The Sheikh and the Servant (11 page)

Shahin blinked, surprised. “Reject you? In what manner?” He seemed truly caught off guard.

“You cannot see? Each night when we lay beside each other, my body turns toward yours. You cannot hear? Each night when I read to you, my voice grows short of breath. You have chosen not to take me. That is your choice.” Noori dipped his head once more. “May I leave now?”

Shahin’s eyes shuttered, and his face became its usual expressionless mask. He nodded once, sharply.

Noori turned and walked away, hesitating once at the flap to the tent and looking back to the sheikh. When Shahin refused to even look at him, he continued outside.

#

Shahin
laughed aloud as Numair and Rami both tried—unsuccessfully—to juggle. The party was to celebrate the strong trade in Meda’in Saleh. The sheikh had acquired a large herd of horses recently and decided to ask Sadiq to stay and become a member of the tribe, serving as his trade representative. Happily, Sadiq had agreed, quite settled after two months of already accepting Shahin’s hospitality.

Noori had spent quite a bit of time socializing with Alimah over the past few days. The slave was opening up beautifully, less cemented in his past than Noori had been, although he had been greatly abused. He smiled at the dark-haired boy as Alimah made his way to Sadiq, and he watched wistfully as Sadiq touched the former slave affectionately and Alimah returned the gesture discreetly. He turned away, giving them privacy, and cast his eyes toward the sheikh. Sitting with a group of his warriors, Shahin allowed one of the servants to refill his wine yet again. Lifting his goblet, Numair, Rami and the others did the same for a silent toast.

Finding a pillow at the edge of the crowd, Noori sat down and observed. He smiled as he saw the servant girl eyeing Karam. And while he was distracted, a young man from the village, a blacksmith by trade, approached him. “Hello,” he said in greeting.

Noori turned to the young man. “Hello.” He held out a hand in greeting. “I am Noori. I have not had the pleasure of meeting you as of yet.”

The villager first bowed and then shook Noori’s hand. “I am Dirar, apprenticed to the blacksmith Fahli. I was so taken by your beauty, I had to say hello.”

Noori flushed furiously. “Thank you, Dirar, for your compliment. ’Tis an honor to be called beautiful by one of such a beautiful race.”

Dirar smiled widely as he half-bowed again. “Would you have a drink with me?” he asked, obviously interested in Noori’s company.

Noori was flattered, but unsure if he would be allowed this privilege. “I should ask our lord,” he stammered. “I would like to, but he might require my presence.”

“Our lord is sitting with his warriors, there, to the side of the brazier,” Dirar pointed out helpfully. “I will wait here. I hope you will return,” he said, smiling openly.

Returning the smile, Noori made his way to the head table. “My lord?” He bowed low. “Dirar has requested to share a drink with me. What be your will?”

Shahin turned to greet Noori with a pleasant smile, though it dimmed slightly. “Dirar?” he asked.

Noori turned and indicated the young man who had approached him. “He seems pleasant. I told him I would ask your permission before agreeing to anything.”

The sheikh followed Noori’s finger to see the blacksmith’s apprentice, who bowed respectfully when he saw the sheikh peering at him. Shahin nodded in recognition. “Yes, apprentice to Fahli, son of Fatih. A well-respected young man,” he commented evenly. After a pause, he continued. “You are free to do as you wish in such matters, Noori. You do not need my permission, only my leave from your duties, which you already have this evening.”

Noori’s face fell and he bowed again, stepping back from the table that sat on a raised dais. “Very well, my lord. Thank you.”

#

Shahin
had already looked back to the table in front of him, not trusting himself to watch the servant leave. After a long moment, Rami cleared his throat. “He’s gone,” he murmured.

The sheikh looked up to one of his closest friends, a small frown in place.

“Why didn’t you just ask him to stay here, with us?” Numair asked reasonably.

Shahin glanced to Numair, raising an eyebrow. Mocking him, Numair raised his eyebrow in return.

“He is a good man,” Rami said quietly. “No one would begrudge you his company.”

Shahin looked uncomfortable. “’Tis not appropriate. He is a servant in my household,” he said stubbornly. Numair snorted. Rami shook his head, looking at Shahin with some pity. “What?” Shahin asked.

Numair sighed. “He wants to be with you. There is nothing inappropriate in that. You are not ordering him into your bed, are you?”

Shahin straightened, eyes snapping. “No!” he hissed.

“Then what’s the problem?” Rami asked. “He wants you; you want him. Seems pretty clear to me.”

“I think you should have bedded him months ago,” Numair grumbled. Taken aback, Shahin just stared at him in disbelief. “What?” Numair asked. “You two have been skulking around each other since before Sadiq arrived. The sexual tension around you is smothering. Many a time I have had to visit Karena without advance notice.”

Rami chuckled. “I’m sure she complains.” Numair grinned, eyes sparkling.

Shaking his head, Shahin let their acceptance settle around him. “He should choose as a free man whether he wants to be with me,” he finally said quietly.

“What tells you he hasn’t chosen?” Rami asked. “And you keep pushing him away.”

Shahin fell silent, watching across the room.

#

Dirar
led Noori to a corner of the room, settling him onto a pillow and then bringing him a goblet of wine. Noori thanked him profusely. “You are as our lord said,” he observed with a smile.

“The sheikh knows of me?” Dirar asked, smiling.

“He does,” Noori answered affirmatively. “He told me that you were well-respected.” He took a sip of the wine, lowering the goblet and attempting to engage Dirar in conversation. “Tell me of your trade, Dirar.”

Dirar happily told Noori about his work, oblivious to dark eyes watching him from across the tent.

Noori listened to the young man, interested in his vocation. “Our lord tells me that when I earn my freedom, I may choose my own trade.” He beamed at the thought of continuing his service to the sheikh.

The villager nodded. “Yes, the sheikh treats his people very well. Are you close to earning your freedom? Do you have plans?” Dirar asked, gesturing for a servant to stop and serve some food from her tray, which she did with a smile.

“I do not know how close I am,” Noori admitted shyly. “Our lord has never spoken of my purchase price.” He lowered his head. “I have made no plans, as I do not know when I may act on them.”

Dirar smiled pleasantly. “If you’d like to meet some of the tradespeople, I’d be happy to introduce you,” he offered. “Many servants explore their options ahead of time.”

Noori nodded at the kind offer. He took a bite of the offered food, a small frown crossing his face as he chewed. He asked worriedly, “Are these mangoes?”

Dirar glanced down at the small plate. “Why, yes, I believe so.”

Noori lifted a hand to his face. “Are my lips swelling?”

Dirar frowned. “Not that I can tell.” His eyes widened in alarm. “Are you allergic?”

Noori nodded, eyes widening to match Dirar’s. “Perhaps I should retire to my own tent.”

Dirar stood solicitously, brow furrowed. “Come; I will escort you there.”

Noori accepted the offer of assistance gratefully as he felt his breathing start to grow short. “Will you give word to our lord that I am ill?”

“Of course, although I hope you are well soon again. And please stop by to visit sometime soon.” Dirar bowed and left him at the tent, hurrying back to the pavilion.

Once alone, Noori found a waterskin, rinsing his mouth out as best he could. He then collapsed on his pallet, hoping the attack would pass quickly since it had been so small a portion.

#

Dirar
wound his way through the pavilion to where the sheikh sat, and he bowed. “My lord?”

Shahin turned his chin and frowned. “Dirar?” He wondered why the man was here. He had just seen him leave with his arm around Noori, which had made him brood so heavily that Numair and Rami had ceased talking to him.

“My lord, Noori sent word, he is at his tent. He is taken ill from eating mangoes….” As soon as the word “ill” left Dirar’s lips, the sheikh was up and striding out of the tent, Rami close behind.

Halfway to his own tent, Shahin stopped, and Rami nearly knocked him over. “Where is Noori’s tent?” he asked with a frown, his pulse already racing with worry.

Rami snorted and turned down a different pathway, leading him to the small sheltered tent next to Karam’s. Shahin met his eyes as they paused outside, and he nodded once in thanks. With a smile, Rami backed off and went to find a barrel to sit on somewhere nearby.

Shahin ducked into the dark tent. “Noori?”

“Yes, Master?” Noori’s voice sounded slightly muffled in the closed-in tent. He lifted his head from the pillows, trying to stand and bow to his lord.

“No, stay there,” Shahin said quietly, pulling off his turban and dropping it to the side before he moved. He crouched next to the pallet, setting one hand on Noori’s shoulder, his hand shaking slightly. “Dirar said you were taken ill.”

Noori forced a smile. “I foolishly had a bite of mango. The fruit detests me. Makes me ill to my stomach and at times makes my lips swell.” He smiled slightly, feeling the slight stretch. “Like now.”

Shahin felt his chest tighten with worry. “Are you in pain?” he asked, his voice a rasp.

Noori shook his head. “Mild discomfort is all. I fear the most discomfort of the evening was realizing that Dirar was attracted to me and I could not return the sentiment. Forgive me, my lord, for frightening you.”

The rush of relief was almost enough to make Shahin sag, and he did hang his head, letting out a long breath. In the dim light, he reached out to rub the back of his fingers against Noori’s cheek.

Noori took the hand. “I understand if you will not allow sickness inside your tent, my lord.”

Shahin’s hand stilled. “If you stay here, then I shall also,” he said quietly.

“So long as you realize I do not command it of you,” Noori joked weakly.

Chuckling softly, the sheikh slid onto the pallet next to him, pulling Noori into his arms. “I will add you to the short list of people who may command me from time to time,” he said quietly, voice amused. He relaxed more once he held Noori, trying to forget about the worry that had clenched in his chest.

“I will accept that honor gladly, my lord,” Noori answered softly. In his illness, he allowed himself the comfort of snuggling closer to the man he desired above all.

Chapter 11

The
sheikh pushed his spectacles up on his nose, holding a paper to one side and reading it while bouncing a giggling Massarah on his opposite knee. Sawsan played with a doll on the rug nearby, talking to herself.

Noori walked into the tent, bowing before the family. “I heard we were being visited by royalty, master.” He lifted his head, grinning at Sawsan.

“Noori!” Sawsan called out happily. “Come see my doll!” Massarah climbed down from his father’s knee and rushed over to him, demanding to be lifted.

“Hmmph. Royalty is quieter and less demanding, I think,” Shahin murmured good-naturedly.

Kneeling beside Sawsan, Noori took Massarah into his arms. “’Tis a lovely doll,” he observed. “Much like its owner.” His fingers tickled up Massarah’s belly to tease under his chin. “How can the racket disturb you, my lord? ’Twould be like saying the ring of a crystal bell is not to tone.”

Shahin met Noori’s eyes long enough to roll his own, to Sawsan’s giggling amusement. But those eyes were affectionate, looking over his children and servant. “I thought we might visit Mother for dinner.”

Massarah started jumping up and down. “Mother! Mother!” He was obviously pleased by this idea. Sawsan joined in soon after.

Noori laughed. “At what time should I have them dressed and ready to go? I shall assist you in walking them over if it be your will.”

Sawsan took Noori’s hand. “But you are coming too,” she insisted. Massarah ran over and took Noori’s other hand, hanging on his arm, lifting his feet in place.

Noori pretended to sag under Massarah’s weight, falling to the floor and groaning loudly. “But your father may not wish it so,” he complained.

Shahin raised an amused brow as Sawsan and Massarah started begging his permission for their favorite servant to attend. After a bit of that melodrama, he chuckled. “Very well, Noori shall attend, if he wishes. But you two must help him. You know Mother’s proprieties.”