Lord of Desire

Relief, swift and sweet, flooded through Alysson as she stared at the boy. Jafar was still chief of war. He had not been deposed for his act of mercy.

"Thank heaven," she murmured with heartfelt elation, then commanded Mahmoud to sit beside her and tell her the details of what had occurred after her dismissal.

In actuality, her defense of Jafar had made little difference, the boy said. It had been the lord's own argument that had swayed the council—that the exchange of prisoners had benefited the Berber cause more than the shedding of blood would have done. In the end, the vote had been nearly unanimous. Jafar was reaffirmed as amghar el-barood.

She thanked Mahmoud for relaying the good news, and sat there after he'd gone, trying to come to terms with the truth.

A short while later, she heard the sound of footsteps and looked up to meet Jafar's eyes. Somehow she forced herself to speak. "I am glad you won, Jafar."

"Thank you. I am also." His expression was half tender, half serious when he commented softly, "I did not need you to defend me, Ehuresh. "

"Yes . . . I see that now."

"But I am Honoréd that you made the attempt."

Alysson gazed back at him, not knowing if she could believe him.

When he reached out, laying his palm against her cheek in a caress, she closed her eyes, his recent declaration haunting her. She is only a woman . . . you insult me by suggesting I could be corrupted or governed by her. Jafar wouldn't want her love, any more than he'd wanted her interference in his affairs.

When finally he turned away, she didn't prevent him from leaving. And yet watching him go, she felt totally bereft.

No, he hadn't needed her. She'd only been a detriment to him.

The elation she'd felt at his vindication disappeared, to be replaced by aching despondency. The answer to her uncle's question was ob

vious. She had no future with Jafar. She had been deluding herself for one moment to think otherwise.

No, their parting was inevitable.

Forcibly, Alysson swallowed, blinking back the stinging tears welling in her eyes. She had to be strong. For Jafar's sake, as well as her own, she had to resist the insidious desire to pretend they could build a life together. Their passionate wanting would not be enough. Her love for him would not be enough.

At least she had not been blessed with Jafar's child, Alysson thought bleakly. Her intimacy with Jafar had not resulted in pregnancy. Her monthly courses had begun shortly after their last tryst, an event for which she ought to be grateful. She knew Jafar well enough to realize he would never let her leave carrying his child.

And she had to leave. She had to flee from him while she still had the chance to forget him. She must somehow escape this impossible love that threatened to consume her.

As if sensing her despair, the greyhound raised its sleek head and sniffed Alysson's cold hand, then gave her fingers a sympathetic lick. Absently, Alysson stroked the silken head, but she could draw no comfort from the dog's friendly gesture. It would take a great deal more than that to diminish her sense of raw desolation or ease the fierce ache in her heart.

Chapter 23

Her chance for freedom came in a way she never expected. It was the first, of December, a day marked by two disturbing incidents.

The first was news of a tragedy. The lion that had been stalking the hills at night had attacked and savaged a woman from a neighboring tribe. Mahmoud gave Alysson the gory details when he served her breakfast.

"Ezim ezher," the boy said with solemnity and awe. "The lion roars."

No longer possessing an appetite, Alysson pushed away her plate while Mahmoud expounded on his subject. The Berbers had the greatest respect for the king of beasts, she learned, calling it sidi, which signified ruler or master. But Jafar's tribe had supreme confidence in the lord's ability to track down and kill the savage creature. Jafar was at this very moment making preparations to hunt the lion that was terrorizing the countryside.

Before he could depart, however, an event of a different nature occurred, one that filled Alysson with a stark foreboding. Messengers from the west began streaming into Jafar's reception room, bringing word of their sultan, Abdel Kader. The noble Berber leader had been betrayed by the Sultan of Morocco, they reported, and Abdel Kader might at any moment be forced to retreat to Algeria.

Alysson greeted this intelligence with dread. Surrounded as she'd been during the past three weeks by the luxury and comfort of Jafar's home, she'd almost forgotten that a war still raged in his country. But hearing of the dismaying turn of events in Morocco brought reality back to her with a vengeance. For Jafar the conflict was not over. Perhaps it never would be.

The messengers were followed shortly by the arrival of Jafar's Arab friend, Khalifa Ben Hamadi. The general was returning from the eastern province after trying to raise support for his sultan, and since Jafar's mountain fortress lay near the direct road to Constantine, Ben Hamadi had called to discuss the fate of their leader, Abdel Kader.

Unable to leave his guest to hunt for the lion, Jafar remained closeted with the general for several hours. Afterward, a feast was held, similar to the one given during Ben Hamadi's last visit to Jafar's camp. Unlike last time, however, Alysson was invited to attend, as was her Uncle Honoré. She was aware of the honor, but Honoré—perhaps because of his pain, perhaps because he held the khalif's army to blame for his injuries—glared at the Arab chieftain during the entire meal and answered any remark with a testiness that bordered on rudeness.

In fact, the entire atmosphere that afternoon was grim, despite the delicious food. Squabs, roast chickens stuffed with olives, and a savory meat pie made up the first courses, followed by couscous mounded with chunks of mutton, eggplant, turnips, and grapes. Yet Alysson barely tasted what she ate.

In direct contrast to her uncle's scowling expression, she smiled graciously at the khalifa and responded with deferential respect when he spoke to her, her civility a measure of how much her relationship with Jafar had changed her. Weeks ago during Ben Hamadi's last visit, she had dismissed his gallantry and paid little attention to his ram- blings about his Berber commander. This time, however, she listened intently as he told her the news of Abdel Ka- der's possible banishment from Morocco. Jafar's future and that of his countrymen might very well depend on the Berber leader's fate.