Free Fire Hawk by Justine Dare Justine Davis Page A

that she could yet convince him to help her.
    “ ’Twas necessity,” he said shortly. “The sooner you are healed, the sooner you can leave.”
    Jenna sighed.
    “If you had thought because I tended your wounds I was . . . amenable, you were wrong. I wish you gone from here. You have invaded my domain and disrupted my peace.”
    She flushed slightly, as if chagrined at how easily he seemed to have read her. When she spoke, it was with an edge in her voice, “True peace comes from within, not simply from ignoring chaos.”
    Kane laughed coldly. “And what would you know of it? You’re barely more than a child.”
    He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince of that; he certainly knew it wasn’t true. As did his body, which responded to the memory of her nudity before he was even aware the image had crept into his mind yet again.
    At his words Jenna drew herself up. “I am a woman grown, old enough to hold the sacred Hawk. And I know that you will never find the healing you seek like this.”
    Kane’s eyes darkened. “You know nothing of what I seek. An innocent like you could never know.”
    “I may be innocent,” Jenna said, “but I am not a fool. Do not mistake the one for the other.”
    No, she was not a fool. Despite the foolishness of her errand, he would never have accused her of that. He stared down at his boots; they’d not been new for a long time, but they looked even worse now, after his breakneck race down the mountain last night.
    His jaw tightened. He hated that he couldn’t remember what he’d done, that he remembered nothing except the horror that had threatened to suffocate him until the moment he’d come back to himself, sitting in icy water, Tal’s hands on his shoulders. He didn’t know what would have happened if Tal hadn’t been there. Or rather, he knew what would have happened. And he wasn’t sure if he should be glad it hadn’t.
    “You will not fight.”
    It wasn’t a question, and Kane looked up at Jenna, wondering if at last she had realized he meant what he said.
    “I will not fight,” he confirmed.
    She took a deep breath, steadied herself. “Then you must teach me how.”
    Kane blinked. “What?”
    “You must teach me how to fight. And how to teach my people to fight. It is our only hope.”
    “Teach you?”
    “Yes,” she said her tone brisk, as if that alone would convince him. “You will not fight for us, so I must learn, so I can in turn show my people. And there is no one else to teach me.”
    “Teach you,” he repeated, still a little stunned at the turn this had taken.
    “You must,” she repeated.
    “That is impossible.”
    “It is essential,” she insisted. “Of our people, only the storyteller knows anything of war—”
    “Then let him teach you.”
    “He cannot. He can but tell tales of battles.” A trace of a smile flickered over her lips and was gone. “Very good tales, yes, but only tales. He knows of weapons, and warfare, but only as a watcher. Besides, even though he moves like a youth, he is an old man, his hair as silvered as moonlight. ’Twould be asking too much, even had he firsthand knowledge.”
    “It is too much to ask of me, as well,” he said sourly.
    “But I am not asking you to fight. Merely to teach.”
    He didn’t know whether to laugh or to shake her. He doubted the latter would stir any sense in her, so he settled for the former.
    “Certainly,” he said grandly. “My sword is merely half your weight, you should be able to wield it with little trouble. And my armor should only drag on the ground, if it does not crush you first.”
    “I am not a fool,” she snapped. “Do you think I do not know that? Besides, there is no time for my people to become expert in swordplay. But I find it hard to believe Kane the Warrior cut such a wide swath with only a sword. Was your training so poor then, that you learned only one weapon?”
    Kane’s brows rose. She was glaring at him, her vivid blue eyes flashing as if