The Sheikh and the Servant (5 page)

A slight change of pitch in the pillows Noori slept on made him roll closer to the warm body beside him. He smiled in his sleep, sighing as he turned his face in the direction of the source of warmth. He opened his eyes slowly, finding the sheikh watching him. “Blessed morning, Master,” he whispered in a sleep-roughened voice.

The sheikh nodded slowly, long hair brushing over his shoulders, deep in thought. Did he do Noori a disservice by keeping him here this past night? After all, he was not a slave to be ordered about, no matter what he thought. A sudden inhalation drew the sheikh’s attention, and his eyes focused on Noori’s face, one brow raising slightly in question. Yes, there would be talk of the white-skinned servant sleeping in the sheikh’s bed. Somehow, the sheikh could not muster enough ire to be disturbed.

“Shall I leave you, Master?” Noori asked, the question having more depth than appeared clear.

The sheikh’s hand tightened on Noori’s shoulder before he could school himself to passivity. He continued his mental debate, sure that this sudden distressing dependence on Noori must be eliminated, yet he almost quailed at the thought. He found it… pleasant, to have someone about. Abruptly he rolled out of the pallet, sitting up and facing away. “I will not order you to stay,” he said gruffly.

“I will leave, Master,” Noori whispered, sitting up slowly.

Feeling Noori move from his bed, the sheikh clamped down on the urge to turn and take his arm, to ask him, to order him to stay. But Noori was not a slave, and the dark man would not humiliate any being so. He simply closed his eyes, accepting Noori’s choice.

Then he heard Noori ask, “If you will but permit me to return tonight, Master?”

The sheikh’s eyes blinked open in surprise, but by force of will he maintained his normal emotionless mask. Noori wanted to stay with him. The feelings that evoked shook him, and he forcibly shoved them aside to study later. He nodded, jerkily, reaching for his undershirt, which had been laid out by the seamstresses.

Noori first pulled his own trousers on and then hurried to help the sheikh. As he straightened the shirt on the tall man’s shoulders, he suggested, “If it be your will, Master, I will help with your household during the daylight hours and be your companion at night.”

The sheikh gave no indication that he had heard, and he allowed Noori to tie his belt and assist him with his vest and head wrap. After a few minutes of tense silence, he took up a sheaf of papers and made for the tent flap, pausing just before leaving. He turned, solemn eyes meeting Noori’s. It was unprecedented, and he feared he would regret it. But he nodded once, and left the tent and the growing temptation inside it.

#

Noori
stood still and silent, analyzing the discussion from before the master departed. He simply did not understand why the sheikh did not treat him as he expected.

There came a tapping at the tent flap, and Karam ducked inside. “Blessed morning to you,” he greeted with a half-bow.

Noori knelt immediately in deference to the senior councilor. “And to you, Master,” he replied. Lifting his head once more, he squared his shoulders. “Am I to assist you, Master?”

Karam smiled and shocked him as he stepped forward, clasped Noori’s elbows, and helped him to stand. “You are amply trained, that will serve you well. But my first task for you, will, I am sure, be confusing.”

“And what task is that, Master?” Noori asked tentatively.

“Call me Karam,” the councilor replied, teeth flashing.

Noori stared at him in disbelief. “Master?”

“Karam,” Karam corrected. “I am not your master. And you are not a slave.”

“The master said something as such last night, Master,” Noori said, missing Karam’s narrowed eyes. “But I put no stock in it.”

Karam’s face darkened. “You doubt our lord?” Noori blanched and made to kneel again, but Karam caught him. “No, no,” Karam said, the tension leaving his voice. “Please, I apologize. Allow me to explain further.”

Still shocked, Noori just peered at him.

Karam smiled. “It is that simple, I assure you. You are no longer a slave. You are not subject to the whims of any man or woman save our lord, the sheikh. He is our honored leader and deserves that respect.”

Noori could hear the plea in his voice. “It is true?”

“Yes,” Karam said gently, “it is true.”

Tears glittered in Noori’s eyes. “I can barely believe it,” he whispered.

Karam patted his shoulder. “I understand. Your new responsibilities will help. And today, we are to find you a tent, clothing, food, and any other supplies you require. Then we must visit the jeweler and the stores. We will have you happily settled in no time.”

A slight crease formed between Noori’s brows. “A tent of my own? Jeweler? What do you speak of?”

Karam patted his arm soothingly. “I know it is a big change, going from being a slave in a palace to being a paid servant here, but I am told you are very intelligent. You will adapt. So yes, you will have your own tent, somewhere to keep your belongings. And you need the mark of our lord, since you are his servant, thus the jeweler.”

“His mark?” Noori questioned, rubbing at his forearm. “What will that be?”

“Your choice of a ring,” Karam tapped Noori’s ear, “or a bracelet.” The Arab held out his own arm, about which a lovely wrought-platinum bracelet was wound.

Noori rubbed at his ear. “A ring? The amir never allowed permanent jewels. I think I would like to be marked in such a way.”

Karam nodded. “They are quite attractive, in my opinion. The warriors of our lord’s inner council wear bracelets of beaten gold, as befitting their station. We who belong to the sheikh’s household wear platinum. Servants in the village wear copper. Now. Get dressed, and let’s go! We have much to accomplish!”

Noori pulled his robes on quickly, shoving his feet into the sandals he had always worn. He soon faced Karam with anticipation in his eyes and excitement and hope growing in his breast. “I am ready… Karam.”

The councilor looked him over. “I think we will also stop at the seamstresses’ tent.” With a laugh, he led the way out.

#

Pulling
out a bag of dates, Karam offered some to Noori as they sat down in the cool interior of Noori’s new tent after some hours of shopping.

Noori took a date, chewing on it thoughtfully as he thought of all they had accomplished. A large pile of purchases consumed most of the pallet another servant had set up while they were gone. He could hardly believe all such bounty belonged to him.

Karam took a long drought from a waterskin and sighed happily. “Well, the worst is done. Now you can get settled,” he said, popping another date in his mouth.

Nodding, Noori asked, “What will my chores be, Mas—Karam?”

Raising an eyebrow, Karam chuckled. “Chores? Just what kind of servant do you think you are?”

A confused frown crossed Noori’s face. “Do not all servants have assigned tasks?”

“Well, yes, but I do not consider my work chores. But then, it is not women’s work, either.” Karam shrugged. “Our lord has seamstresses, workmen, and cooks. You will assist me with the bookkeeping. I am told you have a fine head for numbers?”

“I trained with numbers before I was sold to the amir. My father hoped to use my mind to help him beat the chances of loss in his gambling,” Noori answered.

Karam blinked. “Yes, well, I can certainly use the help. I am in charge of the village stores, as well as all of the sheikh’s trade agreements, the marketplace, and winter planning.” He fingered another date. “And much of my work is neglected as I follow the sheikh about, taking notes and correspondence.”

“I will do the tallies for you as you do the outside research?” Noori asked, surprised at the task. He’d expected to be cleaning ovens or some similar task.

Fingering his chin, Karam looked at him speculatively. “How many languages do you speak?”

“I understand the basics of both desert and trade languages, as well as two languages of the north. And the amir made sure his slaves were well versed in all methods of communication.” Noori’s voice took on an ironic tone. “All methods.”

Karam frowned, obviously not understanding.

“I apologize for being crass, Karam, but we were trained in the art of tongues. How to speak them. How to use them.”

Karam blinked, obviously surprised. “Oh. Oh! Well.” He cleared his throat. “I must say I’ve never been called to serve in such a manner. The sheikh does not own pleasure slaves….” His words trailed off as he studied Noori openly.

“So he has informed me,” Noori murmured. His eyes studied the hem of Karam’s robe. “May I speak openly with you, Karam?”

Karam nodded, offering Noori some more dates.

Noori waved the dates away, continuing to avert his gaze. “Is it not ironic that the first man I wish to be with does not desire me in that way?”

The other servant tilted his head, a slight frown on his face, but quickly understanding dawned, and he offered Noori a sympathetic look. “I… cannot advise you in this case, my new friend. I can tell you that the sheikh—he is the most honorable man I have ever known. It was most fortuitous that he decided to purchase you and free you from wretched slavery.”

Nodding his head, Noori spoke again. “I am very fortunate indeed. The master spoke of repaying my purchase price to the tribe. I hope to repay that and much more.”

Karam smiled. “Such is the way of things. You have been blessed, Noori, bringing you to our lord’s attention.” He still watched Noori, albeit with fond eyes. “Pay you no mind to women’s gossip. All will be well.”

“Gossip?” Noori tilted his head, not fully understanding. “Of what do they speak?”

Karam laughed. “The seamstresses saw you sleeping in the sheikh’s tent this morning.”

Noori’s expression continued to be one of puzzlement. “What is the problem with that, Karam? Pleasure slaves always share their master’s beds.”

Karam leaned forward, serious. “Noori, I tell you again, the sheikh does not keep pleasure slaves. He does not condone the practice of slavery anywhere in his realm. In fact, he also is known for not taking lovers from amongst the village women, although it is certainly his right.”

Noori met Karam’s eyes. “And you think I should keep away from his bed?”

Karam sat back again, studying him. He seemed about to speak, but held his tongue. Finally he sighed. “It is not my place to judge you, and it is certainly not my place to judge the sheikh,” he said, obviously ill at ease. “I would offer that our lord is often alone with his problems and all that responsibility. If he is finding some form of comfort in you, I would not bar him that.”

“He is my protector,” Noori explained, picking at the weave of his robe. “I want to satisfy him. I want to make him happy. If that means keeping my distance from him, I will. He told me he would not order me to stay, but he did not order me to leave, either. I am at odds with what I think I should do and what I want to do.” The words flowed from his heart, to his own surprise. The sheikh’s kindness had helped it begin to heal.

Karam blinked. “He told you that he would not order you to stay?”

“In his tent,” Noori clarified.

“I do not understand why he would say such a thing. Perhaps he does not want you to feel compelled to warm his bed? I have never known our lord to take someone unwilling,” Karam murmured.

“Mayhap he does not desire me in that way and would prefer I stay here.” Noori gestured at the tent. “My own tent.”

Karam shook his head. “No, I am certain that he would tell you so in no uncertain terms. Instead, he said he would not order you to stay. Very interesting.” Karam popped another date in his mouth. “Yes, he would tell you to leave, were that his wish. But it would not be his way to ask you to stay, either. He is our leader; it is below him.”

Noori lowered his head once more. “I asked him if I could return to his tent this night.”

Raising a curious eyebrow, Karam leaned forward. “And?”

“He remained silent,” the slave answered honestly. He glanced up through his lashes as he added, “But before leaving the tent, he nodded.”

Karam broke into a smirk. “Methinks our lord has grown fond of a particular servant.” He waggled his eyebrows.

A nervous smile spread across Noori’s lips. “Do not tease me so, Karam. I am sure that he only appreciates the small services I can offer him.”

“You do not understand, friend Noori. The sheikh—he accepts comforts from no one. It has been as such since the death of his second wife. The only time I have known him to take anyone to his bed the four years past was when in another sheikh’s domain, when he would lose face to turn away such hospitality,” Karam tried to explain. “He has let no one that close, not even myself, Numair, or Rami. In truth, we have despaired of him finding solace of any kind.”

Noori’s eyes met Karam’s with more than a little shock reflecting in the solemn gaze. “But why choose me? Why now?”

Karam shrugged, leaning back against the pillow. “You will have to ask him.”