Free Warrior's Lady by Amanda Ashley Page A

locked in mortal combat.
    “Is he dead?” she asked tremulously.
    “Not yet,” Jarrett replied tersely. “What of Gar?”
    “He is unconscious. Come, let us… No!” She grabbed Jarrett’s arm, restraining him when she realized that he meant to slay both of the fallen men. “Please.”
    Jarrett glared at her, his blood running hot with the need to strike the final blow, to see the three Gamesmen dead once and for all.
    The look in his eyes frightened Leyla more than anything else.
    “Please,” she begged. “Let us leave this place.” She placed her hand over his chest. “Thee is hurt.”
    The sweetness of her touch and the sound of her voice cooled his anger. “We’ll go, if that’s what you want.”
    She smiled up at him. “Come, lie down. Let me care for thy wounds.”
    Suddenly too weary to argue, Jarrett followed her to where she’d spread a blanket on the grass. Stretching out, he closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the familiar touch of her healing hands.
    The passage of time was hazy. A few minutes, an hour, time lost all meaning as she placed her hands upon him, suffusing him with heat, withdrawing the pain, replacing it with peace and harmony in body and soul.
    He opened his eyes when she took her hands from him, swore under his breath when he saw her walking toward Siid.
    Rolling to his feet, he ran after her, catching her by the arm before she could lay her hands on the Gamesman. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    “He is wounded.”
    “Leave him.”
    “I cannot.”
    Jarrett stared at the two unconscious men, remembering…remembering the smell of his own burning flesh as Siid placed a live coal against his thigh, remembering the sting of Gar’s whip across his back. “Leave him. Leave them both.”
    “Jarrett, I cannot.”
    “You will!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and drew her up against him, his face only inches from hers, his eyes blazing with fury. “You asked me to spare their lives. For you, I will do it, even though my blood screams for vengeance. But I will not allow you to heal them.”
    Before she could argue further, before she had time to rest from the strain of healing his wounds, he swept her off her feet and dropped her, none too gently, onto the back of Gar’s horse. Taking the animal’s reins, he mounted his own horse and rode away from the pool without looking back.

 
    Chapter Nine
     
    Leyla rode in furious silence. She was a Maje, sworn to use her powers to heal whenever possible. Because of Jarrett, she had done violence. Because of Jarrett, she had been forced to withhold the gift with which she had been blessed. No matter that the Fen were the enemy, that they had meant Jarrett harm. Once the violence had passed, the need to heal had risen within her, and he had denied her that right. Her birthright.
    She stared at his back as her horse trailed his. Her father had been right. The men who lived beyond the Mountains of the Blue Mist were beyond understanding.
    With an effort, she drew her thoughts from Jarrett and summoned Tor’s image to mind. Helpless to resist, she found herself comparing the two men. Tor’s skin was fair where Jarrett’s was dark; Tor’s hair was white as parchment while Jarrett’s was as black as the inside of Dragora’s cave. Tor’s eyes were a warm, rich brown, like the earth; Jarrett’s were as green and unfathomable as the pools of Majeulla. Tor was a man of deep inner peace, sought out for his wisdom and his incomparable gift of sight; Jarrett was a warrior, a renegade, a man of violence and passion…
    She had seen that passion in the depths of his eyes, felt it in his arms when he held her, tasted it when he kissed her.
    She lifted her fingertips to her lips, felt her heart skip a beat as she remembered the touch of his mouth on hers. She had never known a man’s kiss before, never realized the power of such an ordinary act. He had grabbed her and kissed her and his touch had sizzled through her, hot as