Desert Rogue

“He’s dead. Khartoum? Kincaid, you promised—” protested the shopkeeper. Surveying the two other bodies, he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, but if they went to Khartoum, when would he see Fatima again? “You swore you wouldn’t do this!”

“I guess I got carried away,” chuckled Jed, upending the fallen bottle of zabeeb. ”Want a drink?”

Shaking his weary head at the American’s nonchalance, Ali accepted the bottle and raised it to his lips. He was not experienced with alcohol, but somehow he felt in this instance, Allah would understand. Traveling with Jed Kincaid would drive any man to drink. Besides, if his fate consigned him to be this infidel’s companion, maybe he had better learn his ways. The Egyptian sighed, surprised at the sudden burst of warmth in his gut. In the meantime, he would pray that the road on which he journeyed with the American would not be quite so fiery.

* * *

Though Victoria Shaw had also invoked the heavens, she was perturbed that her prayers had not as yet been answered. At the moment, in the gentle light of morning, she wore her impatience for all to see as she paced the boundaries of the women’s quarters at the home of Zobeir, the slave trader, under the man’s watchful eye.

He was concerned by the behavior of the Englishwoman so recently delivered to him. Despite her desperate circumstances, condescension toward her new masters marked her as a woman of spirit. Although her imperious attitude had prompted him to keep her from the slave pens where she could start an insurrection, the rotund Zobeir had yet to decide whether or not to beat the pretty female into submission. After all, her proud, uncowed demeanor could very well raise her asking price, he mused, aware that there were many who would pay an exorbitant amount for the chance to tame so wild a creature.

Still, Zobeir concluded, witnessing the blonde issue a haughty denial to the servant who had brought her fresh garments to replace her own attire, she had to be gentled somewhat. No man would part with gold for a shrew, no matter how exquisite her looks.

Watching the woman continue her graceful caged walking to and fro, Zobeir wished he could afford the luxury of humbling her himself. But with a sigh, the slaver put such thoughts aside. One did not get rich by giving in to temptation. To steal Victoria Shaw’s virginity or to mar her delicate flesh with whips would only lower her price along with her pride. No, she would be disciplined, to be sure, but in more subtle ways.

Signaling to the serving girl who still stood holding the sheer harem garments, Zobeir approached his newest acquisition.

“Perhaps you failed to understand that after bathing you were to don these,” he said, fingering the indecently transparent pantaloons. “Put them on now.”

“I most certainly will not!” Victoria proclaimed, her frosty tones an indication that she considered the man her inferior.

“Yes, you will, or you will regret it,” Zobeir stated with a dangerous softness.

“I hardly think that likely,” Victoria scoffed.

“Ah, but you underestimate the power I hold over your destiny,” Zobeir replied, his cheeks growing rounder in the wake of his odious smile. “Do as I say and you will be sold to a kind master. There are those with whom you would not fare well.”

“I will not be sold at all,” Victoria said emphatically, though these last few days her belief in that statement had started to waver. “The Europeans living in Khartoum will not allow such an atrocity to be visited upon one of their own.”

“And have you seen any of them since your arrival?” Zobeir asked with a chuckle. “With auctions of slaves as private as they are, no one will ever be aware you have been in Khartoum.”

“I have already told you that I am a British citizen and the daughter of a wealthy man,” Victoria announced, tilting her chin defiantly. “I am worth more in ransom than any price you could ever hope to fetch for me in the slave market. If that is not enough to sway you, perhaps the idea of my fiancé’s terminating your vile life will change your mind.”

“Do not try my patience, English flower, or I will see you transplanted into a garden not fit for dogs, rather than into one containing blossoms as delicate as yourself,” the slave trader threatened. He had no inclination to explain to the girl that she had been marked for death by the powerful figure who had charged him and his men with her abduction. It was only the result of his own greed and the fact that the one to whom he answered was miles away that he had dared to defy his orders and keep her alive at all. However tempting returning her to her father for reward was, Zobeir knew it was an option that he did not have—not if he wanted to live.

“See here, I have already traveled endlessly bound in the bottom of a falucca, only to find myself carted into your despicable city under a pile of blankets. I survived that. Your talk doesn’t frighten me.”

“But my description of the sort of master to whom you could be sold will make an impression. Do you know how a man can treat a woman when he wishes to be cruel? Do you realize how he can tear into her body so that he rips at her very soul? If you do not fear pain, perhaps the idea of indignities will move you to do as I bid.” When the Englishwoman did not react, Zobeir decided to offer her details.

“I can sell you to a man so slothful that he will not waste his time arousing you, not even so that you may bring him pleasure. There are those who have the female they have selected for the night held down by eunuchs while the other women of the harem inflame the chosen one until she is ready for her master. Should you think the women would refuse to do such a thing, realize that there are those in every large harem so starved for physical joy that they would find such a duty a treat. They would relish bringing their victim to the brink of ecstasy so that their master had merely to enter her with no more finesse than a rutting ram in order to find his own satisfaction. Do you think you would like to belong to such a man? Does the idea of other women kissing and caressing your most private parts excite you?”

“How dare you talk to me of such things?” Victoria whispered fiercely, face pale but her voice still drenched with contempt.

“Ah, it is not the talking you will come to fear,” Zobeir said, his fingers stroking his straggly beard. “Do as I ordered and change your attire.”

“You will find that Englishwomen have more backbone than you suspected. I am not frightened by your disgusting threats.”

“Put on this clothing or I will beat you now!” the slave merchant thundered, his patience at an end.

“You wouldn’t,” Victoria retorted with a contemptuous laugh. “Lay one filthy finger on me and your life is over.”

“Your bravado is almost commendable. Still, if fear doesn’t move you, I will have to persuade you to submission by other means. Clothe yourself in those garments now or I will beat this woman.” With that, he reached out to grab the serving girl by the hair and pulled her to him, striking her repeatedly about the face and head.

Victoria couldn’t decide which sound she detested the most, the slap of fist upon flesh or the girl’s piteous cries. Unable to think of an option that would end the sobbing woman’s torment, Victoria Shaw reluctantly agreed to do as she was told.

“All right. Give me the clothing! Just stop hitting her!”

“I thought you would see logic eventually,” the slaver said smugly, casting the other woman aside. “And realize that the only reason I did not forcibly dress you myself is that I do not want any marks on your fair skin when you mount the block.”

“Do you promise to leave that girl alone if I do as you ask?” Victoria inquired in a calmer voice than Zobeir had expected.

“I swear before Allah that if you but wear the things I have given you, I will not touch the slave again...at least not in anger,” the man said with a wicked laugh.

“Leave, then,” Victoria directed, reverting to her usual position of authority despite her circumstances. But even as she held out her hands to receive the diaphanous garments, she vowed that this would not be the first step toward surrender.

If only Hayden would arrive, she thought, her eyes boring into Zobeir’s retreating back. Surely her fiancé’s failure to materialize was the result of inordinate caution, caution prompted by his great love for her and his reluctance to act too precipitously. But didn’t he realize that if he didn’t rescue her soon, she might experience injury, anyway?

True, she was English and would do her best not to let down the side, she mused, the skin of her thigh cringing at the cool caress of the indecent pantaloons as she stepped into them. Still, how much could any British subject be expected to endure? Victoria wondered, garbing herself in the scant jeweled jacket that barely covered her breasts.

The sound of Zobeir’s return echoed in the hall a few brief moments later. Present danger was what she had to concentrate upon now, the young socialite reminded herself as she stood awaiting the slave peddler’s entrance.

“Disobedient slave!” came his outraged cry when he beheld her. “Do you still think to defy me?”

“I have kept my part of the bargain,” Victoria said smugly.

“You are a liar, like all your race,” Zobeir bellowed, hard put not to throttle this troublemaker. It was only his vision of the profit she could bring that stopped him.

“English honor is revered the world round,” Victoria replied coolly. “I am as honorable as any of my countrymen.” With that she lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal the harem garb beneath her own clothing. “You told me to put these things on. I have done as you asked, and I expect you to keep your promise.”

“Do you think to outwit me?” Zobeir asked in rage. He should have had his men kill the girl as he had been ordered to do. “Time in the slave pen will do you good. And if you are not truly humbled by tomorrow, I will come up with something that will amuse me more than you have angered me at this moment. Perhaps you are not the virgin I suppose you to be. A physician’s certificate attesting to your purity might be in order.”

“If you or anyone else comes near me, I will kill him and then myself,” Victoria stated with deadly coldness.

“Take the woman out,” Zobeir ordered in exasperation. “Place her in the pens!”

Though Victoria held her head high as she walked away, her heart cried out, Oh, Hayden! Where are you?

Chapter Four

The great walls of Khartoum loomed ahead. Their dusty surface, awash with the light of morning, projected a foreboding aura that unsettled Ali Sharouk’s stomach and his throbbing head.

Last night he had thought to ease his plight by partaking of some more zabeeb at El Naharal, a village situated between Khartoum and the quarries to the north, where Jed Kincaid had freely spent a great deal of the ransom money for supplies in pursuit of his wild and improbable rescue scheme.

Though alcohol and Ali had not been acquainted before his encounter with the American, the shopkeeper had embraced it quite willingly yesterday evening, attempting to blot out the presence of the irritating foreigner to whom fate had bound him. Surely Allah would not withhold his forgiveness for such a small transgression, Ali had told himself, especially when the Almighty considered the reason for his humble servant’s uncharacteristic fall from grace. But this morning found Ali less than sharp, and that was a thing that worried him greatly.

“This is not going to work,” he muttered in exasperation. Nevertheless, he plodded along beside Jed as he had for the past few hours, ever since the horses and provisions the American had purchased had been left concealed within a narrow niche in the cliffs to the north.

“Quit your complaining,” Jed replied absently, his sharp green eyes already assessing Khartoum’s walls and the faluccas bobbing in the Blue Nile’s currents before the city’s main gate.

Looking at his fellow traveler, Ali could almost see Jed Kincaid’s silent calculations taking place, his rejection or acceptance of the various options he discerned. The cold, perilous gleam in Kincaid’s eyes made Ali shudder. Surely only a madman could be capable of such intense, single-minded concentration.

To conceal his uneasiness, the tall Egyptian shifted the saddlebag containing explosives that Kincaid had procured from a Frenchman running the quarry below Kerrari. The wisdom of transporting such materials was something else Ali had questioned, but the American was obviously comfortable with danger.

Yet for all Jed Kincaid’s preparations, Ali considered the plan so insane that he wondered how anyone with an ounce of intelligence could think it might succeed. It was the product of either a fool’s thinking or that of a man so bold and arrogant, he could not conceive of failing. Looking at Jed Kincaid, his stubborn jaw set in determination as he continued to scan the city walls, Ali knew into which category his companion fell.

“You know what to do once we pass into the city, don’t you, Ali?” the American drawled, his attention drawn to the swift currents of the Blue Nile as it flowed westward to join the White and form the Great Nile River.

“You’ve only explained it half a dozen times. I do comprehend your language, barbaric a tongue as it may be.”

“No need to get testy,” Jed rejoined, his mouth curved carelessly into a dangerous smile. “At least you’ll be entering Khartoum as a free man. You’re not the one posing as a captive and going into the slave pens.”

“This whole thing is preposterous. You’re simple guessing that’s where the woman is being held. I ought to really sell you for dragging me into this madness and be done with you,” Ali threatened.

Jed stopped abruptly and whirled around to face the merchant, roughly grabbing the neckline of Ali’s gallabiya and pulling the Egyptian so close to him that their faces were only inches apart. “Don’t even think about it, you desert-hatched son of a bitch. Should anything go wrong in there, I’ll track you down and leave your dismembered body for the jackals. Is that understood? Do you think your Fatima would enjoy being a widow?”

“You can’t hold me responsible when this business ends in disaster,” Ali replied, calmly removing Jed’s hands. “If it wasn’t for your damned impulsiveness, the money would have been delivered and we would be on our way back to Cairo.”

“Tell me you’d pay for a delivery of brass at that miserable little shop of yours without getting the goods. Go ahead, convince me of that. It’s no different with Victoria Shaw.”

“By Allah, look at you!” Ali exclaimed. “You’re enjoying every moment of this! If the Shaw woman had not been abducted, you’d be in the middle of something else right now, just as hazardous as this is.”

“Be quiet, Ali,” Jed growled in warning.

“It’s true! You are as drunk on impending danger as I was on last night’s liquor. It’s in your blood, something you crave. You’re so obsessed by it, Kincaid, you don’t even understand the audacity of what you’re doing—or what you’ve already done.”

“What I don’t understand is why a big fellow like you is hesitant about changing things and making them the way he wants them to be,” Jed stated, his voice as sincere as it was critical.

“Of course you don’t. There’s not a shred of civilization about you,” Ali replied with a snort. “Unlike me, you are a man with nothing to lose.”

“I’ve had just about enough of your jabbering,” Jed snapped, turning back to face Khartoum, the city now showing signs of the day’s business getting underway. “I swear, when we get back, I’m going to kill Reed for tying me to you.”

“If we get back. As for being tied, that was your idea, not mine.”

“And that’s why I’m certain this plan will work,” Jed answered with a grim smile as he glanced down at the rope imprisoning his wrists.

“You’ll need more than confidence to escape once you’re placed in the slave pens,” Ali fumed, an anxious frown furrowing his forehead as he wondered how he could ever return home without the woman, Kincaid or the ransom money.

“That’s where I have to rely on you, God help me,” Jed said with a sorry shake of his dark head. “But it can’t be avoided. Once we see the lay of the land, I’ll decide where to place the explosives, and if you can keep me in the shadows for a few moments, it will be easy for me to get that job done. From what we’ve heard, Khartoum is building up an arsenal and constructing a powder magazine outside the city on Tuti Island rather than in the city proper. But I’m sure there’ll be something else we can send to smithereens and cause a ruckus. When I give the signal, you set off the fireworks. By the time we’re through, it will look like the Fourth of July in there.”

“July? Your month of July is a few weeks away, isn’t it?” Ali asked, drawing his eyebrows together and regarding Jed curiously.

“Never mind,” Jed intoned, his deep voice rife with disgust. “All you have to know is that you light the fuses when you hear the signal.” With that, the rugged American whistled a few jaunty bars of “Yankee Doodle.” “Think you can remember that tune?”

“Who could forget such a disharmonious melody,” Ali responded dryly. “Still, it’s not too late to return to Cairo.”

“What do you reckon Reed will do if we show up without the woman and with a big chunk of the money gone? You have no choice, Ali. Now, come along,” ordered Jed as he began to lead the way.

“No,” said the merchant, his voice adamant.

“No?” repeated Jed in his most menacing fashion.

“No,” Ali reiterated. “If we are to have even a prayer of this insanity succeeding, I will do the leading and you will follow like a respectful slave. I shall hold the rifle, and, like a beast of burden, you will carry the sack containing the explosives. Should you enter Khartoum with your usual swagger and foul temper, you’ll be cast in irons the moment you enter the pens. And in all likelihood, I’ll be chained to the wall right beside you. You must appear to be submissive, resigned to your fate, perhaps even a bit timid or fearful. And above all, you must remember I will be the one giving the orders. Is that clear?”

“All right,” Jed yielded, irked that the Egyptian’s demeaning suggestions had merit. “But I’m warning you, don’t overplay your role.”

“I think this might be the only part of this ill-advised adventure that I enjoy,” Ali said. He grabbed the halter around Jed’s neck and gave it a tug. “Come, slave.”

“Watch it, you bastard,” Jed growled. Nonetheless, he affected a hopeless shuffle and followed in Ali’s wake. “Just remember, you’re going to have to live with me on the journey back to Cairo.”

* * *

She had come this far without giving in to tears, Victoria reminded herself as Zobeir’s men hurried her through the seemingly endless maze of corridors after preparations had been made to transfer her to the pens. No matter how desperate she felt, how hopeless it seemed, she would not surrender to emotion. Hadn’t she outmaneuvered Zobeir, the wealthiest slave merchant in Khartoum? The memory of his anger-mottled face cheered her immediately.

Indeed, since he had sent five guards to serve as her escort after making her wait hours alone in a closetlike cell, he no longer considered her helpless. Forcing him to take such precautions had to be a victory of sorts, Victoria assured her flagging spirits.

His men surrounded her, the one at her side grasping her elbow so firmly it was a wonder she had not lost circulation in her arm. The situation was intolerable for a British citizen.

“You are holding me too tightly,” Victoria announced curtly, stopping suddenly. While the men were still startled, she twisted her upper body forcefully to the left. Wrenching her arm free from its human vise, she glared at the one responsible for her discomfort, her blue eyes challenging his implacable black ones.

“Your manners are sadly lacking,” she chided. “I realize you answer to Zobeir, but aren’t you man enough to defend a helpless female from abuse rather than perpetrate such behavior?”

Fury flashed across the face of the guard and the feisty blonde found herself on her knees, her long hair wrapped tightly around the man’s hand as the pain of his tugging it caused unbidden tears. Even as she squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed to ease the agony, Victoria knew she was defeated.

“A man is always master, though he may in turn answer to another,” replied her tormentor while the others chuckled. An abrupt jerk of the hand forced Victoria to look up into his cruel smile. “Have I convinced you to walk or shall I drag you? It is the same to me.”

“Zobeir will—” she began to threaten weakly until his fingers twitched, viciously tightening his hold on her blond tresses.

“He won’t object since your skin won’t show any ill effects. Indeed, I shall make it a point to inform your buyer of this particular form of discipline,” promised Zobeir’s man. Then, using her hair, he yanked her roughly to her feet. “Now will you walk?”

“Yes.” There was no need to say more, nor any ability to do so. Stung now by the painful reality of her situation, Victoria regretted her pointless defiance. There would come a time when he was less vigilant, she promised herself, refusing to despair.

With a satisfied grunt, the Sudanese released her curls, took her elbow and addressed his cohorts, his words causing loud guffaws. Then they were moving once more through the still-deserted halls of Zobeir’s grand home.

With each step across the lush carpets, Victoria questioned her presence in this world of masculine brutality and power. It was more than a week since she had been kidnapped, nine days if she calculated correctly. Why hadn’t Hayden or her father found her? Cameron Shaw had always said, “Money buys power—or at least the semblance of it.” Surely if her father contacted the khedive, the political leader would interfere on her behalf.

Could it be possible that no one knew she was in Khartoum? For a long moment this thought stunned her, almost as badly as the harsh sunlight that blinded her as they left the sheltered rooms.

Outside, the guards moved closer, herding her at a quick pace through the dusty streets. A few heavily veiled women averted their eyes as they passed, while a large group of men leered openly and began to follow her, shouting in Arabic. Two particularly persistent fellows tried to push past Zobeir’s men to reach her, but they were easily repelled by her human shield. The slave trader had not exaggerated when he said many men would want her. But would Hayden continue to desire her, if he ever found her?

All too quickly, they stopped before a guarded enclosure, its eight-foot-high walls topped with spikes embedded in the sandstone. Heavy wooden gates provided the only interruption in the rough-textured expanse, at the top of which stood a sentry’s post.

“Zobeir wants her in the pens until tomorrow’s auction,” announced the man beside her. “We will take her through.”

“There is no need—”

“Zobeir knows you have sampled his wares in the past and he wants her untouched,” refuted the slave trader’s deputy.

Not understanding the sharply spoken exchange, Victoria dared hope for a moment that she was being turned away. Instead, the high gate opened and they were motioned inside.

As she moved, the young Englishwoman looked about and was startled to see men on every side of her: short, tall, dark-toned, light-skinned, bearded, clean-shaven, clothed in every possible garb. Some were asleep, but more were standing about, carefully watching her progress across the compound.

“Zobeir said the women’s pen,” she reminded her keeper. She was nervous because of the hungry leers on dozens of faces, most of them destined for slavery themselves.

“They are sheltered behind the men’s quarters to offer extra security from anyone who would interfere,” the man explained gruffly. “The guards and these slaves are between the women and the street in case of trouble.”