Free Warrior's Lady by Amanda Ashley

move.
    The moments slid by. Sweat trickled down his spine, beaded across his brow, dampened his palms. And still he waited.
    The attack, when it came, still took him by surprise. He heard footsteps behind him, the excited whinny of a horse to his left, the answering call of another horse to his right.
    Pivoting on his heel, he brought his sword up, parrying a blow to his neck. The Giant’s sword was heavy in his hand as he dropped to one knee and thrust the blade upward, plunging it almost to the hilt in Thai’s belly.
    The horsemen were practically on top of him by then. Scrambling to his feet, Jarrett braced his back against a tree, giving them no room to maneuver their horses around him.
    Gar dismounted first, his lips drawn back in a feral snarl. The Fen warrior attacked viciously, careful to stay out of range of Jarrett’s sword, giving Siid time to dismount and come around on the other side. It was a simple but effective tactic, forcing Jarrett away from the tree and into the open.
    The harsh clang of metal striking metal shattered the stillness of the glade. Leyla glanced over her shoulder, a gasp erupting from her lips as she saw the two Fen warriors advancing on Jarrett. She swung her legs over the log, the better to see the battle as she struggled to loose her hands.
    She felt her heart go cold as she saw Jarrett valiantly fighting against Siid and Gar, his sword flashing in the sunlight like lightning during a storm. His green eyes were bright with the heat of battle and there was a faint smile on his lips. It occurred to her that he was enjoying himself even though she feared he could not win. He hadn’t held a sword in eight months. The Gamesmen had practiced every day. And they were good, she thought in dismay. So very good. Even as she watched, she saw Gar’s cutlass slice into Jarrett’s arm, saw the bright splash of blood that rose in the wake of the blade.
    Jarrett hardly seemed aware of the wound as he turned to parry Siid’s next thrust.
    With a small cry of pain and frustration, she gave one last tug on the rope at her wrists. There was a moment of triumph as her hands came free and then she was bending to untie her feet.
    A harsh scream drew her attention and she saw that Gar was down, bleeding badly from a crippling wound in his right thigh. But it was the blood splattered across Jarrett’s chest that held her attention. The urge to go to him, to lay her hands upon him, was almost overpowering.
    Tossing the rope that had bound her feet aside, she stood up, one hand pressed to her heart, as she watched the two warriors. They were closely matched in size and reach, but Jarrett had been wounded and that gave Siid the advantage. All he had to do was wait, wait for the loss of blood to weaken his opponent.
    She could not let that happen.
    Picking up a rock, she crept up behind Gar and struck him across the back of the head, rendering him unconscious. And then, going against everything she had been taught, all she had ever believed in, she reached for Gar’s sword.
    A movement from the corner of his eye caught Jarrett’s attention. Thinking it was Gar, he risked a glance in that direction. Leyla! He swore under his breath when he saw the sword in her hand and realized that she meant to come to his defense.
    That one moment of distraction gave Siid all the chance he needed and he lunged forward, his sword slipping under Jarrett’s guard, piercing flesh and muscle only to be deflected by a rib.
    But Jarrett was moving too. Spurred on by pain and anger and the overwhelming need to get Leyla out of danger, he took a step forward, his sword blocking Siid’s next thrust. At the same time, he drew his knife with his left hand and drove it into Siid’s chest.
    With a hoarse cry, Siid dropped heavily to his knees, then slumped to the ground.
    Dropping the sword, Leyla ran up to Jarrett, her face pale, her eyes wide with horror. For all the time she had spent in the Pavilion, she had never seen two men