But what good would wishing do? It would not change Alysson's mind about leaving.
Yet how bitter an irony it was to know that her action tonight would have consequences he hadn't foreseen. He knew the Berber mind. When his people learned of what Alysson had done, what courage she'd shown, they would welcome her into their hearts. She would no longer be a hated European. They would be willing to accept her, perhaps not as his first wife, but they would receive her into their tribe, their lives, with gladness.
He gave a silent, hopeless laugh. She would not be here to see the transformation.
It was a long moment before Jafar realized his equerry was standing to one side waiting patiently, respectfully, for his attention. Repressing a bitter sigh, Jafar released Alysson from his embrace, then took a step back and nodded.
Saful stepped forward, holding a bloody, furry object in his outstretched hands which he presented to Alysson.
"This belongs to you, lallah," Saful said in a tone that bordered on awe. He had cut the thick padded paws from the corpse of the mountain cat and was offering the right fore to her.
Numbly, Alysson stared at the grisly relic.
"You earned the right to have it, Alysson," Jafar explained softly in English. "Our women hang the paw of a lion or other ferocious beasts of prey around their children's necks as an amulet to inspire force and courage. Young brides present such gifts to their husbands."
Husband. Alysson closed her eyes tightly, Jafar's words ringing hollowly in her ears. She would never have the right to give such a gift to him. She had fulfilled the terms of the bargain. She had killed the lion and was now free to go.
Why, dear God, why had she insisted on the opportunity to earn her freedom? How she regretted it now. How she wished now that she had never fired that shot!
Yet she'd really had no choice. She could never have allowed harm to come to Jafar, not while there was a single breath left in her body. Yet the horrible irony was not lost on her. In saving Jafar's life, she had forfeited any final, remote chance for a future with him.
She lifted her anguished gaze to him. It would take only a single word from him and she would have remained here, under any terms he cared to name. But he had said nothing.
/> Was it because he was convinced, as she was, of the futility of their future together? Or that her continued presence here would prove a further detriment to him?
Did he feel nothing for her at all? Did he want her to leave?
"Are you able to ride? We should return."
At Jafar's quiet, dispassionate question Alysson felt the crushing weight of despair settle over her. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in some dark corner and find relief for her aching heart in the oblivion of sleep, but she nodded wearily and accepted Jafar's help in mounting—and tried to keep her agonizing thoughts at bay during the long ride back.
The moon rose shortly, blanketing the rugged mountains in a cold light, allowing them to see their way. A few hours later, they returned home in triumph, bearing the blanketed corpse of the lion. They were greeted by gleeful shouts and bursts of gunfire, by exclamations of universal joy that the tyrant was dead, that young men and maidens need not tremble as they went forth at night.
Neither Alysson nor Jafar shared in that joy. Neither could banish the terrible feeling of despair that assailed them at the thought of the bleak future.
It had never happened before in the memory of Jafar's tribe. A woman had killed a lion!
How brave the infidel woman was! How courageous! How remarkable! She had killed the ezirn and saved the life of the lord!
The entire next day was spent in celebration and feasting, to honor Alysson's skill and daring, to sing her praises. The woman being honored, however, missed much of the celebration, for she was making preparations to leave with her uncle and her Indian servant on the morrow. The khalifa himself was to escort them part of the way to Algiers.
In actuality, there were few preparations to make. Alysson had only her clothing to pack, and most of that was accomplished by an ecstatic Chand. She spent the time, however, seeking out the people who had served her and cared for her during her captivity, those who had come to mean a great deal to her in the past two months . . . Tahar, the gentle young woman who had shared advice and kindness. Saful, her faithful guard. Gastar, the old healing woman who had saved her life. Mahmoud, the crippled, proud young boy whose emotional scars ran deeper than the scars on his poor face.
Of them, all, Mahmoud had become most dear to her. Despite his hatred for the European race, Mahmoud had accepted her and made her captivity easier to endure, albeit grudgingly at first. He had been her link to both to the world and to the strange culture into which she'd been thrown. He'd answered her curious questions about his people and volunteered stories on his own. More importantly, he'd fulfilled her longing to hear about his master. He had even tried to protect her from the spells of a Berber sorceress. How could she not feel tenderness toward a child who had come to her defense in the face of threats from a witch?
Or was her fondness for Mahmoud because she saw something of Jafar in him, something of the bitter, angry boy that Jafar once must have been?
Standing before Mahmoud, Alysson could hardly get the words to say good-bye past the ache in her throat. "I would like to thank you for your excellent care of me these past weeks," she told him in an unsteady voice.
Mahmoud wouldn't meet her gaze. "It was nothing. It was my duty to serve you as my lord commanded."
Despite his sullen, muted response, Alysson believed
Mahmoud might miss her almost as much as she would miss him. She held out the lion's paw that Saful had retrieved for her. "Perhaps you would accept this as a token of my appreciation."
The boy stared at the gift with distrust, before his scarred face suddenly came alight with an expression of awe. "Oh, lallah . . ."
Almost fearfully, he accepted the amulet and stood regarding it with reverence. Then clutching it to his skinny chest, he gazed up at her. "You do me great honor."