Desert Rogue (12 page)

“Stop dreaming about me, darlin'. It's time to get up.”

The callused hand touching her shoulder had the blonde on her feet at once. His taunting words were more offensive than his touch, especially since they were true.

“What? I was not—”

“Don't bother to deny it, Vicky. No woman who's met me can avoid it, or so they've all claimed,” Jed teased, sure that the proper Miss Shaw would consider any dream that featured him a nightmare.

“Then they all lied, Kincaid,” Victoria spat. “Or perhaps they dreamed of killing you, slowly and painfully as I'd like to do.”

“Could be, I suppose, but I hope they planned to do it with kindness,” he drawled insolently. “Never mind. Pack up the gear while I get Ali ready to travel.”

“I am not your slave, Kincaid.”

“Linger around here much longer and you could be Zobeir's,” the American warned, moving off to where the horses waited.

Victoria stared after him. From the heat exploding in her cheeks, she must be blushing, damn it all! What was wrong with her?

She had heard tales of women taking sudden leave of their senses after horrendous shocks. Perhaps recent events had shaken her more than she realized. It had to be the effect of her abduction combined with Zobeir's threats that made her react that way, she decided, relieved at finding an explanation for her mind's peculiar aberrations. Thank God she wasn't actually attracted to the man!

“You haven't packed a single thing!” raged his voice behind her. “It's going to be a hard-enough trek through the desert with a helpless man, let alone a helpless woman. Either get used to the idea of pulling your own weight, Vicky, or we'll never reach Cairo alive—and I, for one, have no wish to become carrion for the vultures.”

“The name is
Vic-toria
and I would appreciate it if you stopped shouting, Kincaid. You were the one who insisted I come with you, so if I don't move fast enough, do the chores yourself.”

“Not on your life, lady. From here on out, the food and the sleeping bags are your responsibility, along with your own mount. I'll handle Ali, the rest of the horses and the water. That way, when you slack off, we'll only be hungry and cold—”

How dare he assume she was incompetent? Victoria fumed.

“And when
you
fail?” she demanded.

“Then we die,” he answered calmly, determined to spare her from any illusion of what lay ahead. Too often he had seen travelers in the desert weaken at the first unexpected disaster, and he couldn't let that happen to her, even if she hated him for his attitude.

Turning her back on him, Victoria bent down and folded her bed roll, securing it with a band of leather he tossed her. Without acknowledging him, she repeated the process with the blankets he had barely used and then gathered the dried meat and bread. Only when she had packed everything into the various saddlebags did she dump them all in a large pile at his feet and glare at him, surprised at the ready grin softening his face.

“When you put your mind to it, you move mighty prettily,” he offered. “But I'm not carrying this load across the sands myself. Help me distribute it among the horses.”

“I told you last night. Horses don't like me.”

“They're not alone,” Jed muttered softly. Aloud, he said, “They don't have to like you. They just have to carry you.”

“What about Ali? He can't ride.”

“I made a travois before you got up, and I just settled him in it. Ali will sleep while the horse pulls him,” Jed explained, seeing her puzzled look. “It works fine in Kentucky, so I imagine it will do the job here.”

“Oh, an American invention?”

“So was the scheme that got you free of Zobeir—”

“I didn't mean anything—”

“You never do. Here, this roan mare is yours, and so is this,” he said, plopping a soft felt hat on her head. Muslin draped the crown of the practical, if unfashionable, bonnet, spilling down in the back across her neck and shoulders.

“You don't expect me to actually wear this monstrosity—”

“It doesn't matter to me. If you get sunstroke, I won't have to listen to you,” he retorted, donning a hat of his own.

“And to think, I found Zobeir's taste in clothing bizarre,” she complained, adjusting the crumpled hat. “I despise you, Kincaid.”

“I don't care, just step into my hands and I'll boost you up.”

“But the horse doesn't have a sidesaddle—”

“The quarry foreman didn't have any available. Unless you want to walk, hop up.”

“My skirt will never allow me to ride that way.”

“I told you last night, take it off!”

“You must be joking. I could never do that.”

“Lady, you should have realized by now, when it comes to you, I don't find much to laugh about,” snorted Jed. Before she realized his purpose, he grabbed the hem of her skirt with both hands and tore upward along the side seam.

A low whistle escaped his lips when he saw her odd undergarments.

“How dare you?”

“Holy Hannah, Vicky. If I had known what sights were open to view under that skirt, I would have—”

“Damn you! I knew you couldn't be trusted. First you humiliate me and then you insist on talking about it! Have you absolutely no shame?”

Her voice quavered as though she was about to cry, but for the life of him, Jed couldn't understand what had set her off so.

“From where I stand, honey, I don't see a damned thing to be ashamed of.”

“Quiet, you American ape! Do you think I want to hear your perverted ramblings? Zobeir was bad enough, but you—”

“Did he touch you?”

“No, he forced me to wear this ridiculous costume.”

“You could take it off,” suggested Jed, knowing she would misunderstand even as the words escaped his lips. “I mean—”

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you? Then you could see my totally naked leg through the slit you tore.”

“I was only trying to make it easier for you to ride.”

“Never mind any more of your lies, Kincaid. Help me on this damned animal and let's get started. The sooner I'm back in Cairo, the sooner I can forget that people like you and Zobeir exist.”

He had traveled hundreds of miles to rescue her, suffered the embarrassment of being thought Ali's slave, jeopardized his life for hers, and the ungrateful bitch grouped him with the most villainous slave merchant in Khartoum? Hell, maybe Reed had known what he was doing when he had ordered the ransom paid without taking any risks. The longer Kincaid was acquainted with Victoria Shaw, the more he regretted the impetuous chivalry that had led him to the Sudan. Unfortunately, it was too late for hindsight now. He had no choice but to get her safely back home, but he'd do it as quickly as he could, Jed vowed, as quickly was humanly possible.

* * *

Though the sun was barely over the Mokattan Hills, which bordered Cairo to the east, Hayden Reed had been up for hours. He had shaved and breakfasted alone to avoid the stares of his colleagues. These days, only the daily appearance of Grace Shaw was more of an ordeal than a meal in the consulate dining room. By now everyone knew of his fiancée's abduction and no one was reluctant to voice criticism of his handling of it, whether or not he was within earshot.

“It is well over a week since I gave you the ransom money, Mr. Reed,” Grace Shaw had reminded him last night...as if he might forget. “All these days and nights with no word of my daughter or the money. Can you be certain it even reached the kidnappers?”

“I sent the best men I had available, Mrs. Shaw. Kincaid is an expert. There is none better, I assure you.”

“And the shopkeeper? What superior skills does he possess, sir?” Victoria's mother had demanded. “If you loved Victoria as much as you claim,
you
would have delivered the money.”

“Have no doubt whatsoever that Victoria is every bit as precious to me as she is to you, Mrs. Shaw, but my job here makes personal involvement in the situation extremely difficult. Your daughter would understand my doing my duty to England.” Damn Kincaid! If the American wasn't already dead, it would be his pleasure to see to the task, Reed promised himself. There was no excuse for the man's continued silence, none at all, especially when it put him in such an untenable position. “Believe me, ma'am, I am doing everything possible to find out what happened.”

“But you did not go out to that oasis in the first place, did you, Hayden Reed? For that I blame you.”

Grace Shaw's words had repeated themselves throughout the long night, all the more irksome because Hayden could not deny their truth. It had been his decision not to go to the oasis, but the risk that journey presented had been too great for someone like him. How could he be certain Victoria's disappearance was the kidnapping of a wealthy man's daughter rather than a warning directed at him, a lure to get him alone and vulnerable? After all, he had become entangled with many political factions over the past months. The question remained, what could he do to rectify the situation?

He had already dispatched a couple of men to the oasis south of the Wadi Halfa to try to find some trace of Victoria, the American or the Egyptian, Sharouk. But he had nothing concrete to tell the Shaws. Indeed, if he weren't extremely careful in his dealings with them, they might break off the engagement even if Victoria was returned unharmed. And that would be a tragedy, frowned Hayden, brushing a bit of lint off his cuff. He did hope she was all right.

V
ictoria vowed through gritted teeth that she had never been so miserable in her life. Her lips were parched, her once-pampered skin was taut and burning, and her saddle-sore posterior felt as though someone had blistered it with a strap. Yet still, that madman who had snatched her from the slave pens pressed on, despite the scorching sun overhead. Those words he had spoken so glibly before dawn, that leaving prior to sunrise would save them from traveling during the hottest part of the day, were clearly as worthless as the American himself.

Here it was, a few hours past noon, and Jed Kincaid continued to force them onward, an exhausted, ill-treated woman, and a wounded Egyptian. Not that the Egyptian was in any condition to complain, Victoria noted, glancing at Ali lashed to the strange contrivance Kincaid had fashioned. No, despite occasionally fluttering his eyelids, Ali appeared to be blissfully unaware of discomfort while his horse, with its unwieldy burden, followed Jed's across the sands. Growing more angry and resentful with each step their steeds took, she almost wished she were in his place.

Why, the cliffs that had seen the origin of their journey had now completely disappeared, lost somewhere to the southeast in the shimmering heat that had conquered the cooler air of dawn. Surely they had traveled far enough for one day.

However, a glance at Jed Kincaid's rigid back gave no hint of either fatigue or an inclination to make camp. The man was a complete and utter beast, Victoria decided, her temper blazing and fiery like the ruthless sun overhead. Though he might be accustomed to such deplorable conditions, the lout did nothing to see to her comfort or ease her hardship.

Of course, it wasn't as if she were dealing with a gentleman, Victoria reminded herself. No, the primitive Jed Kincaid was certainly not a man of refinement and breeding. His tearing her skirt along with everything else he had done told her that. Yet, his easy movements when they were preparing to leave their hiding place in the cliffs marked him with a certain natural grace, and inexplicably Victoria began to consider how he would fare on a dance floor. The idea conjured up an image of broad shoulders encased in expensive, well-tailored, masculine cloth, and golden skin contrasting richly with a snowy white shirtfront. The picture created in her mind was so realistic that a shiver ran along her body, the sensation thankfully shaking some sense into her.

Jed Kincaid in formal wear? It was too ridiculous and absurd to be imagined. Even if the barbarian stood still long enough to be fitted for such attire, he couldn't possibly possess the manners needed to carry him through an evening of dancing and civilized conversation. Whatever could have put such a vision into her head, Victoria wondered, thoroughly angry at herself.

Flustered by her odd musings, she became determined to stop and rest before she lost her wits entirely. She told herself she would not be deterred by the fierce scowl that would likely appear on Kincaid's face when she made her demand. She had had enough of this mad flight, and she was going to terminate it immediately.

“Kincaid,” she called, the dryness of her throat causing her voice to sound like a feeble croak, completely robbing it of any note of authority she wished to convey.

“What is it
now,
Vicky?” Jed asked, swinging around easily in his saddle.

“I'm tired. We'll make camp here,” she announced, silently cursing the squawks that disguised her usual well-cultured tones.

“I don't think so,” Jed replied, turning around to face front once more, dismissing Victoria's presence and her dictates.

“But I insist,” the petite blonde persisted, riding faster, despite her raw bottom, in order to come abreast of him.

“You can insist on anything you want, lady, but your whims don't change the facts. We'll set up camp when we come to an appropriate place and not before.”

“I'm afraid you don't understand, Kincaid. I refuse to go any farther,” Victoria assured him, the icy quality of her demeanor immune to the sun's blazing rays. “As for an appropriate site, one patch of sand is as good as another I should think.”

“The thing is, you shouldn't think, Vicky. You don't know the desert. I do. I'm the one who'll decide when it's time to call it a day. Whether you like it or not, I'm your salvation.”

“What a reprehensible thought.”

“It might be, but get used to the idea,” Jed said, his stubble-covered jaws clamping together tightly, irrevocable proof of the American's stubbornness. With that, he kicked his horse slightly and left Hayden Reed's harping bride-to-be a few paces behind.

“You can't simply dismiss me like that,” Victoria insisted, urging her horse to once more ride alongside Jed Kincaid.

“I just did,” Jed growled, not bothering to look in Victoria's direction. Damnation but the woman was a handful. You'd think he was trying to torture her instead of save her.

“Well, I won't have it,” came Victoria's raspy yet outraged reply.

“There's not much you can do about the situation,” Jed stated, a smug smirk transforming his irritated countenance into the radiant expression of a man well pleased with himself.

“There certainly is! I'm going to dismount here. And when I do, you will be forced to do the same. After all, you can't just ride off and leave me behind.”

“Can't I?” Jed asked softly, turning his head to fix his companion with a stare communicating a rage so tightly held in check that Victoria shuddered to think what this dangerous male would be like should he lose control. “You do what you want, but as for me, I'm going on. Maybe with any luck, you can catch up with Ali and me sometime tomorrow. That is, if the jackals don't spend the night feasting on your undoubtedly tender flesh.”

“But it can't make that much of a difference if we stop now rather than later,” Victoria pleaded, taken aback by Jed's response. “Surely you don't pretend to know exactly where we are. And besides, before we set out, you told me we wouldn't be traveling during the most unbearable part of the day. Doesn't your word mean anything to you?”

“Vicky, where I come from, a man's word means more than you'll ever know. And what we say, we say plainly without a lot of diplomatic balderdash, but I hadn't figured on Ali's travois slowing us down so damn much,” Jed retorted wearily, suddenly tired of this Englishwoman's relentless haranguing. Hell's fire, he was used to complacent women who eagerly did whatever he directed them to do. But this little English rose was so hot-tempered that even one of his infamous glares couldn't cause her to shrink back into silence. Didn't the woman have any sense at all?

“If that's true, then keep your promise.”

“I don't remember actually promising you anything other than to get you back safely to that powder puff you intend to marry,” Jed replied, his lips compressing into a thin line. “And if you really loved him, you wouldn't mind putting up with a little inconvenience in order to fly to his side as quickly as possible.”

“How dare you!”

“You'll learn quickly enough that I dare just about anything, Vicky,” Jed said, sliding his gaze up and down her still-exposed leg and lingering on her knee.

“If you even think of touching me, I'll slaughter you myself,” Victoria hissed, pulling hard on her reins, “and I assure you, I would take great pleasure in doing so.”

“Vicky, get back on the horse,” Jed commanded with a calmness he didn't feel as he watched her slide from the saddle, inadvertently uncovering another few inches of leg before her feet found the sand.

“I think I'd prefer to take my chances with jackals of the four-legged variety,” she said scornfully, then unlashed an animal skin filled with water and held it up to her lips.

“I said for you to mount up,” Jed bellowed, watching her grimace as the unsavory taste of the water pierced her annoyance and lingered on her palate.

“For the love of Allah, can't you two stop bickering and give a dying man some peace?” came a weakened voice from the travois.

In spite of his fury with Victoria, Jed's face broke into a wide grin. He jumped to the ground and walked to Ali's side. The sudden and complete transformation in the rugged American's manner gave Victoria pause as she watched him interact once more with the man who had aided in her rescue. Could this solicitous man be the same one who had been so mean-spirited only a moment ago?

“You're not dying,” Jed said gruffly, taking the water skin from Victoria and pouring some into his hand before moving aside the flaps of Ali's
kaffiyeh
to bathe his face gently. “But I can't promise Fatima won't be out looking for a new husband, anyway, by the time I get you back.”

“Not Fatima,” Ali whispered.

“How can you be so sure?” Jed chuckled, glad to see the shopkeeper regain not only consciousness, but his contrary nature, as well.

“Some women are predictable,” Ali murmured with a painful shrug of his shoulders.

“And some aren't,” Jed replied tersely, shooting Victoria a black and disgruntled look. “But maybe you're right. Maybe your Fatima will be waiting for you.”

“If I don't find myself knocking at the gates of Paradise. I doubt you make a good physician,” Ali said sarcastically.

“I dug the bullet out and stitched you up, didn't I? And after I risked my neck to save yours, you wouldn't dare die,” Jed replied. “But I promise you this, you son of a bitch, once you're on your feet, I'm going to knock you down again for almost costing all of us our lives back there.”

“It was my heroics that saved us,” Ali asserted faintly. The effort to speak was starting to take its toll.

“We'll talk about it later. Right now, we had better move out. We're traveling parallel to a caravan route, and another hour, two at the most, in the saddle will see us bedded down at a small oasis. How would you like to spend the night amid greenery with all the water you can drink?”

“I would like that very much, but not if it means I have to endure more of your fighting with the Englishwoman.”

“Vicky won't give me any more arguments,” Jed stated, raising his head and staring searchingly at the woman in question.

“Why didn't you tell me you were trying to reach an oasis?” Victoria asked.

“I didn't have an opportunity. You were so busy giving me orders and telling me what we were going to do that you didn't want to hear anything I had to say.”

“I can't agree with that.”

“Of course not. That would be asking too much,” Jed grumbled. “Come on, woman, saddle up.”

“If I go with you, we must make a pact,” Victoria bargained. “Don't ever hide anything from me about this journey again. Do I have your precious word on that?”

“You do, if you promise in return that you'll listen to what I have to say and accept it,” Jed replied, striding over to Victoria and looking down into her upturned face.

“I'll listen,” Victoria said. She was startled when Jed's large hands found her waist and she felt herself lifted aloft and seated once more astride her horse.

“Good,” Jed said, the satisfaction of the conquering male imprinted on his rugged features.

“I'll listen, and
then
I'll have my say,” Victoria muttered. She bit her lip to smother her laughter as Jed's head snapped around in her direction and his mouth puckered angrily.

“One more thing, Vicky,” Jed said casually when he was finally able to trust his voice to speak without any traces of the temper this woman brought so effortlessly to the surface.

“What is it?” a cautious Victoria inquired.

“Don't drink any more of the horses' water. You never know when we'll need it for our mounts. Besides,” Jed said, cutting off Victoria's protests, “what you drank can't have tasted very good after being sloshed around in those half-cured skins. The stuff I have reserved for us is much better.”

At the sight of Victoria's anger-stained cheeks, Jed raised his hat in a lighthearted salute and flicked the reins against his horse's neck, leaving a seething Miss Shaw to follow in his wake.

* * *

She hated him, she hated him, she truly and utterly hated him! Victoria thought as she rode along behind the insufferable Jed Kincaid. And after seemingly endless hours in the saddle, she would have no qualms about telling Kincaid just how she felt. That is, if it were not for her reluctance to open her mouth and chance its being filled with the sand sent falling toward her by both the travois and the horse's hooves as Jed led the way up a steep incline.

One to two hours, indeed! They must have journeyed at least three, though it would not have surprised Victoria to learn it had been five hours since Kincaid had dangled the promise of refreshing water and grassy banks before her. His deep, masculine tones, drenched in self-assurance, had inspired confidence. But what a dolt she had been to believe him!

However, trusting him in even the most trivial of matters was a mistake she would not make again. Traveling alongside a caravan route, he had said! Imagine thinking that Kincaid knew what he was doing...and more important, where he was going. Why, the man would no doubt have difficulty navigating the streets of Cairo, never mind the desert, where one undulating ridge of sand looked exactly like another. Jed Kincaid was as lost as she was and just too stubborn to admit it, Victoria decided.

Impatient to confront him with her incisive knowledge, Victoria kicked at the sides of her steed halfheartedly, having little hope the exhausted animal would respond to her urging. To her delight, however, the horse raised its head, its nostrils flaring slightly as it quickened its pace to reach the top of the dune where Kincaid waited with uncharacteristic gallantry.

Pulling up beside him, Victoria focused on the man who had tortured her for the last several hours by denying her any rest.