? What if he only wants his son?”

  “Nonsense, my child. I will write him and he will come,” said Abigail. She patted Katharine’s hand. “You will see.”

  ***

  Katharine lathered the soap into her hands and moved along her shoulders, arms and torso. She lingered over her breasts and one hand delved between her legs as her fingers found the small tight passage. The birth had been long over, and she carried the scars from the surgery that had been performed. She had settled back to her original weight and was once again a woman of beauty.

  She often went with the novices to town for fresh vegetables and fruits, and she attracted many glances from men.

  Abigail had written to Mohammed, as promised, but had not known where to send the letter at first. A hotel in Paris, lodgings in London, and finally an address had been tracked down in Arabia. It would be months before they might hear news of him, and Abigail knew the time was hard on Katharine.