Chapter 4
THE SHEIK AND THE VIXENA young maid looked in on Sora every few hours until sunset. Then slept on a small pallet at the floor of Sora’s bed during the night.
Maari reported to Ali that the sheik’s guest slept at day-break. Checking on her charge on noon, she found no difference, other than Sora’s change in position. But at six that evening when Maari was summoned to her master’s presence and she reported the long sleep of the American woman, Shiek Leeteuk was not pleased.
“Do you want me to wake her up master?” the little servant asked.
“No, I will check on her myself.”
“As you wish.” Maari returned to her duties. Leeteuk waved Ali aside over the dinner that had been prepared for him and he went up to the quarters given to Sora.
He paused along the way to inspect rooms that hadn’t been used since his mother’s death ten years ago. They were clean and orderly. Most furniture were sparingly. 70 years have passed since any concubines had graced the winter palace. Yet the harem remained, a private secluded oasis in the midst of a massive household. Leeteuk thought it is a great waste to have so much space allocated to a man’s use and to have nothing within the rooms that gave any pleasure.
In previous centuries, eunuch guards monitored the harem, but he had no such person in his employ. That did not mean that well-trained guards were not on the grounds. It was as unwise for any sheik to be that foolish in this day and age as it had been in his great-grandfather’s time.
Leeteuk entered the formal reception room. He’d had it modernized years ago, but as he spent most of his time traveling to different countries, visiting Anaiza was something rarely.
The place of modern business kept him hopping, and coping with jet lag. Never, not even in his wildest dreams, had he thought that he be caught in his Air Force Reserves uniform, actually defending his country. Had he not been on duty bound to return to Kuwait for the two-week reserve session, he most likely have been vacationing in Cairo like most of his countrymen.
Fate had placed him in the airways over Kuwait, trading jokes over the radio with two Saudi cousins training on similar maneuvers. Fate had nearly given him a heart attack when the act of war was confirmed and he sighted his father’s newest toy jet streaking out of Al Kuwait with an Iraqi MiG on its tail. Fate had given him an American / Korean woman who knew how to zip through the air like a lightning bolt. Fate had given him the presence of mind to send her to Anaiza.
Today, this moment, he was thankful that Allah had given him this treat. And if Allah was merciful, every member of his family would soon be safe within Anaiza’s peaceful walls.
Within the harem, cool silence greeted him. The door to the bedroom stood ajar. His leather soles made no sound on the Persian wool rug. Muted twilight filtered through the ancient rosewood screens. The slandered rays fell across the empty, rumpled covers of the bed. He cocked his head sideways, listening for the movement. Hearing none, he frowned.
Stepping into the bedroom, he searched for the woman who should be there.
A single garment bag spilled its contents onto the settee at the foot of the bed. The door of the bath were wide open, but only daylight illuminated the large room. His steps quicken as he approached that door. It wasn’t possible she had gone elsewhere.
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