Lord of Desire (18 page)

"Soon," Jafar said. "Cover your face."

His "soon" stretched out into hours. They left the hills to ride swiftly over a flat, scrub-covered plain of salt- impregnated sand. Ahead of the galloping horses, scorpions and lizards darted for cover.

Under different circumstances Alysson might have been impressed by the savage, pitiless beauty. But the heat and lonely monotony, the grueling pace and windblown grit, all served to drain away her energy. For a time, Alysson even thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, for to the east, beyond the arid plain, she frequently glimpsed a shimmer that looked very much like a huge lake.

It was shortly afterward that Alysson found herself nearly falling asleep in the saddle. She caught herself with her
head lolling forward, just as she was about to slide off her mount.

Jafar saw the danger. Plucking her from the mare, he settled her before him on his stallion. Automatically she started to struggle, but he quieted her with a murmured command to be still. "You are tired. This way you can rest."

Alysson gave a weary sigh as her head found a comfortable place in the curve of his shoulder. She must be growing accustomed to sleeping in his arms, she decided with resignation as her eyes fell closed. The thought was disturbing, but it didn't prevent her from seeking refuge in sleep.

The afternoon dust was ripe and hot by the time she awoke, and the air was filled with strange sounds. Realizing the stallion had slowed to a walk, Alysson sat up groggily.

The sight that greeted her made hope leap in her breast.
Shielding her eyes against the glare, she feasted her gaze on a cool green forest of feathery date palms, beneath which grew a profusion of oleanders, tamarinds, and pistachio trees. They had reached a small oasis in the barren wilderness.

The oasis was not unoccupied. At one end, near a well, some two dozen camels stood guarded by long-robed nomads.

A hush fell over the crowd as Jafar and Alysson rode in. These were Arabs of the desert, Alysson surmised, returning their curious gazes. These men were thin-boned and glossy-haired, their olive-tinted faces marked by hawklike noses and dark liquid eyes. She wondered what they would say if she threw herself upon their mercy. It was possible they would agree to protect her from her Berber captor. Then again, they might very well ignore her pleas.

The sharp interest of their gazes disturbed her, making her wonder if she had done something wrong. Perhaps sitting on a man's lap wasn't any more proper in their culture than hers. Awkwardly Alysson shifted her weight, striving for as much decorum as the intimate position allowed. Abruptly she felt Jafar's muscles tense—in the arm that was wrapped loosely around her waist, and the hard thighs that supported her own.

Jafar murmured a silent oath, both because of the femi
nine pressure of Alysson's squirming, and because he recognized the Arab caravan. They were slave merchants, robbers all, noted for their viciousness and greed. Yet these traders were highly successful in their dealings, for they possessed abundant cunning and no scruples to speak of. Jafar had no doubt they coveted his young captive—if not for her slender, almost boyish figure, then for the curiosity she aroused, and for her potential value at market. European women brought a high price in Barbary.

For the moment, however, he was not worried about Alysson's safety. These traders feared him and his position too much to attack him, even if he was alone. But his fingers closed over the hilt of his dagger all the same.

"Don't say a word," Jafar murmured to Alysson. "Keep your eyes downcast as befits a woman."

She bristled at his arrogant command, but she did as she was told, watching only surreptitiously—and a bit fearfully—as Jafar directed his fierce stare at the group of Arabs. She was amazed to see them, one by one, avert their gazes.

Jafar halted the horses in the cool shade of a towering date palm and lowered Alysson to the ground. "Sit down and be quiet." He hoped she would keep her rebellious behavior under control for the moment and afford him proper respect. If she challenged his authority before these Arabs, he would have to bend her to his will. These slavers understood one law: strength. Allowing a woman to defy his wishes would be seen as a
weakness . . .
a fatal weakness.

He hadn't underestimated Alysson's defiant nature, for even as he
dismounted,
she planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

Jafar caught her arm and forced her to her knees. None too soon, either, for just then a short, full-bearded Arab broke away from the caravan and strode toward Jafar. With effusive greetings of welcome, the Arab made a deep salaam, bowing so low that his nose nearly pressed the ground, before touching his forehead to the hem of Jafar's black burnous.

Alysson stared. Jafar replied in Arabic, but she could make out only a word or two.

Their exchange was brief, musically fluid and low. Finally rising, the Arab clapped his hands and immediately three young boys came running at his command, one bearing a bowl of camel's milk, another a golden-ripe cluster of dates resting on a palm leaf, the third a woven rush mat on which to sit. Laying down their offerings before Jafar, the youths prostrated themselves at
this feet
.

Such obsequious subservience made Alysson give Jafar a sharp glance. He was obviously someone of importance in the Arab world.

"Are you some kind of sheik?" she asked him when the Arabs had withdrawn.

"Shaykh
is an Arab word," Jafar said, settling
himself
on the mat, cross-legged, and gesturing for her to join him.

"Well, Berber, then."

"I am a chieftain, yes."

"And just how did you explain my presence to those men?"

An amused smile curved his mouth as he looked over the food. "A Berber warlord is not required to explain his actions except to his sultan."

Warlord?
His confirmation of her suspicions gave Alysson pause.

He took the opportunity to press a handful of dates into her hand. "Now you may feed me," Jafar said, watching her carefully.

Alysson's gray eyes widened as she stared at him.
"Feed
you? Why in heaven's name should I?"

"Because I wish
it,
and because it is expected by our Arab friends."

She cast a glance beyond his shoulder; they were indeed being watched by the Arabs. "Their expectations aren't of the least concern to me.''

"They should be. Those men are slavers. They would as soon sell you into bondage as look at you."

"Slavers!
Then that makes your suggestion all the more absurd. I will not debase myself simply to indulge the whims of a group of savages who deal in the sale of human flesh."

"Your compliance will not be considered debasement. Here in Barbary dominance of the strongest is a simple fact
of nature. You are my captive. I am your master. You will obey me in all things."

"You can go to the devil!" Alysson declared, rising to her knees.

"Sit down!"

"I won't!"

His gaze captured hers. "It seems you have forgotten your lesson in obedience," he said softly.

Her cheeks flushed with indignation. Provoked beyond endurance by his arrogant superiority, Alysson raised a hand to strike him. He caught it easily and pressed it flat against his chest. "That was not wise,
chérie,"
he said in a tone that made her shiver.

He did not remove his hand, nor did he release her from the power of his eyes. She was mesmerized by the intense heat of his unfathomable gaze, by the glittering gold flecks that floated in the brightness of his honey-colored irises.

His voice dropped even lower, but was no less threatening because of its soft intensity. "Take care, captive, before I decide to sell you to them as a slave."

Alysson regarded him with loathing. He was cold and unfeeling, and no doubt capable of unspeakable acts of brutality. Still, she would prefer to take her chances with the devil she knew. But she would not give him the satisfaction of a complete surrender. She raised her chin with a touch of bravado. "I am no man's slave."

"No," he said after a moment. "I think not. But you will do as I say. I am the only thing standing in the way of your being imprisoned for life in an Eastern harem."

A long, quiet silence ensued before Alysson finally nodded.

When Jafar released her hand, she tore a date from the cluster and held it up for him to eat. He waited, however, until she carried it all the way to his lips.

The distinction was not lost on her. It made her grit her teeth.

He ate the fruit then, gracefully spitting out the pit into his palm and tossing it away.

Alysson fed him another, yet she couldn't help but give a fearful glance at the slavers. "You wouldn't sell me to them, would you?"

His answer, so long in coming, was not particularly reassuring. "No, I have
need
of you myself."

She shoved another date in his mouth before he had finished swallowing the last. She hoped he choked on it.

Jafar responded with merely a casual shrug.
"Pity.
You would bring a good price, since you are still a virgin."

His frankness elicited a small gasp from Alysson. "How did you—?" She broke off abruptly, having no earthly intention of discussing the status of her innocence with him.

"How did I know?" A smile that could almost be called satisfied played at the corners of his mouth.
"A logical assumption, given the expectations of your race regarding unmarried females.
Your response just now merely confirmed it."