A Dark Champion (22 page)

Rowena released him and stepped back. “I shall leave you alone to think. Should you need me, I shall be in the kitchens making sure Swan is feeding Alexander—and I don’t mean to a wild boar.”

Stryder gave a half laugh at her jest. Of course, with Swan one was never certain if he would actually do the outrageous or not.

He watched Rowena leave his tent while his mind whirled.

“What should I do?” he breathed.

Stryder’s quest for an answer to that question led him straight to Damien’s door. He strode toward it with raw determination.

“Halt!” one of the two guards flanking it said as he drew near.

Stryder ignored them.

They started to grab him only to find themselves flat on their backs as he moved them aside and swung open the portal.

Damien looked up in startled surprise.

But it was Stryder who was shocked most as he came face to face with Damien, who wasn’t masked or robed. His old friend sat on a padded chair, flanked by two robed Arab physicians as one of them took a cup from Damien’s hands.

Damien’s hair was still the same golden blond shade, but unlike the days of their boyhood when he had kept it cut short, Damien wore it long and braided down his back. His amber and green hazel-colored eyes glowed with unmitigated rage.

Stryder couldn’t breathe as he saw the black tattoos that had been placed upon Damien’s cheeks. One below each eye, they ran parallel to the man’s cheekbones. Stryder had no idea what they said, but it was obvious they were words and not symbols.

If not for those marks, Damien’s face would have been flawless in its beauty.

“How dare you!” Damien snarled, coming to his feet. He rushed to a table on the other side of the room where he seized a golden mask and held it up to shield his face from Stryder. The mask was an exact
duplication of what Damien’s face would have looked like had it not been damaged by his captors.

The physicians started toward Damien, but he pushed them away. “Leave me!” Damien snapped.

The guards came forward to take Stryder, who quickly shrugged off their hands.

“I want to talk to you,” Stryder snarled, “and I won’t leave here until I do.”

Damien stood, glaring at him as he tied the mask to his face. With a furious jerk of his head, he indicated to his guards and physicians to leave them alone.

They did so reluctantly.

Stryder continued to watch Damien as he waited for them to close the door and leave them in peace.

Dressed in a scarlet surcoat and hose, Damien still wore gloves even though he was indoors. For once the prince didn’t bother to reach for his cape as he closed some of the distance between them.

“Whatever you have to say, you’d best make it quick,” Damien said in a low, gravelly tone.

Stryder went straight to the heart of the matter. “Why did you send Alexander to me?”

Damien pulled up short at the name, then his features went blank. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who is Alexander?”

“You know who he is, Damien,” he said between clenched teeth. “Don’t play your games with me or with that child. So help me, if you do, I will see you in the ground regardless of the consequences to myself.”

He had a strange feeling that his words somehow pleased Damien.

Damien moved to stand behind a chair, with his hand on the high, ornate back of it. When he spoke, his tone was low, almost as if he was afraid someone would overhear them. “So you will protect him?”

If he didn’t know better, Stryder would almost swear he heard hope in Damien’s voice.

“Are you planning on using him against me?”

Damien laughed coldly. Ironically. “Nay. I will not.”

“Do you swear it?”

Damien smiled. “Even if I did, would you believe me?”

Nay, he wouldn’t. How could he when Damien had already confessed to the fact he hated him?

“Why did you tell him I was his father?”

Damien looked away and took his time answering that question. “I didn’t know what to tell him when he asked me. So I tried to think of someone he should admire and strive to be.” Damien locked gazes with him and the hatred there was searing. “The only person I could think of who was honorable was you.”

Stryder truly didn’t understand the man’s reasoning or his unwarranted hatred. “And you hate me because of that?”

“I hate you for many reasons.”

“Yet you send me a child to raise?”

Damien tightened his grip on the chair. “I will see you duly compensated for all his expenses.”

“I don’t want your money, Damien. Nor do I need it. I only want you to leave the boy alone and not toy with his emotions or his mind.”

“Have no fear there. I will stay completely out of his life. Tell him his uncle died. It’s all he needs know.”

Stryder nodded. “I just have one last question.”

“And that is?”

“How much do I send to Fatima’s master to buy her freedom?”

Damien cocked his head.

“It’s how I knew it was you, Damien. Besides the medallion the boy carried, there was also the matter of his appearance here from Outremer. It would take someone very important to get the two of them to England without harm. You should be more careful.”

Damien didn’t acknowledge his warning in the least. “Why are you keeping Fatima?”

“Because Alexander loves her and he needs someone around him he knows. You of all men must understand what it feels like to be a stranger in a foreign land where no one understands you when you speak and you have nothing but strangers around you.”

A muscle worked in Damien’s jaw as he looked away. “I will take care of her master.”

Stryder nodded, then turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Stryder watched as Damien left him and went to his bedchamber. A few moments later, he came back with a carved wooden knight the size of a man’s palm and handed it to Stryder.

“Tell Alexander that Edward has missed him.”

Stryder frowned at the toy and Damien’s vague message.

This time when he turned to leave, Damien grabbed his arm fiercely and held him in place. “Don’t raise
him to be the fool I was, Stryder. You make him grow up to be a decent man.”

Damien released him and strode back to his bedroom without another glance in his direction.

The double doors echoed ominously before Stryder heard them lock.

Now that was an interesting encounter….

Stryder still didn’t know why Damien had sent Alexander to him nor why it was so important to him that Stryder keep the child and raise him.

Sighing over the oddness of it all, he left the room and made his way to the kitchens.

Rowena stood off to the side while Swan played with Alexander. For a man who said he wanted nothing to do with children, it hadn’t taken him long to become friendly with the boy.

“All right, Alexander,” he said as Alexander held up two celery stalks. “Here comes the fireball from the trebuchet.” Swan held an extra large raddish in his hand, spinning it as it fell toward the celery stalks and Swan made noises simulating fire and flying arrow sounds. Not to mention the sound of men crying out for help from the falling radish, or rather “fireball.”

Alexander laughed as Swan knocked the celery stalks over.

“Oh my head,” Swan said, picking one celery stalk up and trotting it over the tabletop like a man limping. “It’s on fire! Ow, ow, ow!”

Alexander laughed harder.

Rowena exchanged a horrified look with Fatima,
who sat beside Alexander, finishing off her bowl of leek-pea porridge.

Stryder came in and Swan immediately put down the celery stalk and sat up straight.

“Don’t play with your food,” he said sternly to Alexander who looked baffled by Swan’s sudden change in manner.

Clearing his throat, Swan gave Stryder a fierce glare. “I’ll go now.”

Stryder met Rowena’s gaze and laughed. “Was he playing the flaming celery stalk game again?”

“Does he do that a lot?” she asked.

“Aye, but it frightens me less when he does it for the amusement of children and not himself.”

Rowena laughed at that.

He moved to kneel down beside Alexander. The boy tugged at his ear until Stryder handed him a small wooden toy.

“Edward!” Alexander shouted, grabbing the toy. “Wherever did you find him?”

She saw pain cross Stryder’s brow as the boy kissed his doll. “Your uncle sent him to you. He said to tell you that Edward had missed you.”

Rowena watched Stryder’s face. There was something he was hiding.

“Oh, Edward,” Alexander cried again, holding the knight close. “I thought I had lost you. But that’s all right. We’re together now and we can fight more dragons and…” he glanced to the table where Swan had dropped their vegetables, “celery now.”

While Alexander played with his knight, Rowena pulled Stryder aside. “Where did you get that doll?”

Stryder shrugged as he continued to stare at Alexander playing with his toy. It wasn’t until then that he realized something.

Just how much Alexander favored Damien…right down to his eyes, which were brownish green, but they were close enough in form and color to proclaim Damien as the boy’s father.

He let out a long, drawn-out breath as that realization settled over him.

Now everything made sense. Why Damien had kept Edward. Why he had laughed when Stryder asked if he would threaten the child.

And yet none of it made sense. If Damien hated him so much, why send his son to him to raise?

Unless Damien was afraid of the Saracens learning that Alexander belonged to him.

Even so, why couldn’t Damien take the boy to his home in Paris? There he had the entire French court to guard the child. And yet it couldn’t be that simple. If it were, Damien would have taken him home long ago.

There must be a lot more to Damien than he had guessed. If they were right and Damien was the Scorpion, then the child could become a pawn of either government to be used against Damien as an Englishman and as a Frenchman.

Poor Damien, but he had to give the man credit. Who would ever think to look to Damien’s most hated enemy to find his son?

It was a brilliant move.

And it warned him just how careful he needed to be of Damien.

“Stryder,” Rowena insisted. “Please tell me what is going on here.”

He took her hand into his and kissed it lightly. “I can’t, Rowena. I’m not sure myself and I don’t want to endanger the child by saying anything more.” He glanced around to the staff, who were for all intents and purposes ignoring them, but usually that was only a ruse. Servants gossiped. Often.

Rowena must have caught his meaning, for she nodded and went back to play with Alexander.

Stryder watched the two of them. They were precious together.

But as he watched them, Swan’s words came back to haunt him. His knight was correct. He couldn’t just marry her and leave. To do so would leave her open to any attack from anyone out to cripple him.

But now that he had Alexander…

“Father?”

He looked to the boy. “Aye?”

“I need a chamber pot.”

Fatima stood up. “Where may I show him?”

“I’ll take him,” Rowena said, holding her hand out to the child. “No one will think anything of us being together.”

Hand in hand, they quickly left.

Fatima returned to her food while Stryder set Edward back on his feet next to Alexander’s trencher.

“My lord?” Fatima asked. “May I humbly ask you why you look so saddened by Alexander’s presence? He is a good boy and of very little trouble compared to others of his age.”

“I know, Fatima,” Stryder said as he toyed with the soldier’s arms. “I am only concerned since I can’t see a way to save the world and raise my son at the same time.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s so much evil out there to protect him and others from. How can I fight for that and keep him safe simultaneously?”

She looked twice as puzzled by his words. “I still do not understand, milord. You are but one man with one sword to fight all the world. This is indeed a good thing. But when you are gone so too is your sword. So it seems to me that while it is important to fight the bad man, it is just as equally important to raise a good one. Raising
more
than one would be even better. That way when you are gone, you will leave a whole generation behind who will fight for what is right.”

Stryder was awed by her wisdom. “Thank you, Fatima. I had never looked at it that way before.”

She nodded and finished eating her food.

Stryder stood silently cogitating her words. That was what Zenobia had meant when she had been speaking of Simon. Though to be fair to Fatima, Zenobia hadn’t phrased it nearly so eloquently.

Aye, he had something to fight for all right.

And for once, it wasn’t the Brotherhood.

T
he day flew by as Stryder introduced Alexander and Fatima to his men and showed them around the castle. He also commissioned new clothes for both of them from a visiting tailor—something that wouldn’t make the two of them stand out so vividly from the rest of the people there.

At sunset, Fatima went off to pray while Alexander napped in Rowena’s room under her careful supervision.

While his son slept in a bed he longed to be in, Stryder had gathered his men together in his tent.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Will asked, his tone gruff and surly as he took up a cocky stance by the desk. “I can feel it in my bones.”

“Nay,” Stryder contradicted. “Not exactly.”

Swan let out a sound of disgust as he stood by the entrance with his arms folded over his chest. “’Tis that woman again. She has ruined his mind.”

Stryder growled at him. “It’s not Rowena.”

“The boy, then,” Will said, looking to Raven. “We can send him—”

“It’s not Alexander,” Stryder said, cutting Will off as well.

“Then why are we here?” Swan asked.

“Because I wish to have a word with all of you. I’ve been thinking for a while now about our futures.”

Swan cursed. “It
is
Rowena. You want to marry her. I knew it.”

“It’s not just Rowena,” Stryder said. “There are many matters at stake.”

“Like whether or not we continue,” Raven said as he took a seat at Stryder’s desk. “You know, Swan, we don’t need Stryder to lead us every step of the way.”

Swan’s nostrils flared. “Bite your tongue, rat. You know not what you speak.”

“Nay, let the lad have his say,” Val said. “It’s not fair for us to ask Stryder to give any more of his life to our cause. Any more than it would have been to stop Simon from marrying Kenna.”

“But we
need
a leader,” Swan insisted.

“I’m not dying,” Stryder said. “I will still be here. I’ll just be spending more time in England.”

“Guarding your family?” Swan asked, his voice laden with venom. “I thought
we
were your family.”

Val grabbed him by his tunic. “Don’t you dare try and place guilt on his shoulders like that. We
are
family. All of us. And part of being a family is giving sup
port to our brother when he finds something he needs.”

Swan broke his hold. “We need Stryder.”

“Stryder needs Rowena,” Raven said quietly from the desk. “You’ve seen the way he watches her. And he has a son to raise. Personally, I would like to see Alexander safely ensconced in a home.”

Raven looked at Stryder. “All of you know I never knew my parents. My mother died at my birth, my father before I was sent to foster.” His gaze went to Swan. “You may not care for your blood relatives, but you know who they are and you can go visit them any time you wish it. You’ve no idea what it’s like to wonder what a father’s love would be like or a mother’s touch. I swore my service to the Brotherhood so that children such as I would have those things I lacked.”

Raven stood up and held his arm out to Stryder. “Either here or abroad, I will serve you wherever we go. But for Alexander’s sake, I hope you choose to stay here and be his father.”

Val nodded. “We can tourney on our own and still pose as a relay between Outremer and England.”

Will curled his lip and made a noise of disagreement, but finally he joined them. “Love, bah. I never thought you’d buy into such foolishness, but I hope that damned fool emotion serves you better than it has ever served me.”

They all looked to Swan, who hadn’t budged. “I stand by my words. I will not throw my lot in with the likes of you to see our cause fail.”

“I don’t need your permission,” Stryder said. “I only wanted all of you to know this from my lips.”

“And so we know it,” Swan snapped.

He left the tent.

“He’ll come around,” Will said. “Or I shall thrash him until he does.”

Stryder snorted at that.

Rowena opened the flap. His three men were instantly awkward as they quickly took their leave.

“Did I interrupt something?” she asked as she brought her lute into his tent.

“Nay, we were finished.” He frowned as he glanced back at the opening, expecting to see Alexander trotting along behind her.

“Alexander is being watched by Bridget and Fatima in my rooms.”

Stryder nodded. “Good. I wanted a few minutes alone with you. I’ve been thinking—”

“What is this?” she asked, breaking him off as she moved to his desk.

He frowned as he saw her pick up the list of matches for the tournament that Will had been reading to him earlier that evening. “’Tis nothing. Just our opponent listings.”

Her face went flush as she flipped through the stack of papers. “My word…how many men are on here?”

“One hundred and fifty.”

“One hundred and fifty?” she repeated in disbelief. “This says there will be three straight days of jousting.”

“Aye, there were so many entrants this year that Henry decided to lengthen the time accorded for the jousting.”

She looked at him incredulously. “Why are they all here?”

“Because of Henry’s decree naming you as the prize.”

She stiffened as she reviewed the names. “Half of these men openly despise me. And the rest I know not at all. Wherever did they come from?”

“All over, Rowena. As you have said yourself, you own one of the best pieces of property in the known world. There are many here who would sell their souls to have it. Marry you and a man goes from landless knight to powerful baron. You’ve never been without, so you can’t imagine just what a temptation you are.”

She slammed the papers down and looked horrified. “So I am the prized goose and nothing more?”

“Rowena, you knew this all along.”

“Aye,” she said angrily, “but I didn’t know men would be crawling out of all corners of Europe just to pummel each other for a piece of property that just happens to be attached to my hand.”

He was baffled by her logic and her indignation.

“And this!” she gestured to one of the names he couldn’t read. “Damien St. Cyr has entered the joust? Damien?”

“Aye, has no one told you?”

“Obviously not. Why would he enter?”

“You amused him this past week as you sought to expose him.”

“Amused him?” she shrieked. “The man killed my best friend and is a cold-blooded murderer. I could never marry one such as he. I would sooner die.”

Stryder tried to soothe her. “Worry not, milady. You shan’t have to marry him or any of the others. I will win the tourney for you.”

She cocked her head supiciously. “Are you certain?”

He stiffened, offended by the question. “There’s not a man on that list that I haven’t thrown to the ground multiple times in joust.”

“Including Damien?”

Stryder hesitated.

“So you haven’t bested him?”

“Nay, not in the joust. But I hold no fear of his winning, and neither should you.”

She pressed her hands to her head as if she had an ache in her temples. “Oh Stryder, you cannot imagine how I feel right now knowing all these men are here to fight each other to bloodshed over me.” She looked at him. “Will you still marry me? Now? Tonight? Take me far away from this madness.”

How he wished he could. But it wasn’t that easy. “Nay.”

“Nay?”

“Nay, Rowena, we can’t. If you wanted to marry me, you should have said aye three weeks ago when I asked you.”

“What do you mean we can’t marry now? Why not?”

He gestured toward the papers on his desk. “You saw the list yourself, Rowena. Those men came here because Henry promised the victor you. If I were to marry you less than one week before it begins, they would attack Henry and dethrone him.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Believe me, I would never jest over something like this. We have to see this through.”

Her eyes flashing, she faced him with her cheeks darkened by her wrath. Dear heaven, but she was beautiful when she was angry. “I see. I have to sit by like a good goose and cheer on my butcher.”

However, her anger was starting to ignite his own. “I’m not a butcher and you’re not a goose. And why are we arguing over this when you wish to marry me?”

“Because I hate to see men fighting each other over such foolishness, and it sickens me that I am the reason grown men are going to try and kill each other.”

“I thought that was the whole idea of courtly love. Sacrificing your life for your unattainable lady, even though you may never have anything more than a passing glance from her?”

She gave a most undignified snort at that. “And that is not the love I write of. I find nothing romantic in unnecessary bloodshed.”

Stryder pulled her close enough so that he could kiss her temple. He inhaled the sweet, floral scent of her hair. “After Friday next, you shall never again have to fear unnecessary bloodshed. I will win you in tournament so that you won’t have to fear them.”

She nodded as she calmed a degree. “And I shall come dressed in white feathers, like all good geese do.”

He sighed at her stubbornness. “Would you rather I lose?”

“Nay! Most especially not to someone like Damien St. Cyr.”

“Then why are we fighting?”

“Because!” She turned on her heel and stormed out of his tent.

Stryder stood there in complete stupefaction, trying to understand what had just happened.

“Women,” he growled. No man would ever understand them. Raking his hand through his hair, he headed for the comfort of men. At least they said what they meant and they made sense when they spoke.

Stryder spent the next few days readying himself for the tournament without any more lessons from Rowena. In fact, she barely spoke to him other than to honk like a goose and flap her arms whenever he tried to talk to her.

And God have mercy on him, but Alexander had taken up the habit as well.

“Aren’t I funny, Father? Rowena said it would make you laugh.”

Groan, more like. But Stryder refused to hurt the boy’s feelings. So he patted him on the head and sent him off with Fatima while he cursed Rowena for being childish.

Stryder spent the night before the tournament in the chapel as was his habit, saying a prayer for strength and for all the souls he’d known who had died away from the reach of their families.

’Twas late in the evening when he made his way back to his tent to find Rowena waiting there. Dressed in a long cloak, she was sitting by Alexander’s small cot, watching the boy sleep.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, half expecting her to honk at him again.

She didn’t.

Instead, she rose slowly to her feet and moved to stand before him. “I gave Fatima the evening off. I didn’t know you would be gone so long. I was hoping you would return before Joanne and Bridget vanished, but alas there is no one who can watch Alexander now.”

He laced his fingers through her hair. “I wouldn’t have been late had I known you were here, waiting and not honking at me.”

She smiled at him and pressed her lips chastely to his. “I’m sorry for my behavior and even more so that I employed Alexander’s help to annoy you. It was wrong of me.”

Stryder cleared his throat. It was hard to feel rankled at her while she stood there apologizing and looking so inviting to him.

“I forgive you.”

“Good.” She pulled away and honked.

Stryder rolled his eyes.

She laughed. “I am but teasing.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Alexander lay sleeping as if to assure herself the boy hadn’t moved.

Then, she opened her cloak.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw her sheer chemise that accentuated more of her body than it covered. Her pink nipples were swollen and puckered, just begging him for a taste.

But more than that, her chemise showed his clumsy script where he had written the words “I belong to Stryder.”

She laid her hand against his cheek. “I haven’t forgotten.”

She let her cloak fall closed and then tried to peek under his tunic. “Have you?”

“Nay, but unlike you, I was forced to wash mine off after Val and Raven saw it. They mocked me for days.”

“Did they?”

“Aye, ’tis why Raven is off polishing my armor tonight.”

“And Val?”

“He limps still.”

She laughed at that. Stryder parted her cloak once more so that he could pull her barely concealed body against his and caress her skin through the sheer fabric. “Mmm,” he breathed against her ear. “I wish I were inside you right now, tasting you….”

Her cheeks pinkened at his words. “Milord, your son sleeps only a few feet away.”

“I know, which is why you’re not on the floor at this moment with me kissing you.”

He cupped her face with one hand, kissed her deeply, then released her.

Rowena stepped back and smiled up at him. “You need your rest. On the morrow you have three men to defeat.”

“Aye, I do.”

She took both of his hands into hers and stared at the scars on them as if they made her ache. “I’m sorry I didn’t say yea when you asked me to marry you, and I pray that no one is hurt in this travesty, least of all you.”

He nodded. “You are aware that when I win this, I fully intend to keep you.”

“I know. Alexander needs a mother.” There was a pain in her eyes that made his heart lurch.

“Rowena—”

“Sh,” she said, laying a finger over his lips. “I know I can’t keep you at home, Stryder. I’ve no desire to try. As you said in your cell, ’tis for the best that we marry. It solves all our problems and it gives Alexander a home.”

He’d never loved her more than he did at this minute. She asked nothing for herself. Nothing.

Kissing her hand, he bid her good night and watched her leave.

The morning came too slowly for Stryder, who tossed and turned with images of Rowena as a goose on his table.

Too bad she hadn’t been wearing the sheer gown, but rather she’d been baked.

The nightmares had been terrible.

Fatima came to tend Alexander while Druce and Raven suited him up for the matches.

His first joust was at ten and as he took the field to wait his turn, his gaze searched the stands until he found what he was seeking.