Lord of Desire (37 page)

It was true, she reflected with dismay. Things had gone too far to be turned back, even with his death.

Slowly, with her finger still on the trigger, Alysson rotated the rifle in her hand, till the muzzle pressed against her breast. "You can't use me if I kill myself."

Jafar halted abruptly, his skin growing sharply taut over his high cheekbones. She thought his complexion looked a shade
more pale
, too, but she couldn't be certain.

He held her gaze as he shook his head slowly. "Your death, too, would be in vain. It will make no difference to my plan. The colonel won't know you are dead. He and the French army will still come."

He was no doubt right about that, too, Alysson thought, nearly despairing.

"Give up the weapon," Jafar said sharply, his tone harsh and uncompromising.

She stared at him, loath to admit defeat, unwilling to concede yet another victory to him.

Before she could decide whether to flout his direct order, however, the choice was taken from her. Jafar snapped his fingers, a sudden hard imperious sound, and Alysson felt the musket being stripped from her grasp. Stunned, she looked around to find Saful scowling down at her, his expression one of fierce disappointment and disapproval.

Another black-robed Berber, apparently the owner of the rifle and the horse, ran up to Jafar and fell prostrate before him.

Interrupting the man's abject apologies, Jafar issued an order that Alysson interpreted to mean "Keep your weapons away from the woman!"

"You have spoken,
saiyid,"
the cowering man replied, before
he
half-crawled away, looking relieved that he was to go unscathed for his negligence.

Alysson did not think she would get off so lightly. The look in Jafar's eyes as he strode toward her with suppressed savagery struck cold terror in her heart. She had finally goaded him past the point of acquired civilities, she knew.

He caught her by the wrist and pulled her after him, exercising a violence that was even more menacing for being so carefully controlled. Alysson tried unsuccessfully to keep up with his swift strides as he forcibly escorted her back to his tent, stumbling more than once. One glance at his furious expression, however, and she bit back the oath she wanted to fling at this son of darkness. His eyes seemed savage and brilliant, and all too frightening.

She pulled back then, trying to slow the pace and delay whatever punishment he had planned for her. But her efforts failed utterly. When they reached the interior of his tent, Jafar dragged her through the main chamber to the sleeping quarters. Then he released her so suddenly, she nearly fell.

'When I look at you," he said through gritted teeth, "I swear I see intelligence in your eyes, but I am wrong. That was a
stupid
thing do!"

With a flimsy courage at best, Alysson raised her chin as
she rubbed her aching wrist. "It wasn't stupid to try and escape!"

"I don't mean your attempt at escape! I was speaking of your threat to kill yourself."

"If I thought it would do the least good, I wouldn't hesitate," Alysson vowed. "I won't be used to lure the men I love to their deaths! I would rather die myself!"

A flare of some brilliant harsh light shone in Jafar's eyes. Slowly he clenched his hands into fists,
then
just as slowly released them. “You should know by now that I won't allow you to act against my wishes."

When Alysson didn't reply, he waved his hand in a gesture of frustration. "Why do you persist in underestimating me? You constantly try to fight me, ignoring my orders even though you know I will make you obey them . . ." He paused,
then
took a calming breath. "I want your word that you won't try to appropriate any more horses or weapons."

Her chin trembling, Alysson returned a scathing look.
"Or else what?"

"Or else I will be obliged to curb your freedom."

"Then do it!" she cried, echoing his own words of a moment ago. "I'm sick of your threats and your inhuman schemes of vengeance. I won't give my word to a savage fiend who has no honor! I won't stay here willingly, to be used as your pawn. And I won't ever stop trying to escape!"

Abruptly, without further argument, Jafar turned to retrieve one of the silken cords he used to bind her to him each night. His hard face intent, unsmiling, he caught her arm and drew his defiant captive toward the pallet.

Fearing a repeat of last night, Alysson resisted with all her strength, but as usual she was no match for Jafar's determination. With ease, he pushed her down on the pallet and proceeded to tie both her hands and feet.

Alysson nearly wept in frustration, yet she held back her tears. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

His fingers were impersonal but gentle as he completed the task. When he brushed the bare skin of her ankle, Alysson tried not to remember the last time he had touched her that way. Yet without warning, the memory of his hands and his mouth and his muscular body assaulted her, flooding her senses with warmth.

Suddenly his hands stilled. Jafar looked down at her, his gaze locking with hers. He was remembering, too, Alysson realized.

"Let me go," she whispered, and didn't know if she meant from her captivity, or from the depths of his gaze.

"No," he said finally, slowly rising to his feet. "I will never let you go. Not until my mission is fulfilled."

With that, he rose to his feet and stalked from the room, dropping the curtain behind him, enclosing her in semi- darkness.

Alysson gazed helplessly after him, tears of fury and despair gliding down her cheeks. How she hated him! How stupid she had been in hesitating to kill him!
Next time she
would,
shoot him, regardless of the consequences.
How gratifying it would be to put a bullet straight through his black heart!

Yet underlying her professed hatred, she was conscious of a plaguing thought that taunted and bewildered her. Jafar's fury hadn't resulted because she had tried to escape.
Or even because she'd threatened to kill him.

Inexplicably, it was because she had threatened to take her own life.

Chapter 11

F
or the remainder of the day, neither her rage nor despair diminished. When Jafar returned to the tent for the midday meal, Alysson gave him a look that held all the contempt and loathing that she could muster. She swore to herself she would never forgive him for tying her up again or foiling her best chance of escape, or for his diabolical schemes to destroy Gervase and the French army.

Jafar wouldn't relent either. He allowed her the freedom of her hands for the meal, but then bound them again before he left.

Her face was still stormy when he returned for the evening. Supper was a grim affair, with Alysson picking at her food and treating Jafar to smoldering silence. As she prepared for bed, however, her thoughts turned violent. If he dared lay one hand on her, if he dared subject her to his despicable lusts, or tried to arouse her fledgling passion the way he had managed so successfully the previous night, she would scratch his tawny eyes out.

Except for binding her wrists and ankles again, though, Jafar made no move to touch her. Alysson was left alone to fume in restless agitation; she couldn't sleep, and she prevented him from sleeping as well.

"Be still!" Jafar growled finally in irritation, after two hours of lying beside her thrashing form. "You are like a flopping fish."

Alysson smiled grimly in the darkness. She was glad she had disturbed his sleep. Indeed, she would enjoy disturbing him a great deal more.

"Why do you hate Gervase so much?" she asked suddenly, intent on making him as uncomfortable as she could— as well as learning the answer to a question that had plagued her for days.

"It does not concern you. Now go to sleep."

"Not concern me!
How can you possibly say that when you mean to lure him into the desert and kill him, using me as bait?"

"Matters of war are not the realm of a woman."

Alysson bristled. "You should have thought of that before you involved me! Beside, this is far more than a matter of war. This is some kind of personal vendetta against Gervase."

"My business is with the French army. Colonel Bourmont is a commander in that army. My meeting with him will be a military engagement, nothing more."

"It isn't just the French army you are after! It is Gervase himself. Revenge against him was your reason for abducting me—you implied as much the other day."

When he didn't reply, she turned her head on the pillow

to
look at Jafar, searching his face in the faint light from the brazier. His eyes were closed, his arms resting on his stomach, as if he was determined to sleep despite her insistent questions. But Alysson was just as determined to force him to talk. "You must hate him for some reason. The other day you said 'the colonel will get precisely what he deserves.' What did you mean by that?"

Silence met her probing query.

"You intend to kill him, don't you?"

It was a long moment before Jafar finally answered. "Yes, I intend to kill him."

"Why?" The word was a hoarse whisper. "What did he ever do to you?"

Jafar sighed in irritation. It was becoming obvious that his thorny captive was not about to let the subject drop. But perhaps it would be better if she knew the reasons behind his hatred for Bourmont. At least then she would see why he could not be swayed from his course of vengeance. And it might prevent her from threatening to end her life as she had done so foolishly today, to his everlasting dismay. Involuntarily Jafar clenched his jaw, remembering that chilling moment when she had turned the rifle on herself. His heart had stopped beating for those endless moments before the weapon had been taken from her. It was odd that he should have been so terrified for her, especially when he didn't fear death for himself.