Abdullah rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He had already spoken to Safiya’s father, and she would be brought to the palace as his personal guest, along with her uncle.
Abdullah knew for certain that the young beauty would replace the white witch in Mohammed’s bed. He would make certain of it. With Yasmeen gone, Abdullah reasoned, Safiya must conceive quickly to avoid any further departures back to England. If the young girl gave birth to a son, Mohammed would never stray and, Allah be praised, all would be as it should.
***
She sank further into her troubled and strange dreams. Dark shadows followed her, and she was alone and frightened. She moaned in her sleep and cried out his name. Where was he? Why did he leave her?
She heard the cries and she sat up. She walked slowly to the handmade cradle. A warm wind blew the curtains inside the room as the baby’s small fists clenched in the air. She smiled down at him. He was so beautiful. She took him into her arms and settled into the rocking chair.
She cooed to him as she undid her nightgown. Her nipple puckered in the air and the baby’s rosebud mouth latched onto it. She smiled and sang a made-up lullaby to soothe him.
“You look so lovely as you feed our son,” he said, walking behind her.
His fingers sifted through her golden hair and his heart expanded with love.
“He’s perfect,” she smiled.
“Like his mother,” Mohammed said. His brown hand encircled her other breast as he leaned down to kiss her mouth.
She looked up at him.
“I’m so happy,” she said, smiling.
Katharine suddenly jerked awake from the dream. That was it. That was what she couldn’t remember. The dream brought everything crashing back to her. The cradle and the baby. The baby. Yes. That was it. The baby.
Safiya turned slowly, admiring herself in the looking glass. She was a slender young girl with small breasts and hips. Her hair was dark and hung to the small of her back, and her eyes were liquid brown. Her lips were full and thick, almost too thick for her small face, and seemed made for fellatio. Safiya wore her orange silk abaya and practiced dancing with her long scarf.
She draped the white gauze-like scarf around her body. She wrapped it delicately about her head and then rewrapped it around her upper body, looking at herself in every position.
“Remember, you must be obedient at all times, Safiya,” Khuzaymah said.
“Yes, Father,” she replied, trying to please him but wanting so very much to try the other silk scarves he had brought for her to wear.
Khuzaymah had purchased many beautiful colors and patterns for his daughter so that she might entice the sheik with her body.
He had been approached by Abdullah, who had heard from town gossips that his daughters were very beautiful. As Safiya had already had her heart set on being the sheik’s wife, she had been excited to learn of the negotiations and the invitation to visit the palace.
“Remember, he is a great sheik and you must defer to his knowledge,” he told his daughter.
“Of course, Father,” she said.
Although Safiya was the youngest daughter of a sheik, Khuzaymah was poor, and his many beautiful daughters had little dowries and only their beauty to recommend them. He tried to marry his daughters into families that would be advantageous for him.
Though she was young and beautiful, she was childish, immature and silly. He worried that once a man of Mohammed’s stature had satisfied his lust, he would grow tired of her.
When Yasmeen had been sent away in disgrace and Abdullah had approached him on behalf of the sheik, Khuzaymah had been delighted.
“Allah has decreed a woman submit to her husband,” he continued.
“Yes, Father,” she answered him, but she was very bored.
She began to comb her long hair as he spoke and she felt her nipples harden. The sheik would want her, she thought. His stature among men was one of a leader, and his sexual prowess with women was much talked about. All knew of his harem. To please him, her body hair had been removed, and though no firm negotiations had yet been acknowledged, the men seemed convinced that Safiya’s young body would do most of the work for them.
Her father’s brother Khaldun, her Uncle, accompanied them to the palace. He was a crafty man who also wanted Safiya with Mohammed for the power it would bring their family. Khaldun was a short, squat man who was very hairy. He walked with a slight limp.
Safiya watched her Uncle Khaldun from the corner of the room as her father prattled on about the obedience of women. Khaldun had always been taken with his niece. He imagined her thighs spread before him as he settled his thick body between them. She had always thought too highly of herself, being just an insignificant girl.
Safiya saw her uncle’s hungry look and blushed. He licked his lips once and adjusted his cock before asking her, “Are you listening to your father?”