The Sheikh and the Servant

by Sonja Spencer

  At the last moment before he passed through the tent flap, he heard, “Noori.”

  “Yes, my lord?” Noori asked, turning to face him. He was struck by how Shahin looked almost caught off guard by the question. The sheikh shook his head and shuffled his feet. “I shall be in my tent for the rest of the evening,” he said as Noori moved again to depart.

  Noori nodded slowly, a bit of the tightness in his chest lessening. “I shall return there soonest. I must first have a meal sent to Sadiq’s tent.” He turned and stepped from the tent into the burning outside air that seemed cool to his own flaming face.

  Then he smiled.

  Chapter 7

  Once in his own tent, Shahin pulled off his turban and over-robe, carefully setting his glasses aside. Then he paced, arms folded, lips compressed. Six months. Six months he had kept Noori in his life, greedily, sure that no one could or would question him for doing something purely for himself.

  He sighed and covered his eyes. Being around Noori for the past month especially had been both pleasure and torture. He had started watching him, perhaps not newly, but differently. Not just appreciating Noori’s beauty, but craving it, feeling possessive of it.

  And the nights—a mélange of teasing bordering on cruelty, he knew, but he had not been able to bring himself to admit that he wanted Noori in every way as the object of his desire. But he would not pressure him in any way. And that was why he stayed firm.

  As long as Noori wanted to sleep here, he could. Shahin would neither send him away nor take advantage of him. It was Noori’s choice.

  And some little part of Shahin hoped desperately that Noori would choose to stay.

  “Would you like a bath, my lord?”

  Shahin stiffened as Noori’s voice broke his increasingly worried thoughts; he hadn’t even heard him enter the tent. Just then the thought of the servant’s hands on his body made him shiver, and he shook his head, moving to pour himself a goblet of wine.

  Noori moved to the bottle at the same time, fingers tangling with his as he reached for the decanter. “Allow me.” Shahin’s hands paused as Noori’s fingers moved his off the bottle. He stepped back, unable to stop his eyes from straying to the curve of Noori’s neck. Shahin swallowed and took another step back.

  After pouring the drink, Noori handed it to him, frowning minutely. He gestured to a pile of pillows near the oil lamp. “I will read for a bit if you require nothing further of me, my lord.”

  Shahin shook his head, stepping back further and sitting down hard on the edge of the sleeping pallet. Pulling his eyes away, he took a couple long drinks and kicked off his soft shoes. But his eyes returned to Noori of their own avail.

  Noori took the thick book he read from most nights as they relaxed and sat down on a pillow. He pretended to find his place and moved his finger over the page as he glanced up at the sheikh from time to time. And watching him openly from across the tent, Shahin tried to understand why Noori occupied such a strong position in his thoughts. He also perceived that Noori was not happy with him, although he was not sure he could do anything differently. Noori did not understand.

  After long, tension-fraught minutes, Noori gave up any pretence at trying to read. He put the book down and undressed before walking toward the bed in nothing but flowing trousers. “I am tired, my lord.”

  Having some long minutes ago drained the goblet, Shahin set it aside and stood, starting to untie the laces of his tunic. Inwardly, he told himself not to be afraid. Should Noori choose to leave, he would, and Shahin would just learn to sleep alone again. But the thought filled him with loneliness.

  Noori climbed under the bed coverings, arranging the sheikh’s pillows in the most comfortable position before curling onto his side and whispering, “Pleasant rest, my lord.”

  Shahin’s tunic hit the ground, and he put out the last oil lamp, sliding onto the pallet, finding the pillows to his liking, as usual. He settled there, in the dark, feeling keenly that Noori’s warmth was just out of reach. He debated with himself, listening to him breathe and finally deciding he would not sleep otherwise. With a sigh, he turned to his side, reached out and pulled Noori against him, as they most often slept, tucking his chin atop Noori’s shoulder. Just feeling him close helped Shahin relax.

  After some time, still feeling the slight tension in Noori’s body, Shahin sighed, knowing he was the cause. He wondered if Noori were asleep. He thought not; Noori’s breathing was slightly jerky, but he had lain in the dark a long time, and he was not sure. Uncurling his arm from Noori’s waist, he did something he had not done before: he slid his hand lightly over Noori’s shoulder and down his back and side soothingly.

  Silently enjoying the touch of his palm against bare skin, Shahin slowed his movements as he heard slight choked sounds and felt a tremor spill through Noori’s body. Shahin pulled his head back, resting his forehead against the servant’s shoulder. His chest ached, knowing he had caused Noori pain, not knowing how to alleviate it. He stroked his side slowly, over and over.

  Noori rolled onto his belly, burying his face in the pillow, likely to muffle any sounds that might escape. All the while, Shahin’s hand glided over his skin. “I am sorry, my lord,” Noori whispered after several minutes of excruciating silence. “I will launder the linens on the morrow.”

  Shahin stared, hard put to understand why the obviously hurting servant was talking about washing the linens. He shook his head before remembering he needed to speak. But the rasped words—practically whispered—that came out shocked him. “I want you here.”

  A long pause. “Then here I shall remain, for as long as you have need of me, my lord.” Noori’s voice was uncertain, muffled by the pillow.

  Silent, Shahin kept up the comforting stroking for a while, and then he shifted slightly so he could lay his cheek against Noori’s upper arm. His arm curled over Noori’s back lightly, resting palm down on the warm flesh. With a sigh, he turned his head just enough to press his lips lightly to Noori’s shoulder.

  Noori turned into his touch, and drained by all the emotional wrangling, Shahin dropped off to sleep, but not before he shifted slightly closer.

  #

  Hours later, Noori woke as something tickled his nose. He squinted his eyes to find a mass of dark hair in his face as Shahin slept on his shoulder. Shahin. Noori smiled gently, remembering the admission the night before. From things he’d learned from Numair and Karam, Noori realized it was a monumental step forward for the man who lay sleeping so peacefully in his arms.

  Taking advantage of the liberties he’d otherwise never be allowed, Noori lifted his hand and feathered his fingers through the soft, dark locks of hair. He bent his head, pressing a kiss into the fragrant strands, smiling again when Shahin began to stir. Noori slid his hand down the back of Shahin’s head, splaying his hand on the sleep-warmed neck.

  “’Tis morning,” Noori whispered playfully. “Will you wake, my lord?”

  Not quite waking, Shahin frowned enough to form a line between his brows, resolutely pulling his “pillow” closer. Being pulled closer warmed Noori more than anything ever had. Before in his life, he had always been pushed away after… afterward. This time, consciously or not, he was being kept. He enjoyed the feeling. He closed his eyes once more and let himself drift in pleasant thoughts of what might have happened if he had been a friend, a free man, instead of a servant.

  Shahin dozed a bit longer before waking fully, and he shifted his cheek against Noori’s chest, yawning. Noori was pulled pleasantly from his repose by the soft hair of Shahin’s beard and mustache brushing his chest and a hot breath over his nipple. He squirmed somewhat, a chuckle rumbling from his chest.

  Shahin made a soft inquisitive grunt, though he didn’t make any move to let Noori go. The hand that had been cupped possessively about Shahin’s nape slid down to rest on a shoulder, fingers kneading gently. “’Tis not yet morning. I lied earlier. ’Tis the midpoint of night, and we should remain here until the dawn of time,” Noori whisp
ered whimsically.

  Shahin sighed against Noori’s chest, rubbing his cheek against the skin again affectionately. “I agree,” he murmured sleepily, a soft mumble.

  Noori didn’t speak again, instead humming a soft lullaby as his fingers caressed more than massaged. Letting himself laze as he would not during the day, Shahin awoke slowly, finally blinking his eyes open to the growing dawn light. He did not move away; instead he kept his face pillowed near Noori’s shoulder, his arm curled over Noori’s belly, and listened to the soft melody.

  Noori smiled at the closeness he felt at the moment. He had long since ceased being a virgin, but the moment itself held a virginal quality. He felt innocent and hopeful once more.

  After long minutes, the sheikh sighed softly and rolled to his back, stretching his full length. Noori missed his warmth immediately and rolled to rest against the stretched-out body on the pallet beside him. He smiled up at his lord. “My apologies, my lord. I seem to be quiet amenable to staying in bed.”

  Shahin surprisingly grunted in agreement, but then his stomach growled—quite loudly—and he just chuckled, glancing up at Noori sheepishly.

  Noori pushed out of bed, wrapping a robe around himself and heading to the tent flap to ask Rami to have breakfast sent. Upon returning he lit a lamp, glancing over to see Shahin lounging on the pallet. “What clothing do you require for the day, my lord?”

  “Robes only. I plan to visit with Sadiq,” Shahin answered from where he was propped on one arm, watching.

  Noori gathered the necessary items of clothing before laying them across a chair. Just then, Rami called through the tent flap, and Noori moved to bring breakfast in. Noticing that Shahin still rested on the pallet, Noori brought the tray of food to the bed. He sat carefully and then balanced the tray on his lap. “Breakfast in bed, my lord?”

  Shahin simply raised an eyebrow expectantly until Noori glanced up from arranging the fruit. “Shall I serve you, my lord?”

  Noori watched some sort of emotion flit across Shahin’s face and wished he understood it. Then, with a small frown, Shahin reached for the tray, took a slice of fruit, and held it to Noori’s lips. Noori watched the fruit as it neared his face before lifting his eyes to meet Shahin’s. A wrinkle formed between his brows as he looked questioningly to his lord. “My lord?” The fruit brushed his lips, and he leaned forward, taking a bite into his mouth.

  Shahin smiled approvingly and popped the other half of the piece of fruit into his mouth, watching Noori as he chewed.

  “Seems strange that a sheikh would feed his servant, my lord.” Noori smiled tentatively as he teased, looking up from under dark lashes as he took a wedge of fruit and held it to Shahin’s lips. “This seems more appropriate.”

  Shahin pursed his lips in disapproval, but bit off a chunk of the fruit anyway, chewing it slowly. “You are not a slave,” he rumbled softly, picking up a thin cracker and holding it before Noori’s lips.

  “But I am a servant,” Noori countered, taking the cracker onto his tongue and closing his mouth around the end of Shahin’s fingers. He chewed the crispy offering and explained, “But being a servant, or even a slave, to someone is not necessarily a bad thing. ’Twould depend on the way in which I would be used.”

  Shahin’s dark eyes turned inquisitive. “It’s not just semantics,” he asserted, taking the bite of fruit Noori offered.

  “I find I do not mind being your slave,” Noori murmured. He wiped at a drop of fruit juice that ran down into Shahin’s beard. “I quite enjoy knowing I belong to you.”

  Shahin blinked, the look on his face one of clear consternation. Instead of speaking, he offered a cracker topped with a thin bit of cheese.

  Noori took the offered bite, the tart flavor of the cheese exploding on his tongue. “You are the kindest master I have ever served,” he clarified.

  Shahin harrumphed slightly. “I treat servants like humans, not like dogs, is all.”

  “But you allow me into your private space. You share a bed with me, even. Most masters would do that for neither slave nor dog,” Noori murmured.

  They exchanged several bites in silence before Shahin spoke. “You will earn your freedom. I can see it burning in your eyes. Then you will need serve no man.”

  Noori dipped his head, blushing at the effusive praise of his master. “And I have you to thank for that. With the amir, I would never have had the opportunity to be free. I can serve you and know that it is toward a greater purpose. You are an honorable man who cares deeply for his people. Even if I were never to be free, I could serve you in good conscience.”

  He could feel Shahin studying him and then Shahin reached to tip up Noori’s chin. “You will earn your freedom,” he rasped again, and then he sat up and moved to sit at the edge of the pallet.

  “When I do,” the servant’s voice grew hoarse and broken as he whispered, “will I have to leave?”

  Frowning, Shahin looked back at Noori. “You will always have a place in this tribe, should you wish it,” he said firmly.

  Noori lifted his eyes to meet Shahin’s. “I wish to remain here.”

  Shahin met his eyes and answered softly, “The tribe will benefit.”

  “As will I,” Noori whispered. “As will I.”

  Chapter 8

  Noori fluffed the last pillow in the sheikh’s tent before checking to make sure that the evening repast had been delivered as ordered. He smiled at the variety of sweets that were arranged on the platters. Shahin had left earlier to collect his children, planning to bring them back to the tent to spend the evening. He smiled nervously as he pulled a simple gift for each child from his bag. They weren’t much, but he had thought to get the children something. He remembered their happy smiles from the night he met them, and he hoped to draw more smiles forth this night.

  Sawsan ran in first, skidding to a halt in front of the servant as her father stepped inside the tent behind her, carrying Massarah. She wore a blue and red dress with a red veil and black cape and hood. “You’re still here!” she said, surprised.

  Noori knelt before the young princess, bowing his head in deference to her. “Of course I am still here,” he answered. “I was in awe of your beauty and had to see you again. Perhaps when you are old enough, I will have enough wealth to be your suitor,” he joked.

  Sawsan’s jaw dropped, and she looked up to her father, who just raised an eyebrow. She looked back at Noori and dissolved into giggles. Massarah wiggled and was set down. He made a beeline for the table, climbing onto a stool.

  Noori held a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt. “Your laughter wounds me, sweet princess. Am I not the man for you?” He raised his other hand to steady the stool that rocked with Massarah’s awkward weight.

  A soft smile curved the sheikh’s mouth as he watched Noori with his children. Obviously comfortable leaving them to Noori’s care, he walked over to his desk, shuffling through papers and then patting his pockets, a distracted frown forming.

  Sawsan giggled again and noticed Massarah. “Be careful, Massarah,” she said kindly, obviously loving toward her brother. She looked to Noori. “He’s really hungry. They dug holes today.”

  “Under the history of farming book,” Noori said, noticing Shahin’s fruitless searching for his spectacles. Shahin found his glasses with a grunt and slid them on, sitting down at the low table gracefully with his papers and stylus, although he spared several looks for the children.

  Noori served Massarah a plate of finger foods as he asked Sawsan, “Dug holes? What treasure did they seek? Or did they seek to hide a treasure?” He served her as well, pulling the young boy down from the stool to rest in his lap on the carpeted floor.

  Massarah ate quickly, fruit in both hands. “Sand holes for storms,” he said through a full mouth of food.

  “He is learning about how to survive in the desert,” Sawsan translated, eating more delicately.

  Noori laughed at the children’s conversation before glancing at Shahin. “Will you not join your
children for repast?”

  The sheikh looked up, somewhat befuddled, and pushed the papers away. He scooted over to sit next to Sawsan, who offered him a honeyed date. With a slight smile, Shahin accepted it, popping it in his mouth as the children watched avidly. He pursed his lips and rubbed his belly. “Mmmm mmmm.”

  Massarah and Sawsan both giggled, then each ate a date and mimicked their father, eyes closed, lips pursed, rubbing their bellies. “Mmmmmm mmmmm.”

  Noori rolled his eyes, smiling broadly as the family ate together. It was the most he’d seen Shahin eat in some time. Much business and work had fallen upon him as of late, and Noori had come to learn a better understanding of how much responsibility the sheikh carried. As he watched, a load of care seemed to lift from Shahin’s stooped shoulders, and he became more lighthearted as he joked with the two youngsters.

  The children shared bits of their dinner with their father, and he did the same, until Massarah offered his cup of goat’s milk. Shahin wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

  “Milk is for growing boys, Massarah,” he rumbled.

  Noori rose from his position and poured Shahin a glass of wine. “And juice is for growing men,” he teased.

  Shahin accepted the wine with a nod, sipping it. When Sawsan pulled on his arm, he lowered the goblet to her lips. “Only a sip,” he cautioned her, tipping the cup slightly.

  Massarah turned up his nose and held his milk close. “I don’t like juice,” he stated clearly.

  “Neither do I,” Noori assured the young boy, pulling him closer. “I’ve found that it turns some men into overgrown goats.” He laughed as the child’s eyes grew large. Actually mid-drink, Shahin coughed upon hearing Noori’s comment, choking slightly, his face reddening at the hidden meaning. “Speaking of goats,” Noori segued into the next topic, “I have a gift for each of you.”