Lord of Desire (30 page)

Alysson was only aware of the discomfiting way Jafar was regarding her. It brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks. "But you always call me 'Ehuresh,'
" she
said in distraction. "Is that a Berber word?"

"Yes." Jafar's mouth curved in a brief smile. "It loses something in the translation, but essentially it means 'one who defies.' That, too, fits you well."

This discussion was becoming far too intimate for Alys
son's peace of mind. "Why don't you own any slaves?" she asked quickly to change the subject.

"What makes you think I don't?"

"Mahmoud told me."

"Mahmoud has a loose tongue."

"Is it supposed to be a secret?"

"No."

It was only when he remained silent for a long while that Alysson realized he didn't intend to reply to her question. Yet he seemed to be in a relaxed mood. Perhaps she might persuade him to answer some other questions she had, such as why
had he
abducted her, and what were his plans for her.

"If you won't talk about that," she ventured to ask, "
could
you possibly tell me how much longer you intend to keep me here?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"On when your fiancé comes for you."

Startled, bewildered, she fell silent.

"I expect by now the colonel is searching for you," Jafar said, his expression deliberately impassive.

"How could you possibly know what Gervase would or would not do?"

He shrugged. "I have spies in the French government. I pay them well to keep me informed of the colonel's movements."

Spies?
That no doubt was how he had managed to arrange her capture so easily. A hollow, sinking feeling suddenly welled in the pit of Alysson's stomach. "Just . . . just what is it you want with me?"

"I told you.
Merely your presence."

"But why?
What ever good could my presence do you?"

He was silent for so long that at first she thought he didn't mean to answer. When finally he spoke, his tone was quiet and deadly. "It will afford our troops an engagement with the French army.''

His reply made Alysson shiver. Was that what he wanted?
A battle with the French army?
Then she remembered something Jafar had said just after he'd taken her captive. I
sincerely hope the French army does come for you, the good
colonel most of all.
Did he mean to lure them into a trap of some kind? If so, then she was the bait. Dear God . . .

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words lodged in her suddenly dry throat. It was a long moment before she could force herself to reply. "You mean to use me to trick the French army into fighting you?"

"I mean to fight the French, yes."

But it doubtless would not be a fair fight. This ruthless Berber warlord would set the terms of the battle to his great advantage. Countless men would die, and it would be
her fault.

The thought made her quake.

"What you've planned is despicable, vile," Alysson declared in a hoarse voice. "It's the act of a coward, using a woman to carry out your treacherous plot."

He didn't acknowledge her comment as he groomed the stallion's powerful hindquarters.

"What will you do with me when I've served my purpose? Kill me? Sell me as a slave?"

That made Jafar pause. Glancing over his shoulder, he met her gaze, his own eyes narrowed. "Afterward you will be free to return to your uncle. Unlike the French, we do
not not
make war on women and children."

"No?" She
laughed,
a scoffing, incredulous sound. "Then what do you call your abduction of me?"

"You have not been harmed. I've given you no cause to complain of your treatment," he replied, his voice nonchalant yet having a sharp thrust. "You haven't been raped or beaten or tortured."

She wanted to protest. She wanted to shout at him:
You kissed me. You assaulted me with your caresses. You promised to take my virginity. You threatened to make me respond to you and want you.
He might not have actually hurt her, but his promise of seduction had unnerved her more than any threat of physical torture could have done. And now that she knew what he planned, she was terrified that he would actually succeed in his aims.

Her voice shook when she demanded, "What about your sultan, Abdel Kader? Does he approve of your barbaric methods, using innocent prisoners as bait in your trap?"

"
Abdel Kader shows every consideration for
this Chris
tian prisoners
, especially women. It distresses him greatly that they should become victims of our Holy War."

"Holy War!"
Alysson's voice throbbed with outrage and dread. "There is nothing in the least 'holy' about your war! How can you possibly commit countless atrocities and then claim you do so in the name of your god?"

"By Allah—" The soft curse rent the air as abruptly Jafar whirled. In four strides he reached Alysson's side, his fingers closing over her shoulders as he pulled her to her feet.

Alysson stood frozen, shocked by the swiftness of his assault, frightened by the fury she saw in his burning amber eyes. She had finally moved him to anger.

She flinched and tried to take a step backward, to break away, but his fingers gripped her like steel talons as his words struck her. "All you rich, pampered Europeans, living in your protected world . . . you know nothing of real atrocities! You should ask the boy who serves you about barbaric methods. Mahmoud was tortured by the French and barely escaped with his life."

Alysson quivered. Jafar's fierce gaze bored into her, giving no quarter, while his voice dropped to a savage murmur. "Shall I tell you about other atrocities committed by the French? About the custom your Legionnaires have adopted? They make tobacco pouches from the breasts of murdered Muslim women and then boast of how fine and soft the leather is."

To emphasize his point, his hand rose to cup her breast. There was nothing remotely sensual in his touch; it was a threatening gesture, purely hostile.

Her heart pounding, Alysson stared up at him, alarmed by his burning intensity. At the moment this fierce Berber chieftain seemed hard and unforgiving enough to retaliate in kind. When suddenly he released her, she exhaled in relief. Her knees sagging, she sank to the carpet. Jafar turned back to the stallion and picked up the cloth he had thrown to the ground.

Alysson watched him warily, afraid of what he might do. How had their discussion turned so violent so suddenly? She wished she had never begun this conversation. But he wasn't done chastising her by any means.

"You call
us
barbaric," Jafar muttered. "Surely even you
don't condone the French army's method of 'pacifying' our tribesmen—asphyxiating hundreds of women and children in caves. You heard of that incident, didn't you, mademoiselle?"

"Y-yes," Alysson replied. She had heard of it. Like many, she had been appalled by the actions of one French colonel who had lighted fires at the mouth of a cave in which some five hundred native men, women, and children had taken refuge. The scandal had shocked even the staunchest supporters of French colonization, and had been denounced in France as an abomination.

"The next time fifteen hundred Muslims died," Jafar said almost absently.

"The . . . next time?"

"Two months later another of your French colonels repeated the tactic. You never learned of it because it was kept out of the French newspapers." Jafar shook his head in disgust. "Don't talk to me of barbaric methods."

Irritated by his accusing tone, Alysson lifted her chin, mustering her courage. "That still doesn't excuse the abominable acts carried out by your side. Only a few years ago your Arab troops massacred the French garrison at Biskra."

The look Jafar gave her was hard and angry. "Those were soldiers, men who chose to fight and die in a war the rapacious French government began. Soldiers who never quailed at murdering entire villages of civilians, I might add."

“What then of all the innocent French settlers who have been slaughtered?"

"Innocent
settlers who stole our land over the bloody corpses of our people?
This is wartime, Miss Vickery. What did you expect us to do, welcome them with open arms?"

Alysson fell silent, thinking of all the senseless carnage that had resulted from the war. No one had been spared, not the innocent, not the women and children. And even they had been guilty of atrocities. Indeed, the women of Barbary were said to be even more fierce and savage than the men.

With a shudder, she remembered a Legion officer discussing with apparent relish the horrible mutilation of captured French soldiers after a particularly bloody battle, how
the Arab women enacted unspeakable tortures upon wounded Frenchmen before finally allowing them mercy in death. That was why, the Legionnaire claimed, it was better to die in the first assault than to survive to become hostage to their cruelty.