Lord of Desire

She had never seen Jafar so angry, not even the time she'd threatened to kill herself. Zohra, understandably, looked frightened by his savage temper, yet there was no prostrating herself at the lord's feet. Indeed, more than once Zohra gave a proud toss of her head, her eyes flashing defiancé as she railed at her rival.

"She is evil, lord!" Zohra finally cried, pointing at Alysson.

"She is an innocent, and here at my command!"

"She has bewitched you! She is not one of us! You have made her your woman and betrayed your own people. The djinns of madness have seized you."

"Enough!" Jafar's roar echoed resoundingly in the suddenly quiet courtyard. He pointed at Zohra. "You, woman, are no longer welcome here in my home, in this village! Be gone at once, before I banish you from this province entirely."

Zohra's tirade ceased abruptly as apparently she realized she had vastly overstepped the bounds. Her mouth half- open, she stared at Jafar, looking aghast. "Forgive me, lord, for my heedless tongue . . . I meant no disrespect."

"I will not repeat myself," he warned softly, in a deadly voice.

His implacability must have sunk in, for after a long agonized look, Zohra began backing away. Yet when she reached a safe distance—the arched passageway that led to the street—she halted. Clenching her fists, she spat on the ground. "I curse her!" Zohra cried with vehemence, raising her voice so that the crowd that had gathered in the courtyard could hear every word. "I curse the saiyid's infidel woman! May the evil eye look down upon her and destroy all she holds dear!" Then she spun on her slippered heel and fled.

In the ensuing silence, Alysson found herself shaking—and not just because of Zohra's venom. Rather, because she had again come between Jafar and his tribe.

She sent him an imploring glance and found him watching her. "I'm sorry, Jafar," she said with regret. "I did not mean to cause trouble for you."

"You are in no way to blame," he retorted grimly.

Breaking contact with Alysson's gaze, Jafar sent the Berber sorceress away with a sharp command, then dismissed his retainers and supplicants with an impatient wave of his hand . . . all except for Mahmoud. Instead he beckoned to the young servant. "Instruct Saful to prepare the falcons and ready the lady's mount," he ordered before turning back to Alysson. "You will accompany me on the hunt." At her quizzical look, Jafar raised a golden eyebrow. "You once expressed a desire to hunt, did you not?"

"Yes, but . . . you needn't feel obliged to take me—"

"One day, Ehuresh," he interrupted, "you will learn that I do as I wish. And at the moment I wish to make amends for the distasteful way you have been treated in my home." Suddenly his savage expression softened and he smiled, a tender, exquisitely sensual smile. "Now go and change your clothing, chérie, for something more appropriate for riding."

Alysson hesitated only a moment before turning to do his bidding. After days of being allowed only "women's" activities, she longed to escape the strict confines of her gender.

As she ran upstairs to change, anticipation curled inside her at the promised pleasure of hunting and the greater pleasure of enjoying Jafar's company for a few hours. And for the time being she was even able to banish her disturbing thoughts of Jafar's impending impeachment and the stark foreboding that Zohra had managed to create with her sorcery and her accusations of betrayal.

Chapter 21

It was a day always to remember, an intimate moment to be stored away and cherished, to be drawn out when youth had gone and the lonely years of old age were upon her.

The sun was bright, the fall air crisp and mingled with the scent of warm horseflesh and the sharp fragrance of cedars. The hunting party was small. Leaving the greyhounds behind, Jafar took only three servants, his falconer, several of his hawks, and Alysson.

She gave a good account of herself. She'd been hawking numerous times before with her Uncle Oliver, and so had no trouble earning Jafar's admiration.

Just as he earned hers.

It was a pleasure simply to watch him, to be near him. As in everything he did, Jafar brought with him his vitality and cool magnetism. The sight of him on his fiery Barb, with a proud, golden-eyed falcon sitting on his wrist, was magnificent to behold. Even more so than the picture of the falcon spreading its wings and soaring, or attacking with talons stretched as it plummeted after small prey and game birds.

Jafar apparently still believed she had led a sheltered life, though, for when they entered a forest of holm oaks and discovered telltale bristles on some of the tree trunks, he commanded Alysson to keep behind him. When shortly they came upon a black boar, Jafar brought it down in one shot, with a bullet positioned behind the ear. Only a Berber could have placed a bullet so well from the saddle, Alysson reflected, marveling.

It was only later, when Jafar sent his adherents home without him, that she realized he hadn't brought her along merely to hunt. Her heart started to race. He smiled at her then, a smile of pure sensuality, and led her mount further from civilization.

Shortly they topped a rocky hillock and descended into a rugged glen, where oleanders, brambles, and hawthorns choked each other in wild confusion, and a bright, pure fountain gushed from the rocks to tumble far below into a small pool.

"How beautiful!" Alysson breathed, seeing the rippling threads of silver that marked the path of the waterfall.

"Yes," Jafar replied in a low voice. At the husky tone, she turned her head to find him regarding her intently, his eyes smoldering like hot gold. She began to tremble, while her heart beat with the heavy thud of anticipation.

Without another word, he dismounted and came to her side, helping her down. Then, holding her hand, he led her up the rocky incline to a shallow cave half-hidden by a thicket.

The rock was warm from the sun, Alysson noted in one part of her dazed mind. The rest of her attention was occupied in watching Jafar. With an economy of motion, he spread his burnous on the hard ground and tossed his turban aside. When he turned back to her, sunlight beamed down on him, gilt-glittering a thousand blond threads of his hair and intensifying the smoldering ardor in his jeweled eyes.

"Will you deny me now, Ehuresh?" he asked simply, quiedy.