Читать книгу Desert Rogue - Erin Yorke - Страница 10

An 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.