Desert Rogue (10 page)

Would this nightmare never end? wondered Victoria, making her way hesitantly to Ali's side. As much as she hated the sight of blood, she couldn't refuse to care for the man. The back of his shirt was already sticky with crimson, but there didn't seem to be any more oozing. Quickly she rinsed her hand and dripped water on his forehead, but he didn't waken.

Sighing at the unfairness of it all, the blonde looked back at the other man, the one who had been in the pens with her. As unmannered as he was, he had gone back for his partner. Could he be as bad as she had presumed him to be? She still didn't know his name or his story. It was time for some answers, she decided abruptly, abandoning Ali to his continued unconsciousness.

“Look, your friend has passed out cold.”

“Passed out? Why?”

“How should I know? Maybe from shock or loss of blood or the way you so
tenderly
tossed him on board like a sack of potatoes.”

“Tenderly or not, I saved his life, lady, just like I saved yours!”

“So you keep reminding me, but who in heaven's name, or should that be hell's name, are you?”

“Just a man who had a choice of rotting in jail or coming to rescue you,” Jed snapped. “I made the wrong choice.”

“I think I did, too. I should have stayed in Khartoum.”

“Seeing that you are engaged to Reed, I understand your second thoughts—”

“It's not Hayden who's the problem. It's you! You're totally insufferable, ordering me about like—”

“Sorry if the service doesn't suit you, but Jed Kincaid wasn't raised to be any lady's maid.”

“Service? What would you know about service? It is quite evident that you weren't reared in a civilized home.”

“To my way of thinking, Kentucky is a hell of a lot more civilized than Egypt. We don't steal women and sell them to the highest bidder.”

“You're from America?” realized Victoria, shaking her head in sudden comprehension. “Well, that explains everything.”

With that, she made her way back to Ali, clearly preferring his company.

The sudden red-hot flare of his temper was familiar to Jed, but not the timing of its appearance. Ordinarily on a job, he prided himself in his ability to overlook irritants, concentrating on the task at hand and blocking out all else. Victoria Shaw, however, had become a burr under his saddle in less time than anyone but his youngest brother, Rory, could manage. It was all Jed could do to focus his attention on the
falucca.

His life, as well as Ali's, depended on his disregarding that irksome female, Jed told himself, sending a hateful glare in her direction. He must adhere to their plan, even though Ali was unable to assist him. For the moment, his own need to set Victoria Shaw down a notch or two would have to wait. Still, the pleasure that would eventually provide him would indeed be sweet, Jed promised himself, glancing over to where she sat. Very sweet, indeed.

A
n American! After hours of sailing, Victoria raged silently in the stern of the
falucca,
recalling stories of tobacco-chewing, gunslinging cowboys from across the Atlantic, men who stopped at nothing in their desperate pursuit of pleasure and adventure. Is that what he imagined her to be, not that she would willingly give him pleasure!

Of course, knowing his nationality, she wasn't at all shocked that he had dared to thwart Zobeir's guards and steal her from the pens. Everyone knew that crude Americans had no common sense, no self-discipline, and no concern whatsoever for propriety.

Risking a glance over her shoulder at the renegade, Victoria shuddered. Even in profile, half obscured by the sail and the lengthening shadows of twilight, the man appeared menacing. His unshaven face and sun-burnished skin, grimy with gunpowder, proclaimed him a barbarous individual, no better than a criminal. Yet, unbelievably, Hayden had entrusted her well-being to him...unless Kincaid was lying and he wasn't taking her back to Cairo.

After all, how would she know the difference? There were no landmarks she would recognize, no consulates to offer protection or advice, no one on whom she could rely, and she certainly didn't know the first thing about surviving alone. Lord help her! Until she could revive the Egyptian, Kincaid was her only ally.

Determined to see to Ali's welfare, Victoria stood up abruptly, eliciting unwelcome attention from her theoretical savior.

“For pity's sake,” Jed scolded. “Can't you sit still?”

“I—I only wanted to bathe your friend's forehead, or can't you spare a thought for him?”

“I wouldn't have dodged bullets with Ali on my back if I didn't plan to return him safely to his wife. However, right now, I prefer him unconscious.”

“How can you be that callous? Unless you have evil intentions toward me?”

“I am not that desperate, lady. My name isn't Hayden.”

“Then why do you wish your friend ill?” she demanded, too distraught to respond to Jed's insult.

“Ali has a slug in his back. He's better off dead to the world until I can remove it and give him something for the pain.”

“And when will that be?” Victoria had not wanted to ask. She had had no intention of acknowledging the fact that Kincaid gave the orders, but the words had escaped her lips. Was it possible that on some level she believed he knew what he was doing and would protect her? No! No sane person would trust an arrogant animal like him.

“A bit farther downriver we'll go ashore. Ali and I cached supplies and hid horses a mile or two inland.”

“A mile or two inland? But how will we get to them?”

“By using the two good legs God gave you,” snorted Jed. “Now, hold your tongue so I can concentrate on getting my bearings. The darker it gets, the more treacherous the river can be, and I don't want to fall afoul of Zobeir's men because I was listening to you.”

“Are you saying that I am a distraction?”

Jed considered slowly, weighing his words and throwing caution to the winds. Perhaps his frankness would obtain the temporary respite he needed and, at the same time, let him exorcize the unwelcome, devilish urges building within.

“Lady, those eyes alone would have made Odysseus abandon all thoughts of home and Penelope, but when you factor in that trim little rump of yours, those mile-long legs and your sweet—”

“Stop drooling, Kincaid. I'm not on the auction block in the slave market.”

“Only because of yours truly, honey, so I'll salivate as much as I want to. I've earned it!”

“Perhaps, but I don't have to stay here and listen.” She swiveled back to Ali so quickly that she missed Jed's quiet laugh.

Once more he had gotten his way, he realized thankfully, but how much longer would his luck hold? He had already negotiated the treacherous joining of the White and Blue Niles safely, leaving the grassy plains of the savannah behind. Now, however, he needed to time their actions perfectly to make Zobeir's men believe they had continued downriver. Then, too, he had to worry about getting Ali and Vicky to shore safely.

“Hey, Vicky, can you swim?”

“It has never been a favorite pastime of mine, but I can stay afloat if need be. Why? Have we sprung a leak?”

“Not yet, but soon,” Jed answered calmly, intending to tell her no more until absolutely necessary. It was enough for him to know that he would not have to get both her and Ali to shore alone.

Annoyed by his laconic response, the blonde resolved not to question the American further since he probably wanted her to do so. Settling down beside the Egyptian, Victoria was careful not to jar him. With deft fingers, she checked his forehead for fever, relieved that he was still relatively cool. Perhaps he
was
better off unaware of their circumstances. She certainly wasn't thrilled to know their plight, fleeing north through the deepening shadows with God-knew-who after them.

* * *

Zobeir the slave merchant sighed heartily as he wallowed amid the pile of cushions beside the bathing pool of his home. Eyes closed, he tried to concentrate on the pleasure of having his temples bathed with water made fragrant by rose petals. But as light and soothing as the touch of the handsome young slave was meant to be, even this indulgence brought Zobeir little solace. The day had seen him suffer tremendously, and his rapacious soul was filled with wrathful anguish.

He could have made a fortune had that troublesome European female been placed on the block and sold to the highest bidder. As it was, not only had she escaped, but so had many others he had intended to sell. His purse was considerably lighter than he had expected it to be by day's end. But far worse was the fact that his reputation as an astute trader in human flesh had crumbled along with the walls of the slave pens. Since all of Khartoum had concluded it was the white woman he had placed in the enclosure who had brought so much chaos and destruction upon their city, it was he whom they held responsible. There were not many who would want to conduct business with him anytime soon.

A groan escaped the trader's lips despite the gentle ministrations of the young man attending him. This had been the worst day of his life. His only consolation was that it could not become worse.

But it would appear his trials were not yet at an end, Zobeir decided with a frown as the worthless idiot seeing to him suddenly ceased any attempt to bring his master consolation.

Raising his hand to slap the young slave, Zobeir opened his eyes to find his target, and saw the visitor who had entered the area on silent feet. The man was swathed in black and loomed over him like some avenging angel. Zobeir, himself frightened by the stranger's presence, could not fault his ignorant servant for freezing at the sight of so intimidating a figure.

With a swiftness that seemed incongruous in light of his obesity, the slaver climbed to his feet and bowed in obeisance to his visitor. Zobeir had no doubt as to the man's affiliation even if his identity was unknown.

“A thousand welcomes, worthy master,” Zobeir murmured as he prayed a connection had not been made between the white woman who had been rescued from the bazaar and the rich banker's daughter who had been marked for death by the man this mysterious messenger represented. “And Allah's blessings on him whom you serve.”

“May Allah hear your prayer and grant it,” the dark figure responded, his voice slightly muffled by the obsidian cloth winding down from the crown of his head to the base of his neck and trailing over his shoulder so that only his equally black eyes were visible.

“Is there another service you desire, master?” Zobeir asked nervously, his squat body twitching from anxiety. “If there is, I dare not believe my good fortune, unworthy as I am, in being asked again to help the one who will rid our land of nonbelievers.”

“No, Zobeir. The Chosen One has no more to ask of you,” the visitor said, his voice as flat as the disklike bread being baked in the slave trader's ovens at that moment.

“Then—then why am I so hon-honored with your presence?” the portly figure stammered. He rued the moment he had decided to disobey the directive of the Chosen One. He should have simply had the European girl slaughtered as he had been ordered to do, but then, he had not understood why he had been commanded to kill the daughter of a rich man. It had eaten at his very being. What a fool he had been, he silently berated himself as he stood fixed in place by the harsh stare of the man who regarded him so coldly.

“I have come to issue payment for what you have already done,” the robed figure stated.

“Payment?” Zobeir asked hopefully, his small eyes beginning to glitter in spite of the fear that had gripped him only seconds before. Allah be praised, perhaps he was yet safe.

“Payment,” the shrouded man repeated, his fingers moving back to rest on the purse dangling beneath the dagger. “Though I am certain such a devoted servant as yourself desires no reward, it is only just that you receive what you deserve.”

“That is most generous, mighty master. I have suffered grave losses this day, or else I would insist that any money due me be distributed among the poor,” Zobeir lied, extending his hands to receive the purse. “But as it is, I must see to it that my men are compensated for their service to the Mahdi.”

“Your men have been taken care of,” the visitor assured Zobeir. “And now it is your turn.”

With that, his hands released the strings of the purse and flew to his dagger, which was unsheathed before Zobeir could comprehend what was happening.

“And now, receive payment in full for your disobedience, treacherous wretch,” the ominous figure intoned, his voice still void of emotion as he lifted the weapon high into the air and brought it down with a vicious celerity, plunging it into Zobeir's chest. Efficiently, he withdrew his blade. Then, while a staggering Zobeir tried unsuccessfully to staunch the gush of blood, the visitor turned his back on the dying traitor as the whimpering slave fled from the room.

* * *

Miles away, Victoria slowly considered the horrors that had brought her to be on the Nile in the company of two strangers, both out of their minds, the Egyptian because of his wound and the American, she feared, by the very nature of his personality. Kincaid had said they were to leave the river and go inland, but why? Couldn't they stay on the water all the way to Cairo?

Perhaps he had meant they would go ashore temporarily to reclaim the food and supplies he had hidden, she mused. That might be the scenario he planned, but hadn't he mentioned horses?

Frowning at her increasing certainty that Kincaid intended to return to Cairo across the desert, Victoria marshaled her arguments to challenge his plans. Suddenly, however, she looked up and unexpectedly found him beside her.

“Unlace your slippers, take them off and tuck them in your pockets,” he instructed, removing his boots and stuffing them inside his shirt. “They will slow you down in the water.”

“What? You said we were going ashore—”

“We are. But the shore is over there and we're here.”

“So? Sail the boat into shore.”

“If I risk taking us any closer, the
falucca
might run aground and ruin the suggestion that we're still traveling downriver, a ruse we desperately need to outwit our pursuers.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“It is if you want to reach Cairo alive,” pronounced Jed. “Unless you want to sit on board and wait for Zobeir's men to catch up with you, it's time to take your swim.” When Victoria made no reply, he knelt beside Ali. “Once you're in the water, I'll slide Ali over the side. Just hold on to him until I join you and then I'll take him to shore.”

“Wait a minute. I haven't agreed to this—”

“You don't have a choice! If you want to return to Reed, I'm your only available guide, and I have no intention of following you to Khartoum again.”

“I—aren't there crocodiles?”

“None that have a bite anywhere near as lethal as yours,” he snapped, impatient to be moving. Every minute they stayed on the Nile increased the possibility they'd be overtaken.

Glancing in her direction, Jed felt a sudden jolt of pity. She looked so nervous and frightfully small in the
gallabiya,
he almost relented, recalling all she had been through of late. Would it be that dangerous to chance completing their return to Cairo on the river? he reflected before reality readjusted his thinking. Years of calculating the best odds of survival and living by them reasserted themselves and his heart hardened.

“This is not an evening at a debutante's ball designed for your entertainment, lady. Either jump in or I will take great pleasure in tossing you overboard!”

“You wouldn't dare!”

He did.

Kincaid would pay for his cruelty, Victoria swore silently as she plummeted into the Nile. Gasping, she unwittingly swallowed some water as she went under, kicking frantically to bring herself back up. Finally she reached the surface...only to find that Kincaid hadn't stirred. She could have drowned while he watched!

“Ready?” he asked softly, lowering the Egyptian's feet into the water even before she replied.

“You don't leave me any alternative,” Victoria observed, trying to grasp Ali with one arm and the side of the boat with the other. “The current is dragging him away from me.”

“Hold him tighter against your body, then. Use both hands. I have to adjust the sail before I come in.”

“If you even think about abandoning the two of us here—”

“I wouldn't. Ali deserves better.”

Oh! Never had she hated anyone before, realized Victoria suddenly, the heat of her fury warming her to the core. Hatred violated the Christian principles to which her parents had bound their lives and hers, but that man—
that
man deserved to be hated. On second thought, hatred was too mild. Loathing or abhorrence fit him better.