Lord of Desire (74 page)

A shudder of fear ran up Alysson's spine. She had to find Gervase at once and prevent him from setting eyes on Jafar.

With only a brief word to Mahmoud, ordering him to wait, she whirled and reentered the building where her Uncle Honotb was just concluding his conversation. Sweeping past her startled uncle, Alysson pushed her way into Gervase's office, only to discover that he was no longer there. When she demanded to see him, she was told apologetically that the colonel was now closeted in conference with other officials of the French government and could not be disturbed.

She finally gave up when Honoré forcibly took her by the arm and steered her outside.
To her further dismay, Mahmoud.
had
disappeared with the horses. Alysson wanted to search for him, but Honoré insisted that enough was enough, and she didn't dare push him further. So far her uncle had acquiesced to her wishes and protected Jafar by remaining silent, but he was not likely to continue if her abductor could easily be brought to justice.

So instead of protesting, Alysson reluctantly, quietly, returned home to wait in a state of nervous dread, wondering if any minute she would hear that her fierce Berber lover had been captured and taken away in chains.

The same concern lay in the back of Jafar's mind.

He had risked recognition in order to participate in the negotiations, but he could not have done otherwise. If there was the slightest possibility that he could impact his sultan's fate, he had to take it. And so he had attended the conference called by His Highness, the Due d'Aumale, determined to lend whatever weight his family name and position in the European community could bring.

Any moment, though, Jafar expected to be arrested. He was even resigned to that eventuality. He had little doubt that Colonel Bourmont could identify him. And he was prepared to face the consequences—afterward, when the negotiations were completed. The case against him was not particularly strong, he thought. It would be his word against the colonel's, in fact. But Jafar hoped sincerely to delay the moment of reckoning. If it occurred now, the charges would be serious enough to complicate matters and completely destroy his ability to plead his commander's case.

He knew the exact instant the colonel made the linkage between the Englishman Nicholas Sterling and the Berber warlord who had captured an innocent young woman and used her to lure the French army into the desert where they could be slaughtered.

The two of them were sitting at opposite ends of a long table, but Jafar could feel the colonel staring at him during the opening remarks, and later, when, as Nicholas Sterling, he rose to address the gathering.

At his first words, he could see Bourmont's face freeze in a startled expression, then slowly turn dark with anger.

But the colonel did not leap to his feet and point an accusing finger at him. Bourmont made no move at ail- probably, Jafar decided, because he preferred not to interrupt the proceedings. Thankful for the reprieve, Jafar forced himself to relax and devote his attentions to the subject at
hand,
though knowing his conflict with the colonel was not over by any means.

The present discussion over what to do with the vanquished Berber leader was both heated and surprising to Jafar. He had not expected to find himself on the same side of the debate as his blood enemy, arguing for leniency. Like he, Colonel Bourmont favored exile to any of the harsher punishments to which the leader of the Arabs could have been sentenced. The Due d'Aumale listened with appropriate graveness before making his decision. When it was over, Jafar felt he had achieved the best terms he could have hoped for. Abdel Kader would be escorted to France, where the king would determine his fate.

The gathering of government officials and military men was starting to disperse when Jafar heard a hard voice at his left shoulder.

"Might I have a word with you, m'sieur?
In private."

He turned to meet the dark, narrowed eyes of his longtime enemy. With a brief nod, Jafar followed the colonel to his offices, noting the half dozen armed subalterns that accompanied them at a discreet distance. The colonel, it seemed, was taking no chances that his enemy could escape.

But this was to be a civilized discussion, apparently. The colonel offered him a chair and a glass of claret before hesitating thoughtfully. "Or do you drink liquor?"

"Occasionally," Jafar replied, accepting the drink. Bourmont's odd question only confirmed what he already suspected; the colonel knew who he was. Otherwise the Frenchman would not have shown such consideration in asking if his religion allowed him to imbibe alcohol.

Waiting uneasily, Jafar sipped the wine and studied the colonel over the rim of his glass while endeavoring to hide his surprise. He was accustomed to French officials who showed a contemptuous display of superiority and superciliousness when dealing with Muslims, officials who enforced the regulations laid down by the French government with haughtiness and severity.

The colonel, however, seemed only to possess the severity. Jafar watched warily as the other man settled himself in an adjoining wing chair.

"If you are wondering at the chances of my exposing you," Bourmont said then, "you may cease to worry. I did indeed recognize you, but I intend to hold my tongue . . . for two reasons. You spared my life that day in battle, and it is not something I can easily forget. I could not repay such magnanimity by turning you over to a military tribunal, to perhaps face a firing squad."

Jafar was silent for a long moment while he considered Bourmont's disclosure. "No one would fault you for enacting such a reprisal," he said slowly.

"
I
would fault me. No man of honor could do otherwise. As it is, I shall always be in your debt, m'sieur."

"The word 'always' does not exist on earth."

"Perhaps."

There was another long pause while the two men regarded each other. "You spoke of two reasons?" Jafar said finally.

"Yes, but I first should like to ask you a question, if I may. Why did you not kill me when you had the opportunity? You seem to have gone to a good deal of trouble in order to carry out your vendetta against my father. And then to pass up the opportunity to finish
it . . .
I admit having some curiosity as to why."

Unwilling to answer, Jafar looked down at his glass. "My reasons are my own, Colonel. Suffice it to say that I have forsworn vengeance on the Bourmont family."

"On the contrary," Gervase replied softly, sadly. "I think you have already had your vengeance. You have taken Alysson's love."

Jafar's head came up like a wolf scenting the wind. He stared at Bourmont, his heart suddenly pounding.

"Alysson is in love with you," Gervase said quietly. "You didn't know?"

Jafar swallowed, suddenly bereft of speech. When he finally spoke, his voice was strangely hoarse. "Forgive me if I find that hard to accept. She had every opportunity to make her feelings known. The decision to leave was hers. She chose not to stay."

"Yet it is true, I'm afraid. She told me so herself. It is why she would not accept my offer of marriage."

"She refused you?" This time his voice was merely a cracked whisper. "But I heard no rumors of a broken engagement."

Gervase's brief smile was one of bitterness.
"Perhaps because there never was an engagement.
Before she left on her expedition, Alysson had promised to consider my proposal and give me her answer upon her return. Afterward
. . .
it was wiser to let society assume our engagement had never ended. If I had cried off so soon after her abduction, it would have branded her for life. My only thought was to protect her."

A long pause.
"You . . . must love her very much, then."

Again that bitter smile. "I like to believe that I am unselfish enough to put her happiness before my own."

"Then we are more alike than I suspected," Jafar said in a low, tortured voice. "The most difficult thing I've ever done in my life was to let her go."

"Ah," Gervase murmured. "So I was right. She was the reason you spared my life."

"Yes . . . she was the reason."

"Because you love her yourself."

Jafar looked away. "Yes."

"And now?
What do you intend to do about her?"

Jafar closed his eyes, remembering the torment of the past weeks when he'd held no hope that Alysson could ever be his. He had gone through the motions of living, but he'd been more like a corpse, a mere ghost of a man, his spirit broken. Perhaps that was why he hadn't hesitated to walk into the stronghold of his mortal enemy, to put himself at the colonel's mercy. The thought of death held no terror for him, compared to the pain of living. "I had not considered
yet . . .
I thought she was lost to me."

"I don't believe that is so. She has not left Algiers, did you know that?"

"Yes, I knew. But I didn't dare hope that I might be the reason.''

Abruptly Gervase leaned forward in his seat, his face searching and intense. "You will take good care of her?"

Jafar met the colonel's gaze directly, his expression a solemn promise. "I would give my life for her."

Apparently believing him, the colonel relaxed somewhat.
"I can rest easy, then." Settling back in his chair, he sipped his claret. After a moment he introduced an entirely new subject. "Alysson was not the only reason I asked you here. I should like to discuss the future of your country with you, if I may."

It was with tremendous effort that Jafar dragged his mind from his half-agonized, half-optimistic thoughts of Alysson, and focused his attention on what the colonel was saying.

"You are aware, are you not, of the responsibilities of the
Bureaux Arabes?"
Bourmont asked.

Jafar thought back, recalling what he knew of the Arab Bureau. It was the system by which the French government ruled the native peoples of the country—a department of the French military staffed with French officers to administer the conquered territories and supervise the native chiefs. The Turkish hierarchy of
khalifas, aghas,
and
caids
had been retained, but at every level a French intelligence officer, acting as advisor, actually did all the governing- raising taxes and administering justice through a docile Muslim nominee.

"I know something of it," Jafar replied. "It is the institution through which the French army maintains domination over Muslim populations by controlling their tribal chiefs and councils."

The colonel stiffened slightly at the veiled contempt in his guest's tone. "Assimilation is the goal of the Bureau, not domination. The native tribes are allowed to govern themselves, with chiefs selected and approved by the Arab Bureau. It is a fair and just system."

"I expect that depends upon one's point of view."