Lord of Desire

Alysson clenched her teeth. "You will have a long wait. When icicles grow in hell, then perhaps I will consider acceding to your request."

Calmly he continued to hold out the water bag to her. At his commanding look of expectation, her outrage at his arrogance mounted to an explosive level. Defiantly she snatched the water bag from his hand and threw it away with all her might. It landed some twenty feet away, sloshing water over the thirsty earth.

"Foolish woman!" With a low curse, he lunged to his knees, reaching for her. Recoiling in fear, Alysson raised her hands to block the blow. But it never came. The hard fingers of his hand closed about her upper arm, while his other hand half-encircled her throat, pushing her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were golden and fierce, as unblinking as a hawk's. She quaked at the leashed violence she saw there.

"You cannot have the intelligence I credited you with," he said through gritted teeth, "if you are so stupid as to waste water in this country. It can mean death for a man without water."

Alysson was already regretting her self-destructive act of rebellion, and realized the truth of his words, but she was beyond rational reasoning. She wanted to scream at him, to pound at him with her fists, to force this savage devil to release her. "I don't care!" she cried, her voice shaking. "If I could cause your demise, I would!"

The Berber regarded her coldly, for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then his taut expression softened the slightest degree. "I will make allowances for you," he said finally, "because you are English. But you will learn to obey me. For your sake, I hope you learn quickly. From now on, if you wish to drink again, you will ask politely. And you will tend my wound without complaint."

His hold on her eased then. Abruptly Alysson shook off the loose restraint and scrambled to her feet. "Your arm can rot off, for all I care!"

He, too, rose, making Alysson back away warily. But he merely retrieved the water bag and proceeded to cleanse his wound himself. Alysson was surprised and relieved by her momentary reprieve, yet she knew the battle was not over by any means. He had sounded entirely too confident that she would give in—but that only made her all the more determined she would not.

She watched as he completed his task and carried the goatskin to his pile of equipment. Then he surprised her again by removing his turban. In the gathering dusk, Alysson could see that his hair was liberally sun-streaked, with strands of pale burnished gold. It only made her more certain that he was a descendant of the fair-skinned Berber race. The barbaric Berber race, she amended, scowling at his back.

"I want you to remove your boots."

His soft command, delivered with the mild interest of someone talking about the weather, took her aback. When he turned, Alysson gave him a look that clearly said he had lost his mind.

“Without footwear, you will be less likely to wander off.''

"You can go straight to the—"

"I won't tell you again. If you won't remove them, I will simply do it for you."

She stared at him in impotent fury. He not only was capable of forcing her to obey him, he no doubt would relish the opportunity. Alysson decided to spare herself the humiliation and perform the task on her own. Sitting on the rough grass, she tugged off her boots and tossed them aside, then glared up at him.

"Now, take off your jacket."

"What?" Her incredulous expression turned wary. "Why? What do you intend to do?"

"Nothing."

"Then why? Without my jacket I'm likely to freeze to death. You apparently don't intend to build a campfire."

"You will not be cold, I assure you. You will sleep wrapped in my burnous."

"How considerate of you."

He shrugged. "Merely practical. Now, do as I say."

Grinding her teeth, silently calling him every eptithet she could think of, Alysson did as she was bid, pulling off her jacket and laying it on top of her boots. She shivered as a chill breeze pierced the fine cambric of her shirt; darkness was descending rapidly and the air had already grown cold.

"Now your shirt."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, appalled. "You can't mean it!"

"Oh, but I do."

"Why? So you can rape me?"

Even as the words left her lips she cursed herself in English and in French. It was foolish in the extreme to put such thoughts in his head.

But his response was not what she expected; his hard mouth twisted in scornful amusement. "Your honor is safe with me, ma belle. Unlike your race, I have no desire to rape defenseless innocents." His eyebrow rose at the doubtful glance she gave him. "I merely want to ensure that you do not attempt to escape. The standards of decorum you English ladies observe would never allow you to be seen in less than proper attire. Now, take off your shirt, or I will be obliged to remove it myself."

Cold panic seized her, Alysson measured the distance between herself and the rifle, but she was too far away. She would never reach it before he cut her off. Frantic to delay the inevitable, she voiced the first words that came into her head. "How can I be sure that you won't. . . that you . . ."