Desert Rogue. Erin Yorke
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,