She understood quite well the reason for his caution, and the knowledge made her snap an unwise reply. "When the French army rescues me, I want to be able to tell them where to find you."
A muscle in his jaw tightened as he shot her a penetrating look.
Alysson sighed wearily, wishing she had kept silent, wishing it wasn't so hot, wishing she had never decided to come to this godforsaken land in the first place.
At least her savage Berber captor was soon forced by the terrain to keep the pace slow. Carefully he led her mare through barren hills topped with flat tablelike peaks, and down into gullies that had forgotten the taste of rain. Yet Alysson's discomfort only rose as the morning progressed. The glaring sun beat down on her mercilessly, and the rising heat only frayed her already raw temper.
"This is not what I had in mind," Alysson muttered, "when I planned this expedition. I never expected this land would be so unattractive."
Jafar glanced over at her. "You will find it beautiful after the rains, when the desert blooms."
"I won't," she replied adamantly, shaking her head. "I will never again find anything the least appealing about Algeria. It is too hot."
In response, he unstoppered the goatskin and poured a trickle of water over a scrap of cloth. "Wipe your face with this," he commanded, handing her the cloth.
It felt cool and soothing to Alysson's sweating brow, but it didn't mollify her in the least. "If I had to be abducted," she said in a morose undertone, "why couldn't it have been during the rainy season?"
The sudden smile he gave her bordered on beautiful itself. "This is the rainy season, ma belle. "
Alysson returned a scowl that would have been lethal, could she had made it so.
After that the country grew more fierce, if that were possible. They wound their way through inhospitable hills of red and gray sandstone and negotiated deep gorges studded with dwarfed Aleppo pines. The wind picked up then, bearing a dust that was coarse and gritty.
"Do we never get to stop and rest?" Alysson complained.
"Soon," Jafar said. "Cover your face."
His "soon" stretched out into hours. They left the hills to ride swiftly over a flat, scrub-covered plain of salt- impregnated sand. Ahead of the galloping horses, scorpions and lizards darted for cover.
Under different circumstances Alysson might have been impressed by the savage, pitiless beauty. But the heat and lonely monotony, the grueling pace and windblown grit, all served to drain away her energy. For a time, Alysson even thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, for to the east, beyond the arid plain, she frequently glimpsed a shimmer that looked very much like a huge lake.
It was shortly afterward that Alysson found herself nearly falling asleep in the saddle. She caught herself with her head lolling forward, just as she was about to slide off her mount.
Jafar saw the danger. Plucking her from the mare, he settled her before him on his stallion. Automatically she started to struggle, but he quieted her with a murmured command to be still. "You are tired. This way you can rest."
Alysson gave a weary sigh as her head found a comfortable place in the curve of his shoulder. She must be growing accustomed to sleeping in his arms, she decided with resignation as her eyes fell closed. The thought was disturbing, but it didn't prevent her from seeking refuge in sleep.
The afternoon dust was ripe and hot by the time she awoke, and the air was filled with strange sounds. Realizing the stallion had slowed to a walk, Alysson sat up groggily.
The sight that greeted her made hope leap in her breast. Shielding her eyes against the glare, she feasted her gaze on a cool green forest of feathery date palms, beneath which grew a profusion of oleanders, tamarinds, and pistachio trees. They had reached a small oasis in the barren wilderness.
The oasis was not unoccupied. At one end, near a well, some two dozen camels stood guarded by long-robed nomads.
A hush fell over the crowd as Jafar and Alysson rode in. These were Arabs of the desert, Alysson surmised, returning their curious gazes. These men were thin-boned and glossy-haired, their olive-tinted faces marked by hawklike noses and dark liquid eyes. She wondered what they would say if she threw herself upon their mercy. It was possible they would agree to protect her from her Berber captor. Then again, they might very well ignore her pleas.
The sharp interest of their gazes disturbed her, making her wonder if she had done something wrong. Perhaps sitting on a man's lap wasn't any more proper in their culture than hers. Awkwardly Alysson shifted her weight, striving for as much decorum as the intimate position allowed. Abruptly she felt Jafar's muscles tense—in the arm that was wrapped loosely around her waist, and the hard thighs that supported her own.
Jafar murmured a silent oath, both because of the feminine pressure of Alysson's squirming, and because he recognized the Arab caravan. They were slave merchants, robbers all, noted for their viciousness and greed. Yet these traders were highly successful in their dealings, for they possessed abundant cunning and no scruples to speak of. Jafar had no doubt they coveted his young captive—if not for her slender, almost boyish figure, then for the curiosity she aroused, and for her potential value at market. European women brought a high price in Barbary.
For the moment, however, he was not worried about Alysson's safety. These traders feared him and his position too much to attack him, even if he was alone. But his fingers closed over the hilt of his dagger all the same.
"Don't say a word," Jafar murmured to Alysson. "Keep your eyes downcast as befits a woman."
She bristled at his arrogant command, but she did as she was told, watching only surreptitiously—and a bit fearfully—as Jafar directed his fierce stare at the group of Arabs. She was amazed to see them, one by one, avert their gazes.
Jafar halted the horses in the cool shade of a towering date palm and lowered Alysson to the ground. "Sit down and be quiet." He hoped she would keep her rebellious behavior under control for the moment and afford him proper respect. If she challenged his authority before these Arabs, he would have to bend her to his will. These slavers understood one law: strength. Allowing a woman to defy his wishes would be seen as a weakness . . . a fatal weakness.
He hadn't underestimated Alysson's defiant nature, for even as he dismounted, she planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.