Lord of Desire (73 page)

Yet day after day Alysson put off making any decision about her future. The need to distance herself from the source of her pain, to get away so she could begin forgetting, was not as vital to her as the need to remain near her love.

She said good-bye to her Uncle Cedric with little of her usual regret. And when her Uncle Oliver expressed his desire to leave directly after Christmas, Alysson was almost relieved. Oliver still had not given up his thoughts of vengeance, it seemed.

"He hurt you, girl," Oliver declared one morning, trying to jolt Alysson out of her misery. "I say shooting is too good for him."

In her more defiant moments, Alysson agreed. In those vulnerable moments, she tried to hate Jafar. She tried to tell herself that he didn't deserve her love, that he had abused her body, ravaged her soul, without the slightest consideration for her feelings or her welfare.

Yet there was still a part of her heart that wanted to believe his concern had been real, that he cared for her, that she had meant something to him. She wanted to believe she hadn't imagined the shared torment of that last night in his arms—his eyes blazing with desperation, his kisses tasting of pain as well as passion.

Alysson was again thinking about that night several days before Christmas as she sat in the courtyard. In the distance, she could hear the falsetto voice of a muezzin chanting from the minaret of a nearby mosque, calling the faithful to evening prayer.

Suddenly the peacefulness of the moment was shattered by her Indian servant who came rushing toward her.

Alysson looked up, grateful for any respite from her tormented thoughts.

"I bring you good tidings, memsahib!" Chand exclaimed, forgetting to make his normal respectful salaam. "Abdel Kader has surrendered!"

Part Four

From the desert I come to
thee

On a stallion shod witb fire.

And the winds are left behind

In the speed, of my desire,

Bayard Taylor

"Bedouin Song"

Chapter 26

A
bdel Kader had surrendered! The rebel Berber leader had been defeated at last!

From the rumors and reports that flew during the next few days, Alysson managed to piece together the events leading to Abdel Kader's capitulation. After striking a swift counterattack against the Moroccan army, he retreated into Algeria, where more French troops lay in wait. Pursued from the rear, challenged in front, he was required to make a decision—to flee through the mountains into the desert and live to fight another day, or concede victory to the
su
perior forces that had brutally hounded him for so roaay years.

On December 21st, Abdel Kader had made his submission to General Lamoriciere. Two days later, he formally handed over Ms
sword
to the Governor-General of Algeria, His itoyal Highness ths Due d'Aumale.
Abdel Kader's defeat.
it
was reputed, was due in part to the independent Berber spirit, since many of the intractable Barber tribes in the mountains had refused to join with the Arabs against the French. But regardless of the reason, Abdel Kader and his armies would no longer be a menace to French forces or civilian settlers.

The excitement and relief that the news roused in the French community were unbounded, but Alysson could not share the triumph of her fellow Europeans. Indeed, she coidd feel only sympathy and great sorrow at the defeat of the valiant Berber leader who had defied the French invaders for fifteen years. Whatever his crimes against his French conquerors, Abdel Kader was a remarkable man with heroic greatness.

What would happen to him now was the cause of much
speculation. It was said that Abdel Kader would likely be executed as a traitor. Or he would be imprisoned like the meanest criminal. These brutal rumors circulated freely, even though as a condition of surrender the emir had been promised by the French government that he and Ms
family
could seek refuge in Palestine or Egypt.

The possibility of either his execution or imprisonment whipped up Alysson's anger and sympathy. Hoping to aid him, she persuaded her Uncle Honoré to accompany her while she paid a visit to Gervase at his offices.

The European quarter of the city was little more than a huddle of French barracks and military headquarters grouped around the harbor. She finally managed to track Gervase down in one of these dreary buildings, but he was so busy that he could only spare a moment of his time. When she pleaded with him to help Abdel Kader if possible, Gervase promised to try, but he had few hopes that he would be able to persuade the ruling powers to show leniency. The best that could be expected would be exile.

When Alysson came out again, she wandered disconsolately across the courtyard. Her uncle had paused inside to speak to an acquaintance, though Chand followed her at a respectful distance.

To her left, set against a background of hills, the city rose in a mass of white walls that glittered in the sun and contrasted richly with the cypress and myrtle and other verdant foliage that grew along the coast. To her right, below the walled fortifications, the azure sea was dotted with fishing boats and merchant vessels. Ordinarily the beauty of the view would have awed her, but at the moment her spirits were too depressed for her to appreciate it.

She had just gathered breath for a deep sigh when she spied a gentleman in the distance, striding purposefully across the court toward another of the buildings. Her heart leapt at the sight of the gleaming golden hair beneath Ms elegant ehapeau.
Jafar,
she thought dazedly, and then berated herself for her absurdity. Her mind was playing tricks on her, obviously. She was so desperate for some word of him, for even the slightest glimpse of him, that she was imagining his presense—here, in this bastion of French authority. Ridiculous to think Jafar would be foolish enough to set foot in his enemy's sanctum.

She watched as the gentleman disappeared inside,
then
tamed away, only to have her gaze fall on a cluster of horses.
To one side stood a fiery bay stallion.

Alysson had no doubt that she had seen that horse before. There was no doubt either that the young boy who held the reins was Jafar's servant.

Without pausing to think, Alysson picked up her skirts and almost ran across the courtyard.
"Mahmoud!
It
is
you!" she cried, managing to startle both boy and horse. "Whatever are you doing here?" she asked once Mahmoud had brought Jafar's beloved steed under control. "I never expected to see you again."

"Lallah!"
Mahmoud's scarred face lit up momentarily, before his expression suddenly became guarded.
"I
do not know you,
lallah.
You have mistaken me for another."

"Not know me— Of course you know me. What on earth are you talking about?"

Mahmoud's voice dropped to a murmur. “It is not wise for you to be here, for us to speak."

Bewildered, Alysson glanced around her to discover they were drawing curious stares from several passersby, while a few paces behind her, Chand stood glaring at her.
"
I will pretend I am admiring the stallion in your charge. Perhaps I might wish to purchase him."

"But he is not for sale,
lallah!"

"I know that, but it will do no harm if I am seen making inquiries. Now tell me what has happened to bring you here."

Mahmoud shifted uncomfortably, while his brow took on a gloomy cast. "Have you not heard of the defeat of our armies?''

"Yes . . . and I am sorry, Mahmoud. I wish the outcome could have been different."

"It should have been different! Allah could not have deserted the true believers to side with the French infidels— those foul offspring of snakes and scorpions!"

Alysson murmured an appropriately soothing sound of agreement. "But what is your master doing here . . , that was Jafar I saw just now, was it not?'' When the boy didn't answer at once, Alysson bit her lip, trying to control her impatience. "Mahmoud, please, you have to tell me."

"The lord is here on behalf of the Sultan of the Arabs, Abdel Kader."

"What does that mean?"

"It is not my place to say."

Mahmoud obviously did not want to tell her, but Alysson would not give up. When she continued to press, she learned that Jafar was here to negotiate terms of exile for the vanquished.
leader
. Jafar had presented himself to the French authorities, not as a Berber warlord, but as the Englishman Nicholas Sterling, the grandson of the Duke of Moreland.

Her thoughts racing ahead, Alysson stared at Mahmoud in horror. In hopes of aiding his vanquished sultan, lafar had given up his Berber identity in exchange for the bargaining power his British nationality and noble family name could give him. But even if hed adopted English dress and assumed his English name, Gervase would surely recognize him as the Berber warrior who had abducted her, the same one who had nearly killed him. And then Gervase would expose the man she loved as an enemy of the French government, as a traitor.