Free The Sheikh and the Servant by Sonja Spencer Page B

hoped to draw more smiles forth this night.
    Sawsan ran in first, skidding to a halt in front of the servant as her father stepped inside the tent behind her, carrying Massarah. She wore a blue and red dress with a red veil and black cape and hood. “You’re still here!” she said, surprised.
    Noori knelt before the young princess, bowing his head in deference to her. “Of course I am still here,” he answered. “I was in awe of your beauty and had to see you again. Perhaps when you are old enough, I will have enough wealth to be your suitor,” he joked.
    Sawsan’s jaw dropped, and she looked up to her father, who just raised an eyebrow. She looked back at Noori and dissolved into giggles. Massarah wiggled and was set down. He made a beeline for the table, climbing onto a stool.
    Noori held a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt. “Your laughter wounds me, sweet princess. Am I not the man for you?” He raised his other hand to steady the stool that rocked with Massarah’s awkward weight.
    A soft smile curved the sheikh’s mouth as he watched Noori with his children. Obviously comfortable leaving them to Noori’s care, he walked over to his desk, shuffling through papers and then patting his pockets, a distracted frown forming.
    Sawsan giggled again and noticed Massarah. “Be careful, Massarah,” she said kindly, obviously loving toward her brother. She looked to Noori. “He’s really hungry. They dug holes today.”
    “Under the history of farming book,” Noori said, noticing Shahin’s fruitless searching for his spectacles. Shahin found his glasses with a grunt and slid them on, sitting down at the low table gracefully with his papers and stylus, although he spared several looks for the children.
    Noori served Massarah a plate of finger foods as he asked Sawsan, “Dug holes? What treasure did they seek? Or did they seek to hide a treasure?” He served her as well, pulling the young boy down from the stool to rest in his lap on the carpeted floor.
    Massarah ate quickly, fruit in both hands. “Sand holes for storms,” he said through a full mouth of food.
    “He is learning about how to survive in the desert,” Sawsan translated, eating more delicately.
    Noori laughed at the children’s conversation before glancing at Shahin. “Will you not join your children for repast?”
    The sheikh looked up, somewhat befuddled, and pushed the papers away. He scooted over to sit next to Sawsan, who offered him a honeyed date. With a slight smile, Shahin accepted it, popping it in his mouth as the children watched avidly. He pursed his lips and rubbed his belly. “Mmmm mmmm.”
    Massarah and Sawsan both giggled, then each ate a date and mimicked their father, eyes closed, lips pursed, rubbing their bellies. “Mmmmmm mmmmm.”
    Noori rolled his eyes, smiling broadly as the family ate together. It was the most he’d seen Shahin eat in some time. Much business and work had fallen upon him as of late, and Noori had come to learn a better understanding of how much responsibility the sheikh carried. As he watched, a load of care seemed to lift from Shahin’s stooped shoulders, and he became more lighthearted as he joked with the two youngsters.
    The children shared bits of their dinner with their father, and he did the same, until Massarah offered his cup of goat’s milk. Shahin wrinkled his nose and shook his head.
    “Milk is for growing boys, Massarah,” he rumbled.
    Noori rose from his position and poured Shahin a glass of wine. “And juice is for growing men,” he teased.
    Shahin accepted the wine with a nod, sipping it. When Sawsan pulled on his arm, he lowered the goblet to her lips. “Only a sip,” he cautioned her, tipping the cup slightly.
    Massarah turned up his nose and held his milk close. “I don’t like juice,” he stated clearly.
    “Neither do I,” Noori assured the young boy, pulling him closer. “I’ve found that it turns some men into overgrown goats.” He laughed as the