The Healer's Warrior

By Renee Lewin

Could you forgive your captor and brother's killer, for true love and the chance to be Queen of a great nation?

Centuries ago, the great kingdom of Samhia dominated the north of Africa. Tareq Samhizzan, next in line to the throne, was glad to find Jem'ya Okobi, a gifted healer living on the coast, after months of searching for relief from his chronic pain. For a year, the troubled Arab prince hid his identity and suppressed his feelings for the dark-skinned beauty. When Tareq and his warriors fall into an unplanned battle with her tribe in Middle Africa, she learns the disturbing truth: The patient Jem'ya has fallen for is a murderous warrior and the son of an infamous king. The tragic battle spins Jem'ya away from him in a storm of grief and rage, while Tareq is driven toward Jem'ya, desperate for forgiveness from the woman he realizes has total possession of his heart. In this passionate, captivating tale, resentment, loss, pride and obsession threaten to divide the healer and the prince forever, but they will only find peace in each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Renee LaRuse
• Release date: Dec 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311762337

Book preview

THE HEALER’S WARRIOR

By Renee Lewin

Copyright 2013 Renee Lewin

Smashwords Edition

A ReneeRomance eBook

http://www.ReneeRomance.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, by photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing from the author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

Jem’ya Okobi stepped toward the shore just far enough for the water to lap at her toes. The sea breeze whispered over her hair, toyed with the hem of her long green cotton dress and chilled her dark skin, but the heat of the dying sun warmed her still. She could almost feel the deep, warm colors of the sunset wash over her face. The beauty before her was one of the reasons she moved to the North Coast two years ago.

It was a luxury to live in this peaceful, secluded spot by the sea. It was also spiritually rewarding. Living on the Coast allowed her to help a great number of people. She was often busy, but there were times, quiet times like this, when the thought of falling asleep in her empty house, in an empty bed, caused a burning ache in her stomach and in her heart, a feeling she’d hoped to never feel again when she left Tikso.

Jem’ya blinked away the moisture in her eyes as she watched the sun sink below the horizon. She began to hum her favorite song to lift her spirits as she stirred up the sand with her feet. At her age of 24, Jem’ya was more and more aware of the years that passed by without her soul mate beside her, but she had faith that she would find him soon enough.

He would be strong but sensitive, handsome, and most of all loving and respectful to her and towards nature, the plants and animals that were the Creator’s abundant gift to humankind.

The sound of a braying animal broke Jem’ya from her daydream. She recognized immediately the man atop the white camel making its way through the sand towards her home. She smiled only briefly. She was glad to see him, but his visit meant he was in incredible pain. The man, draped in a long black tunic with a black hood, stiffly stepped down from the animal’s back.

Jem’ya gasped as he shoved the camel away from him. The camel moaned sorrowfully as it stumbled sideways on its long knobby legs then regained its balance. She ran up the shore towards them.

Tareq! How many times must I tell you not to treat him that way?

I hate camels! They are so slow and so ugly. Tareq grimaced as he stood straight.

Jem’ya could now see the lightly tanned face hidden inside the black fabric of his hood. She met the hazel eyes squinting at her from behind striking black lashes and smirked. Then why do you not take a horse instead?

Because my horse…Because I don’t have one! Do you think I have money to spare for a steed after paying for your services?

Jem’ya laughed. After a year of working with him she knew that Tareq was not the destitute man he portrayed himself to be. You know my services are free, Tareq.

His pink mouth bent in disgust. That is nothing but a line designed to guilt people out of their meager earnings. Tie up that beast already, he grumbled as he stalked into the house and into the open, candlelit healing room.

Jem’ya took hold of the reins and gave the camel’s neck a soft pat. Come on, Handsome. She took her time securing the rope to the fence and retrieving water and grain for Handsome to eat.

Tareq whined from inside the stone dwelling. Jem’yaaa!

Jem’ya sighed and glanced at the stars becoming visible above the sea before hurrying into the house. Tareq had already removed his robes and was lying on the table in the middle of the room, wearing only his black undershorts. Her heart always beat a little quicker at the sight of his muscled form. She knew his body well after many months of soothing his chronic pain.

Her fingers began to tingle as she glanced at his shoulders, lower back and thighs; his trouble spots. His face was turned away from her and his hands were drawn into fists.

I’m almost ready, Tareq, she assured him. Try to relax your muscles.

Mmm, he responded tiredly.

Jem’ya went to the side of the room and filled a mahogany bowl with cool water from a large pewter pitcher. Steadily she carried the heavy bowl to the stand beside the massage table and then went back for the decanter of almond oil. Once she was standing over Tareq she took a moment to close her eyes and focus her mind. With her thoughts centered on the image of Tareq in perfect health, she lowered her hands until they were an inch above his tense shoulders. The tingling in her fingers changed into a burning sensation as she pulled out the negative energies being harbored in his body. When the heat on her palms became too intense she paused to soak her hands in the cool water and then continued finding hot spots and lifting the pain away.

She sang quietly as she worked, a song her aunties would sing when their husbands were gone for days of hunting, and soon Tareq’s fists uncurled in relaxation.

Once she was finished she let her aching hands soak in the water bowl for a while. Jem’ya knew that the heat she felt in her hands represented the intensity of the pain Tareq experienced. She was saddened that he had to live with such pain. Next she dried her hands on her dress and poured almond oil into them. She rubbed her hands together to warm the oil and began to knead his lower back. She jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Mahsalom, thank you," he groaned.

She’d thought he had already fallen asleep. A small smile crossed her lips and she continued to massage his warm fair skin. Mahsalom was his nickname for her. It meant My peace in Samician, a language almost like Arabic. He could be very charming when he was not irritable or arrogant. Jem’ya did not know Samician so they spoke to each other in Arabic.

Tareq had said he was from a town called Eulid in the country of Samhia, but she doubted that was the truth. He also claimed to be a farmer, but his hands were too soft and clean for someone who worked the land. His body wasn’t lean like that of a countryman. He was built like a fighter, solid, yet his skin was flawless. He had no scars and his nose showed no sign of ever being broken in combat. She did not know his title exactly, but she knew he was well-off.

Jem’ya held her breath as her hands moved down to his thigh. It was difficult not to appreciate the sight and feel of a young, healthy body when she worked so often with the old and the infirm. However, beneath the surface of a body so healthy in appearance, a nameless disease crippled him. Jem’ya believed deep-seated negative emotions had brought the disease to this point of severity. Repeatedly she advised him to relax his mind and get in touch with the serenity of his inner being, but it fell on stubborn male ears.

Tareq? she whispered, finished with the massage.

The response she received was a soft snore.

She put away the water bowl and pitcher and found a thin brown blanket for Tareq. She pulled the blanket over him and watched for a moment the rise and fall of his back as he slept. Jem’ya reached out and touched a curl of his shiny black hair but withdrew from it just as quickly. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she left for her own room. In her bed she fell asleep easily because the house was not empty.

Tareq awoke in the middle of the night. He inhaled deeply, appreciating the fact that he hadn’t been awakened by pain, but rather by the faint sense that he wasn’t sleeping in his own bed. He sat up and stepped down from the massage table. With his fingers woven behind his head, he arched his back to relish the warm looseness of his muscles. The moonlight streaming through the window square in the front door caught his attention. He slipped out of the house.

Outside in the night air, standing in the cool sand before the vastness of the sea, was one of the only times Tareq ever felt free. There was no fear of attack, assassination or surveillance. With Jem’ya he was not Prince Tareq Samhizzan, soon to be King of Samhia. He was just Tareq. And he suspected that even if Jem’ya learned he was royalty, she would treat him no differently.

Jem’ya had her suspicions about his identity, but she never pushed him to reveal his title. It had become their playful routine for him to complain about his life as a farmer and for her to challenge him on it. Jem’ya didn’t care about titles and status, luxury and riches. She was devoted to healing her patients and asked for nothing in return.

That’s why he enjoyed giving her gifts for her kind work. He knew she appreciated them with her heart. He couldn’t wait to give her the gift he’d brought this time, to see her dark brown eyes light up.

Tareq returned to the house, but instead of returning to the healing room he walked towards Jem’ya’s bedroom. He pulled aside the white curtain covering her doorway. The bedroom was lit yellow by an old kerosene lamp. He crept further into the room to see her more clearly as she slept. Her hair was still in its high bun held together with a strip of cream-colored fabric. Her brown skin shone under the light of the lamp. He started to move a bit closer in order to see her pouty lips and the curve of her cheekbones, but froze.

What am I doing?

Regaining his senses, he returned to the healing room and slept. When he woke up again the sun was shining. He breathed in the smell of salt water, oils and incense; the scent of Jem’ya. The house was quiet. His stomach growled.

Jem’ya.

Jem’ya opened her eyes at the sound of a deep voice whispering her name. Her eyes focused in on the shirtless male figure towering over her with a grin on his face. She blinked up at him. She had never known any man to have such dark, full lashes before meeting Tareq. It was as though his hazel eyes were perpetually lined with black kohl.

Are you hungry? he smiled.

I guess, she yawned.

Good, so am I. Why don’t you make us some breakfast? Honeyed porridge with dates would be nice. He nodded and left the room.

Jem’ya rolled her eyes. Why of course, King Tareq, she muttered. She wondered why he was acting strange today. He’d never been as bold as to come into her bedroom or to walk about so long in only his undershorts. She got out of bed, brushed her hair into a neat bun, and changed into a long black cotton dress with three straps on each shoulder.

She prepared a breakfast of fried eggs, tomato salad and flat bread, all of which Tareq was smart enough to eat without complaint.

Why have you not put on your clothes? Jem’ya questioned as she began to clear the table, glancing suspiciously at his bare upper body.

Tareq blushed slightly then chuckled. Because I have no reason to be shy with you, do I? Are you expecting guests today?

No. Jem’ya began washing their dishes in a basin in the kitchen.

Then it will not be an issue. He stood up from the table and walked towards her. Besides, I want us to go for a swim.

Us? Aah! Tareq, no!

Tareq knelt and grabbed her around her thighs. He stood up with her squirming over his hard shoulder. Laughing, he walked out of the house with her and strolled down the beach.

Put me down! I do not want to swim, Tareq! she screamed as he stepped foot into the water. No!

With an annoyed sigh, he stopped. His large hand slid unintentionally up across the rise of her behind and finally to her lower back to steady her as he bent to set her down.

Once she was standing on her own two feet she gave his shoulder a hard shove.

Tareq was shocked. He’d never been assailed by a woman before and he’d never seen Jem’ya look so angry.

You can’t just take what you want! she exclaimed. You cannot bend others’ will to match your own. I am your friend and I demand some consideration!

I only wanted you to have fun! he retorted. It was not a comfortable position for him to be on the receiving end of commands. He rubbed at his shoulder. Fine, he frowned. I will swim alone.

You shouldn’t be swimming at all, Tareq, she sighed as he ran further into the water. You should rest your body as much as possible. She shook her head as he dove under a large wave. What was the point of her work if he ran out and exhausted himself the very next day? She peered out at the water but Tareq was still under the surface.

Suddenly a wave crashed onto the shore and tossed Tareq at Jem’ya’s feet. It was as if the sea had spit him back out. He sputtered and coughed the salt water from his throat as he lie on his side in the wet sand.

Jem’ya howled laughing. Tangled in all that green seaweed, Tareq looked just like a cabbage roll.

He peeled off a strand of slimy seaweed and threw it at her but she dodged it. They laughed. Finally he cleared his throat and caught his breath. I’m done having fun for today. He stood up and shook the remaining seaweed from his body.

Jem’ya turned her face away from him and nervously rubbed at her brow. Soaked with water, his black shorts were clinging to his form in the most revealing way.

He smirked at her reaction. Bring me a towel, please, he said, eyeing the back of her slender neck.

Yes. She walked quickly back to the house.

He chuckled to himself. She was suddenly taking his direction. How interesting. He watched her long black dress flutter around her figure in the sea breeze. When she returned with the towel cloth he smiled and wiped the remaining debris from his face and body. He spread the towel out on the sand and lay down on it. Sit with me while I dry in the sun. He squinted up at Jem’ya.

I’d rather sit in the shade of the house. I don’t want to dry out my skin and I have no need to tan.

It must be nice to always be dark-skinned and never have to worry about getting pale.

Jem’ya’s round eyes narrowed. Yes, it’s so nice to be a dark-skinned African. We are oppressed, exploited, murdered and enslaved, but how lucky we are to never have to worry about tanning. She trudged away from him towards the house.

Propped up on his elbows, he called after her. "I didn’t…Don’t be so sensitive, Mahsalom!" His stomach felt queasy as he watched her disappear into her dwelling. Tareq lie back on the towel and closed his eyes to think through how his compliment had become an insult. Jem’ya was a well-respected black African healer among the local North Africans. She was treated well. He treated her well. In fact, he thought of her as a good friend. Why had she turned on him?

Did she know something?

Nonsense. Though Jem’ya was sweet she was not silent. If she knew his true identity, if she knew his deeds, she would never want to touch him again. Tareq’s scalp, neck and shoulders began to ache.

From the house, Jem’ya watched Tareq bathing in the sun. Why had she been so quick to anger? Now that she’d cooled down she realized her mistake. Tareq was only trying to be good-humored. And earlier when he’d been playful and brought her out to the water, she’d become unreasonably upset as well. He was her friend, yet she was pushing him away. Why?

Tareq stood up from the sand. Jem’ya stepped away from the window and busied herself in the kitchen.

Tareq saw Jem’ya washing dishes. Wordlessly, he went into the healing room to put on his robes. He walked back to the kitchen licking the salty taste of the sea from his lips. Jem’ya?

Jem’ya let go of the bowl she was cleaning and turned to him, but her gaze fell to the wood floor.

Tareq crossed the room. I’m very sorry that I offended you. He reached out his hand and stroked her shoulder with his knuckles.

Her skin began to burn for more of his touch. I overreacted. Forgive me, she said. She shook her head. I should never speak to a patient that way. I shouldn’t step outside my position as your healer. This is a professional relationship. She looked up into Tareq’s eyes, golden brown with hints of green, outlined by full black lashes. Her mouth went dry.

He dropped his hand from her shoulder. Yes. He considered her words and forced himself to smile. You care for my health like no one else. I have something for you. He led her out to the camel where he pulled a small metal box from the saddlebag and placed it in her hand.

Jem’ya’s eyes widened when she opened the box. Tareq had always been one to give her sumptuous gifts of fine silks, valuable spices, rich foods and expensive

Reviews for The Healer's Warrior

[Rochelle Hyde · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Took a while for them to get together and they had plenty of misunderstandings but it was a ok.