Lord of Desire (57 page)

Her heart sank to the vicinity of her knees, while the fragile happiness she'd felt during the past few days of loving Jafar abruptly crumbled to dust.

Chapter 19

H
er name was Zohra, and Alysson disliked her on sight.

With her fawning intimacy toward Jafar, the Berber beauty managed to communicate quite clearly her privileged relationship to the lord.

The antagonism was mutual. The moment Zohra spotted the English
newcomer,
her blue eyes flashed instant animosity and disdain.

Fortunately for the sake of peace, Zohra did not make her home in Jafar's house.

"She belongs to another tribe," Jafar explained after the blonde beauty had been dismissed. "Zohra bides with a cousin whenever she visits this village."

Alysson managed to hide her misery and sharp jealousy behind a cool smile, but she was relieved to learn of the living arrangements. She could not—would not—have borne Jafar blatantly flaunting his mistress in front of her, not without making her sentiments clearly known, and likely making a fool of herself in the
process . . .
a bigger fool than she already was.

How naive she'd been to think she was the only woman in Jafar's life.
And how disgraceful her recent behavior toward him had been.
It made Alysson flush with shame to recall her wantonness. And made her humiliatingly aware of how docile and accommodating she'd become as well. Suddenly Alysson felt very much the prisoner again, although Jafar did not act as
that were
so.

"This is your home," he told her as they entered his fortress, and he meant it. Alysson soon learned that Berber hospitality was similar to the famed hospitality in the rest of the Islamic world; a guest had only to admire an object and it would be given to him.

And there was a good deal to admire. The exterior might be plain and painfully rugged, but passing through the arched portal was like entering a different world—an Eastern world of mosaic tiled pavements, arabesque plaster fretwork, and flights of marble stairs. Jafar himself gave her a tour of the house after her wounded uncle had been comfortably settled.

Jafar's mountain fortress, Alysson discovered, was built around a huge central courtyard, with work areas below, living quarters above, and wide flat roofs where dining and socializing took place in good weather. The front wing boasted a dozen guest chambers; the lord's private apartments and offices occupied the right side wing; while the servants' and women's quarters—the latter was called the harem in this part of the world—took up the remaining two sides. Another arched passageway, she was told, led to an adjacent courtyard that was devoted entirely
to
long ranges of stabling. Along the corridor she could see two of Jafar's warriors standing guard.

"Are they posted there to keep me from trying to escape," Alysson asked Jafar in a dry voice, "or to prevent someone from stealing your horses?"

Jafar gave her a level look. "You,
Ehuresh,
are the only one to develop the annoying habit of making off with my horses." When she glanced at him sharply, the corner of his mouth curled in a very male smile. "To be truthful, theft is not a problem in our society, for the punishment is too severe. But a man in my position must be alert for assassins."

Disturbed by the thought that some treacherous deed might end this vital man's life, Alysson fell silent.

"For that reason," he added, "I must ask that you accept an escort whenever you leave the house. Mahmoud will make the arrangements."

“I may leave the house?''

"Certainly.
You are a guest here."

She regarded him with disbelief. "You mean to tell me I may go anywhere I wish, do anything I wish?"

Jafar smiled faintly.
"Yes,
Ehuresh.
You will have an armed escort to keep you safe, but you may do as you wish. You have only to ask."

"Thank you."

He bowed slightly in acknowledgment. "My greatest regret is that for a time my duties will prevent me from personally seeing to your enjoyment. There are numerous matters which have arisen during my absence that I now must resolve."

Jafar continued the tour then. In nearly every room she entered, Alysson could smell the fragrance of cedar pitch from the ancient ceiling beams. The only disappointment she found was the scarcity of light. The arched windows were built small to keep out the heat and bitter mountain cold—although there was an abundance of pottery lamps, as well as braziers for the chill nights. The interior walls were whitewashed, while draping silk fabrics and tapestries provided rich ornamentation. As for furniture, it was basic and rare. Thick carpets and painted rush mats strewed the floors, along with an occasional divan or a low wooden table here or there.

Alysson found the accommodations for her uncle simple but luxurious. Upstairs in the front wing, a paved hall set with an intricate pattern of colored tiles was surrounded by some half a dozen guest chambers, accessed by large folding doors.

"This will be your room," Jafar told her as he paused before one of the doors.

Alysson greeted the knowledge with surprise. "You don't mean to keep me incarcerated in the women's quarters?"

This time his smile was indulgent as well as sensual. "I have said I intend to make allowances for your English upbringing,
chirie.
And I assumed you would wish to remain near your uncle. If you prefer, though, you may of course sleep in my harem."

She couldn't mistake the husky, sexual note in his voice. It made Alysson
blush
and hastily proclaim, "No, this is quite satisfactory."

"Very well.
I will leave you now to refresh yourself. Will you join me for dinner in an hour? Your uncle as well, if he feels able."

When Jafar had gone, Alysson glanced around the chamber and noted a bed mat of painted rushes covered by several carpets, on top of which lay finely woven blankets and quilts of colorful silk. The room also contained the requisite number of pillows and carpets on the floor and convenient pegs to hang clothing, but Alysson's gaze kept returning to the bed. At night, when she lay there, she would be able to hear the whisper of fountains from the courtyard below. The disturbing question was
,
would she lie there alone?

Her servant, however, greatly influenced the decision, for Chand refused to abandon his mistress. As was his custom, he slept before her door, as if he were determined never again to let Alysson out of his sight.

The thought that he might be protecting her honor both warmed and relieved Alysson. If Jafar
had
wanted to visit her bed, he would have found it impossible without alerting the entire household. And she needed the time to sort out her tangled feelings for him before continuing the intimacies they had shared at his encampment. She was too vulnerable to Jafar just now to make any intelligent decision about the future of their relationship.

Alysson saw no indication that he tried to come to her, however. Indeed, except for evenings at supper, she saw little of Jafar during the first days after their arrival. As he'd warned, he spent his time seeing to the affairs of his tribe which had suffered during his long absence.

To her dismay, Alysson found herself missing him. In the beginning her Uncle Honoré slept a great deal, and Chand apparently was not speaking to her at the moment.

Having time on her hands made her all the more grateful for Mahmoud's company. The young servant became her frequent attendant during the daytime, answering her questions about Jafar and his fierce tribe of Berbers and resuming her lessons in the Berber language.

Actually, though, her life was far different here than it had been in the camp. She had the freedom of the village, for example—although she gave up after one attempt to explore the narrow, winding streets. Without Jafar by her side, Alysson felt uncomfortable having to endure the intent, sometimes hostile stares of the Berbers she encountered.

Not everyone was so unamicable, at least. Tahar, the young woman who'd befriended her during the early days of her captivity, was still as gentle and helpful as always. Drawn by the lure of feminine companionship, Alysson began spending a few hours each day in the lord's kitchen where Tahar worked—a long room divided by low partitions, with stuccoed recesses and cupboards built into the wall. And perhaps she was also acting out of defiancé, Alysson admitted privately to herself. Jafar had once called her spoiled and pampered, accusing her of never having done a day's work in her life, and she was determined to show him she wasn't afraid of menial tasks.

To her surprise, Alysson greatly enjoyed the challenge. And the company was certainly welcome. Between Tahar's few words of French, and her own increasing store of Berber and Arabic, the two of them managed to converse, and were soon on their way to becoming friends.

Even so, Alysson found herself looking forward to the end of the day when she could see Jafar. Each evening at supper, he played the considerate host to her and her uncle, seeing to their comfort, engaging them in discussions, and providing for their entertainment. Oddly, Jafar seemed intent on charming her Uncle Honoré. And yet watching him closely, Alysson could tell that Jafar looked weary and at times distracted. She could only suppose that the long hours he kept were taking their toll.

From dawn to dusk the reception hall where he held audience was always filled with a steady stream of people who demanded his attention. The room was downstairs off the court, and Alysson could observe the constant activity whenever she chose.

The courtyard, she discovered, was the most enjoyable spot in the house. The huge quadrangle boasted several flowing fountains and marble basins, surrounded by oleanders and almond trees. In the afternoons Alysson liked to wrap up warmly against the chill fall air and stroll beneath the trees, or sit in the sun on one of the marble benches.

It was there in the courtyard that she discovered a new friend. Jafar owned several Nubian greyhounds, and one of those tall, slender dogs—a young bitch—began to follow Alysson around.

The courtyard also was where she encountered Zohra a few days after her arrival, and where she learned the necessity of keeping up her guard. The beautiful Berber woman might look harmless with her fair skin and pale blonde hair, but her feminine softness hid the disposition of a scorpion.

Zohra spoke French fairly well, and her tone was pleasant enough when she first addressed Alysson. But after the preliminary flowery greetings, Zohra immediately turned to the subject of Jafar.

"You should be honored by the lord's attention," she said with a sly, even hard edge to her voice. "He looks upon you with favor."

Startled by such frankness, Alysson raised a cool eyebrow.

When she didn't answer, the Berber woman tried another tack. "The
saiyid
is a magnificent lover, no? Do you not find him pleasing?"

The pain that observation aroused in Alysson was sharp and twisting. Jafar
was
a magnificent lover, but the confirmation that Zohra had been the lucky recipient of his passion filled Alysson with dismay—a reaction that was absurd and entirely unjustified, considering her own uncertain position in Jafar's life. She had to forcibly refrain from snapping a reply.