Warrior's Lady by Amanda Ashley Page B

lashed out with her feet, catching Gar in the chest, driving him backward into Jarrett’s blade.
    Jarrett grunted with pain as Gar fell against him.
    Siid drew his knife and cocked his arm, ready to throw the weapon.
    Freed from her captor’s grasp, Leyla rolled to her side and scrambled to her knees.
    Jarrett jerked his knife from Gar’s back and shoved the man’s lifeless body out of the way.
    It was then that Siid hurled the longboar knife.
    It was then that Leyla rose to her feet.
    She screamed as the double-edged blade buried itself in her back. Eyes wide with pained surprise, she sank to her knees.
    With a cry of disbelief, Jarrett charged Siid, driving him to the ground, plunging his knife into the man’s chest over and over again, until the warrior lay in an ever-widening pool of blood.
    “Jarrett…”
    Leyla’s voice, weak and frightened, penetrated his rage. Tossing the knife aside, he hurried to her side. She lay facedown, the haft of Siid’s longboar knife protruding from her back. Her upper body was covered with blood.
    “Leyla?”
    “Thee is all right?”
    “I’m fine.” He choked back the gorge that rose in his throat as he stared at the knife, knowing he would have to draw that long length of steel from her flesh. “Leyla…”
    “It hurts,” she murmured.
    “I know.” As gently as possible, he took hold of the knife and with one quick jerk, pulled it from her flesh. He tore a strip of cloth from her petticoat and pressed it over the wound, holding it in place with one hand while he stroked her cheek with the other. “You’ll be fine, Leyla,” he whispered tremulously. “I promise.”
    She tried to smile at him, tried to reassure him, but the pain was too strong.
    When the bleeding subsided, Jarrett bound the wound and made her as comfortable as possible. He sat beside her through the night, holding her hand, praying that she wouldn’t die.
    By morning, she was burning with fever.
    Sick at heart, he saddled the stallion, lifted Leyla into the saddle, and climbed up behind her, groaning softly as his battered body protested every move. Face set with determination, he urged the horse across the river, heading for the Majeullian stronghold high in the Mountains of the Blue Mist.
    It was midmorning when he reached the foothills. Reining the stallion to a halt, he stared at the mountains rising in the distance.
    Dragons, he thought. Quicksand. Poisonous water.
    He gazed at the woman cradled in his arms. Her face was pale, etched with pain. Her skin was hot beneath his hand.
    Filled with a sense of urgency, he touched his heels to the stallion’s flanks.
    They rode for about a league before they reached the foot of the Mountains of the Blue Mist. He pushed the horse hard, climbing steadily higher through a forest thick with trees and ferns. Sometimes the greenery above his head was so closely intertwined that it completely blocked the light. And sometimes there would be an opening in the branches that allowed a single shaft of sunlight to penetrate the darkness.
    Birds twittered high in the treetops. Leaves crackled as small animals scurried out of his way. A low roar sent a shiver down his spine. The dragon?
    It was near dusk when he came to a winding river. The stallion lowered its head to drink and Jarrett gave a sharp tug on the reins, afraid the water might be poisoned. He stared into the icy-blue depths, wondering if it was safe to cross, wondering if the sandy bottom hid a pool of quicksand.
    “Leyla?” He shook her shoulder gently. “Leyla.”
    Her eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, she stared up at him, her expression void of recognition, and then she smiled. “Jarrett.”
    “Leyla, we’re in your mountains. Is it safe to cross the river here?”
    She sat up a little, frowning as she glanced around. Then she pointed to her left. “There,” she said. “See those two trees near the rock? And the two trees directly across the river?”
    Jarrett nodded.
    “It is safe to