Alex turned and saw a horde of horsemen riding through the crowd, scattering the men, women, and children. The Turks guarding Blackwell moved forward to meet them, blades drawn—instead of closing in around Blackwell, to guard him. The executioner drew his blade, the bashaw screamed incoherently, and Jovar spurred his horse forward, raising his pistol—pointing it at Blackwell.
Alex jerked free of Jebal with superhuman strength, picking up a stone. She flung it at Jovar as his pistol went off.
The stone hit Jovar’s horse and the horse bolted, so Jovar’s bullet missed Blackwell completely.
Alex turned just in time to see the executioner’s blade landing harmlessly in the ground—but mere inches from Blackwell’s feet. Blackwell kicked him viciously in the groin. The executioner went down.
Blackwell began to run, toward Alex. His hands remained chained behind his back.
And suddenly the horsemen were everywhere. A rider galloped up to Blackwell, gripping his arm. Xavier leapt astride behind the Arab. Alex cheered.
“Bitch!” Jebal dragged her backward. Alex fought him now, wildly, but could not break free of his iron grasp. From the corner of her eye she saw Jovar shooting at Blackwell again, but he missed because the soldiers fighting around him were jostling his frightened horse.
There was hand-to-hand fighting everywhere.
Alex turned to face Jebal, who was enraged. She kicked his shins as hard as she could, but his grip did not loosen. “You won’t escape!” he shouted at her, wrestling her back to him.
Alex darted a wild look over her shoulder and saw that Blackwell was now mounted alone—and riding directly at her.
“Alexandra,” he shouted.
Alex turned and bit down hard on Jebal’s wrist. She tasted blood. He screamed, releasing her abruptly.
Alex reached for Blackwell’s leg as he thundered past her. She caught his thigh and was dragged alongside his horse. The ground burned her sandal-clad feet. The horse’s hooves clipped her ankles. She had never been more determined; she had never been more afraid. She would not let go.
Alex did not think she could continue to hang on. But the horse careened into two other animals whose riders were violently wielding their scimitars. The horse reared, Alex hanging on to Blackwell’s leg desperately. The animal pranced wildly. “Jump up!” he shouted at her.
Alex debated releasing Blackwell’s leg so she could grip the saddle and try to jump up behind him. Before she could dare try, she was jostled from behind—and abruptly heaved upward. She scrambled behind Blackwell, putting her arms around him and reaching for the reins. The gray reared again. Alex looked down and saw Murad beside the gelding’s flanks, his face flushed and wet.
“Go,” he shouted at them. His silver eyes blazed. “Go!”
Alex wrapped her arms around Blackwell’s waist as the steed shot forward in response to them both. Ahead Alex could see the harbor. She realized that they were following two other Arabs.
And someone grabbed her foot.
Alex looked down, panicked, as she began to slide off of the horse. Her hold on Blackwell was so tight that he also slid sideways with her.
It was Jebal. He had appeared out of nowhere. He was hanging on to her, being dragged by the horse, savage, hate-filled determination stamped all over his face.
Alex knew he was not going to release her—and in another moment she would be on the ground. If she did not release Blackwell, he would be pulled off of the horse and recaptured, too.
Alex let go.
37
SHE WAS TRULYalone.
Murad was hiding somewhere in Tripoli, and Blackwell was gone.
Alex would never forget her last glimpse of him. He had turned, wild-eyed, when Jebal had pulled Alex down from the horse. His struggle had been as clear as day. Alex knew that in that split second he had debated leaping off of his uncontrollable mount and returning to her. He had debated attacking Jebal, even though his hands were manacled. Alex no longer cared about herself. Fresh troops were swarming into the square, wielding scimitars and firing pistols. Jebal had her by the arm. Alex had looked right into Blackwell’s furious eyes. “Go! Go!” she had screamed.
Someone else had also screamed at Blackwell. Neilsen, on a brown steed, racing by them all. Blackwell had abruptly faced forward, riding his horse toward the harbor like a bat out of hell.
But there had been a promise in his eyes.
He would return for her. Alex believed it with all of her heart, in the very depths of her soul.
The entire palace was talking about little else other than Blackwell’s escape. The bashaw was furious. Jebal was furious. Jovar had sentenced an entire regiment to labor in the quarries and had put the captain of that troop to death. Alex only had to press her ear to her locked bedroom door in order to hear her guards gossiping somewhat gleefully about all that was transpiring.
