Read Online Warrior's Lady by Amanda Ashley - Free Book Online

her hands together, not trusting her to stay with him now. “I’ll untie you in the morning.”
    She refused to look at him. With an air of injured dignity, she turned her back to him and curled up on the ground. This was what came of trusting one not of the blood, she thought bitterly, of letting herself care for a man not of her race. She was a prisoner again.
    Jarrett released her hands in the morning. He tried to apologize, but she would not look at him, would not speak to him, would not eat the food he offered her, though she did accept a drink of water.
    He understood her anger but it didn’t change his mind. He wanted her. He needed her and he meant to keep her near, for a while at least.
    He lifted her into the saddle, swung up behind her and turned the horse eastward.
    The hours passed slowly. The quiet companionship they had shared was gone. He tried to talk to her several times, but he could not break through the barrier of her silent condemnation.
    At dusk, he made camp in the hollow of a hill. Again she refused to eat, refused to speak.
    “Leyla, please try to understand.”
    She looked at him blankly, as if he were a stone or a tree, then gazed into the fire. The flames danced in her hair, turning the silver to gold.
    “I won’t tie your hands if you promise you won’t run away.”
    “I make thee no promises, Lord Jarrett, except one. Thee will regret this before the night is over.”
    With a curt nod, he grabbed her hands and tied them together. Her look of wounded innocence cut his heart like a knife.
    He stayed by the fire long after she’d fallen asleep, staring into the glowing coals, hating himself for what he was doing to her, yet unable to face the future without her. He did not think of loving her—such a thing was impossible. She was a Maje, a healer. He was a man who had been robbed of his titles, his land, his legions. He had nothing left but a castle that had been in his family for generations.
    Gradually, his eyelids grew heavy and he settled down beside the fire’s embers, thinking of home, wondering if his mother was still there…
    He was drowning in his own blood, unable to scream for the thick red liquid that clogged his throat. Gar stood behind him, cracking a whip made of heavy chain, while Siid touched a match to a torch made of reeds. And then Thai appeared beside him, a twelve-inch knife in his hand, a knife stained with blood. His blood. He felt the whip cut across his back, felt a dancing finger of flame lick his thigh, felt Thai’s blade at his throat.
    And he couldn’t scream, couldn’t utter a sound, as his nostrils filled with the smell of fear and blood and burning flesh—his fear, his blood, his flesh.
    Leyla! His mind screamed her name, begging her for mercy, for forgiveness. Help me! Please, help me…
    She was dreaming of home, of gently rolling hills and verdant valleys, of blue rain and lavender sunsets. Dreaming of her mother and father, when, unbidden, there appeared a man with black hair and fathomless green eyes, a strong man, a warrior.
    She tried to banish him from her dreams, but his image only grew stronger and she smiled as she heard his voice whisper her name as no other ever had… Leyla, Leyla, Leyla!
    Her eyes flew open at the sound of his anguished scream, and then she frowned. The night was as silent as the sunrise, yet her mind was filled with his hoarse cries.
    Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him thrashing about, his sweat-sheened face contorted with pain, his mouth open in a silent scream of terror.
    She would not help him, she thought. She would not help this barbarian who broke his vows and kept her prisoner.
    Thee will regret this before the night is over .
    She tried to find satisfaction in knowing that her prediction had come true.
    Another anguished cry rose in her mind, bringing tears to her eyes. She stared at his writhing form, glimpsing the unspeakable horror that held him in its power, feeling the awful pain that engulfed