Erin Yorke - Desert Rogue

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.