The Sheikh and the Servant Read Free Page A

have no belongings, Master,” he said. “I am ready to travel at Master’s behest.”
    The sheikh looked back at him, true surprise clear. “No belongings? No clothes or trinkets?”
    “I am a slave, Master,” Noori said. “Not a servant. We receive no pay. What gifts we are given are collected for our upkeep.” He kept his eyes lowered, centered on the sheikh’s riding boots.
    The sheikh frowned and then grunted in acknowledgment and held out one of his saddlebags. “Can you ride?” he asked as he pulled a heavy robe out of his other set of bags.
    “My father raised horses, Master,” Noori said as he stood and took the bag, settling it over his shoulder in preparation for departure, “to finance his wagers. I learned at a young age.”
    “Good,” the sheikh answered, holding out the robe and a head wrap similar to his own. “You will need these. Dress and we will depart.” He walked over to the table to finish packing his satchel, not even watching to see if the slave obeyed. There was no question. And when he finished, the sheikh shouldered his satchel, looked Noori over, nodded in approval, and led the way out to the courtyard where his guards waited with the horses.
    It was only when his horse galloped out of the canyon along with the others that Noori finally comprehended what had happened.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 2
     
     
    After a week’s hard riding, the group rode into friendly territory, and the sheikh called for a full camp. It would be the first time they had slept under cover since leaving Qutaibah ’s domain. The guards quickly erected several tents, and the sheikh pointed Noori into one, telling him to get out of the sun, what had quickly become a sort of joke to the bronze-skinned Arab.
    Noori followed the order dutifully, silently grateful to be out of the burning sun. He took his outer robe off and removed the head wrap, rubbing dry hands over his face and hair. He whimpered slightly at the calluses that had formed from holding the reins of the horse and wished vainly for some oil to rub into his dry skin.
    He knelt swiftly as the sheikh entered the tent and silently handed him a waterskin before pulling off his outer robe and head wrap, shaking the worst of the dust from his clothes. Noori offered the sheikh the first drink, his hands nearly shaking with the need for the liquid, but he knew his place; his manners and training were ingrained in him.
    Watching the servant silently as he had all week, the sheikh took a short first drink and handed back the waterskin. “Drink your fill,” he ordered gruffly before turning back to the saddlebags and pulling out a change of clothes.
    Noori turned the skin back, guzzling long gulps of it as it refreshed his parched throat. “My thanks to you, Master,” he whispered hoarsely, tightening the skin once more and placing it gently on the table that had been set up. “May I assist you, Master?”
    Raising his arms, the sheikh allowed him to pull off his outer robe, and he sighed as its weight was lifted away. In a rare show of laziness, he collapsed onto the carpeted ground, leaning against his saddle. He started digging in one of the saddlebags, mumbling to himself softly.
    Dropping to his knees again, this time beside the sheikh, Noori dared to place a hand over that of the other man. “For what do you seek, Master?”
    The sheikh frowned and kept digging, and then he made a soft sound of triumph as he came up with a small round tin. He set it on his knee and took the slave’s arm, pulling him to kneel closer.
    Noori moved as he was bid. He was so close that he could feel the heat radiating off of the other man, and he was once again struck by the sheikh’s kindness. He also sighed inwardly at the rush of heat that flooded his groin. He was doomed in this life, it seemed… taken by men he felt no desire for, not desired by the man he was taken with.
    The week would have proven unendurable had it not been for the sheikh’s