Desert Rogue (29 page)

“I am sorry to be late,” Ali said, entering the room briskly, “but I wanted to advise my wife of my safe return.”

“That's all right. You didn't take all that long. Wasn't Fatima glad to see you?” Jed asked with a grin that caused the Egyptian to turn a darker shade. “I told you I'd handle this.”

“Not trusting you, I had to come to hear what you said,” Ali proclaimed with irritation. But regardless of his words, both he and Jed knew why he was there. It had been worry for his friend's well-being that had driven him out into the night once more.

“I see you two are congenial as ever,” Reed interrupted impatiently, wanting only to get this over with. “I was just questioning Kincaid's precipitate actions near the Wadi Halfa. How could you have allowed him to do so reckless a thing?”

“In truth, the American had no choice,” Ali lied. Then he proceeded to relate the story of Victoria's rescue, or at least those details he thought Reed should hear, Jed interjecting occasionally to supplement his partner's narrative.

The consular agent's eyes narrowed when the men told him the story of Victoria's near abduction by the dervishes, and again as Jed told him what he had overheard the night at the oasis when he had crept along the sand to get Victoria water.

“Were there any names mentioned?” Hayden asked coolly, though the stare with which he fixed Jed and Ali was most intent.

“No. That doesn't mean trouble is not brewing,” Jed replied.

“Then you'd best give me every detail you can remember,” Hayden directed, efficiently withdrawing a pencil and paper from a nearby desk drawer. Poised to take notes, a serious Hayden Reed made an impressive official, even to Jed's prejudiced eye.

But when the American and the shopkeeper had concluded their account, he regarded them with a smirk that smacked of dismissal.

“I suppose I should commend you for your intentions in reporting this dervish business, but I can assure you, it means nothing,” he stated with an arrogance born of an education rooted in imperialism. “From my experiences in this heathenish outpost, I judge this to be no more than wishful thinking on the part of the natives. There is no need to concern yourselves.”

“They're building a powder magazine on Tuti Island, rifles are being run down to the Sudan, and they've taken it into their heads that they have a Mahdi, a saviour!” Jed protested.

“These people are always looking for a new redeemer,” Hayden replied, his tone drenched in boredom. “As for the firearms, scoundrels constantly smuggle contraband, try as we do to stop them. And by your own account, the powder magazine is far from being finished. The Sudanese will, in all likelihood, be too shiftless to complete it. None of what you have told me means anything.”

“How can you say that? I insist you pass this information on to your superior,” Jed argued.

“Kincaid, you are in no position to insist upon anything. In fact, if it weren't apparent that Miss Shaw feels some sort of misplaced gratitude toward you, I'd have you and your cohort arrested for failing to simply deliver the ransom money as directed. If you had done so, I have no doubt my fiancée would have been returned long ago, without being dragged along on some wild, hazardous journey through the desert. As it is, I've half a mind to jail you both. However, since she is home safely, I will allow her father to decide what is to be done.”

“Let's hope he has more sense than you do,” muttered Jed.

“Mind your manners, Kincaid,” Hayden ordered, “or I'll follow my first inclination. As for the senior consular agent, I will determine what, if anything, he should be told. In my opinion, this could all be something you've fabricated to forestall prosecution for placing Miss Shaw in needless jeopardy. However, being a fair man, I am going to give you a choice. Leave the ransom money and go, or remain and be arrested.”

Jed and Ali exchanged glances and wordlessly got to their feet. Reaching into an inner pocket of his shirt, Jed withdrew what remained of Cameron Shaw's money and threw it on a table.

“A simple thank you would have been sufficient, Reed,” he said with disdain.

When he and Ali reached the door, Jed turned around and addressed Hayden Reed once more. “You'll find money missing,” he announced, his voice steely. “There were expenses. Unfortunately, I didn't think to get receipts, so you can add theft to my list of crimes.” Then he walked away with a nonchalance that told an incensed Hayden how very little Jed feared his authority.

By the time they reached the street, Jed's barely contained fury threatened to erupt. His rage stemmed not so much from Hayden's treatment as from the fact that Victoria Shaw dared prefer such a man to him.

“Where will you go?” Ali asked quietly, his face filled with concern. “I'm sure Fatima wouldn't mind if you—”

“Get on home, Ali,” the American growled, interrupting him before the words began in pity were completed. Then Jed Kincaid stalked away into the night, wondering where his footsteps would take him before he returned to his hotel. In spite of his weariness, he had no wish to seek his bed. It would seem too lonely after he had grown accustomed to having Vicky sleep by his side.

* * *

Victoria stared silently at the passing civilization of Cairo as the small trap carried her out of the city toward her parents' estate. Despite the late hour, lights shone in occasional windows, but the young woman saw only dark confusion surrounding her.

She had deliberately scorned Jed's proposal to spare him, and tonight, mere moments before, had turned her back on the man to whom she owed so much. And how had Hayden treated her? Like an inconvenient obligation to be dispatched from sight. Hayden was, by nature, a private, reserved gentleman, while Jed was nothing if not undisciplined, but why couldn't her fiancé have shown more enthusiasm at her return? She would have thought Hayden would have been relieved to see her after nearly three weeks.

Yet despite the man's shortcomings, she
had
chosen Hayden over Jed, Victoria reminded herself. She had no right to grumble because she was weary and troubled by second thoughts. Besides, Hayden did love her, certainly he did—and in return, she loved him, at least a little...didn't she?

When the carriage finally stopped before the Shaw home, the query still echoed in her heart, but Victoria cast it aside as a familiar voice called out in excitement.

“Victoria? Oh, dear Lord, it is you. Every night we've waited, hoping against hope that another day wouldn't pass without your return,” cried Cameron Shaw, his jubilant emotions overwhelming his banker's demeanor. Without concern for decorum, he swept his daughter into his arms. “Grace, Grace, come quickly.”

“Father, you don't know how often I prayed to see you again,” she murmured against his shoulder. Pleased by his blatant affection, she couldn't help but compare it to Hayden's poor example.

“I wager not half so fervently as your mother and I did,” he answered, hugging her close. Rather than relinquish his hold on her, the banker carried Victoria into the house, refusing to let her down until they reached the drawing room.

“My poor child.” Even as Cameron released the girl, Grace enveloped her in a warm embrace, simultaneously calling out orders to the servants. “Draw Miss Victoria a bath, prepare a tray, see that her bed is turned down, oh, and bring us some tea.”

“Never mind the tea,” said Victoria's father. Going to the decanters displayed on a mahogany table, he poured three glasses of amontillado. “Sherry is bloody well more soothing for the nerves. Besides, we must toast the splendid chap who rescued Victoria and brought her back to us. Kincaid, isn't that his name? Where is he, child? We owe him a large debt of gratitude—”

“Ah—well—I imagine he's still at the consulate with Hayden.”

“You were with Hayden and
he
didn't bring you home?” Grace could hardly believe her ears.

“It wasn't Hayden's fault. He wanted to, but he had to take Jed's report and I didn't wish to wait for him,” extemporized Victoria. Having made her choice, she was unwilling to hear Hayden slandered any further, especially after listening to Jed's derogatory remarks about him for weeks. “I wanted to hurry home and reassure you—”

“Of course you did, dear,” agreed Mrs. Shaw, “and rightly so.”

“I still want to meet Kincaid and salute the fellow,” insisted Cameron. Handing Victoria a glass of sherry, he reached down to stroke her flushed cheek, all too aware of what he might have lost without the man's assistance. “After all, he is the one who restored my dearest treasure. American mercenary or not, we must invite the man to dine, Grace.”

“I doubt he would come, Father,” murmured Victoria, paling at the notion of facing Jed under her parents' watchful eyes. Finally home, all she wanted was to forget him and return to her life. Confronting the choice she had been compelled to make was not part of her plans. “Kincaid is not very social—and there is Ali.”

“That's no problem. I'll invite them both,” countered Cameron, a man accustomed to having his way.

“But Victoria says he wouldn't be comfortable,” protested Grace, wondering how she would entertain such an odd pair at her table. “Perhaps you could take them to Shepheard's—”

“Nonsense. The man is a hero and deserves to be treated as such. It is only right Kincaid and his associate come here.”

“Really, Father, I don't believe Jed will accept. Such an invitation would only put him in an awkward position,” she argued weakly. It had torn her heart asunder to bid Jed a final farewell once. She didn't think she would have the strength to do it again.

“Don't concern yourself,” counselled Grace. “Your father will do as he likes. Come upstairs. A good night's sleep in your own bed will have you right as rain by morning.”

Victoria was too exhausted to protest any further. Cameron Shaw
would
do as he wanted, regardless of what she said, but then, so would Jed. Turning to follow her mother, Victoria leaned forward to kiss her father's cheek.

“I will be up to say good-night,” he promised, running his hand over her unruly curls. “And, in the morning, you can tell me all about your adventures.”

Watching as Grace led his daughter from the room, Cameron shook his head. He knew he shouldn't question the gods, but he couldn't help it. If Kincaid had discovered any clue as to why Victoria had been taken, he wanted to know about it to prevent a recurrence, and know it he would. Besides, to meet an adventurer with the reputation of Jed Kincaid, a man who could steal his daughter from the very center of white slavery, would be a real pleasure, even if the chap was American.

* * *

Jed's haunted steps carried him through the serpentine passageways of Cairo's
medina.
Driven by a sense of abysmal loss, he neither saw nor cared about the exotic sights surrounding him. No matter how desperately he tried to banish it, Victoria's visage was what he carried before him, blinding him to all else. The dragomans and snake charmer were invisible to him, along with the beckoning merchandise artfully displayed by the shopkeepers. Compelling as the streets of Cairo's Arab Quarter were, the lovely contours of Victoria's face continued to easily supersede the reality flanking Jed.

As he pressed onward, the American evinced the supple grace of a caged panther. Though his physical movements were not hampered, his emotions had been captured by a blond, blue-eyed vixen, so that Jed was held prisoner as surely as if he were behind bars.

Rounding one corner and then another, Jed didn't even know why he was in this part of the city, where he was going, or for that matter, where he had been. He felt lost, alone, a stranger in a foreign land, and for the first time in a long while, he wished one of his brothers were close at hand.

To dispel his sense of isolation, he had gone to a tavern, but after one sip of whiskey, he had left. Next, he had tried Nadir's brothel, but could not bring himself to cross its threshold. Nothing could serve as a balm for the wounds he carried within his heart, and so he drifted aimlessly, searching for some sort of a cure. Yet the only palliative that would make him whole again was the beautiful Englishwoman installed on her father's estate, and she had made it clear she did not want him.

When Jed looked up to see where his random path had finally taken him, he was not overly surprised to see a display of brassware. Cursing himself for his weakness in needing someone, he nonetheless approached the shop, stopping before its open front. Standing in the midst of tables, pitchers, trays and coffeepots, he put his hands on his hips and called out to the shop's owner, hoping to hide his despondency behind masculine bravado.

“Ali! Ali Sharouk, get your tail out here, man!”

Momentarily, a grinning face appeared, and Ali came out into the narrow alley that served as a street.

“I was wondering when you would arrive,” the pleased Egyptian announced.

“Yeah, well don't get all excited about it. I'm only here on some business,” Jed said gruffly. Ali was a happy man, and Jed suddenly thought better of bringing his troubles to the Egyptian's doorstep.

“I am disappointed you come to my shop simply to conduct business, but what is it I can do for you?”

“Why, I'm here to...to...to pay you for that damned coffee service,” Jed fabricated, discomforted by Ali's probing stare.

“Don't be ridiculous, Jed. That is long forgotten,” the brass merchant assured him.

The Jed Kincaid Ali saw standing in front of the shop was not at all to his liking. He appeared more haggard than the Cairene had ever seen him, even during the worst of the times in the desert. Back in civilization for almost two days, Jed had yet to shave, and while his clothing was clean, it hardly bespoke fastidiousness. His usually brilliant eyes were dulled, and his spirit weary. It was unmistakable, even to the blindest of beggars, that Jed was a human being who was feeling most wretched.