Lord of Desire

But she wouldn't allow it to continue. She wouldn't permit. Jafar to use her as a pawn in his deadly game.

She had to sight him more ardently. She had to strive harder to escape. Gervase's life was at stake, as was her beloved uncle's.

Bringing herself up short, Alysson moved to the door of the tent. Shielding her eyes from the brilliance of the sun, she stared at the sprinkling of color that met her delighted gaze.. Flowers, she thought with surprise. As a result of the rain yesterday, the sparse desert vista around the camp had suddenly burst into bloom.

There was no sign of her blue-eyed guard, Saful, she realized, glancing around her. But a saddled chestnut horse stood unattended beside the adjacent tent. Alysson was about to turn away when her attention was caught by an object leaning against the tent wall. The long-barreled musket flashed in the sunlight, beckoning to her.

Her gaze arrested, Alysson stared at the weapon. Her eyes shifted once more to the horse.

Did she dare?

She couldn't take the time to consider further; her hesitation last night had ended in disaster. It was a slim chance now that she would both be able to ride the chestnut out of the camp and elude pursuit, but she had to take it.

Girding her courage, she left the shelter of Jafar's tent and ran barefoot across the sandy distance. Scooping up the rifle, she turned to the chestnut.

Arab horses were taught never to run when their reins trailed the ground; they would stand obediently for hours, even days. This animal was no exception. It didn't move as she gathered the reins, although it began to dance skittishly when she tried to mount from the left.

"By the sword of the Prophet!''

Jafar's soft curse made Alysson jump. Reflexively she turned to look over her shoulder, and her heart sank, Jafar stood some three yards away, the expression on his face fierce and dangerous.

"What in the name of Allah do you think you are doing?"

Forcing back her fear, Alysson abruptly swung the musket around, pointing it at Jafar. He might have prevented her from taking the horse as she'd hoped, but he wouldn't disarm her this time the way he had last night with the dagger. She would shoot him first.

"Keep away from me!" she warned, aiming the muzzle at his heart.

Jafar glanced at the weapon, his face becoming cold and impassive. Yet he didn't laugh as he had the last time she'd trained a gun on him.

"You dare much, woman," he said instead—softly, his tone far more threatening than if he had shouted. He took a step toward her.

"Don't move! Or I swear I'll kill you."

"Then do it."

Alysson stared at hard-faced man before her. It seemed to her that his eyes had turned to golden stones. "I will, I swear it! I won't let you use me as bait for your treacherous trap."

"You can't prevent it." Jafar took another step. "Go ahead, chérie. Kill me. My men will simply carry on the fight without me."

It was true, she reflected with dismay. Things had gone too far to be turned back, even with his death.

Slowly, with her finger still on the trigger, Alysson rotated the rifle in her hand, till the muzzle pressed against her breast. "You can't use me if I kill myself."

Jafar halted abruptly, his skin growing sharply taut over his high cheekbones. She thought his complexion looked a shade more pale, too, but she couldn't be certain.

He held her gaze as he shook his head slowly. "Your death, too, would be in vain. It will make no difference to my plan. The colonel won't know you are dead. He and the French army will still come."

He was no doubt right about that, too, Alysson thought, nearly despairing.

"Give up the weapon," Jafar said sharply, his tone harsh and uncompromising.

She stared at him, loath to admit defeat, unwilling to concede yet another victory to him.

Before she could decide whether to flout his direct order, however, the choice was taken from her. Jafar snapped his fingers, a sudden hard imperious sound, and Alysson felt the musket being stripped from her grasp. Stunned, she looked around to find Saful scowling down at her, his expression one of fierce disappointment and disapproval.

Another black-robed Berber, apparently the owner of the rifle and the horse, ran up to Jafar and fell prostrate before him.

Interrupting the man's abject apologies, Jafar issued an order that Alysson interpreted to mean "Keep your weapons away from the woman!"