The Sheikh and the Servant

by Sonja Spencer

  Karam’s smile faltered, and he lowered his head, concerned for the small kernel of light that had begun to grow in Noori’s heart. “That, I cannot predict,” he said sadly.

  “But he purchased me from the amir. If he did not desire me, would he still have done that?” Noori asked. Then he sighed slightly. “You are right, of course. A kind and just lord would not allow any to languish in misery if he had the means to make them a better life. I understand.”

  Karam shifted his feet. “It is much more complex than that, my new friend. Come, sit with me. I will tell you of our lord, though it makes my heart heavy to revisit such dark times.”

  Noori leaned against the stone wall as Karam began. “I have been part of our lord’s family since I was a child. An orphan of another tribe, I was taken in and cared for, and for that I shall always serve the sheikh’s family,” he started. “I am a few years the elder of our lord, and so was I chosen as his companion and servant growing up.”

  Karam chuckled. “You cannot tell now, of course, but our master is quite the trickster. We were always in trouble, because, of course, I could not let him run off on his adventures alone,” he sighed.

  “I remember the days of my youth as well, Karam. I remember finding my way into many troubles which my father had to help me out of. Go on; please tell me more.”

  Karam waved a hand. “Those tales are for another time. Just know that he lived life to its fullest, a smile always clear upon his face, his zeal to live infectious.”

  A small frown formed on Noori’s face. “Then why is he so serious now? I do not think I have witnessed hardly a smile upon his face since he purchased me.”

  “Ah, they are there. As I said, you must learn what to look for. Now his smiles are closely guarded and often reserved for his children,” Karam said. “But you can see them in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders. Responsibility will do that to a man. Crushing responsibility coupled with personal loss.”

  “I feel as if I have no right to ask this. But can you please tell me about his loss?” Noori leaned closer.

  Karam sighed. “Our lord has a spirit shot with iron, I know, to have survived such losses as his. First, his father was assassinated. In the coup that resulted, his mother was gravely wounded, and his wife was killed. It was only a heavenly blessing that hid sweet Sawsan that night. Still, I feared for our lord’s sanity.”

  Noori’s voice held a great sadness. “And Massarah? Where was he?”

  Karam’s face dropped, and he was silent for a long moment. When he raised his head, his eyes were watery. “Our master consolidated his hold on the region and life settled down. To his embarrassment, his mother arranged for him to meet the daughter of a minor sheikh. He still needed an heir, after all. I remember him then, incensed, three years having passed since his wife’s death. But still, he obeyed his mother’s wishes.”

  Noori reached out a hand, squeezing Karam’s shoulder in consolation. “There is no need to continue if you do not wish to,” he whispered.

  Karam patted Noori’s hand. “I believe he truly loved her. She was a simple village girl, loving and forgiving.” He shook his head. “But the heavens bless, and they take away. And so it was. Thaqib died giving birth to Massarah just three years ago.”

  Tears dotted Noori’s cheeks, and he wiped at them, offering a watery smile. “Our lord is indeed a strong man; it seems as if the heavens are preparing him for greatness.”

  Karam chuckled. “Our lord is the best man I know. I feared for him; he was silent for weeks, although he immediately acknowledged Massarah. But I should have known better than to fear his spirit broken.” Karam shrugged. “So you see, your question is indeed complicated. The sheikh is twice-widowed and a prince of his people, proven time and again in battle. I do not know if he will risk his scarred heart again, for either a wife or a consort.”

  “And to a match that not only his people, but the heavens themselves would despise.” Noori’s was rough, but accepting of his fate.

  “The sheikh broke with his uncle soon after Thaqib’s death. He said that no power worth his worship would punish one man so. But he encourages the people to worship as they will, and so avoids the censure of the religious sect,” Karam said slowly. “I would not be so quick to see your chances as nonexistent.”

  Noori shook his head sorrowfully. “I will not bait him to give his heart again. I would not be the cause of more heartache for such a noble man.”

  Karam patted his hand. “You can love him, as I do, as the people do. There is no wrongdoing there. Already your presence cheers him, and even if that is all there ever is, I am eternally grateful for you.”

  Chapter 6

  When Noori rushed into the large pavilion the sheikh used for hearings and official business, his lord was sitting silently, tapping one finger on the low table as he frowned at the papers, the visiting dignitary watching him hopefully. Noori bowed deeply before placing a slip of paper with the refigured food stores in front of the sheikh. “These are the latest numbers by my calculations and Karam’s observations, my lord.”

  With a raised eyebrow, the sheikh picked up the paper, nodding to Noori. He read through the numbers and then cast a level look through narrowed eyes at the visitor. After a long, nervous minute for the visitor, the sheikh took up his stylus and signed the paper, agreeing to the trade. The visitor sighed in relief and visibly relaxed, bowing.

  Noori dared send a small smile in the sheikh’s direction before moving to usher the dignitary from the tent. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

  The visitor glanced to the sheikh, who was already perusing more papers, then back to Noori. “What put him in such a good mood? Heavens be praised.” The dignitary rushed off, waving the paper at his waiting people, who cheered.

  Noori walked back into the dim and silent tent, contemplating the past six months of his new life. It was days like today that he really felt his worth. “’Twas a good thing you did this day, my lord.”

  “Hmm?” The sheikh made an inquisitive sound though he was already reading the next supplication, making little notes in the margin of the paper. His spectacles sat on the end of his nose, and his turban was slightly askew.

  “His tribe would likely not have made it through this arid spell if you had not bartered with him.” Noori spoke softly and reached to straighten the lopsided turban.

  The sheikh grunted in acknowledgment, stilling as Noori straightened his head scarves. Once Noori pulled away, the sheikh’s eyes sought out his face and paused for a moment. He looked back to the next paper with the slightest of smiles.

  “What smile crosses your face, my lord? The thought of the ladies the dignitary brought with him as bribes?” Noori teased.

  The smile widened, curving the sheikh’s lips as he rolled his eyes. “Next time I ought to see if Numair or Rami would have use for them,” he murmured, glancing up again. “Or perhaps you or Karam?”

  Noori grinned, fingers tracing the intricate swirls carved in the edge of the table. “I have no use for females,” he answered. “And methinks Karam would be too frightened of them.”

  A snort of laughter escaped the sheikh, who shook his head, smiling openly. “Karam would not appreciate such comments. He hopes to marry and sire many children.” The sheikh did not comment on Noori’s words about himself, although he filed them away to think about later.

  “Actually, my lord, Karam has a lady friend. He is trying to work up enough courage to ask your permission to pursue her,” Noori confided. “But do not tell him you heard it from me. If you must mention it, blame Rami!”

  The sheikh frowned and sighed, obviously befuddled by Karam’s reticence. “Who is this lady friend?” he asked, voice returning to his normal low growl. He reached for his water goblet.

  “The serving maid in the east dining pavilion,” Noori leaned close and whispered as if conspiring. “She has been making eyes at him for months now, since I first came here.”

  Fingering the whiskers covering
his chin, the sheikh hummed slightly. “Is that not the milliner’s youngest daughter?” he asked. “It would be a fine match.”

  “’Twould.” Noori nodded. “I have encouraged him in every way, but he claims he has been waiting until I am fully trained before he attempts marriage.”

  The sheikh narrowed his eyes, studying Noori, and he grunted, going back to his papers just as a tap came at the tent flap. He waved a hand, sending Noori to meet the visitor. Noori walked gracefully to the door, pulled back the flap, and led the stranger to the opposite side of the sheikh’s table.

  Looking up, the sheikh blinked and pulled off his spectacles, letting them hang from the chain. He smiled widely—very much unlike him—stood fluidly from the pillows, and approached the stranger, his arms open in greeting. “Sadiq! You are welcome here,” he said.

  “Blessings to you, my lord,” the man rasped, voice dry and worn from traveling long distances alone. He opened his own arms, accepting the brief hug before bowing.

  “Water and refreshments for our esteemed guest,” the sheikh instructed while gesturing for him to take his ease among the pillows. “It is good to have you at Meda’in Saleh again. I hope your travels were uneventful.” It was obvious that the sheikh not only knew this man, but also liked him, and Noori watched them surreptitiously.

  “Actually,” Sadiq began, settling into the pillows and nodding to Noori as he accepted the proferred waterskin, “I ran into some trouble on the far side of the western wastes. I ran out of food three days ago. The water dried up last night.” He gulped at the water, feeling it overflow his mouth and course down his neck as he drank. He took a platter of fruit offered by the servant, eating several slices of fruit before continuing. “I am much pleased to see you, old friend.”

  The sheikh’s face darkened at mention of trouble. “How may I be of assistance?” he asked quietly, sitting down opposite the trader. “Meda’in Saleh owes you much.”

  “A tent,” Sadiq smiled, seeming not at all surprised by his friend’s generosity, “a bath, and food.” And that was the last Noori heard as he departed to arrange for Sadiq’s comfort.

  #

  “And the story behind that one,” Sadiq continued, gesturing in the direction Noori had taken.

  The sheikh cocked his head in question, caught with his eyes following Noori out of the tent. He raised an eyebrow. “Ever blunt you are, Sadiq,” he rumbled.

  “I have nothing to lose,” Sadiq answered. “I just simply wonder about the man that makes my good friend Shahin follow his every footstep with a stare.”

  Pursing his lips, Shahin nodded slowly. Taking a long moment to pull off his turban and run a hand through his hair, he thought about what to say. “I purchased him from Qutaibah a little more than six months ago,” he finally said, voice soft and quiet.

  Sadiq sat up straighter. “That is Noori? Qutaibah almost refused to sell me Ali… he almost…. Damnation. I purchased a slave from Qutaibah as well. ’Tis the trouble I spoke of. I bartered most of my food and goods in order to purchase the boy. His name is Alimah.”

  The sheikh tipped his head, surprised. “You also purchased a slave from Qutaibah?” His brow furrowed. “And you heard tell of Noori?”

  “He spoke of letting a slave go for too little value,” Sadiq replied. “He was quite incensed. And I had to purchase the slave. I could not leave him there to do as Qutaibah asked. I have already freed him, but he remains with me still.”

  “You and your foreign ways, freeing the man before he could repay you. You give him no recourse but to stay with you, Sadiq. He is beholden,” Shahin chastised gently, although he did not miss the comment about Noori. No, not at all.

  “He is a lovely creature. Mayhap it will not be so bad to have one as beautiful and delicate as he beholden to me.” Sadiq laughed. “He will earn his keep when we reach my dwelling. He is skilled and will be an asset to my household.”

  Shahin grunted, setting his elbows on his knees. “You will have the food and goods you need,” he said, reaching for a piece of fruit. “This Alimah, is he white-skinned and blue-eyed, like Noori?”

  Sadiq smiled genuinely. “Alimah is nothing like Noori. He is of the desert. Tall, but willowy. Tawny skin and dark eyes. His hair is dark as night and falls in ringlets to his shoulders. He is….” Sadiq stopped and sighed. “He is my ideal of perfection.”

  Shahin’s eyes fell away from Sadiq, down to the table strewn with papers. He held his own counsel concerning Noori, and he often tried not to think about Noori in such specific terms at all. For months now, he had lived with Noori about him most every moment of the day. And he liked it that way.

  Sadiq noticed Shahin’s lowered eyes. “What is he to you?” he asked in a gentle tone.

  Shahin fidgeted in place—very telling for the ultra-controlled sheikh. He was loath to answer something so personal aloud. “He is an important servant in my household,” he hedged, not looking up even though he knew Sadiq would continue to prod him.

  Noori stepped back into the dim light of the tent just as Sadiq said, “Mayhap he can help Alimah adjust to the life of a servant instead of a body slave, Shahin.”

  The sheikh nodded in allowance, trying not to react to noticing Noori enter the tent. “Noori is free to do as he wishes,” he said, although he looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I am sure he would be willing to help Alimah. He has… a giving heart.”

  Sadiq watched as the former slave knelt before the sheikh, presenting clean robes for Sadiq and his new servant, whom he must have met outside the tent. He searched the sheikh’s face as he held the robes forward. Shahin’s cheeks were warm, and his eyes shifted uncomfortably, although he made himself meet Noori’s eyes for an instant as he nodded his approval. “Noori, please see that Sadiq has whatever provisioning he needs. He also wishes your assistance with his new servant. You have my leave to help as you see fit.” Looking away, he folded slightly shaking hands in his lap, trying to hide the display of weakness.

  Noori nodded, whispering, “Yes, my lord,” before rising to lead the trader to his tent. “I have procured a tent near our lord’s, if it pleases you, sir,” Noori said, bowing in deference to the visitor.

  Sadiq took the robes and smiled at the servant, slapping him on the shoulder. “I insist you call me Sadiq,” he said. He smiled when the servant nodded.

  Shahin stood in the background, nodding to Sadiq as he departed, and the sheikh did his best not to notice that the tent was a darker, quieter place without Noori in it.

  #

  Noori led Sadiq and his servant Alimah to the tent, where two baths had already been drawn. “I will see to it that sustenance is brought shortly. I will be free this evening to speak with Alimah, if it be your will.”

  “I should like to rest this evening,” Sadiq murmured wearily, “and so shall Alimah. Thank you kindly for your offer, Noori.”

  Noori bowed low and left the tent, returning immediately to the sheikh’s tent. He bowed once more. “They are settled, my lord.”

  The sheikh still stood in place much as he had when Sadiq left, and he glanced over to Noori, brow furrowed. He looked about to say something, but shook his head, pulling his eyes away. “No more audiences today, and none while Sadiq is here,” the sheikh murmured instead, crossing his arms, clearly preoccupied with his thoughts.

  Noori started at the proclamation, but answered. “It shall be done, my lord.” He turned to leave the tent, but at the last minute, he turned back, wondering if he’d misjudged the two men’s relationship. “Shall I sleep in my own tent tonight, my lord?”

  The sheikh’s head snapped up, his face clearly showing he was startled. And Noori was as well, for even mentioning it. In all the time since the sheikh returned to Meda’in Saleh with him, they had never slept apart.

  The sheikh’s back stiffened. “Where you sleep is your choice,” he said, but there was no sharpness in his tone.

  “I assumed you and Master Sadiq would wish to spend time together,” Noori mumbled, hea
d hung low. It hurt to think that the sheikh would put him aside, even for a longtime lover.

  The sheikh turned to look at Noori, his usual frown in place. “Sadiq keeps to his own tent,” he answered evenly.

  Noori stepped forward. “What do you wish, my lord? Do you wish me to keep to my own tent?” The confusion and stress that had been building finally bubbled over. “Do you wish me to remain in your bed? What do you truly desire, Shahin?” Noori’s eyes grew large, and he lifted his hand to cover his mouth. “Forgive me, my lord.”

  The sheikh studied him, and Noori slowly relaxed, almost unable to believe he would not be punished for taking such a liberty. And then, even more shocking, Shahin slowly raised his hand to move Noori’s away from his lips, and his fingers slid slowly along Noori’s jaw, delving into the long hair tucked behind his ear, until Shahin’s palm cupped his cheek.

  Noori tilted his face into the gentle touch of the dark hand caressing his skin. The touch warmed him through, igniting the fire he had forced into dormancy as necessity for spending so much time in such close confines with the man who had become the center of his world. His eyes lifted to Shahin’s face, seeing the confusion evidenced by the small frown that knit the dark man’s brow. “I apologize, my lord. I have no right to ask those questions of you. I will not fault you as you send me away—”

  “No,” Shahin rasped. “I will not send you away,” he said quietly, yet firmly.

  “Forgive me for questioning you,” Noori pleaded, lowering his eyes from the intense regard of the sheikh.

  “There is naught to forgive,” Shahin murmured. The sheikh slowly pulled his hand away, and Noori found himself following it, missing the warmth before it had ever left him. He straightened slowly, painfully forcing himself to be the servant his lord expected, even though he did not understand the gentle turn of Shahin’s responses. “I should go and order Sadiq’s repast.” His voice was a whisper, a ghost of its normal pitch and tone.