Warrior's Lady (26 page)

Chapter Thirty

Sturgid stared at Jarrett with obvious dislike. “Why has thee come here?”

“Because of Leyla. She’s blaming herself for Tor’s death.”

Sturgid’s gaze slid away, and then returned to Jarrett. “I had not meant to cast blame on her.”

“If you need someone to blame, blame me. I’m the one who took Leyla away from him. I’m the one who taught Tor to fight. If it hadn’t been for me, he’d be alive now. I accept the responsibility for his death.”

“I see.”

“I want you and your wife to go to Leyla and tell her it wasn’t her fault.”

Sturgid shook his head. “Bree will never—”

“I’m not asking you to do this,” Jarrett interrupted. “I’m telling you.”

“Thee is threatening me?”

“No. I’m begging you.” Jarrett’s gaze slid over Sturgid’s face in a long, assessing glance. “Or is it revenge you want? Perhaps, for all your pitiful mouthings of peace and love, you will not rest until Leyla’s guilt makes her ill enough to lose the child. A life for a life. Is that what you want? Then take mine.”

Sturgid’s face was suddenly drained of color. He took a step backward, as if to distance himself from Jarrett’s accusation, and then he sat down heavily, covering his face with his hands.

“Tor was our only son. Bree almost died giving him life. She has doted on him, and loved him, perhaps more than is wise. And I… Sometimes it is hard to ignore one’s dark side, but I will speak to Bree, I swear it. I will remind her of how much our son loved Leyla. Tor would not wish harm to befall her, or her child.” Sturgid looked up. “Nor would he wish harm to befall the man for whom he sacrificed his life.”

Jarrett felt hope and relief course through him at the other man’s words. “Thank you.”

“Forgive us. We meant thee no harm.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Jarrett extended his hand and Sturgid took it.

“May all that is good go with thee.”

“And with thee,” Jarrett replied.

Leyla was still asleep when he returned to their apartments. He sat beside her on the bed, hurting because she hurt, wondering if that was what it was like to be a Maje, to feel another’s pain so deeply that it became your own.

Carefully, so as not to awaken her, he lifted a lock of her hair, marveling at its beauty. It was like soft silk in his hands, so fine and pliable.

He lost track of the time as he sat there, his thoughts drifting. He wondered if his mother was still alive, if she was well, if Rorke had returned to Gweneth. Rorke. The man must be mad if he thought he could dispose of his wife and Tyrell and take the throne.

Leyla stirred, drawing his attention. Glancing down, he saw that she was awake. Her face was too pale for his liking. There were dark shadows under her eyes, eyes that were dull and filled with unhappiness.

He poured her a glass of water from the crystal pitcher beside the bed. She tried to push it away but he held it to her lips until she took a few swallows.

“Leyla?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord Jarrett.”

“Sorry?”

“I should not have pushed thee away. Forgive me.”

“My arms ache for thee,” he said, using her quaint speech. “My heart grieves for thy pain. Help me to help thee.”

Two bright tears surfaced in her eyes. “Hold me then, for the night is coming, and I fear the darkness.”

Jarrett swept her into his arms and cradled her against his chest, overcome with the urge to protect her, to shield her from all hurt and harm.

“Do not be afraid, beloved,” he murmured into the wealth of her hair. “No one will harm thee while I am here with thee.”

She burrowed into his arms as if seeking his strength. “Thee cannot protect me from that which I fear.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m afraid Tor’s shade will come to haunt me, that he will wish to torment me for what I’ve done.”

Ghosts? He hadn’t known the Maje believed in ghosts.

He was wondering what he could possibly say to calm her fears when there was a knock at the door.

He pressed a lever beside the bed and the door swung open.

Leyla drew back when she saw Tor’s parents standing in the doorway.

“Enter, please,” Jarrett said. He slid Leyla onto the bed and stood up. “Welcome.”

Sturgid nodded and clasped Jarrett’s hand. Bree stood silent.

“Will you sit?” Jarrett asked.

Sturgid shook his head. “Bree wishes to speak to Leyla, in private.”

Jarrett hesitated a moment, then nodded. Going to Leyla’s side, he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I won’t be gone long,” he promised.

She looked up at him as if he were about to throw her into a bottomless pit.

“It will be all right, beloved,” he murmured. “Trust me.” He nodded in Bree’s direction, then followed Sturgid out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The next hour passed slowly. When Sturgid suggested they go into the main salon, Jarrett agreed because he didn’t know what else to do. Sturgid suggested a game of Balonchar, a dice game similar to nine points, but Jarrett couldn’t concentrate and in the end, the two men sat staring out into the gathering twilight.

After what seemed like an eternity, Bree joined them. She looked at Jarrett, her expression solemn, and he knew she would never approve of him, or forgive him for his part in her son’s death.

“I have made my peace with Leyla,” she said, her tone coldly formal. “I now ask thee to forgive me as well. I behaved badly and for that, I apologize.”

“I accept your apology,” Jarrett replied, equally formal, “in the spirit in which it is given.”

Bree nodded her head and turned away.

Sturgid let out a heavy sigh. His wife was a stubborn woman, but she had a good heart and he trusted that she had put Leyla’s guilt to rest. They had not been there at the time of Tor’s death. They would never know his last thoughts. Jarrett had said their son died well. It was all the comfort they would ever have.

“Good sleep, my Lord Jarrett,” Sturgid said.

“And to you,” Jarrett replied.

Before going upstairs, Jarrett went into the common kitchen and fixed Leyla a cup of green herb tea and a bowl of broth, praying that she would take the nourishment he offered. If she refused, he would have to force her to eat before she did serious harm to herself and the child.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh before he opened the door.

She was sitting up in bed. She was still pale and he could see she had been crying, but her eyes had lost their haunted look.

“I brought thee something to eat,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

“I thank thee.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes.”

He put the tray on the bedside table, then sat down beside her. “What happened?”

“I would rather not speak of it.”

“Very well.”

“Do not be offended, my Lord.” She placed her hand over his. “Bree told me her thoughts, and I told her mine, and we wept together for a life that was too soon over. Much of what passed between us was not spoken.”

“I am only glad that you’re feeling better. Will you eat now?”

Leyla nodded and he sat beside her while she ate, wondering what had been said, and unsaid.

The rest of the winter passed uneventfully. Their mountain home was beautiful. Covered in a fine layer of pale-blue snow, it took on a fairy tale kind of beauty he had never dreamed of.

The Maje passed their days reading or playing complicated games of skill that required great mental concentration. They spent long hours in quiet meditation.

Jarrett learned to appreciate their peaceful life even as he came to realize that he would go slowly insane if he had to spend much more time in their company.

As the last days of winter passed into spring, he grew increasingly restless and spent a great deal of time outside, taking long hikes, sometimes running for miles for the sheer joy of it. He missed the physical exertion that came from hard work. He missed having fresh meat on the table. Most of all, he missed Gweneth. He had been born there. The land was as much a part of him as his hands and feet. He needed to go home, to see to the affairs of the castle. More important, he needed to find out if his mother still lived.

His interlude on the Mountains of the Blue Mist was over. All he needed now was the courage to tell Leyla they were leaving.

The morning after he made his decision to leave, Leyla roused him from bed before dawn. Urging him to dress warmly and quickly, she hurried him out of the fortress. Taking him by the hand, she led him to the small green valley she had showed him on his first visit to Majeulla.

The sky was glowing when they reached the valley. The stream was high, the water faintly tinged with blue from the runoff in the mountains.

As they made their way across the verdant grass, the sun rose over the mountains, bathing the valley in a soft golden light even as it splashed the sky with bright hues of orange and crimson.

“Look,” Leyla whispered. “There.”

Jarrett followed her gaze, felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw a unicorn emerge from a leafy thicket. Its golden horn caught the rays of the sun as it lowered its head to drink. A moment later, a foal joined its dam.

Speechless, Jarrett watched the two animals nuzzle each other. The dam left the stream and moved beneath a giant fern to graze on the new grass while the foal nursed.

He smiled at Leyla as he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. Side by side they stood there, mesmerized by the incomparable beauty of the unicorns, knowing they were sharing a moment that few were privileged to see.

It would be hard to leave this place now, Jarrett thought. There was something about the unicorns that made him want to stay, to always be a part of the magical world in which they lived. Looking at their sleek white coats, knowing he was seeing a myth come to life, made him believe that anything was possible. And even as he realized that he would not be happy here even if he could watch the unicorns every day, he knew Leyla had brought him here hoping that he would decide to stay, that he would be content to put his old life behind him once and for all.

But there was no place for him here. He was a warrior, not a healer. He was a man of action. He would never be content to spend his days in idle contemplation or in the peaceful pursuit of knowledge simply for the sake of knowledge. He would never be happy to till the soil and watch things grow. He needed to return to Fenduzia and clear his name of the charges against him. He wanted to restore Greyebridge to its former greatness. There were matters at home that needed his attention, people who depended on him for their livelihood.

He glanced at Leyla and saw that she was staring up at him, her luminous blue eyes damp with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry.” The words were a whisper, but he had no sooner spoken them than the unicorns took flight.

“How soon does thee wish to leave?” she asked.

“Reading my mind again?”

She nodded. “I wish I had not.”

“I can’t stay.” His hand caressed her cheek, then slid to her nape, his fingers threading through her hair. “I must go back to my own people. I need to find my mother, to seek an audience with Tyrell. I will understand if you want to stay here.”

“Stay here? Without thee?” She shook her head. “No, my Lord Jarrett. My place is, and ever shall be, with thee.”

Their farewells had been said and now Jarrett and Leyla were riding down the path toward Dragora’s cave. Leyla had been subdued since they left the fortress, and he knew she was trying to put up a brave front, but he could see the tears she was trying so hard to hide.

Her sadness tore at his heart. He loved her with every fiber of his being, would do anything to make her happy, yet he couldn’t stay in her homeland any longer.

Last night, he had told her he would understand if she decided to stay. Saying the words, waiting for her decision, had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed, yet he could not take her from her home against her will, not if it would cause her sorrow. She hadn’t even taken time to consider staying behind.
My place is with thee
, she had said, repeating her earlier words, and that had been the end of the discussion.

Sudaan and Vestri had taken the news of their departure with quiet regret. Sudaan had made sure they had enough supplies to see them across the Cyrus River.

Jarrett absently patted the neck of Keturah’s big black stallion. It was a fine animal, with a strong, arched neck, a deep chest and long powerful legs. Leyla was mounted on Dusault, a sturdy, mountain-bred bay mare. She had not taken the mare when she ran away from home to be with him and he realized that, by taking the horse now, she was symbolically cutting all lies with her people.

Jarrett reined the black aside when they reached Dragora’s lair, watching as Leyla spoke l he words that would allow them to pass through the dragon’s cave.