Desert Rogue (21 page)

Jed inched his way slowly around the perimeter of the oasis to survey the goings-on within the campsite before attempting to fetch the needed water. To his surprise, he noted eight horses hobbled near the water hole and felt a momentary twinge of uncertainty. As experienced as he was, even he might be bested by odds of eight to one. Yet the camp the travelers had established wasn't large enough to accommodate that many men, and he and Ali had only spotted four from afar.

Two fellows still sat by the fire and a small tent nearby could possibly hold three others, but no more than that. There were no additional sleeping rolls laid out and he had seen no one stationed as a guard, although two large canvas-shrouded mounds rested near the horses. Perhaps the party was but a group of traders transporting goods south through the desert to Khartoum. If so, it would have made more sense for them to take their merchandise up the Nile, unless they, like he, feared discovery. Maybe these were some of the smugglers that the dervishes had mentioned.

Intent on getting closer to those near the fire so he could hear what the men were saying, Jed stretched his lanky frame on the ground once more and slithered through the still-warm sand. Perhaps they would reveal their purpose and ease his concern about meeting up with them in the morning.

One of the two was whittling, a sharp-bladed knife in hand. A rifle rested not far from where the other sat cross-legged on the sand.

Like those who had attacked them a few days before, these men were dervishes, though more ascetic than the others. Their robes bore no embroidery and their black turbans were dark against the inky sky, with no gem to secure them or signal their station in life.

“Do you suppose that fool Englishman will dare challenge the Mahdi's word again?” asked one of the men idly. “Even though Cairo is far away from the Mahdi, he should have realized our leader has lengthy arms.”

“I was surprised the infidel had the nerve to attempt it even once, but since the count of the rifles was accurate this time, Hamid, I would say the villain learned his lesson quickly,” said the other, slicing a long narrow strip off the wood in his hands. “Though, should he need another reminder, I could happily do some human carving, perhaps his—”

“I doubt such will be necessary, Jamal, not when he added three extra boxes of gunpowder—as a gift, he said, to make up for his unfortunate error on the last shipment.”

“Humph,” snorted his companion. “That one
gives
away nothing. Somewhere else he will overcharge the accounts, anxious for a profit rather than salvation, but that is not our province. As long as we deliver what he sells, our job is complete and the Mahdi's rise to power is that much closer. Long live the Mahdi!”

“For now, long sleep his servants! We leave before dawn, so snatch a few hours of rest,” instructed Hamid. Rising to his feet, he tossed his cup aside and turned toward the tent. “If you sleep out here, the horses will alert you to any jackals that come calling, the four-legged or two-legged variety.”

“Most caravans use the larger oasis south of here. This one rarely sees travelers,” agreed Jamal. “It will be safe enough.”

Safe enough unless he could somehow explode that gunpowder, considered Jed, his mind already hard at work. If only he had some fuses... No, what was he thinking? Such a plan would be foolhardy when his main concern was Victoria Shaw's well-being. But old habits died hard, and if he had been responsible only for himself, things would have been different. As it was, he could not chance the dervishes finding his trail and taking the Englishwoman.

Englishwoman, he mused. The Sudanese had mentioned an
Englishman
as their supplier! Someone, supposedly loyal to the Crown, was evidently supplying the Mahdi's supporters with arms and enough ammunition to encourage a revolution in the Sudan.

Now, not only would Reed have to be thankful for Vicky's safe return, but for the opportunity to impress his superiors with this information Jed would deliver about the Mahdi's subterfuge.

Convinced he had learned all he could, Jed slipped back through the darkness to where he had left the two water bags. Carefully removing the stoppers, he took one container in each hand and approached the pool of fresh water, thankful he didn't have to fear contamination here.

A quick look reassured the American that Jamal was still occupied with his carving. Yet Jed would have to either crawl to the water with the man too near for comfort or fill the bags on the other side of the desert spring, closer to the horses. Not willing to gamble on eight animals' silence, Jed slithered to the water's edge. Gradually he lowered the first bag into the pool, trying to minimize the gurgling.

In the utter blackness, it was difficult to tell how full the bag was, so Jed was forced to hoist it out of the water. He froze at the sucking sound the pool made, but there was no outcry. Gently, he grasped the leather pouch and squeezed its neck. When no water spilled forth, he lowered it once more and waited for it to reach its capacity. The task was not only time-consuming, but nerve-racking. How long could he expect to go unnoticed, he worried, turning his head to look at Jamal.

Finally he finished with the first skin. Swiveling about, he laid it on the bank. He only had to worry about one more and then he could head back to Victoria. Already Jed's anxiety about her welfare had replaced his earlier excitement over learning of the peculiar connection between the amassing of weapons in Khartoum and the English in Cairo. Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to him. Would Vicky still be alive when he returned?

He was a fool to worry needlessly, he berated himself, irritated at the unfamiliar emotions plaguing him. Until he met Victoria Shaw, Jed Kincaid had been a man who did his job without distractions, concentrating on nothing but the completion of his task. Now she had him considering tragedies for which there was no basis, and he scowled at such nonsense. Annoyed, he plunged the second water bag below the surface of the pond, realizing too late how forceful his thrust had been.

“Who goes there?” demanded Jamal. The dervish jumped to his feet and looked about in confusion. He hadn't identified the source of the sound yet, but he grabbed his rifle for reassurance. “I heard you moving. Come up to the fire now.”

Jed swallowed hard and pressed his body against the sloping sand. With all his being he hoped Jamal wouldn't venture down to the water's edge. If he did, the American would have no option but to kill him.

“I said, come out. There is no reason to hide.”

Again Jed played possum, praying for a miracle—or a less than vigilant guard.

“Show yourself. I know you are there,” ordered the dervish.

“Can a man have no privacy to answer nature's call?” demanded an unexpected voice from behind the tent.

“What? Who is there?”

Jamal sounded relieved, Jed reflected, though the dervish could not have been any more pleased than he was.

“I drank too much coffee,” muttered Hamid, coming forward. “I didn't expect to have to justify myself.”

“But the noise was nearer the pool—”

“You heard a stream and assumed it came from the pool,” snorted Jed's savior. “Would the horses be quiet if an intruder were about?”

“I suppose not,” agreed Jamal reluctantly.

“Get some rest then and stop looking for trouble where there is none.”

Then only Jamal was before the tent, looking rueful at having embarrassed his superior. For a rash second, Jed wanted to cheer. Any further noise he made would be dismissed by the guard as his imagination, certainly not worth risking Hamid's fury. Soon enough he could be on his way back to Victoria...and Ali.

And so it was. The remaining bag was quickly taken care of and the long trek back to camp did not seem not half so arduous as he expected. Though once Jed Kincaid would have been disgruntled to have passed up the opportunity of engaging the dervishes in a brawl, tonight he felt triumphant simply to be returning to camp with two bags full of water. It was strange the effect a woman could have on a man.

* * *

“Well, how is she?” Jed demanded, striding up to where Ali sat next to Victoria.

“Restless, but somewhat cooler when last I checked,” the Egyptian replied. “Did you have any trouble?”

“No, though I learned a few interesting things, but they can wait until we're back on the trail.” Sinking down beside Victoria, Jed shifted her body so her head rested in his lap. “Pour some water into a cup and add the last of the honey. Then wet a cloth and bring it here.”

Ali was quick to obey. Without further instructions, he began to sponge Victoria's forehead as Jed raised the cup to her parched lips, allowing the liquid to just tease them.

The change was gradual, but slowly her eyes fluttered open.

“Don't try to move yet,” ordered a voice from behind. “Open your mouth and take a small sip.”

Victoria realized it was Jed speaking. He was holding her gently and dripping golden nectar down her dry throat as though it were the most natural act in the world.

“Take your time, Victoria,” urged Ali. “You were without water a long while, but Jed has brought us plenty now.”

“Brought us?” she whispered. “Didn't we reach the oasis?”

“Shh,” urged the man who held her. “There were strangers up ahead so I thought it better to slip in and bring the water back here. Ali is making more of it than it was.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. Her blue eyes fixed themselves on his, and she tried to express her gratitude with a small smile, trusting he understood her enough to grasp her intent.

Her answer was a gentle caress as Jed bent low over her and touched his lips tenderly to her forehead. Though this was not the action of a man bent on staying away from an attractive woman, coming close to losing Vicky had made maintaining his distance unimportant.

“I know you have a lot to say,” he assured her, “but for the moment, concentrate on regaining your strength. We'll have to be traveling all too soon. I want to be long away from here before the dervishes head this way.”

“More dervishes?” squawked Ali. Hadn't they had enough grief from the last group? “Let us break camp now.”

“Not for a few hours,” decreed Jed, shifting his position so he could lie beside his charge and cushion her. “Vicky needs her rest and I've had none.”

Snuggling against her protector with a tender smile, Victoria was pleased they had made another truce. In spite of his rough edges, Jed Kincaid was quite a man to know, and with his coolness of late, she had missed him. Now, however, though she could not say how she knew, Victoria instinctively sensed that the gap between them had closed. Oddly enough, that realization was every bit as invigorating as the water Jed had risked his life to fetch for her.

* * *

The sky was still a deep gray when they broke camp later, leaving no evidence of their brief stay. As a recovered Victoria knelt to finish tying her bedroll, Jed approached her and, taking her hand, raised her to her feet.

“I know you're exhausted, but if we press on—”

Victoria interrupted his explanation by leaning forward and placing her fingers gently across his lips.

“Considering what Ali has been telling me about your efforts last night, you must be even more drained than I,” she said softly. “If you're ready to continue our trip, then so am I.”

What had happened to the willful female who had fought him so furiously in the early days of their journey? Under his very eyes she had evolved into a woman, a gentle, caring woman who thought of others before herself. A woman he was pleased to know, Jed thought,
real
pleased.

He kissed her slender fingers where they lay, instinctively opening his mouth and sending his tongue to lick slowly. Then, realizing the error of his impulsive action, he stepped hurriedly backward, ending the contact between them.

“I'm sorry, Victoria,” he muttered, awaiting her anger. Having surrendered so mindlessly to temptation, Jed did not need to hear Victoria's objections to his improper behavior. He would be living with the effects of it all day if his body's reaction was any sign. “I shouldn't have done that and I promise you it won't happen again.”

Uncertain whether she was more startled by Jed's intimate gesture or his apology for it, Victoria hesitated before speaking, her blue eyes searching his rugged face for some clue to his feelings. While Jed had just breached society's code, she knew only that his touch had excited her—and
that
was her sin as much as Jed's. Engaged to Hayden, she should not be welcoming another man's caress and regretting its conclusion, yet she had done both.

“There is no need to apologize, Jed. No harm was done,” she said aloud, praying that were truly the case. She did not want to spend the remainder of the day reliving the fascinating little shiver that had quickened her pulse and made her wish for more.

Forcing herself to treat the episode lightly, Victoria laughed softly and smiled at the man before her.

“No other gentleman has ever kissed my hand in such a manner before.”

“I'm out of practice. Shall I try it again, just to make sure I do it properly?” offered Jed, a weight lifting from his shoulders at her teasing. Had she truly called
him
a gentleman?

“What is keeping the two of you?” called Ali, already astride his camel. “I thought you were in a hurry, Jed.”

At his words, Jed bent over, grabbed Victoria's bedroll and tossed it up to the Egyptian. As much as Jed regretted the interruption, Victoria would be riding with him all day. There would be plenty of time to explore their newfound rapport.

“By the time you stow that bundle, we'll be a half mile ahead of you,” he yelled. “Time to ride, Vicky—ah, sorry,
Victoria.
”

“Vicky is fine,” she acknowledged, accepting his assistance. Settling herself in the saddle, she smoothed the skirt of her
gallabiya
and bestowed a happy glance on the American below her. Since they had made peace with each other, she found that his nickname did not grate on her as it once had. In fact,
Vicky
sounded somehow more appropriate coming from him.