Lord of Desire

by Nicole Jordan

  She couldn't believe Jafar would consider such a proposition. Would he really agree to see her free if she could rid his land of a man-eating lion? She turned to him, her gray eyes questioning. His jaw was set, his expression guarded and watchful, like one of his hawks. She was not surprised when his refusal came.

  "I could not allow Miss Vickery to put herself in such danger, Excellency," Jafar replied firmly, holding Alysson's gaze.

  "I agree," her Uncle Honoré said more slowly. "Perhaps it would be too dangerous for you, my dear."

  Dangerous perhaps, Alysson thought, yet she couldn't allow that to dissuade her. If she could possibly gain their freedom by meeting the challenge the khalifa had laid out, she owed it to her uncle to try. If only Jafar would allow her the opportunity.

  "Even so, I would like the chance to try and kill the lion," she declared, endeavoring to keep her voice steady.

  She saw a muscle in Jafar's jaw flex, before he disciplined his expression into unreadabiiity. "The beast has already killed one woman. The risk would be too great."

  Oddly, it was the Khalifa Ben Hamadi who took her side.

  "But you have heard from her own lips, sidi," the general pressed, "that she is skilled at the hunt. Would you deny her the opportunity to win her freedom?"

  Yes! Jafar wanted desperately to answer, even as he admired the khalifa's masterful attempt at forcing his hand. Ben Hamadi did not approve of his holding Alysson and her uncle prisoner, Jafar knew. The general had not said so directly, yet in a veiled accusation just this morning, he'd expressed surprise at Jafar's unusual reticence to resolve the problem of the Englishwoman, especially since there was no longer a need to keep her captive.

  Of course Ben Hamadi would not insult him by condemning his action outright, but with the wisdom and cunning that had made the khalifa one of Abdel Kader's most trusted lieutenants, Ben Hamadi had now publicly proposed the conditions for Alysson's release—a proposal that would be difficult for him to refuse, Jafar reflected. He had sworn his allegiance to Abdel Kader and thus to his khalifa. Besides, what reasonable grounds did he have for continuing to hold Alysson hostage, other than his own selfish desires?

  Jafar felt his hand clench involuntarily in a fist. For weeks now, he'd refused to face the tormenting possibility of losing her. But now it was no longer a mere possibility.

  With a sickening sense of powerlessness, he recalled an old Berber adage. A wild bird could be caught and placed in a cage, but it would only fly away at the first opportunity, never to return. He could keep Alysson captive for a while longer, perhaps indefinitely. But in the end, the decision whether to stay or to leave belonged to her. The choice had to be hers.

  After all he had done to her, he owed her that much. If Alysson were to remain here with him, she had to do so because she truly wished it, not because he forced her.

  And it seemed that she did not wish it.

  "I would welcome the chance to earn our freedom," she said again quietly.

  Deliberately, slowly, Jafar forced himself to uncurl his fist. "Very well," he said at length, his voice low and toneless. "It will be your decision."

  Honoré looked at her first with concern, then dawning elation as he realized their chance for freedom was at hand. But Alysson could not share her uncle's delight. She felt as if a giant hand were crushing her heart.

  Jafar returned her gaze, his features cold and withdrawn. It was as if they were the only two people in the room, a room that had turned wintry and bleak. Wanting to shiver, Alysson stared helplessly into his cool amber eyes. Their aloofness was cruel, their indifference chilling.

  The Khalifa Ben Hamadi broke the silence between them. "Good," he observed with satisfaction. "Then it is settled. If Miss Vickery can kill the lion, she and her uncle may go free."

  They set off within hours to hunt the ezim, while it was still daylight. There was no reason to wait. The lion was a nocturnal animal that normally preyed at night, so die principal time for hunting the beast was at night.

  By now, Alysson expected, the creature they sought would have retreated to higher ground. But they could use the remaining daylight to locate the vicinity of its mountain lair, and when the full moon rose later, there would be ample light by which to hunt. Then she would take the field alone, with a single attendant to carry ammunition and an extra gun.

  She did not underestimate the danger. The lion was man's most fearsome adversary, with a roar like thunder that could petrify its victims with fear. If it perceived itself in danger, it would turn and attack against even fatal odds. According to her Uncle Oliver, a lion rarely preyed on humans unless it was exceedingly hungry, or was provoked, or was weakened by age or illness and was too feeble to hunt stronger game. But this beast had already killed one woman. Alysson was glad for Jafar's company. She would have made the expedition by herself, but Jafar would not hear of her going alone.

  She glanced over at him as he rode beside her on his fiery bay stallion. His face was closed and shuttered, his eyes devoid of all emotion but a steely determination. She shivered, whether from the December coid or from Jafar's chilling distance, she wasn't certain.

  Behind her, Saful maintained a respectful length with his own mount. To her surprise, Saful had volunteered for the job of accompanying her on the hunt. Perhaps, Alysson suspected, because the young warrior felt it necessary to make up for his lapse in letting her escape several weeks ago. No doubt he was still smarting from shame because he, a man, had been bested by a mere female.

  Beside Alysson, Jafar was thinking similar thoughts as he silently wrestled with his own conscience, it went against every masculine principal, every chivalrous nerve in his body, to allow a woman to risk her life. Especially this woman. The thought of Alyssos feeing such danger made his blood run cold.

  Jafar's gaze found the defiant young beauty who was the cause of his torment. What would she say if he professed his love for her, if he begged her to stay? If he asked her to give up her family, her entire way of life? To risk her future with only the promise of uncertainty and war in exchange? What would she say if he asked her to watch him marry another woman first? To have another woman's sons take precedent before her own? That was all he could offer her.

  Unless he stepped down. Unless he left his tribe, his entire way of life. Unless he gevs up everything he had strived for. Only then could he claim her as he wanted to do, as she deserved.

  Jafar closed his eyes against the anguish and helplessness inside him. Was he actually thinking such treasonous thoughts?

  He gave a silent, bitter laugh, filled with self-mockery. The khalifa had seen the danger Alysson presented, a danger that he himself had refused to admit, Jafar realized. She was his weakness, his vulnerability. She alone had the power to make him betray his duty, his people. She could make him forsake everything he had struggled for. All it would take was one ward from her and he would actually consider stepping down. He would contemplate sacrificing honor and duty. If Alysson were to show the slightest inclination to stay, he might very well throw away his past, his future, his allegiance to his country.

  Except for her physical response to his lovemaking, though, she'd given no indication that she wanted anything more from him. Her physical response at least he was certain of. He'd shown her the kind of blinding passion that poets exalted but that few mortals ever attained. For a brief time he might even have made her forget her love for Bourmont. But when she returned to her own civilization, that love would rekindle. She would find happiness in his enemy's arms, among her own people.

  And he couldn't deny her that chance.

  That bleak reflection occupied Jafar's mind to the exclusion of nearly all else as the day waned.

  None of them spoke as they made their way through a darkening forest of giant cedars. The quiet intensified, broken only by the soft rhythmic thud of the horses' hooves.

  Beside him, Alysson began to feel closed in, surrounded as she was by the thick, sharp scent of cedar and the sentinel tree trun
ks, down here so low where the fading sunlight couldn't reach. She was relieved when they finally left the forest. It seemed warmer out in the open, even though the sharp wind penetrated the wool of her burnous and the final rays of the sun were thin and weak.

  The terrain immediately became more rugged and forbidding, and the Barb horses, which had been bred on such rough ground, had to step carefully as they wound in and out of the rocky hills.

  Twilight was falling when they reached the area where the woman had been killed. The air was strangely silent— perhaps, Alysson reflected nervously, because the panic- stricken inhabitants of the mountains were hiding in their homes. Her feeling of disquiet intensified, and she wished she could call even the weak sunlight back.

  When Saful's mount snorted, Alysson gave a start, and then felt foolish for letting her courage desert her. Selfconsciously she glanced at her two companions, who wore their rifles slung on their backs.

  "The lair will likely be up there," Jafar said tersely, pointing at the jagged peaks to the northeast.

  They began climbing toward the masses of rock above, negotiating scanty ledges and naked slopes. Shortly they reached a narrow ravine where they were again required to ride single file.

  "Keep behind me," Jafar commanded Alysson as he took the lead.

  Thick shadows reached out to envelop them as they picked their way along the almost nonexistent track. It was only minutes later that Alysson suddenly felt her mount tense beneath her. As the mare sidled, nervously, Alysson uneasily searched the gloom around them. The ridge just above their heads was surrounded by the skeletal shapes of thorn thickets, an ideal setting for an ambush.

  Foolish or not, she reached for her rifle. Drawing it from its scabbard, she checked the cartridge, then rested the weapon in the crook of her arm, feeling reassured by its weight. She closed her finger around the trigger at precisely the same instant she heard a low rumbling sound—half purr, half snarl.

  Her heartbeat arrested, Alysson jerked her gaze upward to find a pair of savage golden eyes glaring down at them in the dim light.

  Part of her dazed mind registered the lioness preparing to spring, another part the terrified horses that suddenly went wild with fright. Jafar's stallion reared while her own mount swerved hard to the left, nearly crushing her leg against the rocks. Alysson had the flashing impression of a tawny body and long tail, of razor-sharp teeth and claws bared for attack, of a great golden weight gathering for the vault.

  Then, with a blood-freezing primordial scream, the beast exploded into the air, leaping directly at Jafar.

  Chapter 24

  Alysson had no time to think, no time to take aim, no time to shake off the paralyzing fear that gripped her at the lion's unearthly growl. She had only the instinct of desperation. Raising the muzzle of her rifle, she fired.

  The sharp crack of the rifle echoed loudly amid the snarls and shouts and screams of the horses. At the same moment, the lion's sleek golden body jerked and twisted in the air, then fell with a heavy thud to the ground.

  Breathing in hard gasps, her heart pounding violently as she tried to control her terrified mare, Alysson stared down at the result of her marksmanship. The deadly assault was over as suddenly as it had begun. She had hit her target. She had shot the lion in midair.

  She raised her gaze to Jafar and caught the glitter of curved steel in his hand. He had managed to draw his dagger to defend himself from the murderous beast, but even armed thus, in the close confines of the ravine he would have stood little chance against the vicious attack. Very likely he had escaped serious injury . . . or even death.

  Jafar seemed to know it, for his intent gaze found Alysson's the moment he had brought his plunging stallion under control. The expression in his eyes was impossible to read in the gathering darkness.

  "It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude, Ehuresh," Jafar said in a low tone that held a harsh note of regret.

  Alysson couldn't find the voice to answer. With surprise she realized she was trembling; the image of Jafar being mauled and savaged would not go away. Weakly, she slid down from her horse, needing the feel of solid ground beneath her.

  Saful, who had leaped from his mount, was cautiously approaching the corpse of the lion, in case it had only been wounded. Touching it with his rifle muzzle, gingerly at first, then with more force, he rolled the head to the side. There was no question. The sovereign of the forests was dead. The bullet had taken the beast directly between the eyes.

  If was an impossible shot, Alysson realized. If she had tried a hundred times under ordinary circumstances, she could never have been so accurate.

  She flinched as another gun report split the silence. In the manner of his people, Saful had raised his rifle triumphantly in the air and fired it over the body of the prostrate foe. Alysson sank to one knee. She couldn't seem to stop shaking.

  She was grateful for the strong arms that drew her up and surrounded her. With a sound that was nearly a sob, Alysson buried her face in Jafar's shoulder, trying to draw comfort from his nearness.

  He stroked the curve of her spine soothingly and murmured tender, unintelligible words of solace in Berber. Words that had nothing to do with the tormenting emotions assaulting him.

  In one dim corner of his heart he felt a fierce mingling of pride and gratitude . . . Pride in Alysson's skill at defeating a savage foe. Gratitude for her quick action in saving him. But the bleak sense of loss raking at him overwhelmed any sweeter feelings.

  There were no options open to him now. He had given his word. Her freedom for killing the lion. He had to let her go.

  An ache rose up in him that was so intense, so raw and anguished, that he had to squeeze his eyes closed against it. He wished he could take the words back. He wished . . .

  But what good would wishing do? It would not change Alysson's mind about leaving.

  Yet how bitter an irony it was to know that her action tonight would have consequences he hadn't foreseen. He knew the Berber mind. When his people learned of what Alysson had done, what courage she'd shown, they would welcome her into their hearts. She would no longer be a hated European. They would be willing to accept her, perhaps not as his first wife, but they would receive her into their tribe, their lives, with gladness.

  He gave a silent, hopeless laugh. She would not be here to see the transformation.

  It was a long moment before Jafar realized his equerry was standing to one side waiting patiently, respectfully, for his attention. Repressing a bitter sigh, Jafar released Alysson from his embrace, then took a step back and nodded.

  Saful stepped forward, holding a bloody, furry object in his outstretched hands which he presented to Alysson.

  "This belongs to you, lallah," Saful said in a tone that bordered on awe. He had cut the thick padded paws from the corpse of the mountain cat and was offering the right fore to her.

  Numbly, Alysson stared at the grisly relic.

  "You earned the right to have it, Alysson," Jafar explained softly in English. "Our women hang the paw of a lion or other ferocious beasts of prey around their children's necks as an amulet to inspire force and courage. Young brides present such gifts to their husbands."

  Husband. Alysson closed her eyes tightly, Jafar's words ringing hollowly in her ears. She would never have the right to give such a gift to him. She had fulfilled the terms of the bargain. She had killed the lion and was now free to go.

  Why, dear God, why had she insisted on the opportunity to earn her freedom? How she regretted it now. How she wished now that she had never fired that shot!

  Yet she'd really had no choice. She could never have allowed harm to come to Jafar, not while there was a single breath left in her body. Yet the horrible irony was not lost on her. In saving Jafar's life, she had forfeited any final, remote chance for a future with him.

  She lifted her anguished gaze to him. It would take only a single word from him and she would have remained here, under any terms he cared to name. But he had said nothing.

/>   Was it because he was convinced, as she was, of the futility of their future together? Or that her continued presence here would prove a further detriment to him?

  Did he feel nothing for her at all? Did he want her to leave?

  "Are you able to ride? We should return."

  At Jafar's quiet, dispassionate question Alysson felt the crushing weight of despair settle over her. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in some dark corner and find relief for her aching heart in the oblivion of sleep, but she nodded wearily and accepted Jafar's help in mounting—and tried to keep her agonizing thoughts at bay during the long ride back.

  The moon rose shortly, blanketing the rugged mountains in a cold light, allowing them to see their way. A few hours later, they returned home in triumph, bearing the blanketed corpse of the lion. They were greeted by gleeful shouts and bursts of gunfire, by exclamations of universal joy that the tyrant was dead, that young men and maidens need not tremble as they went forth at night.