Lord of Desire

Zohra was an excellent dancer, just as Jafar claimed; her performance that evening for his guests was exquisite.

A Frenchman to the core, Honord Larousse greatly appreciated the display of flashing blue eyes, swirling golden hair, and an enticing, full-breasted figure. Alysson, however, watched the exhibition of sensual agility and provocative grace with little enthusiasm, and more than a little distress. The thought of Jafar making love to this wild Berber beauty made her heart ache.

Against her will, sh

e found her gaze drawn to him. Oddly, his attention was focused not on the beautiful courtesan, but on herself, his expression intent and brooding.

When the performance was over, though, Jafar roused himself to become the charming host again. And during the week that followed, no one could have shown his guests more consideration.

His courtesies and deference to her wishes didn't help one whit Alysson's resolve to free her heart from his control. When she admitted to him that she'd seen little of the village, Jafar himself escorted her around his town, informing her about his tribe and his culture with a quiet pride that he didn't try to hide.

Both the men and women of the Beni Abess were hard workers, Alysson saw. The men primarily farmed and raised horses, while the women were highly skilled at making pottery and woven cloth. There was little time for leisure, especially for the women. If they weren't cooking or cleaning, they were drawing water from wells or making the trek to the river to wash clothes. But their lot was not as arduous or as restrictive as that of their Arab counterparts, Alysson learned. Berber women were not required to remain quiet around men or keep their eyes downcast like Arab women. In fact, if Jafar's casual remarks could be believed, it was Berber wives who ruled their households, not husbands.

It was Jafar who first took Alysson up to the roof to observe his magnificent horses being trained in the village arena. Alysson found it a pleasure to watch the high-mettled steeds as they were taught to charge and wheel and charge again.

It was Jafar, also, who escorted Alysson through his stables, an event which resulted from a taunting comment she made at supper one evening after listening to the conversation he was having with her Uncle Honoré about the difficulties the French had encountered in conducting a military campaign in the rugged Algerian terrain.

"What do you and your savage warriors do when you are not engaged in fighting?" she asked dryly, wishing she could stem Jafar's growing influence over her uncle.

Jafar sent her a cool look. "Besides war, Ehuresh, we enjoy the chase, love, and horses. Tomorrow, if you wish, I will show you my horses."

Alysson inclined her head regally, pretending indifference, but the next morning, as they toured Jafar's stables, she couldn't maintain her reserve when near such excellent horseflesh. She listened attentively and with growing admiration as Jafar explained, without exaggeration, that his tribe raised some of the best horses in the country.

When she particularly admired a snowy white mare, Jafar gave it to her outright, not listening to her objections.

Finally conceding with a gracious thank-you, Alysson moved on to the other stalls, till she came to one that held a lean and sharp-boned bay stallion. The horse seemed rather savage as it snorted and pawed the ground—until it scented Jafar. Then it spun and trotted up to him, as docile as a lamb.

For some strange reason the stallion looked familiar, yet Alysson was almost certain it hadn't been one of the mounts Jafar had taken to the desert. "Does this fierce-looking fellow have a name?" she murmured as the stallion affectionately nuzzled Jafar's chest.

"Atoo. It means 'wind.' " She caught the odd look Jafar was giving her, but she had no idea how to interpret it. Moments later, though, she forgot the Barbary steed in her immense delight, for Jafar ordered her new mare saddled and took her riding. For two wonderful hours she explored the rugged countryside and reveled in the long-denied freedom, afterward returning with her cheeks flushed from the chill and the exercise, her eyes glowing with enjoyment.

The following morning, however, her glow faded. When Mahmoud brought her breakfast, the boy seemed more dour than usual, and Alysson asked what was troubling him.

"The council is to meet twelve days hence."

"So?"

A worried frown shadowed Mahmoud's scarred brow. "So the council may vote to remove the lord as amghar el- bar ood. He has been charged with betrayal of his duty and disregard of the law, and thus must prove his innocence."

Alysson felt an icy knot coil in her stomach. Upon questioning Mahmoud, she discovered that amghar el-barood meant something like "chief of war." This elected position of supreme commander was filled only in wartime by one of the tribal amghars from all the surrounding tribes. Currently Jafar held the position, but it seemed that he stood to be impeached for his action that day on the battlefield, when he had spared Gervase's life and allowed his blood enemy to go free.

"Do you mean to tell me Jafar could be punished for showing mercy to an enemy?" Alysson asked incredulously.

Mahmoud nodded sadly. "I do not know what will happen. It is in the hands of Allah."

When she pressed the boy to explain about Berber law, Alysson began to understand why Jafar had so litde time for leisure. Besides chief of war and chief of his own tribe, Jafar also held the position of caid, which was appointed by the sultan. Only caids were allowed to wear scarlet burnouses, Alysson learned, but that was the only simple rule she could discover. The Berber system of government was a tremendously complicated network of inter-lineage blood feuds and interclan warfare—which certainly wasn't made any easier by the independent and warlike Berber spirit.

Alysson thought Jafar's possible dethronement preposterous. During his reign, Jafar had united and led a people whose very instincts drove them to faction and discord, against a superior force of foreign invaders. It seemed almost ludicrous now that he would be required to fight not only the French but his own people.

The threat of impeachment was what had been troubling Jafar, Alysson was certain. She wanted to ask him about it, but could find no opportunity for privacy with him during that entire day. And the next afternoon she was subjected to another encounter with Zohra.

The beautiful blonde woman was waiting for her in the courtyard, much like a watchful spider. Having no intention of becoming Zohra's prey, Alysson started to pass, but Zohra's hissed warning gave her pause.

"You should leave here, lady, before something evil befalls you."

Halting, Alysson turned slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Something evil? Are you daring to threaten me, Zohra? I imagine the lord might have something to say about such treatment of a guest."

Zohra's blue eyes showed an instant of worry before the animosity returned in full force. "You have bewitched him, but he will never take you to wife, no matter how you try to lure him with your great wealth! You are an infidel, a foreigner. He will wed one of his own kind, one who can bring honor to his name and favor to his tribe. You have only brought him dishonor! You are nothing to him, less than nothing!"