The Sheik and the Slave by Nicola Italia

The candle lights flickered low and the music began. It was a beautiful piece by George Frederick Handel, a Trio Sonata in B Minor. Katharine listened to the music and closed her eyes. The violin, flute, and continuo were in perfect sync with each other as the music moved and flowed through the room. She stood with James, sipping a glass of champagne, while she watched her guests mingle. A hundred people filled the room, and dozens more stood or danced in clusters and groups around the food tables. Champagne was in abundance. She had lost count how many people she had greeted and smiled at. She suddenly felt lightheaded as the champagne drizzled into her veins. The trio sonata continued playing, and its beauty was mesmerizing.

When she opened her eyes and looked across the room, she glimpsed him across the room and knew she had drunk too much. He had walked behind a group of people standing at the far end of the room. Kat almost dropped her flute of champagne.

“Darling, what is it?” James whispered as he felt her lean into him.

“The heat. It’s the heat,” she answered. “I need some fresh air.”

“Of course. I’ll accompany you,” he said.

“No, you should stay. I’ll only be a few minutes,” she replied. She moved her dress hem aside as she moved gracefully through the room.

Kat placed her champagne glass on a table and walked outside the ballroom and into the night. A few couples were outside talking and they greeted her. Her brother Charles and his wife, Sarah, smiled at her, and Charles kissed her in greeting.

She smiled to them and then turned away. She was going mad! She brushed a hand across her forehead and flushed cheeks.

Katharine looked out over the gardens that she knew so well. Earlier that day, she had stood next to James, thinking of the stallion and wanting to give him a proud name. She had always loved Greek mythology so she had thought of Ares, the god of war. But just then, she had seen him. Either that or her imagination was going wild.

She saw at first the figure behind the large group of people at the far end of the ballroom. He was dressed in a deep blue coat and waistcoat with snug knee-length breeches, low-heeled shoes and silk stockings. His hair was unpowdered but clubbed with a black ribbon, and he appeared to be clean-shaven. He was well-dressed, and the cut of the coat showed off his muscled back and the width of his shoulders.

The breeches did well to expose his muscled legs, and his dark shoes had no buckles on them.

But as much as tried to fit into this world, he did not. He was like a wild tiger in a small cage. He belonged in a hot world of sand and sandalwood incense, not in a ballroom filled with dandies and champagne.

He belonged in a world of sandstorms and harems, where the world smelled of incense and jasmine.

Kat shook her head. This was madness. This was what happened to women who had no clean grasp on reality. She wandered into a farthest part of the gardens, where the willow trees had been planted long ago. The birch and ash trees grew there as well.

Katharine was particularly fond of elm trees. The willow tree branches dipped low, almost to the ground, and she stepped inside one. She looked down at her hands and saw that they were shaking. She closed her eyes and remembered his goatee as his mouth touched hers. She remembered his hands on her, inside of her, and taking her that night after the party.

The air was cold, and her breath foamed out as she exhaled. The willow tree branches encircled her and protected her as she sighed. She must let it go. She must forget him. This can only drive me mad; she told herself for the thousandth time.

She touched the diamonds at her throat and tried to calm herself. Silly, she said to herself. She breathed out and turned to go back to the party.

But then, her quick intake of breath and the pounding of her heart inside her chest happened instantaneously. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

“You aren’t real,” she breathed out in disbelief, her breath foaming in the cold air.

“Oh, I’m real enough,” he mocked her.

His clothes were European as she had seen in the ballroom and his hair was pulled back without a wig. But his golden body belied the fact that he was not European and never would be. He would never fit in and would never want to. He had come here for one reason.

“I don’t understand. How are you here?” Katharine asked him, as her fantasy and nightmare collided together. She pressed a hand to her exposed chest as her heart raced.

“The horse, your Arabian, was my Arabian. I bred and sold him to your father,” Mohammed explained.

“Did you know when you sold it to him that it was for me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. His dark eyes met her blue ones.

Mohammed watched her intake of breath, which caused her breasts to swell over her neckline.

He had watched her that night, not able to take his eyes from her. He had many dealings with Europeans because of the Arabian horses he bred. The horses were renowned for their beautiful bone structure and stamina, but he had never accompanied the horses once they were sold. He had always dealt with the foreigners, accepted their money and had his men transport the horses. This time was different, however. This time everything was different.

Her father had written to Mohammed, inquiring upon the price of an Arabian stallion. Edward wrote in detail about his spirited daughter, explaining that the horse must be the same, intelligent and spirited. Mohammed had accompanied the horse to England to bring back what was his by Arab law.

He had watched her stand near the English dandies at the ball and smile into their faces. He had watched a young blonde dandy rest his hand on Katharine’s waist and clenched his own fist in anger. She had used her body well to trap men into wanting what they couldn’t have. Poor Majeed had found out the hard way. His own brother was enchanted by the little falcon! Majeed should have known better.

And now, after coming across the sea, he was here to claim her again. There would be no negotiations and no bargains; she would be his.

Unaware of his thoughts, Katharine shook her head, confused. Her diamond earrings glistened in the dark.

“Why are you here?”

Mohammed stepped toward her.

“You know exactly why I’m here. I’m here to take back what’s mine,” he told her.

He closed the small gap between them and jerked her into his arms.

“No,” was all she managed to say before his mouth took hers. He was clean-shaven and well-groomed, which only made him more dangerous. She knew what was underneath the fancy clothes.