Erin Yorke - Desert Rogue

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.