Lord of Desire (14 page)

"The devil I will!"

Alysson's chin came up in determination while her eyes clashed with his in a meeting of wills. The hard gleam in his was almost frightening in its intensity. Yet meekly yielding to such raw audacity was untenable.

"What about the injury you've done to me?" she exclaimed in frustration. "Did I ask you to abduct me?"

"That too is reparation."

"What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"The wound.
I am waiting."

Alysson clenched her teeth. "You will have a long wait. When icicles grow in hell, then perhaps I will consider acceding to your request."

Calmly he continued to hold out the water bag to her. At his commanding look of expectation, her outrage at his arrogance mounted to an explosive level. Defiantly she snatched the water bag from his hand and threw it away with all her might. It landed some twenty feet away, sloshing water over the thirsty earth.

"Foolish woman!"
With a low curse, he lunged to his knees, reaching for her. Recoiling in fear, Alysson raised her hands to block the blow. But it never came. The hard fingers of his hand closed about her upper arm, while his other hand half-encircled her throat, pushing her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were golden and fierce, as unblinking as a hawk's. She quaked at the leashed violence she saw there.

"You cannot have the intelligence I credited you with," he said through gritted teeth, "if you are
so
stupid as to waste water in this country. It can mean death for a man without water."

Alysson was already regretting her self-destructive act of rebellion, and realized the truth of his words, but she was beyond rational reasoning. She wanted to scream at him, to pound at him with her fists, to force this savage devil to release her. "I don't care!" she cried, her voice shaking. "If I could cause your demise, I would!"

The Berber regarded her coldly, for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then his taut expression softened the slightest degree. "I will make allowances for you," he said finally, "because you are English. But you
will
learn to obey me. For your sake, I hope you learn quickly. From now on, if you wish to drink again, you will ask politely. And you will tend my wound without complaint."

His hold on her eased then. Abruptly Alysson shook off the loose restraint and scrambled to her feet. "Your arm can rot off, for all I care!"

He, too, rose, making Alysson back away warily. But he merely retrieved the water bag and proceeded to cleanse his wound himself. Alysson was surprised and relieved by her momentary reprieve, yet she knew the battle was not over by any means. He had sounded entirely too confident that she would give in—but that only made her all the more determined she would not.

She watched as he completed his task and carried the goatskin to his pile of equipment. Then he surprised her again by removing his turban. In the gathering dusk, Alysson could see that his hair was liberally sun-streaked, with strands of pale burnished gold. It only made her more certain that he was a descendant of the fair-skinned Berber race. The
barbaric
Berber race, she amended, scowling at his back.

"I want you to remove your boots."

His soft command, delivered with the mild interest of someone talking about the weather, took her aback. When he turned, Alysson gave him a look that clearly said he had lost his mind.

“Without footwear, you will be less likely to wander
off.''

"You can go straight to the—"

"I won't tell you again. If you won't remove them, I will simply do it for you."

She stared at him in impotent fury. He not only was capable of forcing her to obey him, he no doubt would relish the opportunity. Alysson decided to spare herself the humiliation and perform the task on her own. Sitting on the rough grass, she tugged off her boots and tossed them aside, then glared up at him.

"Now, take off your jacket."

"What?"
Her incredulous expression turned wary. "Why? What do you intend to do?"

"Nothing."

"Then why? Without my jacket I'm likely to freeze to death. You apparently don't intend to build a campfire."

"You will not be cold, I assure you. You will sleep wrapped in my burnous."

"How considerate of you."

He shrugged.
"Merely practical.
Now, do as I say."

Grinding her teeth, silently calling him every eptithet she could think of, Alysson did as she was bid, pulling off her jacket and laying it on top of her boots. She shivered as a chill breeze pierced the fine cambric of her shirt; darkness was descending rapidly and the air had already grown cold.

"Now your shirt."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, appalled. "You can't mean it!"

"Oh, but I do."

"Why? So you can rape me?"

Even
as
the words left her lips she cursed herself in English and in French. It was foolish in the extreme to put such thoughts in his head.

But his response was not what she expected; his hard mouth twisted in scornful amusement. "Your honor is safe with me,
ma belle.
Unlike your race, I have no desire to rape defenseless innocents." His eyebrow rose at the doubtful glance she gave him. "I merely want to ensure that you do not attempt to escape. The standards of decorum you English ladies observe would never allow you to be seen in less than proper attire. Now, take off your shirt, or I will be obliged to remove it myself."

Cold panic seized her, Alysson measured the distance between herself and the rifle, but she was too far away. She would never reach it before he cut her off. Frantic to delay the inevitable, she voiced the first words that came into her head. "How can I be sure that you
won't.
. . that
you . . ."

"That I won't take advantage of you?
I give you my word."

"I don't belive you!"

"What you believe is immaterial." The hard edge was

back
in his voice. "Come now, I am waiting, Miss Vick-

ery
. "

She couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to undress in front of him, even if he had promised not to assault her. It might be cowardly, but she couldn't. Her gaze fell again on the rifle. Reaching it might be impossible, but she had to try.

It
was
impossible. No sooner had she darted after the weapon than her astute captor swiftly blocked her way. Alysson found herself confronted with the hard wall of his chest.

Her panic rising, she went on the attack, flailing and kicking at him with fury. When her fist managed to connect with his wound, she made him grunt in pain, but when she struck his shin with her bare foot, the blow hurt her far more than it could ever hurt him. With his superior strength, it was not long before he subdued her struggles. Swinging her up in his arms then, he carried her writhing body over to his burnous and laid her down.

When he knelt beside her, Alysson tried again to break free, nearly sobbing in frustration and fear. But her efforts were in vain. He merely pinned her arms at her sides until she finally went still.

"It will go easier for you when you accept that it is useless to defy me."

Determinedly, he bent over her and attended to the small buttons that ran down the front of her shirt, brushing her flailing hands away when she tried to resist his efforts. Alysson squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears of fear and humiliation.

"I said I wouldn't hurt you," he murmured, his low, controlled voice penetrating her daze. "Not as long as you obey me."

That was the rub. If she obeyed his wishes, if she meekly surrendered, if she allowed him to have his way with her, then he would refrain from beating her or worse. Well, she wouldn't give in to his threats! She would never calmly accept her captivity. She would fight him every step of the way. She would resist him with every ounce of strength she possessed.

For the moment, though, she had to accept defeat.

She remained rigid and unmoving as he lifted her slightly in order to draw off her shirt, clenching her teeth as he bared her upper body to the chill evening air. Beneath her linen chemisette, her nipples puckered against the cold.

Alysson shivered in response, but her captor suddenly went still. When she fearfully glanced up at him, she realized he was staring down at her breasts with hot golden eyes.

Never more aware of herself as a woman, Alysson flushed painfully. Frantically, awkwardly, she wrapped her arms around herself to cover her near-nakedness. "I despise you," she said with all the loathing she could muster.

Wadding up her shirt, he tossed it aside. With a casual shrug, he glanced down the length of her body. "Be glad that I am letting you keep your breeches."

There was a note in his voice that sounded suspiciously like amusement, but when she glared up at him, she could read nothing in his expression. The gathering twilight shrouded his thoughts.

"A woman should not hide her femininity," he remarked casually. "You could learn much from my countrywomen. They would tell you a mere female must yield to the whims of a man."

It
was
amusement she heard in his voice. He was deliberately trying to provoke her. It made her long to do him an injury.

Just then, however, he stretched himself out beside her on the burnous, slowly, like a cat, looking every bit as alert as one. He held himself up on one elbow, his chest almost brushing her left arm, his shadowed face very near hers. Alysson tensed. She was totally at his mercy. If he chose to break his word, she would have little chance of stopping him from ravishing her.

To hide her fear, she took refuge behind a show of contempt. "I have no intention of yielding to your whims," she retorted. "And I am not a
mere
female!"

"No, you are a young lady, a wealthy Englishwoman . . . spoiled and pampered and petted from birth. I doubt if you have ever performed a day's work in your life."

She had no reply for his cool accusation, for it was true. She was accustomed to having her every wish gratified by her servants, her commands obeyed. And she usually managed to get her way with everyone else. The men of her acquaintance especially leapt to do her bidding. She knew instinctively, though, this was one man she could not bend to her will. Dropping her gaze, Alysson helplessly hugged her body with her arms, rubbing her chilled, bare flesh. Never in her life had she been so shaken by a man.

When she shivered, he reached all the way over her, his fingers grasping the far edge of his burnous. Alysson flinched in alarm as his chest pressed against her. "Don't touch me!"

He paused for a moment, looking down at her, his expression enigmatic. Then he continued with his task, drawing the burnous over her bare shoulders, tucking the edge beneath her arm.