Lord of Desire

"Guests! That barbarian says we are to consider our- VFselves his guests!" the elderly Frenchman railed at his niece from his sickbed.

"Uncle, please, lie still. Don't upset yourself so." Anxiously, Alysson put a hand to Honoré's forehead, again checking for fever. But his skin was still cool to the touch. He didn't seem to have suffered unduly from his wounds. In fact, he'd professed to having passed a comfortable sight.

Unlike her. She'd spent the remainder of the night restlessly tossing and turning, unable to find respite from the storm of reflections and emotions assailing her. So much had happened in the past few hours. Her uncle's captivity. Gervase's deliverance from death, Jafar's clemency. His rejection of her kiss . . .

Incredibly, Jafar had left his tent solely to her; she'd slept alone for nearly the first time since meeting her demon captor, And to her profound dismay, Alysson had found herself missing his warmth, his vit

al, comforting presence. She felt so alone without him.

Disturbed by the inexplicable yearnings of her heart and body, Alysson had at last fallen into an exhausted slumber. She'd risen at dawa, in no less turmoil than when lafar had stalked out of his tent a few hours before. Trying to forget her agitation, she'd gone directly to her uncle's tent and found him awake.

Honoré had been appropriately elated when she shared the joyous news about Gervase, but even that had not mollified his outrage at his own treatment. It seemed that Jafar had already paid her uncle a visit this morning to extend an invitation to accompany him to his mountain home. Honoré's reaction had been one of indignation.

"But of course I accepted," Honoré blustered now. "I was hardly in a position to refuse, after all. I am not so foolish as to challenge that savage warlord when I am injured this way—" He waved a hand at his bandaged ribs, "—or at any time. It is wiser not to argue with a man like that,"

"Certainly it is," Alysson said soothingly, but Honoré was too worked up to notice.

"We are to leave at once, this very morning. He said it is for our own protection, since this area is no longer safe from attack, Pestei That I do not believe."

Alysson was not so quick to dismiss Jafar's reasoning, though she doubted protecting his captives was his major consideration in moving his camp so quickly. He might have been the victor of the recent battle, but he could hardly keep his tribe in the area to become easy targets if the French forces decided to pursue. "I suppose there is some truth to what he said, Uncle. If there is another battle, we could very well be in danger from artillery fire."

Honoré harrumphed loudly. "Perhaps, but is the height of hypocrisy for that . . . that devil to call us his guests."

"I know." She patted his shoulder. "But that is better than being his prisoners. We haven't been treated badly, especially considering that we are his enemy. He could have kept us in chains or even killed us."

Realizing what she'd just said, Alysson shook her head wryly. How ironic that she should be defending Jafar's actions and even his right to hold them hostage. But she couldn't bring herself to condemn him at the moment; her relief over his magnanimity overwhelmed any outrage she might have felt at his continuing to hold her here. Indeed, rather than protest, she was more inclined to go down on her knees and thank him for sparing Gervase.

Besides, by now she knew how futile it was to struggle against Jafar. As usual, she had little choice but to obey him. If he had decreed they were to accompany him, then they would accompany him.

"At any rate," she told her uncle, "you will be more comfortable in the mountains, away from the desert heat."

"Bah! I would be many times more comfortable if I were safe on the soil of France," Honoré retorted in an aggrieved tone.

Suddenly he stopped, his heavy silver brows drawing together in a frown. "What am I saying?" Slowly Honoré turned his head on the pillow to look at her. "What right do I have to complain when you have suffered this captivity for weeks?" Awkwardly, he reached for her hand. "I am not so indifferent as it seems, my dear. When you were taken from me that day, I thought . . . For so long there was no word." Honoré faltered, anxiously surveying her face. "You told me the truth? You were not mistreated? He did not harm you in any way?"

The haunted expression in her uncle's dark eyes told her better than words how deeply he cared for her, how worried he had been for her safety, while the tremble in his voice told her of his need of reassurance. The reassurance that he had not failed her.

Her throat suddenly tight, Alysson shook her head. "He did not harm me, Uncle."

"But you are far too pale, to my mind. And there are circles beneath your eyes."

"I had the misfortune to be stung by a scorpion. I was ill for a time, but I am fine now."

A clatter from outside the tent made Alysson glance over her shoulder. All the while she'd been talking to her uncle, the sounds of activity had been on the rise.

Just then Chand appeared at the entrance to the tent. As enterprising as usual, he had been scouting out the camp to discover what he could about their situation.

The Indian servant salaamed to his mistress, before reporting the information he had gleaned about their impending departure. "Memsahib, the Berber lord bid me tell you that you are to make the necessary preparations for travel. We are to leave within the hour. I was also commanded to say that all arrangements will be made for the Larousse Sahib's comfort."

Honoré grunted at that, but Alysson nodded in acknowledgment, trusting Jafar to keep his word.

Drawing the blanket up to cover her uncle's shoulders, she kissed his cheek. "Uncle, I must go, but I'll return as soon as I can. Chand, would you see to him?"

"As you wish, memsahib."

She rose to leave, anxious to question Mahmoud and discover what the boy knew about yesterday's battle and Gervase's fate—all the details that Jafar had refused to tell her last night.

When she stepped outside, the scene was one of bustling activity as the Berbers broke camp. There was no immediate sign of Jafar, but outside his tent, she found Saful readying the horses. Within, Mahmoud was gathering Jafar's personal effects and amassing the furnishings.