Desert Rogue. Erin Yorke
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