Lord of Desire

To her surprise and bewilderment, Mahmoud responded to her greeting with a sullen look. Not since before her illness had he shown that hostile face to her.

"Do you wish me still to serve you, lady?" the boy asked without warning.

Alysson eyed him blankly. "Yes . . . is there some reason why I should not?"

"Your servant is with you now."

"Chand?"

"I do not know his name."

Mahmoud turned away, his limp pronounced. Alysson stared after him. Could the child actually be jealous of Chand? "I still need you to look after me, Mahmoud. Chand cannot care for me the way you do, especially now when he will be busy seeing to my uncle."

Mahmoud shrugged his skinny shoulders, but she thought she might have mollified him.

Following him into the rear room, she began to collect the native garments shed been given to wear and contemplated how to approach Mahmoud with her questions. Beside her, the boy muttered to himself in Arabic as he went about his duties. ". . . blacksmith's blood . . . the devil Bourmont . . ."

Understanding those last words, Alysson felt her heart skip a beat. She let another minute go by before remarking casually, "Last night Jafar told me that Colonel Bourmont is his prisoner."

"Yes, lady."

When the boy shot her a suspicious glance, Alysson resumed her packing, not wanting to appear too obvious. "I must admit I was shocked to learn that the colonel is still alive. Your master left here with every intention of killing him."

Mahmoud's scarred face puckered in a frown. "This is true. There was a fight with swords, but the lord did not strike the fatal blow. Saful saw it with his own eyes. It was the cause of much talk among our people." The boy shook his head in puzzlement. "I do not understand my lord's reasoning. They were enemies of blood. But he must have had good cause," Mahmoud declared, staunchly loyal as always. "Surely it is the will of Allah."

Alysson's fingers tightened involuntarily on the fabric she was folding. "Can you tell me where the colonel is now? Do you know what Jafar means to do with him?"

"The lord does not share his confidences with me," Mahmoud said guardedly. At Alysson's worried look, however, he offered an explanation. "Sidi Farhat has escorted the French prisoners to the camp of the Khalifa Ben Hamadi. Saful told me the colonel and his officers will be exchanged for other prisoners of war.''

Alysson nodded and returned to her task, relief flooding through her. A few minutes later she was surprised by Mahmoud's voice.

“Why do you cry, lady?'' he asked curiously.

Suddenly aware of the tears on her cheeks, Alysson wiped at them awkwardly and flashed Mahmoud a brilliant smile, the first true smile that had crossed her lips in weeks. "They are happy tears, Mahmoud."

Happy indeed, Alysson thought. Gervase was safe a

nd soon he would be free.

When she had finished securing the clothing in bundles, Alysson helped Mahmoud strike the huge tent, willingly doing whatever she was told. By the time that was done, the hot sun had begun a shimmering trek across the sky, beating down on the Berbers who were forming a caravan of horses and goods. Covering her head with a haik for protection, Alysson went to join her uncle.

She found Honoré somewhere in the middle of the column, with Chand hovering over him. It made her smile to see the luxurious mode of travel her wounded uncle would enjoy. Jafar had shown Honoré every courtesy, even going so far as to have a curtained litter built for his use. Both she and Chand had been provided with horses to ride.

She told her uncle and servant what she'd learned about Gervase. but afterward, Alysson lapsed into silence. As she stood waiting for the caravan to finish forming, she found herself growing impatient. Where was Jafar?

It was nearly twenty minutes later that she caught a glimpse of him, moving on foot toward her. She watched his approach with a new-felt tenderness in her eyes and an eagerness in her heart that caught her off guard.

And yet she shouldn't have been surprised by the depth of her feelings for him. For some time now she'd been increasingly aware of a truth she didn't want to acknowledge. She couldn't deny the longing she felt for Jafar. The desire. The love—

Abruptly, Alysson drew a labored breath. She didn't love Jafar. She couldn't. It was impossible. He was the man who held her captive, who had taken her uncle and Gervase prisoner.

And certainly he didn't cherish any such tender feelings for her. Color tinged her cheeks as the disturbing events of last evening came back to haunt her. She had humbled herself before Jafar last night, offering to submit to him willingly, to give him the use of her body. Not only had he refused, but when later she'd tried to kiss him, he had rejected her entirely, storming out of the tent as if he couldn't even bear to touch her. The memory made her acutely self- conscious. Biting her lip, Alysson wondered how she would find the courage to face him now.

When Jafar reached her, though, the sight of him startled her. His face was smooth-shaven now but carved by lines of weariness that made her want to take him in her arms and soothe away the pain. Apparently he had not passed a very restful night, either.

His hard golden gaze swept over her briefly, then moved to her uncle, who was lounging comfortably in the curtained litter. "You are ready to leave?"

"Yes," Alysson replied.