Desert Rogue (8 page)

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.

P
erhaps 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.