Desert Rogue
Erin Yorke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Tracy Farrell—with sincere thanks for all your encouragement in this roller coaster of a business. You make it easier to ride the ups and downs.

For Marion Willoughby, and all the other women who trudge across the treacherous sands of life without a hero to guide them—may he be waiting just over the horizon.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One
Cairo—1881

The whoosh of a clenched fist traveling past Jed Kincaid’s ear momentarily drowned out the exotic wail of the snake charmer’s flute as it mingled with the usual chaotic noise of Cairo’s medina. Raising a questioning eyebrow, Jed spawned a lazy grin that didn’t quite reach his hard green eyes, and turned around to face his attackers.

“Damn, you really are angry, aren’t you? And here I had just about given up hope of finding any more excitement tonight...at least before I went to bed. But if you boys want to fight, despite the fact that I told your little sister she was too young for me and sent her on her way, then I’ll be more than happy to oblige,” Jed drawled. Knowing these Egyptians didn’t care about explanations, he stretched his long, muscular frame so that he appeared even larger, his stand obviously taken.

Senses heightened, he noted a sudden absence of noise in the bazaar. Even the snake charmer’s melody was silenced. Most of those who had been outdoors only a moment before had sought refuge from the impending melee behind the shutters of the small shops squeezed together along the narrow, twisting alleyway. Absently, Jed brushed back a wayward lock of dark brown hair from his forehead and raised his fists, readying his body for the onslaught to follow.

He wasn’t disappointed. All at once, three men clad in gallabiyas charged at him, and Jed’s powerful forearms made contact with the midsection of one Egyptian before he whirled to face another.

Though Kincaid’s stance was easy and graceful as he delivered blow after blow, his steps swayed slightly, a result of the zabeeb he had been imbibing rather than any damage he sustained from the brawl itself. After all, there were only three of them, and Jed Kincaid had oftentimes discovered himself in much worse scrapes.

Somehow, trouble usually managed to find Jed, and when it didn’t, he went looking for it. While others not born in Egypt might spend their time sequestered in their own sectors, which were nothing more than transplanted slices of their homelands, the dark-haired American preferred to experience everything foreign shores had to offer. In fact, after two grueling months in the desert, Jed had yearned to avail himself of the sweet pleasures of the Middle East. But even he hadn’t hoped for an evening as entertaining as this promised to be with its drinking, its brawling, and his still undaunted intentions of finding some passionate desert blossom to share his bed.

Prodded by the one appetite he had yet to satisfy, Jed savagely thrust his elbow to the rear and was pleased to hear a grunt. Fights like this one reminded him of the constant tussles he and his brothers had indulged in while growing up in the woods of Kentucky. Steeped for a moment in boyhood memories, Jed barely managed to evade a lethal blade before he cautioned himself that there was one important difference between this and the scuffles of his childhood. These boys were playing for keeps.

The realization didn’t sober him. He was a man who thrived on danger, and he decided not to allow the deadly attitude of his opponents to detract from his own enjoyment of the moment. After all, they were the ones missing out on all the fun, needlessly angry as they were. It was just a damn shame that most people didn’t know how to enjoy life and its many challenges.

That thought foremost in mind, Jed threw himself with greater abandon into subduing the three Egyptians. After a few more minutes of exertion, one man lay groaning at Jed’s feet while another was heaped over a pile of baskets. Two down and one to go, Jed noted with satisfaction. If the third assailant had any sense, he would learn a lesson from what had befallen his companions. But as the man lunged at him with renewed rage, Jed concluded that this fellow was no brighter than the other two. Couldn’t the idiot understand that he hadn’t approached the girl, that she had tried quite unsuccessfully to solicit him?

Now that the first blush of excitement had worn off, an impatient Jed decided to dispatch his remaining attacker quickly. Heaving a sigh, he sent the Cairene a wallop that had to have loosened some teeth, and received a blow to the jaw in return. Crouching and coming in suddenly under a fist meant for his head, Jed grabbed the Egyptian, wrapping his hands around the unfortunate man’s throat while he heaved him against the wall of a small brassware shop. The gallabiya-clad villain landed heavily, scattering neatly displayed brass plates, tables, vases and coffee sets with a loud clatter.

Satisfied that the Egyptian wouldn’t be getting to his feet for quite a while, Jed wiped the dust from his hands and turned away. Now that the fracas had been settled, he had no intention of being in the vicinity should the local police arrive anytime soon. After all, he still had one very pressing need that remained unfulfilled.

Setting forth with a determined glint in his dark green eyes, Jed had gone no more than a half-dozen steps when he heard an excited voice filling the narrow alleyway.

“English! Wait! Wait, English!”

Jed kept going. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with him, and he had things other than curiosity on his mind at the moment. Yet, as he made ready to round the corner of the twisting street wending its way through the middle of the bazaar, the voice became louder and more insistent, until suddenly it was punctuated by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

Muttering a curse, Jed readied himself for another fight, be it with recovered assailant or arresting police in pursuit. Damn! Didn’t these people have better things to do, he asked himself in annoyance?

But the sight that greeted his eyes when he turned around was neither constable nor thug. It was, however, one very irate Egyptian, a shopkeeper from the looks of him.

“English, I will have a word with you,” the man demanded indignantly when he reached Jed.

“Say, you’re not talking to me, are you?” Jed asked with exasperation as he sized up this newfound obstacle to the pleasure beckoning him like the song of a siren across a turbulent sea.

Of Bedouin extraction by the look of him, the man was almost as tall as the American he confronted. From the expression of his sharp, angular features, the merchant was agitated about something, but Jed had neither the inclination nor the patience to find out what it was.

“Yes, you, English. I am talking to you. Where do you think you are going?”

“Now, see, that’s where you make your mistake. I’m an American, not some overly civilized, staid Brit, and I guess I had better warn you that I don’t play by their silly rules of proper behavior,” Jed growled softly, angered that he had been mistaken for one of the sedate and unflappable Englishmen who had overrun the Land of the Pharaohs. “And as to where I’m headed, it’s none of your damn business.”

“But it is,” the man insisted in spite of the formidable picture a scowling Jed Kincaid presented. “I will not have you run off without payment for the damage you did to my wares. I am Ali Sharouk. It was against my brass shop that you threw one of the men who had challenged you, ruining an intricately wrought coffee service in the process.”

“Challenged? It was more a bushwhacking they had in mind than an open and honorable challenge,” Jed said with a snort of derision. “As for damage to your coffeepot, get the money for it from one of those bastards who started the fight. I’m certainly not paying for it!”

“But they appear to be poor men. Where would they get the piasters to pay me?” the shopkeeper asked plaintively. “No. It is you I hold responsible, you who heaved my countryman into a pile of my lovely brassware.”

“If they don’t have any money, take it out of their hides,” Jed suggested, turning to walk away once more. “From experience, I can assure you that you might find it real gratifying to do so.”

“I am not excessively violent by nature,” the tall Egyptian asserted, dogging Jed’s footsteps as he dismissed the situation and set out on his way, “yet neither am I a fool. I will have my money from you.”

“Like hell you will,” Jed promised in a dangerous voice. For emphasis, he brought his face within inches of this latest nuisance, a man not much older than his own twenty-eight years, though by all appearances, a hell of a lot more domesticated. “A decent man walks down your street and is attacked and you expect him to pay for the goods you had heaped at your doorway? I don’t think so. In fact, my friend, I know that is not going to be the case. Now, leave me alone before I lose my temper.”

“Your temper does not mean as much to me as recovering the price of the goods that were damaged,” the Egyptian replied with more persistence than Jed would have given him credit for.

“I said to forget it, Ali,” Jed pronounced, lengthening his stride so that the other man was finding it increasingly difficult to keep pace with him.

“I will do no such thing,” the Egyptian replied, reaching out a hand to slow this argumentative American down if not stop him altogether.

“Listen, I suggest you take your hand off my shoulder,” Jed whispered fiercely, “and go back to your shop. That is, unless you have a hankering to wind up like the last men who touched me.”

Ali involuntarily released his grasp but planted himself in Jed’s path and kept up his harangue. Finally Jed Kincaid had had enough. The muscles of his lean jaw clamped tightly, and he shoved Sharouk out of his way with such force that the shopkeeper found himself sitting in the midst of refuse strewn across the dust of the alley.

Without another thought for the man, Jed left him there, ignoring Ali’s shouted promise to track him down and recover what was rightfully his.

But to Jed’s aggravation, the recent events in the medina had befouled his mood, robbing him of the euphoria he had found in the bottle of zabeeb. With an exasperated sigh, he decided to attempt to recapture his good humor with a few more cups of the native liquor before continuing his search for a woman. He had enough control to postpone his gratification awhile longer, and he had no wish to bring anger to his bed that night, wherever it might eventually be.

* * *

The estates of wealthy foreigners were a far cry from the poverty and exotic life of the Arab quarter. Behind the gates of the British and French dwelt beauty, great wealth and an ordered grace, if not the actual comforts of home. At least that was how Victoria Shaw viewed her world.

The sultry heat of the Egyptian sun hung oppressively over the Nile, the air visible in the shimmering distortion of the land across the river. Though Victoria had dressed in as cool a manner as was proper, in a loose-sleeved white chambray blouse edged with piping that matched her blue skirt, and had long ago dispensed with corsets and stays, the twenty-year-old was frightfully uncomfortable. Indeed, ladylike behavior or not, Victoria Shaw was actually perspiring in the early twilight.

Wearily tucking yet another errant curl back into her rapidly dissolving coiffure, the petite blonde sighed and moved further into the ineffectual shade provided by a nearby palm. What wouldn’t she give to be under a true English oak, or even a walnut tree.

Over the years since the family had settled in Egypt, her father’s servants had struggled assiduously to turn the Shaw property fronting the river into a small oasis of refreshing greenery, but, attractive as it was, it could never compare to the cool grassy meadows of Warwickshire that Victoria remembered so fondly from childhood. Even ten years of living on the outskirts of the Egyptian desert hadn’t erased her vivid recollections of running barefoot across the dewy lawns of the Shaw holdings in England.

“Mother,” the young woman said thoughtfully, removing her straw bonnet and using it as a fan in a vain attempt to stir a sympathetic breeze, “do you know, the experience I’m most looking forward to on my honeymoon is feeling cold again, being truly and properly frigid from my head to my toes.”

“Oh, surely not, Victoria,” gulped Mrs. Shaw, horrified that her daughter should entertain such a notion. She had thought Victoria adored Hayden and wanted marriage; whatever had come over her? Before she could express her dismay, however, Victoria laughed gaily and explained herself.

“For heaven’s sake, Mother, don’t look so grim. I don’t mean with Hayden. I expect to be kept quite warm learning the ways of husband and wife,” she admitted, recalling the embrace he’d caught her in the night before. “However, I am anticipating English weather with great delight, even if it will be November when we dock. As warm as I’ve been lately, I cannot think of a single discomfort to be suffered in a real English winter.”

“What about that raw, damp chill that penetrates your bones, no matter how well banked the fire, how warm your gown, or how much tea you drink?” asked Grace from under her parasol, a concession to her fair complexion and the strong Egyptian sun. “That is nothing I would choose to experience again. Your father and I are quite content here in Cairo, but I suppose it will be different for you if Hayden moves up in the diplomatic corps—”

“When, not if, Mother,” corrected Victoria, immediately indignant at the implied criticism of her fiancé. “Hayden Reed is invaluable to the British Consulate and soon they’ll recognize it and give him a more prestigious posting. You wait and see how quickly my future husband advances in his career.”

“Of course, darling. Hayden is a fine young man and your father and I are pleased you are happy with him.” Idly playing with her parasol, Grace chose her next words carefully. “As much as we appreciate Hayden’s sterling qualities, we had hoped you would marry a titled Englishman.”

“Mother, Hayden comes from an impeccable family. His bloodlines are nothing to wince at,” said Victoria with a pout.

“Nonetheless, society is much more pleasant when others must curtsy to you, my dear. Still, eventually your father might be able to arrange a title of some kind, baron or viscount, perhaps. Cameron does have Gladstone’s ear on foreign affairs, you know.”

“Hmm, Lady Victoria Reed. I like the sound of it already,” the bride-to-be said with a smile, sinking down onto one of the small benches near the fountains replicating those found in the Shaw gardens in Warwickshire. “Perhaps we should postpone the wedding until Hayden receives that title.”

“Victoria, you are scheduled to marry in less than three months. It would be highly inconvenient to alter our plans now. Since you were the ones who wanted to be married quickly, you should dispense with such foolish notions,” chided Grace, impatient with the heat and wishing she hadn’t mentioned her husband’s hopes. “Come along, now. We have written barely half the invitations. We must get back to them.”

“I do wish the British community in Egypt was not quite so large or that you and Father didn’t know everyone.”

“As the representative of the bank holding the notes on a major portion of the khedive’s debts, it is your father’s duty to invite almost everyone with whom he is acquainted,” sniffed Mrs. Shaw. “Besides, a good number of invitations are for your friends and people Hayden wishes to impress.”

“Mother, I promise you, if you permit me this half hour until dinner, I will produce beautiful copperplate from the moment we finish eating until my hand falls off—or until you grant this prisoner a pardon.”

“Such flippancy is hardly necessary—”

“All right, until we have finished,” corrected the young woman with a winsome smile. “Just let me enjoy the air. Even if it isn’t cool, looking at the water makes me feel better. See, there’s even a falucca on the river. I don’t recognize it, but someone else is appreciating the charm of the Nile.”

Mother and daughter watched the graceful Egyptian boat gliding downriver, its occupants invisible as it barely skimmed the water, making the motion seem effortless. Used for hundreds of years, the design was timeless, and one rarely knew where the crafts were heading or from where they originated. Only one’s imagination could attempt to solve the mystery.

“Very well, but don’t make me send the servants to collect you for dinner. I expect you at the table when I sit down. With your father in Constantinople, I detest eating alone. I always feel the serving girls are waiting for me to spill something.”

“Thirty minutes, Mother, I promise,” agreed Victoria, inordinately pleased at her precious few moments of privacy, time to dream of Hayden and their upcoming life together.

Her fiancé was so much an English gentleman that it was difficult to remember that he had lived in Egypt nearly twenty of his thirty years, she mused, leaning back and closing her eyes to picture him at his desk at the consulate.

His chin was square, his features finely chiseled, so he appeared aristocratic even though he couldn’t lay claim to nobility. Indeed, Senior Consular Agent to the Vice Consul was the only title Hayden Reed owned, but if Father could really influence the prime minister, life would be sweet, indeed. Marriage and a title, what fabulous treats were in store for her in the months ahead!

First, of course, was the ceremony, then a honeymoon voyage home to England, shopping in London, walking the estate in Warwick in cool, crisp country air. Images of bliss cascaded through Victoria’s mind, the blessed promise of tomorrow making her oblivious to the heat of the evening until unwelcome noises called her back to the river.

The sudden sound of feet landing heavily on the quay and subsequent running awakened Victoria from her daydream. Rising, she was astounded to see two natives hurrying up the landing while a third man secured the falucca she had noticed earlier.

“This is private property,” she announced sternly, waving her hand at the men in dismissal. The audacity of the Egyptians was unusual; everyone in the area knew the Shaw lands were not available for public docking. It could be that the men were from upriver, but she’d send them on their way quickly enough. “There is a landing site about two miles from here.”

Still the men approached, moving even more rapidly toward her. Maybe they didn’t understand English.

“I say, be off with you now or I shall be forced to notify the authorities that you are trespassing,” she cautioned. “My fiancé is connected with the consulate and he won’t deal with this matter lightly, I warn you. Now go.”

Despite her urgent commands, for the first time in all the years Victoria had spent in Egypt, the natives did not scurry to do her bidding. Instead, they kept coming closer and closer. The distance between them was barely a few feet now, and, for a brief instant, Victoria felt panic and wondered if she should cry out for the old man working in the far gardens.

But why should she cause a fuss, argued her common sense, when they hadn’t threatened her? Maybe they were heading for the house to deliver a message for her father. They were somewhat scruffy-looking, but that didn’t mean they were intent on mischief. Perhaps they were only lost. Supremely confident of her position once more, she spoke again in an authoritative tone.

“If you have a message to deliver, one of you may take it to the house. But the others will have to wait with the boat,” she insisted, raising her arm to point to the falucca.

“You come with us,” responded the shorter man, grabbing Victoria and yanking her to his side.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, laughing, wresting herself free and stepping backward, losing her hat in the process. Yet, despite her evasive tactic, Victoria found herself captured by the rock-solid arms of the second man. “I am a British citizen and Hayden Reed’s fiancée. Neither he nor my father will stand for my being treated this way.”

All at once a coarse rag was shoved in her mouth and she began to choke at the unpleasant taste. Trying to breathe in such a way so as to avoid the foul flavor of the cloth, Victoria felt herself being lifted and tossed unceremoniously over the tall Arab’s shoulder. Horrified, she worked feverishly to free herself from his grasp, kicking her small pointed shoes toward the man’s stomach with as much force as she could deliver.

Suddenly she knew success and failure simultaneously as her flailing feet evidently hit a sensitive spot. With an anguished cry, her captor dropped her on the riverbank, just yards from the moored falucca. Quickly she scrambled to her feet, but before she could pull the rag from her mouth and begin screaming for help, the smaller man had pinned her arms behind her back and was busy tying them tightly together.

Realizing that she might not be able to free herself from their company for a while, Victoria composed herself enough to notice that the shorter one had a small scar on his left cheek before she was dumped facedown into the falucca.

As the craft began to move, she knew only frustration at her unexpected predicament. To think she had protested writing invitations tonight! Any moment Grace would be sending the servants to find her, but they would be too late. Still, there was Hayden. Once he knew she had been kidnapped, he would have both Egyptian and British forces out searching for her, stopping at nothing until she was found. Of that she had no doubt.

Unwilling to consider the possibility that she, an English woman and the only child of a wealthy banker, could actually come to harm, Victoria felt little more than aggravated at the thought of the waiting invitations that would now have to wait that much longer. But then, Hayden would rescue her long before breakfast, certainly.

Lulled by the boat’s forward motion, she concentrated her thoughts on Hayden’s coming to rescue her, her blue eyes hardening at the memory of the villains’ touch. For surely death awaited them for their unpardonable crime!

Chapter Two

Though Ali had moved off quickly in pursuit of the American through the narrow winding streets of the medina, he had lost his quarry. He refused to give up, however, and began a methodical search of the Arab Quarter, a hunter stalking his prey.

Twice he had found himself tossed out into the street for daring to demand information, but the man seemed to have disappeared. Ali could think of only one place to look for him, the brothel district.

Determined to see justice done, he directed his steps to this neighborhood and set up a vigil, telling himself that if he did not catch sight of the man he sought within the hour, he would go home to Fatima.

Suddenly, a hundred yards ahead of him, the lanky foreigner appeared, turning unsteadily into Nadir’s brothel.

Ali hesitated outside in the alleyway. If Fatima ever learned that he had visited a house of pleasure, she would leave him and return to her father’s house. Still, there was the matter of the five thousand piasters he was owed, nearly a month’s income from the shop. He could not afford to forsake such a fee, regardless of Fatima’s disapproval of his methods. With any luck whatsoever, his beloved wife would never learn the details of this evening’s activities. It would be enough to go home and show her the American’s money.

Dismissing the doubts that plagued him, Ali lowered his head to his chest, intending to remain temporarily unnoticed while he surveyed the brothel. When no eruption followed the American’s entrance, Ali decided it was safe to pursue him inside.

A deep breath calmed his racing heart as he crossed the threshold into the shadowy recesses of Nadir’s front room. Looking around surreptitiously, he spied the villain already moving up the stairs to the small cubicles above.

“No, no, you cannot go up to the girls without paying,” protested an overweight Egyptian behind the table, holding up a paunchy hand as Ali started for the staircase. “It is not permitted.”

“I am not here for pleasure. I am with the American,” lied Ali, sidestepping the proprietor and beginning the upward climb. “I stand outside his door to guard his privacy while he enjoys the sweet treats you provide.”

“Oh, room six, then,” agreed Nadir, not wanting any trouble. The American had already paid for the girl’s services. “Just stay in the hall. The girls get more money with an audience.”

Room six was the last in the corridor and Ali stood quietly outside. He would give the man a few minutes to become so involved that flight would be the furthest thing from his mind.

Then it was time for a quick tap on the door, followed by a pause and another staccato tattoo.

“I bring message,” he called. “Urgent message.”

The flimsy door opened abruptly and Ali pushed his way into the shadowy room, its only light provided by a few half-burned candles. A slender, half-clothed Egyptian girl stood by the door while the bare-chested American lay sprawled on the rumpled pile of cushions on the floor, a bottle of whiskey in one hand. Taking a long swallow, he held it out as if to offer it to Ali and nodded casually.

“Here, have a snort and tell me your message. Another job waiting, I suppose, though heaven only knows how you found me.”

“It is simple, sir. You owe me five thousand piasters for the damage you did to my shop,” announced Ali solemnly. “Pay me at once and I’ll leave.”

“Oh, it’s you, you filthy dog,” Jed growled, trying to make his eyes focus. “The brass merchant from the bazaar! It seems your merchandise isn’t the only thing that’s made out of brass. Get the hell out of here!”

“What? I do not understand.”

“You interrupt my pleasure to present me with a bill?” yelled Jed, struggling to his feet to confront the Egyptian. “I was never in your shop. It was the fool polecat I tossed against the wall who did the damage.”

“Your memory fails you because of the drink. I told you he had no money,” Ali explained rationally, refusing to be intimidated. “You must pay.”

“Pay nothing,” bellowed Jed. “Woman, get out of my way. I’m going to toss this ragged shopkeeper out on his ear and then we can get back to business.”

Ali, however, was lighter on his feet and swifter than the drunken Jed and he effortlessly sidestepped the other’s lunging motion. Extending his arms to harness the American’s momentum, Ali used it to propel his opponent headfirst into the corridor, where Jed made contact with the wall and slid to the floor.

In an instant, though, the American was back on his feet, spoiling for a real fight. No one had ever knocked Jed Kincaid to the ground so that he stayed there, and no scrawny Egyptian peddler was going to succeed now. Uttering a screaming war cry, Jed lowered his head and ran at Ali, butting him in the stomach and thrusting him into the adjoining door.

The impact of two flying bodies crashed the thin panel without warning. Suddenly Ali and Jed found themselves on an already-occupied mattress, its occupants none too happy.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” demanded the man on the bed as his companion sought to cover herself.

“He struck me without cause,” protested Ali, moving quickly to his feet, preparing to strike back at Jed. But as fast as he regained his stance and swung, so did the American.

Unfortunately, however, while Ali’s fist swung wide and hit only air, Jed’s connected soundly with the stranger’s jaw, at the same instant Ali spied the jacket of the Egyptian police slung casually over a chair. Groaning, he turned hurriedly toward the door, hoping to escape even as their victim rose to tower over them. Muttering angrily to himself, the officer snatched up the manacles intended for another purpose and grabbed Ali’s wrists while calling his men from nearby rooms to block Jed’s escape.

“Constable, it wasn’t my fault,” the shopkeeper protested, already dreading the scene to come. “I apologize that we disturbed you, but—”

“Constable?” echoed Jed, a dull pain beginning between his eyes. Somehow he doubted the manacles were a good omen, especially when a second set appeared and clamped his own wrists together. “I can explain everything. I was simply having myself a good time next door when this wild man interrupted—much the same way he, ah, we barged in on you—”

“Enough,” the policeman snapped, donning his uniform jacket. His evening’s pleasure had already been lost, but he might as well get credit for an arrest or two, he decided, herding the prisoners toward the stairs.

Disturbing the peace, disorderly conduct, attacking a constable, and probably another charge or two to begin with, he mused gleefully until it dawned on him that the foreigner had been speaking to his Egyptian opponent in English. How could he arrest someone who was possibly a subject of the British Crown? Giving in to such folly without consulting the English authorities could put him in jeopardy of never being able to patronize Nadir’s again.

With a heartfelt sigh he adjusted his uniform and ordered the felons to be taken to the office of the consul general.

* * *

Grace Shaw had lost count of the number of circuits she had made of Cameron’s study, pacing to and fro, but feeling somehow closer to her husband in this room though he was miles away. She had endured dinner alone when Victoria hadn’t returned, stubbornly refusing to send the servants after her errant daughter. But when darkness fell, the worried mother capitulated and dispatched the household in search of her. Yet Victoria was nowhere on the grounds and Grace was very frightened.

What would Cameron do? she wondered as the clock struck midnight. If she worried Hayden and it turned out Victoria had merely slipped away to visit a friend in order to avoid addressing those blasted invitations, the Englishman would think ill of his fiancée. Still, if she didn’t tell him and Victoria was in trouble, he would think her a fool or worse.

It was more than four hours since she had left Victoria on the riverbank, where the old gardener had found her hat. But the girl was impulsive. Many was the time Grace had seen her toss her bonnet aside because she found it bothersome in one activity or another.

If only Cameron were here, fluttered the anxious mother. He would know how to avoid scandal, and the longer Victoria was gone, alone and unchaperoned, the more likely it appeared that would be necessary. Perhaps if she sent a note to Hayden, deploring the hour and asking him to escort Victoria home? That was it. She would dispatch a message as if nothing were wrong and the girl had planned to visit him tonight. If Hayden sent word that he hadn’t seen Victoria, then Grace would have garnered his assistance without directly asking for help.

Relieved at having made a decision, she sat at her husband’s desk to compose the note, only to be interrupted by the houseman.

“This was just delivered, Mrs. Shaw. The boy said it was urgent or I would have left it until morning,” he explained, handing over a heavy envelope sealed with wax that bore no imprint.

“Thank you, Ahmet. I shall need you to take a message to Mr. Reed for me shortly. I will ring when it is ready.” Her hand shook only slightly as she slit the packet, her unacknowledged fear finally taking hold. Victoria was missing, a young white woman in uncivilized Egypt. What else could this be but a monetary demand to guarantee her safety?

With icy fingers, she turned the envelope upside down, spilling out a crudely drawn map, a page of irregular print and the brooch Victoria had worn that evening. Her fears were confirmed.

Scanning the poorly spelled missive, Grace Shaw expelled a slow breath and, leaning back in Cameron’s chair, uttered a prayer.

“Oh, Lord, I don’t often ask favors of you, but please take care of my dear girl. I vow I’ll get the money these devils lust after, but let them be satisfied with that,” murmured Grace. “Surely if I do as they say, they won’t harm her. Hayden will know how to handle them. He’s good at problems and he cares for Victoria. I know he’ll see the ransom paid if I give him the money. And then Victoria will be home safe and sound.”

But after she had been abducted would Hayden Reed still wish to claim Victoria for his bride? With a strenuous effort, Grace concentrated on the matter at hand. There would be time enough to worry about that later; until then, emotionless efficiency must be her goal. First the message to John Thomas, Cameron’s assistant at the bank, asking him to discreetly release the funds to Hayden. Then the letter to Hayden himself.

* * *

Hayden Reed, consular agent, finished buttoning his trousers and passed the back of his hand across his sleep-laden eyes. Struggling to attach his shirt’s stiff collar, he wondered what emergency it was that would call him from his bed at two o’clock in the morning. He hoped that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with him and his work. Yet no matter the situation, the tall, slim Englishman vowed he would handle it. With unperturbed movements that belied his nervousness, he applied pomade to his hair, and a few swift strokes of his silver-backed brush soon had every golden strand impeccably in place.

He rinsed his hands and wiped them fastidiously, then checked his appearance in the mirror. Should the matter now demanding his attention call for the appraisal of his immediate supervisor, Hayden wanted to look every inch the proper British government servant. And if it was, indeed, his superior who had summoned him for questioning, a flawless appearance would not be amiss.

Easing into his expensively tailored suit jacket, and gently tugging the end of each sleeve so that not too much shirt cuff was exposed, he opened the door between his temporary bachelor rooms and the long hallway that led to the government offices at the other end of the building.

His inordinately fine leather shoes softly tapped out his progress as he trod along the corridor, happy that marrying Victoria Shaw meant he could leave his rather Spartan quarters behind and move into a house in a fashionable area of Cairo. A private residence would be so much more useful to a man in his line of work, and he looked forward to taking possession of it two days hence, a full three months before his wedding day.

When he reached the door that led to the office, Hayden straightened his tie and shoulders before making his entrance, his left eyebrow cocked to a suitably inquisitive yet critical degree.

Prepared for just about any crisis, the tall, wiry Englishman had never expected a sight the likes of which greeted him. It caused him to breathe easier. There standing on the costly, intricately handwoven carpet before his desk were two of the most bedraggled human beings Hayden had ever seen in the company of a common Egyptian constable, who appeared to be tempering his own irritation toward the pair with obsequious apologies for disturbing him at such an odd hour.

The unlikely duo was a study in contrasts. One was Egyptian, of obvious Bedouin stock, yet his demeanor and clothing, shredded though it was, proclaimed him to be a man of business rather than a nomad. But it was the other man who commanded Hayden’s attention. A Caucasian, the fellow was nonetheless one of the scruffiest-looking specimens Hayden had encountered in quite some time. Dressed in the sort of well-worn kit one might don on an archaeological dig, the man sported a heavy brown stubble of beard and, judging from his arrogant grin, an attitude that struck Hayden as even more prickly.

“What’s all this, then?” Hayden asked condescendingly. The question had been directed to the police official, the two men apparently in custody being, of course, beneath his notice.

“Most honored sir,” the constable began, “a small problem has arisen.”

“If it is so trifling, why bother me with it?” Hayden inquired, not troubling to offer the policeman a seat. This was merely a civil matter and not his own actions being called to task.

“Please hear me out. You are aware, of course, that the Egyptian constabulary is autonomous,” the officer began, his spine straightening and his chest puffing out with importance. “It is only as a favor to you that I bring these two men here, and certainly not because we are subordinate to Britain.”

“Yes, yes, get on with it,” Hayden brusquely commanded with a wave of his hand, knowing as well as the uniformed Egyptian that the police force was independent in name only.

“My presence tonight concerns these two,” the policeman stated with a nod, his tones made more deferential by Hayden’s obvious impatience.

Hayden studied the pair in question, noting the apprehension in the Bedouin’s eyes and the casual nonchalance of the other man. The one was obviously contrite about his part in whatever had occurred, while his companion appeared to be merely amused, a sentiment Hayden did not share as he thought of his comfortable bed at the opposite end of the corridor and the upset he had felt when he had been awakened.

“These criminals were involved in a most dreadful altercation, mudir. But since I suspected that fellow there might be a countryman of yours,” the constable said as he gestured toward Jed Kincaid, “and despite the fact reports show this is the third fight the fellow has been involved in today, I thought it best to learn your wishes in the matter before I placed him and his opponent in jail.”

“I tried to tell him I’m an American and not English,” came a casual drawl from across the room, forcing Hayden’s attention.

“Your nationality is quite evident,” the British official replied in clipped tones. The man, with his sun-burnished skin and raw strength, was all too primitive for Hayden’s taste. There was very little that was civilized about him, from his clothing to his manner. Dismissing him, Hayden pointedly turned to the portly constable once more. “As far as I am concerned, you can throw them both in jail for as long as you wish.”

“No, most respected sir,” the Egyptian in custody protested, his concern for Fatima overcoming his natural cautiousness in dealing with British officials. “I am not to blame. I was merely trying to recover money from this villain for the damages he did to my humble shop during one of his rampages. I asked him for payment, and that is when he set upon and attacked me.”

“And with good reason,” Jed growled, remembering the dark eyes and soft femininity of the woman employed at Nadir’s establishment.

“There was nothing to excuse your assaulting me,” interrupted the constable, his pride as bruised as his jaw.

“I wouldn’t have had a chance to hit you if you hadn’t been in that brothel,” Jed replied, his low, husky voice ripe with insinuation.

“I—I was merely con-conducting an investigation,” sputtered the squat, little police official.

“Yeah? Maybe you should ask him just what it was he was investigating,” Jed muttered skeptically to Hayden Reed.

“Never mind that! Let’s get back to the original issue. Why did you attack this Egyptian?” snapped Hayden with a nod in Ali’s direction.

“He asked for it. Besides, he deserved a good pounding for retreating into his shop when those other three jumped me. Is that what the shopkeepers in the medina do when an innocent man is beset by cutthroats?”

“I am nothing if not a law-abiding citizen. I do not become involved in common street brawls,” objected Ali. Never, in all his years in Cairo, had he called himself to the attention of the police or the English authorities.

“All that effort to recover a few piasters for some cheap tin and copper? I doubt that. It could be that you’re associated with the men who tried to rob and kill me. Maybe it was your job to see that I didn’t get away,” bluffed Jed coolly. He’d be damned if he was going to spend a night behind bars while the fellow who had interrupted his pleasure went free.

“My only quarrel with you was to recover the price of the goods you had ruined. By Allah, I swear it,” Ali maintained, casting a nervous glance in Hayden’s direction. One never knew what these foreigners would believe.

“This doesn’t concern me,” Hayden stated with the exasperation of one of the upper class forced to deal with inferiors. “Though I thank you, Constable, for your intention of allowing me to help decide the fate of one of my countrymen, what you do with these two is your concern. For all I care, you can lock them up and lose the key.”

“Whoa, one minute, Mr. Hayden Reed!” Jed shouted over Ali’s moan of despair. “I happen to know Great Britain runs the show here, and if you think you can turn your back on this Yank and wash your hands of me, you people are going to have another damn revolution on your hands!”

When Hayden replied, his ice blue eyes had turned frostier. “Is that a threat, Mr....?”

“Kincaid. Jed Kincaid.” He’d dealt with men like this before, Jed thought, long-suppressed images of his stepfather coming to mind after so many years. And he’d see himself in hell before he surrendered to propriety and played by this stuffy Englishman’s absurd rules. “And it’s no threat, Reed. It’s a reality.”

“See here, you colonial clod, your blustering has no effect on me,” Hayden retorted with disdain, half wishing that he had grounds to order this upstart American’s execution. Looking at the restless energy of the man before him, he doubted many jail cells had been built that could contain this powerful thug for very long. To imprison him and then have him escape would only feed the American’s already considerable ego as well as give the consul general cause to reassess his junior aide’s performance. The possibility made Hayden decide he should settle this matter—thoroughly frighten the man and then extract a promise from the bloody bounder to leave Cairo immediately and not return. As for the merchant, he would lecture him, as well. It wouldn’t do to have the natives think they could do whatever they pleased.

“I will tend to this problem,” Hayden began, waving the policeman out the door. Then he turned to Jed Kincaid. “Someone has to teach you proper respect for authority.”

“Many a man has tried,” Jed retorted, a dangerous glint lighting his emerald eyes, “and not one of them has succeeded.”

“Obviously,” Hayden replied dryly. “But now it is my turn.”

Concerned with their confrontation, both the American and Briton had forgotten Ali, standing quietly in the corner, viewing the escalating tension with growing anxiety. Hayden was determined to bend Jed Kincaid’s will to his own, and the American was just as resolved not to comply. As the two proud males squared off against each other, Ali feared that no matter who won, he would ultimately emerge as the loser.

But before either man could take any action, the door to the office burst open and one of the fellaheen entered quickly, carrying a message for the person in charge at the moment.

“Put it on the desk and then get out,” Hayden Reed ordered brusquely, not sparing the native Cairene a glance.

“But, mudir, it is most important!” the fellow protested vehemently. “This is from Mrs. Shaw.”

“There’s nothing so important that Mrs. Shaw would feel compelled to send me a missive at this time of night,” Hayden replied, the servant’s insistence filling him with uneasiness all the same. Then a possibility emerged, ladening him with dread. Could Cameron Shaw have died, gone to his Maker before he could use his influence to procure a title for his future son-in-law? Reed paled at the thought, forgot the disturbers of the peace and whirled around to confront the Shaws’ employee. “Nothing has happened to Mr. Shaw, has it?” he demanded anxiously, “or to Miss Victoria?”

“It is the young miss, to be sure,” the servant replied while Hayden tore open the seal and scanned the letter addressed to him.

Its contents all but undid the consular agent’s practiced reserve, and he sank into his seat, an upset and bitter man. Life’s greatest treasure had been stolen from him. Yes, of course he was worried about Victoria, she was everything he could want in a wife, and he had grown fond of her. But along with his fiancée, it was his own rise to power and social position that had, it would seem, been abducted. He slumped down further into his seat. Wondering if it was Victoria’s link to him and his own profession that had precipitated so tragic an event, he threw Grace Shaw’s letter onto the desk and rested his throbbing head in his hands.

Sensing that he and Ali had been forgotten, and curious as to what could visibly move a man of Reed’s reserve, Jed drew closer to the desk to read the decidedly feminine scrawl on the proper, watermarked stationery. The first few lines caused his lips to curl in a grim smile. It would seem Hayden Reed was in for a long night.

“Is this Victoria anything special to you?” Jed asked the benumbed British official.

“Miss Shaw is my fiancée, and I will thank you to refrain from mentioning her name. It should not be uttered by a man of your ilk,” Reed snapped before turning back to the servant. “Five thousand pounds! I can’t possibly raise such a sum in time.”

“The money is no problem, mudir. The mistress has sent someone to Mr. Shaw’s bank to fetch it.”

“But even given that, do you think we can get it to the oasis south of Wadi Halfa in five days’ time?” fretted Hayden.

“Wait a minute!” interrupted Kincaid. “I can’t be hearing right. You aren’t planning on paying the ransom for this girl’s return, are you?”

“What we do is none of your affair, Kincaid,” growled Reed.

“But why don’t you just ride out and get your woman back?” a truly puzzled Jed asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, man! Difficult as it might be for you to comprehend, I can’t even begin to consider such a tactic,” Hayden protested. “The bastards are taking her to a wadi in the Sudan outside the realm of British authority. If I took it upon myself to send troops out after her, I could set off an incident that might cost thousands of innocent people their lives.”

“Oh, I can understand that part, all right, Reed,” Jed said, a taunting smile playing around his mouth. “What I can’t understand is why you don’t go after her yourself. If it was my fiancée, no one would be able to keep me here. It makes a man question your devotion to the lady.”

“I’m an official of the British government! I can’t be caught doing anything of the sort.” Perspiration was beading on Hayden’s brow. “It might very well involve my country in an intolerable situation that would only result in international confrontation. As for devotion, how dare you speak to me of my feelings for Miss Shaw? What does an uncivilized clod like you know about real love? After all, the constable did find you in a brothel!”

“I might not be on a first-name basis with true love, I’ll grant you,” Jed said with a chuckle, “but before this idiot interrupted me the lady I was with was loving every minute of it.”

“Uncouth lout! This is not the time for such crude bragging.”

“But, sir, what could you expect of a man like this?” Ali ventured to say. He had no wish for Kincaid’s reference to the circumstances of their arrest to remind Hayden Reed that he still had two lawbreakers with whom he must deal. Now more than ever, Ali Sharouk wanted to disassociate himself from the troublesome Jed Kincaid. And so, he went on to say more. “Unfortunately, I have become acquainted with his temper. However, he and I are quite different. He is a drifter, whereas I am a family man, a businessman of good standing in this city. My people have lived here for generations, and recently I have been fortunate enough to wed the daughter of a rich man who has no sons. I have ties to this community, while this ruffian has none. I care about the consequences of any action against the Sudan, though he does not. Do not listen to his goading. You can send a messenger and expect him to arrive at the oasis within the appointed time, if he makes use of the Nile.”

“Lord knows where I’ll find a reliable, experienced man,” Reed reflected aloud as his long fingers tapped out a perfect rhythm on the polished surface of his desk.

“Look, if you insist on going through with this ransom business, and I hope you realize that payment is no guarantee you’ll ever see Victoria Shaw alive again, I can offer a simple solution,” Jed said, recognizing the fact that trouble had found him once again, though he was willing to concede he had gone halfway to meet it. “I’ll take the money there for you.”

“You!” Hayden snorted in surprise. “You can’t go anywhere. You’re under arrest.”

“Then release me,” Jed persisted. Though he didn’t know her, he wouldn’t feel right walking away and leaving the woman’s safe return in the incompetent hands of Hayden Reed. If nothing else, Abigail Kincaid Bradshaw had raised her boys always to help a lady in distress, and it sounded as if the Shaw woman needed all the aid she could get.

“If you do let me go,” he continued, “I’ll track down the men who stole Vicky and get her back for you.”

“It’s Miss Shaw to you. And I would never allow such a thing as you are proposing to occur. You would only make a muck of it. Miss Shaw would be killed before you ever came near her abductors.”

“Really? Maybe you don’t realize you’re talking to the man who recovered Sheik Abdul Nabar’s stolen amulet, the symbol of his sovereignty over his people. Tell me, who else could have done such a thing and returned to tell about it?”

“You? You’re the one who went after the amulet and helped avert a tribal war among the Bedouins?” Hayden asked, cocking his head to one side and studying Jed Kincaid anew.

“One and the same,” Jed asserted to Ali’s dismay. Stories of the amulet’s savior had circulated through the bazaar, celebrating the man’s ruthless cunning. The idea that he had unknowingly tangled with him did not sit well with the tall Egyptian.

“You almost make your harebrained plot sound workable,” Hayden stated wistfully, his hopes for the future once more taking flight. “Still, I’m not willing to put Miss Shaw’s fate in your hands.”

“But you can’t sit by and do nothing,” Jed said with derision. “You’ve said you can’t undertake your fiancée’s rescue, and neither can anyone else in your department without putting Vicky’s life at stake or chancing this international incident. Me, I’m an American. If something happens, you can write me off as lost.”

“You and the five thousand pounds,” muttered Ali.

“What! Are you casting doubts on my honor?” a hotheaded Jed shouted, ready to begin a fight with the Egyptian all over again.

“Stop it! The two of you!” commanded Hayden Reed, coming to stand between the two men, the Egyptian’s words echoing in his head. “You had better start being civil to each other, because you’re going with Kincaid to the wadi.”

“By Allah, no!” the Egyptian objected vigorously.

“Like hell he is,” Jed growled simultaneously.

“There’s no question about it,” Hayden replied.

“But we hate each other,” Jed grumbled.

“We would kill each other,” Ali added hopefully.

“There will be no discussion on the matter,” Hayden Reed reiterated. “You may have the ability to get the job done, Kincaid, but I am not such a fool as to trust a man of your caliber with five thousand pounds, when Miss Shaw’s life depends on every shilling of the sum involved. As for you, your claim of indissolvable ties to the Cairo community and your family assures me that you will not run off with the ransom. You are going to see that Kincaid does as instructed. And that means merely delivering the money, with no dabbling in heroics.”

“And what makes you think I’ll allow Ali to go along?” Jed asked, his voice as bellicose as his tightly drawn features.

“Quite simply put, Kincaid, you are a man who needs his freedom. Refuse me, and I’ll turn you back over to that constable and see to it that you are put in a cell and forgotten.”

“How do you know I won’t agree to your plans and then get the hell out of Egypt?”

“Because Ali will not allow you to abscond with the funds when I am holding him personally responsible for your actions. Should you disappoint me, his family will learn just how bad business can be in Cairo.”

“And if I decline to become involved?” Ali inquired.

“Then we take you home and tell your wife that we found you tonight brawling in a whorehouse. Will she be pleased by those circumstances? I doubt it,” said Hayden in an incongruously pleasant tone of voice. “There’s really no need to think about it, gentlemen. You have no other alternative.”

Jed scowled in Ali’s direction, visions of the Egyptian’s constant carping in the otherwise silent desert almost more than he could bear. His only consolation was that the shopkeeper appeared no more pleased than he was. Damnation! Jed swore silently before nodding his head in assent. This was going to be the most difficult job he had ever undertaken.

Chapter Three

Almost two hundred miles south of Cairo, Victoria, deposited as she was in the lowest part of the falucca, could feel the boat turning. She twisted her slender frame until she could look upward and see the sky beginning to show signs of evening, the sun cooling off to trace soft lavenders and blues across the heavens.

In the bottom of the boat, protected from sight and any possibility of a cooling breeze, the young Englishwoman knew only suffocating heat and discomfort.

This morning, though, just before dawn, the men had drawn the craft into shore in an uninhabited stretch of the Nile, beached it and allowed her a modicum of freedom, if not privacy, to care for her needs before resuming their rapid flight upriver. While they did not pamper her, neither could they afford to have their prisoner die of thirst or malnutrition.

As hard as Victoria tried to keep from surrendering to her fear, concentrating instead on Hayden’s inevitable pursuit, every mile they sped from Cairo increased the apprehension she sought to bury. Had her mother recalled the unfamiliar falucca she’d pointed out that night and associated it with her disappearance? If she had, was it not possible that the authorities might overtake these villains at any moment?

Straining her ears for unusual noise, the slender blonde was disappointed to hear only the rustle of rushes against the boat and the soft scraping of the sand as its hull touched bottom.

A heavy splash sounded suddenly, accompanied by a violent rocking. Someone jumping overboard to pull the boat in, she supposed, hopefully the tall, foul-smelling fellow.

Then the movement stopped altogether and the pudgy Arab loomed over her, reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her awkwardly to her feet.

Unable to voice her disgust at being manhandled, Victoria shrank away from the man, her muscles stiff from being in one position for so long.

“Soft lady,” muttered her captor, supporting her weight against him as he ran his callused hand over her hair, bringing coarse fingers up to stroke her cheek.

Had Victoria been able to, she would have spit in his face. Who did he think he was to touch her so freely? No one, not even Hayden, touched her without permission, and that was something she did not often give.

“I wager the rest of her is just as sweet,” said the odorous one, stepping forward to pull open her blouse. He’d been too long without a woman and here was this one, available, if not willing. “Let’s have a look at her.”

Unwilling to tolerate his impudence, Victoria didn’t stop to think, but swiftly wrenched her body free of the first man’s grasp with such force that she lost her balance, falling sideways against the hull and banging her head in the process.

“What are you ignorant dung-eaters doing?” bellowed a voice from outside the falucca. All at once the boat shook as their leader regained the deck, coming to stand between his men, scowling at the fallen Victoria. Even in a fit of temper, he spoke in English for the captive’s benefit. It was time she knew her destiny. “We have strict instructions. She is not to be touched or you will pay with your lives.”

“And you as well, Muhammed, not that you haven’t been wearing out your eyes staring at her curves.”

“But I am not jackal enough to use the merchandise before it is sold. English or not, unless she is pure, the slave market at Khartoum will not get top price, and our master Zobeir’s scheme will go awry. Remember, we will share the profit yielded by his cleverness. No bothering her!”

At the others’ reluctant nods, he relaxed his hold on the fearsome knife at his waist and motioned toward Victoria.

“Lift her carefully and bring her ashore to relieve herself. Farouk, fill the water jugs. Hurry so we can sail again.”

A short while later, when her gag was removed and Victoria was seated beside the apparent organizer of the group, she had prepared her arguments. Ignoring the goat cheese and dry bread he placed before her, Victoria chose to speak for freedom.

“See here, you said you were taking me to the slave marts at Khartoum. My family will pay you handsomely to take me home instead. You saw their lands. You must know they are wealthy,” she pressed. “A thousand pounds...two thousand. How much can a slave trader offer you?”

“Much more for a woman with blue eyes like yours, especially if she keeps her mouth shut,” he snarled, spitting out the pit of an olive. “Eat now or you will go hungry.”

“If you insist on selling me, you should know that you will never live to spend your fee,” said the blonde, refusing to consider the possibility of such an occurrence taking place. Hayden would come to rescue her long before they ever reached Khartoum. “Whoever your master is, he cannot possibly escape Queen Victoria’s forces.”

“The good Queen means nothing in Khartoum. It is outside her province,” chuckled the native, briefly tempted to take the woman’s money. Still, he would die more painfully and much more slowly if he disobeyed Zobeir, the slave trader. No, the female would be delivered as ordered. Rising to his feet, he looked down at the girl. “Money is the only power in that city, and you cannot pay what Zobeir will receive for your lovely white skin. Eat now. We leave in five minutes.”

Biting back her disappointment, Victoria took a sip of the wine he had provided. The fool had rejected the salvation she had offered, so there was nothing to do but wait for the British army to overtake them or at worst to invade Khartoum. It was regrettable an international incident could not be avoided, but she could do no more. There was absolutely no doubt Hayden would rescue her.

* * *

On the fourth day of their forced excursion out of Cairo, Ali could see no reason to celebrate. Instead of holding his head up proudly, running his shop and bringing honor to his family, he had been ignominiously linked to this rowdy foreigner until the ransom for the English girl was paid, an issue that never should have involved Ali Sharouk.

Where the American viewed this journey as merely another exciting chapter in his quixotic existence, Ali sorely missed his own bed, his loving wife, and even the tiresome chores associated with his livelihood. His only consolation was that since they had begun their pilgrimage, Kincaid had become a man whose only vice was dedication to his mission. Yet the foreigner’s very intensity made him as fearsome sober as he had been drunk.

Still, they had made excellent time on the Nile considering the current, one sleeping while the other maneuvered the craft. Now, however, the overland trek was about to begin.

“Enough sleep, American,” he announced abruptly, using his foot to nudge the dozing figure, successfully resisting the urge to kick more forcefully. “It is time we must go.”

“The only thing you must do is to quit telling me what to do,” snarled Jed, thoroughly aggravated by his unwanted companion. He wasn’t a native to the Egyptian desert, but Jed had spent enough time in it to learn the tricks of survival. Besides, being bred in the city of Cairo, Ali probably knew less than he did. “I’ve told you a dozen times already, go home and let me see to my business my way.”

“Our business, Kincaid, much to my misfortune.”

“But it was my idea to deliver the ransom. Hell, without me, you’d be rotting in jail—”

“Without you, I would have no reason to be in jail. You started this whole sorry mess by landing on my coffee set whose design took weeks to hammer—”

“We’ve already been through this—”

“And then you tried to escape responsibility—”

“All right. I’ve heard it all at least a hundred times—”

“And struck a police officer—”

“I’m going to beat the tar out of you if you don’t shut your mouth,” yelled Jed, jumping to his feet. To his amusement, the other man stood his ground. Giving the Egyptian a look of pure malice, Jed laughed and began gathering his gear. “Let’s get one thing straight, Sharouk. I am no happier to be stuck with you than you are with me. In fact, I’m a damned sight unhappier—”

“Impossible,” muttered Ali.

“I told you to go home and wait for my message, but you wouldn’t hear of it.”

“That is not the honorable thing to do.”

“But it’s a hell of a lot more practical! Without you, I could have been halfway to the oasis already, but you insisted on wasting extra hours packing supplies—”

“It is only prudent to be prepared. It makes a long journey safer,” retorted Ali, folding the canvas shelter he had erected against the sun.

“It makes a long journey longer,” snorted the dark-haired American, running a hand across his ever-increasing beard. Ali was a novice at this, Jed reflected, mounting the larger of the horses Ali had hired near where they had traded the falucca.

“Enough talk. Let’s ride,” Jed ordered, determined to reach the oasis as quickly as possible now. The thought of surrendering five thousand pounds to unknown villains with no guarantee of the girl’s safety still irked him, but perhaps another option would evolve. It would depend on the situation south of the wadi. If the girl was there, well... No man would say Jed Kincaid couldn’t accomplish what he set out to do, regardless of the wishes of the authorities or puppets like Hayden Reed.

* * *

Miles spent on horseback over almost imperceptible routes through the desert didn’t mellow the Egyptian’s stubborn resistance to Jed’s leadership. After a hard day of riding, they’d reached the oasis and Ali wanted nothing more than to turn over the ransom and head back. Jed, however, had other notions.

“By the life of the Prophet, American, you are magnun, crazy! Risking our lives for a woman we did not know was insane, but we had no choice once you opened your mouth to Reed. This new scheme of yours, however, makes no sense. No matter how you threaten me, I will not agree. Your foolishness will not cost me my life,” muttered Ali as they lay in the sand, watching the small camp in the oasis for signs of movement.

Well removed from the most frequented trails across the desert, this small haven of shade and water had seen no arrivals since they’d begun their vigil in late afternoon. Clearly the kidnappers had known what they were doing when they chose it. Indeed, from what Jed could discern, they hadn’t even set a guard, though that didn’t mean a trap wasn’t laid within the oasis.

“Reed said we were to work together,” complained Ali. It was not that he wanted to venture into the camp himself, but he could not justify Jed’s acting alone, nor could he trust the dangerous gleam lighting his companion’s eyes.

“Reed is an unqualified jackass,” answered Jed, hard put to respect even those of legitimate authority. While there was the smallest chance of success, he could not let it pass. “Look at it this way, Sharouk, if it is a trap and we go in together, who will be left to report what happened to Hayden Reed?”

“But if they think you are alone—”

“They may be careless and give me the chance to save the girl and the money—”

“No! You swore you were not going to try that,” protested Ali, jumping up and pulling his knife. “I will cut you myself before the others have a chance if you are so foolhardy as to risk our lives so you can be a hero—”

“All right, all right. No heroics, but I am going in alone to deliver the money.”

“Why you? I am perfectly capable of doing as Reed ordered, handing over the English pounds while you sit here with the flies buzzing in your ear and the fleas biting at your—”

“I give the orders, damn it! Don’t you know the only reason Reed sent you was to prevent me from taking off with the cash? Regardless of your fine opinion of yourself, you’re nothing but a glorified watchdog.”

“And you would trust such a lowly dog to guard your back? How do you know I won’t put a knife in it instead?” challenged the Egyptian. Had he known what his brass coffee set would cost him, he would have long ago forgone its price.

“You’re too blasted concerned with your good name and your shop to do anything so disreputable, which is what got you into this fix in the first place. Besides, if you ever thought to cross me, I would sense it and you’d never live long enough to make your plans a reality. Stop your complaining and listen,” ordered the American. “If you hear trouble, come in fast, ready to toss that knife.”

“If I don’t hear trouble, you mean. Death in the desert is swift and silent,” warned Ali grudgingly.

Nodding at the advice, Jed slung the money pouch over his shoulder and moved stealthily through the darkness, determined to see what he could before he himself was seen.

A thousand yards from where Ali waited, a single man sat by a small campfire, smoking and drinking from a jug. The low tent behind him had a lantern shining within, so doubtless there was at least one more kidnapper around. The only question remaining was whether or not Victoria Shaw was at the oasis, as well. In all likelihood, they were holding her elsewhere, but Jed couldn’t afford to risk the young woman’s life on a miscalculation. In truth, he was surprised at the concern he felt for this female he’d never set eyes on, but given her attachment to Hayden Reed, she surely deserved his sympathy, if not his condolences.

He had to admit that as Ali suspected, he would like nothing better than to return the money and Reed’s fiancée unharmed, just for the satisfaction of making the Englishman apologize.

Hesitating in the inky shadows, Jed weighed his options. If he did rush the camp, he might take them by surprise, but that would count for nothing should he be greatly outnumbered. Then, too, he had promised Sharouk not to give in to heroics, no matter how tempting it might be. Instead, he would learn what he could before he surrendered the ransom. But, if he stood here much longer, nothing would ever happen. The American secreted the money bag beneath his shirt and stood up.

“Salam habib. Greetings, friend, could you spare a smoke?” he called, strolling casually into the light of the campfire. “I find myself fresh out of my brand.”

The Arab was on his feet at once, calling for help even as Jed raised his hands in the air and gave a short chuckle.

“Stepped into a viper’s nest, have I, then? Well, let me assure you, this American doesn’t intend any harm,” he drawled, deciding he would learn more feigning ignorance of Arabic than speaking it. “You got somebody around who knows English?”

“Amerikani, are you?” asked a voice from the open tent where a second man stood watching, a rifle ready as he moved forward to confront the stranger. “Far from home, wouldn’t you say?”

“I can’t deny it, but then you haven’t met my missus,” Jed lied jokingly, noting the modern weapon was expertly handled by the Arab, despite his unsophisticated appearance. “The farther I am from that woman, the better I like it. I don’t suppose you have a more accommodating female around here? I’d pay well.”

For a moment the Arab’s eyes narrowed as he considered whether the dusty, unkempt male before him might be the Shaws’ messenger. Then he shook his head at the improbability of it. No lone man would be so bold as to blithely step into his enemies’ camp. No, this was only some eccentric American who would be dead before he left the desert.

“I’m afraid not, but if you want to share a drink or two, I’ve some zabeeb you might enjoy,” he offered, motioning the other to relax his guard. “Hammud’s the name.”

“Jed Kincaid. My horse turned up lame a few miles out and I had no choice but to shoot her. Any chance you could spare one? I fear it’s a long way to the nearest village.”

“There again I’ll have to disappoint you, American. Once we have concluded our business, we head to Khartoum. We only have horses for ourselves,” explained the Sudanese, pouring liberal tots of the native liquor.

“Khartoum? What’s down there?” Jed pressed, playing with his drink as he watched the others empty their cups in short order. “Other than miles and miles of savannah, I mean?”

“He wants to know why we go to Khartoum,” the leader translated for his cohort.

“High prices for blond English women,” snickered the guard in Arabic. “Zobeir pays well.”

“Yes, and he’s shrewd, too. While we keep the ransom for our efforts, he’ll sell the girl and line his pockets,” reminded Hammud, his caution gone as he refilled their glasses.

“It’s just too bad we couldn’t have enjoyed the merchandise before the bill was paid,” complained his associate. “But our job was to be here while Farouk and the kidnappers took the girl to Khartoum.”

“We trade there,” said Hammud, reverting to English. Dealing in white slavery was a serious matter and he belatedly remembered he must take all possible precautions not to be caught. Still, if the American had understood what they’d said, he would have reacted. “What’s your business in the desert?”

“I’m looking for Victoria Shaw,” Jed answered calmly, grabbing the rifle from where it rested against the tent and turning it on the unresisting kidnappers.

“That’s unfortunate,” announced another man from behind him. “She’s not here, and you are about to be very sorry you are.”

Even as Jed wheeled around and fired, a knife whizzed through the still night air, moonlight glinting off its silver blade as it aimed straight for Jed’s heart. Hearing the two Sudanese chuckle as it embedded itself in his chest, Jed turned to direct a bullet at one of them as their compatriot fell in his tracks, victim of the first shot.

Pulling the knife from where its point had landed smack in the depths of that tightly packed wad of British notes resting against his chest, Jed threw it at the last man, now brandishing a scimitar. The American’s aim, as always, was true.

“Kincaid, you need help?” called Ali, stepping out of the darkness.

“See if that one is still alive, will you?” suggested the American casually in Arabic. “Maybe he’ll tell us where in Khartoum we can find Vicky Shaw.”

“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.”

“Has anyone ever tried to free Zobeir’s women?” Victoria asked, a tiny glimmer of hope sparking to life.

“To be certain, no one has succeeded, though once in a while there’s been a halfhearted attempt by the Europeans to interrupt an auction. But all that happened was a temporary postponement or relocation of the sale.”

Dropping her eyes to the ground, Victoria tried not to acknowledge her fear as the guards led her forward. The lounging men awaiting their own purchase by others continued to watch her every move, devouring her pale flesh with their ravenous eyes, despite her escorts’ cursing and shoving them out of the way.

In front of the interior gate, she stood silently, searching for some chink in the security, determined to find a means of escape. If she could rally the other women, perhaps they could break and run when they were led to the market.... They couldn’t all be docile when it came to being sold into slavery.

“A word of advice, do as you are told or you will know pain,” said the leader of Zobeir’s contingent as he released her arm. “If you listen to your master, you may find your life not too unbearable, though I expect you’ve many more lessons to learn before that happens.”

Then, with his hand at the small of her back, he pushed her through the gate and signaled that it be shut.

The area was much the same as the men’s compound. Women of various shades, though none as light as Victoria, paced uneasily, apparently too nervous to stay still.

Victoria was the first white woman any of them had ever seen, and some of them crowded around her, reaching out to stroke her skin, only to pull back in fear when they saw her blue eyes.

“It is all right. I am a woman like you,” she assured them, holding out her hand to display its color. If she could convince these women that they had something in common, there might be a chance. “I am here against my will, just as you are, but I am not ready to be sold. What about you?”

But the women had withdrawn from her, eyeing the pale witch with suspicion and giving no indication of whether they had understood. Once more she was alone to contemplate her future.

* * *

In the short while they had been inside the city, he and Ali had learned a lot, Jed realized with satisfaction. The hardest part had been restraining himself from beating the hell out of his spurious captor to put a stop to that sand rat’s lordly manner.

If the damned Egyptian didn’t watch his step, Jed just might consider leaving Ali Sharouk behind when things started heating up and it came time to flee the city. But even as the temptation crossed his mind, Jed knew he would never do such a thing. Unaccustomed as he was to working with a partner, he and Ali were in this together, and Jed Kincaid was, if nothing else, an honorable man—at least of sorts.

A snap of the halter around his neck caused a resentful Jed to hasten his steps and struggle to keep his demeanor docile as he followed Ali along a dark, narrow alley.

Their path ran along the outer wall for a short distance, past a minor gate, Jed noted, surreptitiously raising his eyes to take in every detail while he planned their escape route and alternate ones, as well. Then the narrow street turned in upon itself, and shifted direction once more.

The slave block was located at the center of this maze full of twisting turns and forbidding passageways so that it was hidden from prying eyes. Slavery might be an accepted way of life in Khartoum, yet it appeared the local citizenry was smart enough not to want to offend the sensibilities of visiting Europeans, especially when one of those foreigners was occasionally placed on the block. From what he had heard about Khartoum, its foreign residents ignored the trading in human flesh that took place here, pretending it existed only in the realm of rumor. Nonetheless, they kept their women close at hand, knowing they would be lost forever if they disappeared into the serpentine streets of the city.

Jed’s thoughts ended abruptly as the alleyway left the darkness behind and spilled out into the strong, oppressive heat of a sunlit marketplace. Realizing danger surrounded them, the American felt a rush of excitement course through his blood. Ali had been right. Jed Kincaid needed adventure like this as surely as he needed air.

Anxious to set things into motion, Jed nonetheless patiently allowed Ali to lead him around the perimeter of the bazaar, the Egyptian stopping often to talk to Khartoum’s inhabitants in Arabic. Within a short time, Jed had discerned the layout of the pens, chosen the partially concealed spots in which to plant the explosives, and stealthily accomplished the task while Ali stood in front of him, presenting a shield to anyone who would be curious enough to observe them.

Still, they had yet to uncover the slave merchant mentioned by the kidnappers at the oasis. And without locating him, Jed couldn’t be certain Victoria Shaw was anywhere near Khartoum’s infamous marketplace.

“Time’s growing short, Ali. Find Zobeir,” Jed commanded with whispered authority. The Egyptian’s only response was to pull Jed behind him as he approached an ancient water seller.

This was hardly the time to get thirsty, Jed thought in disbelief when the old man, his back bent under the weight of the large, long-spouted cask he carried, leaned forward to pour Ali a cup of the precious liquid.

“I will have some more, grandfather, along with information,” Ali said, pressing a coin into the gnarled hand. “I need advice on how to sell this worthless slave. Can you direct me to a knowledgeable man, a slaver who knows what needs to be done in order to get a decent price for such poor merchandise?”

“The most celebrated of all is Zobeir. There he is, the fat one sitting in the midst of the others. It is he who can best advise you. And for such a pretty man as this, he might offer to purchase the slave himself. It would save you the auctioneer’s fee.”

Pretty man! a ruffled Jed balked in quiet indignation. He wasn’t at all sure he liked the water seller’s words as Ali thanked the elder and then crossed the compound, keeping the American tightly in tow.

“Es-salam ‘aleikum,” Ali called in greeting, nearing the men and dragging Jed none too gently.

The Egyptian hunkered down next to the others. With the rifle the ransom money had brought cradled in his hands and the glowering look he sent in Jed’s direction, Ali Sharouk seemed more like a formidable desert dweller than a harmless city shopkeeper. The journey from Cairo had hardened him, and Jed found no fault with Ali’s appearance while they waited for the slave merchants to acknowledge their presence.

“U ‘aleikum es-salam warahmet Allah wabarakatu,” one of the men finally replied, uttering the usual response to Ali’s greeting. He eyed the unknown pair suspiciously all the same.

“Can you tell me if there is to be an auction soon? I wish to earn some gold and at the same time shed this burden,” Ali stated with a jerk of his head in Jed’s direction.

“You are Egyptian, aren’t you?” the rotund figure identified as Zobeir asked shrewdly.

“Yes. My family roams the southern lands near Berenika,” a nonchalant Ali replied.

“And you came here to sell a slave?” inquired a third slaver, assessing the man tethered at the end of the rope.

“It is said that such a task is easier to accomplish and much more rewarding in Khartoum than in Egypt,” the newcomer said, his expression daring the others to contradict him, “especially when the slave is white.”

“Still, for a man living in a land ruled by Europeans rather than the khedive, who possesses a title and little else, selling a Caucasian is an audacious undertaking,” Zobeir stated quietly.

“Not as bold as the crime this jackal has committed,” Ali asserted, his face set in hard lines as he forced Jed to his knees and struck him harshly.

Son of a bitch! I owe you one, Jed thought savagely, resenting the need to cower under Ali’s blow.

“And that crime was?” Zobeir inquired politely.

“He approached my wife,” Ali announced through clenched teeth, telling the tale Jed had concocted. “I vowed before Allah that this heap of camel dung would pay for his transgression. Death is too easy for him. I would rather he know misery for years to come. Besides, I like the idea of filling my purse at his expense. Now, is there to be an auction or must I seek a buyer on my own?”

“There will be a private auction tomorrow. But I doubt you will get much for him. He looks rather submissive for so large and well muscled a man,” Zobeir said, his glittering eyes raking Jed’s huddled form speculatively.

“He has learned to be,” Ali stated grimly. “Still, he is strong and can do much work.”

“His back is well scarred, then?” asked Zobeir. His voice was dispassionate, but he continued to scrutinize Jed’s broad shoulders and slender hips with an intensity that made the American uneasy.

“Not at all,” Ali assured, knowing a lie would be uncovered. “I am wise enough to know that someone might want to buy him for reasons other than his capacity for labor. There are many ways to discipline a man, and this slave is practically flawless.”

A stunned Jed listened to the exchange, straining to remain silent as Ali deviated from the script he had worked out for him.

“I might be interested in buying this slave for myself,” Zobeir said, salacious interest fleeting across his face for an instant. “And I will give you a fair price, too.”

“Let us see what offers I receive tomorrow,” Ali replied smoothly, causing Jed to breathe a furtive sigh of relief.

“But what can you hope to get for him? You know he has no spirit,” the obese slave merchant argued.

“True, yet it could be that someone might want a man of size and meek temperament to stand guard over a harem.”

Jed’s eyes, hidden as he rested his head on his arms in an attempt to look dejected, popped open. What the hell was Ali doing? If his improvising didn’t stop, there would be an explosion in the marketplace that needed no match.

“It might be so, but wouldn’t alterations have to be made?” Zobeir asked with a wicked chuckle and a glance at Jed’s crotch.

“From what I have seen they would be very minor alterations,” Ali replied with a smirk, ignoring the look of disappointment that crossed Zobeir’s pudgy face.

That carrion-eating bastard was going to be dead when they got out of here, Jed raged inwardly, calling on all of his inner resources not to wrap his fingers around Ali’s lying throat.

“I see,” Zobeir said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, wondering if the Egyptian was telling the truth or merely bragging about his own endowment. “In that case, why don’t you take him into the pens and put him with the others to be sold tomorrow? Perhaps later I will inspect him and either make an offer or else advise you as to what you can expect to get for him. Tell the guards Zobeir sent you, and get a receipt for your merchandise.”

But we have to find out if the girl is in there first, otherwise we’re only creating more problems, Jed thought frantically. He swore Ali had the brains of a beetle. The Egyptian rose and yanked him roughly to his feet.

“Selling a Caucasian will bring no difficulty?” Ali asked as though reading the American’s mind.

“None at all,” Zobeir replied, raising a glass-lined cup to his lips and sipping at his heavily sweetened coffee.

“Still, I have reservations. I would hate to see this dog rescued. Perhaps I should seek a private sale,” Ali muttered.

You idiot, Jed wanted to scream. What are you trying to do, get him to make another offer so he can take me home to his bed?

“As you will. But I can tell you there is another European in there, a woman I, myself, am putting up for bid,” Zobeir stated with a shrug of his rounded shoulders.

“Is that so?” Ali inquired, his interest all too apparent to Jed’s way of thinking.

“Yes, and a lovely thing, too,” Zobeir replied, not bothering to mention her inherent disobedience and shrewish disposition.

“Then possibly we could trade. Your slave for mine. My wife could use a maid, and so could I. As for yourself, this man might be to your liking,” Ali said suggestively.

Sweet God in heaven! What are you, some Nile-spawned numskull? a disbelieving Jed fumed. He was ready to reach for the knife hidden in his boot and slit Zobeir’s throat if the bastard so much as touched him, and, at the moment, he’d enjoy opening Ali’s veins, as well.

“That’s not possible. The one I sell is too rich a prize for a man who wanders the desert. She’s destined for some wealthy sheik’s bed,” Zobeir responded pompously, his thoughts on the woman he had been ordered to kill.

“Ah, at least there was no harm in my asking,” Ali responded good-naturedly as he turned to lead Jed across the square to the slave pen, their retreat followed closely by Zobeir’s lusting eyes.

“That went well enough,” Ali said in a low voice.

“Well? You damned jackass,” Jed hissed. “What did you think you were doing back there? I’m going to wring your neck.”

“Quiet, slave,” Ali ordered, relishing the angry fire that sprang into Jed’s eyes at the command. Perhaps there was some pleasure to be had in dangerous adventuring, after all.

Jed didn’t see things in quite that light, however, as he stood in the shadows of the tall walls surrounding the slave pens. His ire continued to grow when Ali delivered his orders to the overseer in imperious tones. To Jed’s way of thinking, such posturing was becoming all too easy and familiar for the formerly reticent shopkeeper, and he vowed that as soon as they left Khartoum, Ali was one hombre who would be reminded quickly and effectively just who the leader of this operation actually was.

In the meantime, there was little Jed could do about it other than try to brush his anger aside and concentrate on the matter at hand. Calculating the strength of the forbidding sandstone walls enclosing the captives bound for slavery, he was satisfied as to the amount and placement of the explosives he had planted.

Things were under control if Ali could but accomplish the simple task that had been set him. Yet, as the overseer took Jed’s halter and led him through the slated wooden gates into the dreary interior of the holding area, Jed Kincaid felt uneasy, despite the fact that he didn’t expect to be here for very long. The sight of the towering walls and the restless milling about of men, some of them with eyes full of hatred and others wearing an expression bereft of hope, caused the fine hairs on the back of his neck to rise ominously.

It was only his natural abhorrence of confinement that made him feel as he did, Jed reminded himself—that and his perception of what it would feel like to be actually destined for the slave block the next morning. Ignoring the vivid workings of his imagination, Jed affected a dejected shuffle behind the overseer. The wandering adventurer knew that his accelerated heartbeat and the rushing of his blood gave him a decided edge. Everyone else confined in the pens would be momentarily stunned when the unexpected occurred. He would be ready. His hardened body would be prepared to spring into rapid action like the great cats that roamed this region.

When the overseer finally released his grip on the rope around the American’s neck and pushed him tumbling forward, Jed remained crouched, a seemingly defeated captive. Though the sight of a white man was not totally uncommon, a few curious eyes lit upon the Caucasian in their midst. But no one saw Jed extract the blade concealed in his boot top and begin his furtive shredding of the heavy rope binding his wrists. His slumping shoulders and curled body simply marked him as one more cowed bit of humanity unable to adjust to the miserable fate that had befallen him.

Chapter Five

Perhaps her mistake had been trying to speak to all the women at once, Victoria considered. If she could prevail on one or two at a time, they might be more receptive to her urgings. She studied the more reserved females huddled by the far wall, their posture clearly revealing their anxiety. Cowed by their situation, they might be ready to consider any alternative, no matter how rash. Victoria straightened her spine, rose to her feet and began to move about the enclosure, her hesitant steps and frequent changes of direction mirroring the actions of many of the captives.

Nearing a mocha-skinned girl no more than fourteen, Victoria lingered to share a few whispered words of encouragement.

“You are helpless only if you believe it so,” she said, uttering the words softly, first in English and then French. A brief flicker of hope crossed the child’s face, and though she made no verbal response, her dark eyes studied Victoria carefully.

More confident, Victoria approached the next woman, speaking her message quietly and then continuing her erratic path about the pen to her next target. She was pleased a few women she’d addressed were standing a bit taller and watching her closely as she rested for a while before beginning yet another circuit of the area.

She had just started her fourth ramble when a guard came up, waving his arms and berating her, clearly agitated by her behavior.

“No talk, English! Walk or sit, but no talking together,” he ordered, scattering the women with his shouts.

“But most women talk when they are frightened. I do no harm.”

“Talk with me,” suggested the Sudanese, his fingers stroking her pale cheek. “I would soothe your nerves.”

“Isn’t your duty to protect the merchandise, not abuse it?” she demanded, slapping his hand away.

“Hunger and thirst will soften your mood before long,” warned the guard harshly. “I could make it easier for you.”

“The white woman is right,” challenged a voice from behind Victoria. “Go back to your post, dog. She does not need help from the likes of you.”

“Before Allah, I wish to see you proud wenches when your master’s whips have tamed you. Your cries will be far different then,” snorted the sentry, turning away in annoyance.

“Thank you,” murmured Victoria to the large woman who had spoken up on her behalf. She was surprised to see her defender was not one of those to whom she had whispered earlier.

“Do not thank me. Tell me what we can do to be free of here,” the stranger urged as others pressed in close upon them. “If you think it possible, maybe there is hope of escape.”

“Of course there is hope,” assured Victoria, daring to believe it for the first time since entering the pens. “My fiancé and half the British Army are on their way to the city this very minute. If we can only...”

* * *

Jed had reduced his bonds to a single strand of hemp that could be easily broken when he sensed a disturbance. Fearing that some watchful sentinel had seen him, he cautiously lifted his dark head. But there was no one glaring at him, nor could he discern any reason for the threatening curses that had been uttered. None of his guards appeared to think anything was amiss.

It was then that he heard a forceful but feminine voice coming from the other side of the wall that separated male from female slaves. The speaker was giving vent to frustrated anger, and Jed lifted an eyebrow in silent approval of the fiery woman who maintained enough spirit to revolt under such trying circumstances. His approbation quickly deteriorated to condemnation, however, when he realized the loud protest was being lodged in fluent English. These strident, haranguing tones, inciting others to riot, had to belong to Hayden Reed’s fiancée. By Zobeir’s account, she was the only white female currently imprisoned here.

Damnation, his fireworks hadn’t started yet, but this carping, insistent female had begun an explosion all her own.

If good old Vicky didn’t quiet down soon, she’d likely find herself chained to a post somewhere. Not that she didn’t deserve it for calling attention to herself just when he wanted her to be ignored, but such a punishment would make the escape he had planned all the more difficult.

Turning to watch three guards walk the perimeter of the walls, Jed hoped that Victoria Shaw would be more docile during the flight he had plotted across the desert. Their ride would be hot enough without some nagging woman making things more heated. But he shouldn’t have to worry, Jed assured himself. Victoria Shaw’s temperament was no doubt something he could handle. In his experience, women had always been only too happy to do his bidding.

Sidling over to the barrier between the two slave pens, Jed saw that he was in luck. Apparently it was chow time. Four more men had entered the area, one carrying sacks of fruit and the flat bread indigenous to the region, and another laboring under a large skin of water. The final two acted as additional guards.

Immediately the inmates began to move to the spot where the food and drink was being distributed, while the sentries on the walls turned both their attention and their rifles in that direction. Not one of them thought anything of the new man standing aloof in the shadows. In time, he would know thirst and hunger, even if misery dulled his appetite for the moment.

As the voices of the captives rose in plaintive pleas for sustenance, Jed prayed that Ali would be able to hear his signal above the din. The distraction made this moment seem the best time to move. Suddenly the first seven notes of a shrill rendition of “Yankee Doodle” rent the air. The guards shifted their weapons in Jed’s direction, and he pretended to tremble so pitifully that the Sudanese decided they must have been mistaken. One so cowardly would not cause a disturbance in the pens. The noise must have come from the market square on the other side of the wall. Thinking no more of it, they turned back to watch over the others clamoring for food and drink.

Jed remained expectantly prepared, the muscles of his arms tensed to pull apart the final strand of the rope hampering his hands. Surely, any second now, the fuses would burn down and the explosions would start, and he could scale the wall into the women’s pen, grab Victoria Shaw and get the hell out of Khartoum.

However, there were no detonations. Seconds all too silent dragged by with agonizing slowness. The tendons of Jed’s body began to protest their rigid readiness. Still, life in Khartoum went on with no interruptions.

“Damn you, Ali!” Jed muttered in a low, feral growl. “Is lighting a match beyond you? I swear, you’ll be sorry for making me wait like this.”

But for all Jed’s fuming, nothing happened, no booming blasts, no shattering sandstone—nothing. Could the Egyptian have been caught, Jed worried, or perhaps be too yellow to go through with their scheme now that the moment had arrived? He had no idea. All he knew was that if things didn’t start happening soon, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

Working alone at this point would greatly diminish his chances for success, yet Jed supposed he would have no choice, even if he didn’t particularly like the odds. He’d like it less if he were still incarcerated when Zobeir arrived to inspect Ali’s merchandise.

Determining the position of the guards, Jed debated as to whether he should attack one of them, grab the man’s rifle and shoot his way out, or wait for Zobeir, put a knife to the slaver’s throat and use him as a human shield to effect an escape. Either option was going to make it well-nigh impossible to get out of the pens with Victoria Shaw, but Jed was adamant. He was not going to leave her behind, though he might be tempted to do so if the woman didn’t shut her damn mouth, which still erupted every few minutes.

The sinewy American had just about made up his mind which plan he would follow when an ear-shattering noise rocked the compound, accompanied by the cracking and crumbling of a portion of the sandstone.

“It took you long enough,” he grumbled as the humanity inside the pens reacted to the unnatural occurrence.

The initial response of both riflemen and slaves had been cries of fear, but when those bound for servitude realized a doorway to freedom had appeared, there arose a joyous roar.

Chaos prevailed as frantic captives climbed over one another, the guards trying to stop their bid for liberty. Rifle shots rang out. Deadly sounds echoed off the high stone enclosure to mingle with the shouts of terror coming from the marketplace outside. Frightened livestock protested the uproar loudly as terrorized citizens ran, trying to escape danger. All the while, pitiful wails poured forth from the women still trapped in the females’ pen. But the entire cacophony was drowned out by the deep rumble of a second blast on the other side of the market, and the frenzied commotion escalated to a new level.

Men still attempting to shove their way out of the pens sought shelter from the shower of debris caused by a rapidly following third explosion. In the midst of it all, Jed broke the rope confining his hands and casually sauntered over to the gate separating him from the women. Made of stout wood and securely locked, the barrier resisted his efforts to force it open.

With a shrug of his shoulders and a careless smile that proclaimed he hadn’t really expected it to be that simple, Jed slipped the halter from around his neck and fashioned a short lariat. With reckless grace, he lassoed the spike atop the gate post, and easily scaled the wall.

When he reached the top, he momentarily sat astride the sandstone barrier until his keen eyes found the woman he was seeking, the small blonde in European dress huddled with the others.

Bellowing an order in Arabic and English for them to vacate the far corner of the pen before Ali lit the next fuse, he dropped inside and rushed to her side. Wrapping the woman in his arms, he threw himself on top of her, mindless of her protests. They both fell to the ground where he shielded her when the next explosion blew a hole in the facade that imprisoned the women.

“You must be Vicky,” he said with a devilish grin as he loosened his hold on the struggling form beneath him, and smiled into the face of a wildcat.

“It’s Victoria.” She grunted as she worked herself out from under the hard masculine body that had trapped her while her companions streamed out into the marketplace. She struggled for composure. When she found it, she coolly assessed the disheveled, unshaven stranger. Not liking the primitive air of the man returning her inspection so boldly, she added in her most cultured, condescending tones, “However, I suggest you call me Miss Shaw.”

Thoughts of how well suited the haughty Miss Shaw and Hayden Reed were ran through Jed’s mind as he pulled himself and the ungrateful woman upright.

“Listen, honey,” he drawled dangerously as he grabbed Victoria’s hand. “I don’t care if it’s Queen Victoria. We’re getting out of here now.”

“But I can’t leave,” Victoria stated in annoyance, pulling her fingers free from the large masculine ones that had captured them.

“You what?” Jed roared, his green eyes flashing in disbelief.

“Well, it’s simply impossible, of course,” Victoria told him in her most reasonable voice, instinctively taking a step backward from the glowering stranger.

“And just why is that?” Jed demanded. He closed the gap between them and brought his fierce face down close to hers.

“Surely you’ve heard the cannon fire,” Victoria asserted with as much dignity as she could muster under the man’s baleful stare. “The British army and my fiancé have come to rescue me. They’re attacking Khartoum right now. If I step out into the confusion, how will they ever find me? I’ll wait for Hayden right here, thank you. I’m not about to go running off with the likes of you.”

“Now, I’m unsure of how to break this to you,” Jed countered, his mocking voice making it plain that he was ready to throw her over his shoulder in order to leave. “But it’s me or nobody, lady. Hayden’s still in his plush office in Cairo.”

“You mean he sent you?” Victoria asked, aghast, her eyes branding him ruffian as they once more traveled over his rugged, unsavory appearance.

“No, he didn’t send me,” Jed mimicked, his voice colored by extreme exasperation. Catching himself, the American reverted to his natural husky tones and continued with forced civility. “He didn’t even have the courage to do that. I came on my own. Now, if you ever want to see that pompous ass again, Vicky, I suggest you move your sweet little posterior so we can get the devil out of here.”

Ali’s detonation of the final blast drowned out a shocked Victoria Shaw’s acerbic retort. She had no opportunity to repeat herself, however, as Jed’s patience with her was at an end.

“Run,” he ordered, grabbing the woman and pulling her toward the broken wall that promised them both a chance at freedom.

“Damn you, woman! I said run, not dawdle about watching everyone else escape. At this rate, we’ll both be damned to life as slaves, if they don’t shoot us first,” Jed raged over his shoulder as the guards fired into the women’s pen.

Without waiting for her to protest again, he shoved her in front of him, shielding her as they scrambled over the rubble of the wall. Their pace, however, was maddeningly slow as those ahead found it difficult to navigate the mounds of irregular stone blocking their way. Trapped in the smoke-laden air, unable to push forward, Jed found the next few minutes nerve-racking until finally they stood together in the shadows of the slave mart, catching their breath amid the turmoil.

Pandemonium was the order of the hour. Many of the escaping slaves had upended the tables along the perimeter of the square while the shopkeepers bellowed and tried to douse the small fires threatening their livelihood. Busily grabbing what goods they could carry off to start their new lives, fleeing captives shouted obscenities at those who would stop them and shoved their way to freedom. Then another ominous rumble sounded, the ground seemed to vibrate and a dark powdery haze drifted quickly over the slave quarter, providing temporary obscurity.

“This way, woman. Quickly, now, hurry,” Jed urged his companion forward as a blue gallabiya caught his eye and he swept it up in passing. The guards would be searching especially hard for the two European prisoners who would stand out readily in inner Khartoum. He and Victoria would be far safer if he could disguise her.

With a sudden jerk on her elbow, Jed pulled her into a narrow twist of the alley and whispered urgently, “Here, put this on.”

“Make up your mind. Put this on—or go quickly? Which is it?” cried Victoria angrily. Her eyes smarted from the soot in the air, her feet hurt from the stones that pierced her dainty slippers, and she still feared for her life. But, most of all, her heart ached with the possibility, however unlikely, that Hayden had placed her safety in the hands of this uncouth hooligan. How could her fiancé claim to love her and permit this scoundrel to come after her? “I am not moving another inch until you explain yourself.”

“Your hair and pale face will serve as a beacon for anyone searching for us,” he argued impatiently. By all the saints above, he was trying to save the woman’s hide, why was she squawking? “In this outfit, there is a chance you might be overlooked.”

“And you?”

“I’m brown enough from the sun to pass at a glance, and if they look closer than that, the game will be over, anyway.” Refusing to await her cooperation, he bunched up the flowing garment and dropped it over her head, thankfully muffling her complaints for the moment. “It’s rather long, but it’ll hide your skirts and those trim ankles I noticed earlier.”

“As if you haven’t better things to worry about,” muttered the blonde. “Never mind, give me your belt.”

“What?”

“If you expect me to move without tripping over my feet every few inches, I have to secure this somehow.”

Shouts sounded behind them in the alley, and rather than pursue their debate, Jed removed the leather strap and tied it about her waist, hiking the shapeless gown up and pulling the hood over her hair. An instant later he had grabbed her hand and they were running toward the city gates.

Dodging around the rubble in their path, he led Victoria forward, confident their route was the right one, if a little longer than he had remembered. It seemed to him they should have been at the gates by now, then he discarded the notion. It was just nerves that made him question himself.

Another roar sounded behind them somewhere as Jed pulled her along, but soon the voices of pursuit dropped away. Then, when Victoria doubted her ability to run another step, the gates were before them, and at last they were outside the city of Khartoum.

“Now what?” she gasped, leaning against the trunk of a mustard tree to catch her breath. “Where are the British troops?”

“What?” Jed couldn’t believe his ears. She continued to expect the army to rescue her.

“I’ll admit you got me out of the slave pens, and even out of the city, not that I couldn’t have escaped myself—”

“You do have an inflated opinion of yourself, Vicky, don’t you,” said the American, chuckling, impressed by her stamina. Most of the women he knew would have been weeping copiously, but her tongue was as venomous as ever. Did nothing shake her?

“I told you the name is Victoria, although you have yet to introduce yourself. For all I know you could be stealing me from Zobeir so your master can claim the fortune I would bring.”

“I am a man who serves no master but myself, unlike your pencil-pushing Hayden Reed.”

“He has a very responsible position, I’ll have you know. In fact, Hayden expects to receive a title in the near future,” bragged Victoria. Why it mattered, she didn’t know, but she could not tolerate this impudent male’s criticism of her fiancé. Hayden had a sound future ahead of him. Given his manner, this blowhard would undoubtedly end up in a jail cell, despite his physical charms, if he continued his explosive bent.

“A title to coincide with your marriage?” guessed Jed with a smirk. “Then I suppose Hayden will have it all. Too bad none of it can make him a man, willing to risk his life for the woman he loves.”

“That’s not true.”

“Vicky, I was with your dear Hayden when he received the kidnapper’s demands. First he protested that he couldn’t raise the ransom. Then, when he learned your mother had pledged the sum, his excuse was that he couldn’t be spared from his office—”

“But you don’t understand, Hayden is an important diplomat. He couldn’t risk—” Even as the words escaped her lips, Victoria realized that, in her heart, she didn’t really believe them. She should have been first in Hayden’s mind, not the money or his career. She should have been worth risking his own life, not that of some man for hire. Damn Hayden! Now she owed her life to this uncouth cad so ill-mannered he had yet to tell her his name. Well, damn him, too, she would not inquire what it was.

“I never asked you to save me. If you prefer to abandon me, go right ahead. I am certain I can get back to Cairo on my own.”

“As much as I would like to do just that, it isn’t in the cards. Hayden, for whatever his reasons, wants you back, and I will deliver you,” grumbled Jed, moving toward the Nile. “I must admit, though, having met you, I don’t understand why he would want you at all. It can’t be a love match—”

“And what would you know about love? With your lack of manners no woman could ever be attracted to you,” retorted Victoria. However, the words she spoke were not entirely true, she had to admit to herself as the stranger took her arm and urged her forward, ignoring her insults. Whether it was the danger of their situation or the uncommon comfort of masculine competence, she couldn’t decide, but for all his faults, her rescuer’s touch was definitely reassuring. That did not mean, however, she need speak to him!

Jed was so preoccupied with hurrying his charge through the ornate gardens surrounding the city that he took no notice of her sudden reticence. Thus far, things had proceeded well enough. All that was left was to rendezvous with the Egyptian, steal a falucca and sail off to freedom. Suddenly there beyond the monkey bread trees was the Nile. This would be the riskiest part of the trip. Jed pulled Victoria under the canopy of the obliging leaves.

“Shh!” he warned, covering her mouth with his large hand as she started to balk. “Once we’ve set sail, you can harangue me all you want, but now I need you quiet and cooperative or we’ll be back in those slave pens faster than you can cry Hayden Reed.”

For one brief, irrational moment, Victoria longed to do nothing other than bite down hard on his oppressive hand and bring her knee up with equal force into his groin. Who was he to order her about in such an infuriating manner? Hayden had never treated her so rudely. Then logic interfered and she realized that the arrogant male with her was the only one on whom she could rely, however uneasily. Leashing her anger, the weary blonde gave a quick nod of her head and he obligingly released her.

“Short of sleeping with you, I will do whatever you say to escape from here and eventually from you,” Victoria continued, her eyes sparkling angrily.

“Believe me, lady, the feeling is mutual, but until then you will have to watch my back while I cover yours. Understood?”

“I already said yes. What more do you want of me?”

Under other circumstances there might have been other responses, but now Jed merely gritted his teeth at her impertinence and scanned the almost deserted area in front of the river gates to the city. Spotting Ali, he felt a sudden surge of confidence as well as relief that the Cairene had escaped, too. His plan would succeed, despite their quarry’s lack of faith in him.

“See the tall Egyptian over there by the right gateway? That is Ali Sharouk, the other half of your rescue party,” Jed explained.

“I would not have thought you needed help,” she retorted, “or rather that you would admit you did.”

“He was not my idea, but since Ali was responsible for setting off those explosions that freed you, I wouldn’t question his presence or his efficiency,” rebuked Jed. “He and I will liberate a falucca while you wait here.”

“I will come with you now.”

“A woman down at the water will rouse attention we don’t want—”

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone here, and besides, in this getup, who would even know I’m a woman?” she protested.

“Don’t underestimate your charms, Vicky,” Jed advised dryly. “No Sudanese I’ve seen has a chest like yours, let alone the curvaceous wiggle in your walk.”

“You are disgusting to notice that at a time like this—”

“I never claimed to be a gentleman, honey.” Noting that Ali had left the gates and was headed for the open area where the faluccas were beached, Jed abandoned the argument.

“Follow me in three minutes,” he ordered as he started off, trusting she was clever enough to obey despite her complaints.

Left alone, Victoria stole a furtive glance around, pleased there was no one in the area to take an interest in her. Perhaps the explosions had drawn whoever might ordinarily linger along the river into the city to see what had occurred. Feeling a bit more reassured, Victoria started after her rescuers just as the muezzin sounded the call for midday prayers.

Seeing Ali begin to make the obligatory gesture of devotion, she was surprised when Jed did not follow suit. Wouldn’t he alert everyone to his foreign origins and criminal intentions? As she watched his movements, Victoria saw him stealthily approach the lone watchman prostrate in prayer.

Minutes later, the guard was still on the ground, but now unconscious and gagged as Ali and Jed lifted a falucca’s sail from the sand and righted the craft. They slid the boat far enough into the water to maintain its balance, still held in place by the anchor that rested ashore.

“Here, Vicky, hurry,” called her savior while Ali moved away and began slicing through the canvas sheeting of the other nearby faluccas. “It won’t be long before the call to prayer is over.”

“But the boat is in the water and there’s no dock—”

“Lift your skirts and wade out to the bow. You’ll only get wet to your calves,” he coaxed, fighting the temptation to drag her into the boat by her hair. “Come on, now. We haven’t much time.”

“Isn’t there another way?”

Then, from up above, near the gates, shots rang out. Victoria dove into the falucca as though propelled by some of Ali’s charges. Jed couldn’t help but chuckle as he ducked his own head to hack at the anchor ropes holding the craft near to the shore.

“Halt, you there! Leave my boat alone or I’ll have the soldier kill you with the next round,” threatened the angry voice.

Raising his head just enough to look over the side, Jed felt a sudden tightening in his gut. He and Victoria were not the ones being threatened with extinction; Ali was. A well-fed merchant stood on the upper path near the river gates, a soldier beside him with his rifle trained on the Egyptian huddled behind a falucca fifty yards away down the beach.

“Ali, make a run for it,” urged Jed in English, confident the Sudanese wouldn’t understand. The falucca was all set, and if he could angle it around, it might block the soldier’s view—

Crracck!

Ali had followed his advice too late, damn it! The Egyptian was facedown in the sand, thirty yards from the boat, and the Sudanese was already scrambling down the path toward him. For a moment Jed hesitated, weighing his responsibilities. The river was straining at the falucca, ready to start Victoria on her homebound journey, and she was his primary concern. Once he released the anchoring rope, they would be off with the current in minutes, safely away from here. Still...

“Here, take hold of this line and don’t let go,” he barked at her, leaping overboard.

Before she could argue, he was splashing through the water as the soldier raised his rifle to take aim at this new mark. Heart in her mouth, Victoria watched as her supposed protector dodged left and right then left again, running bent over to afford as small a target as possible. Reaching Ali’s unmoving body, he knelt briefly beside him while bullets spotted the sand around them.

“Damn that man!” she complained as the drag of the boat against the current increased. Her hands were raw from the effort to keep the falucca where it was, and she wasn’t certain she was doing all she could to protect herself. What if they began shooting at her?

While it was undoubtedly true she would be in jeopardy traveling alone on the Nile, would it be any more dangerous than lingering here? The temptation to release the rope grew stronger as her palms smarted all the more. It was not that she begrudged the Egyptian help, but what was taking so long? Any minute and she’d lose her grip on the hemp even if she wanted to hold on to it.

Lifting her head slightly, Victoria looked toward the city, panicking at the people crowding to watch the excitement. The shooting soldier was nowhere to be seen. Might he be sneaking up on her even now? Before she decided to abandon the line, there was a heavy thump forward and she turned anxiously, only to see Ali’s body dumped aboard and Jed pulling himself in after it.

“Let go of the rope and hand me the long pole,” he ordered, swinging the sail about. “Here, hold the canvas while I get us farther out into the current.”

Although she resented his lordly manner, she obeyed without complaint, permitting herself but a brief glance at the angry mob growing on the beach.

“Won’t they follow us?”

“Not if Ali did his job properly,” he answered curtly, propelling the falucca far enough from the beach that the occasional rifle shot was no longer a threat. “I’ll take the sail. Stow the pole and check on Ali. The bullet will have to stay in until we get ashore again, but see if the bleeding has stopped. Otherwise, find something to staunch the blood.”

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.

Chapter Six

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.

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