A Dark Champion (9 page)

Nodding, she took his lute to a chair by his desk and sat down to tune it.

Stryder listened to her as she brought his mother’s lute back to life. He would have thought by now the strings would have rotted, but it was a testament to Rowena’s skill and gentle touch that they didn’t break as she strummed them.

Instead, she made a gentle tune with it. And when she sang, her voice held all the music of heaven. Druce had been right. Surely there was no divine choir that could surpass her skill.

And she did sing to him of a falconer and a dairy
maid who were star-crossed, and yet they found love and married.

When she had finished, they sat in silence.

“A falconer,” he said quietly, thinking over her tale as he sat in a chair across from her. “So you don’t believe nobility can marry for love?”

“I do. I just have never witnessed it.”

Stryder’s thoughts turned to his friend Simon of Ravenswood and Simon’s wife, Kenna. “I have. ’Tis a beautiful thing to see two people come together when they would rather die than live apart.”

Rowena sighed wistfully. “I would give all I have to feel such.”

Stryder nodded and found it strange that they were discussing this when he had never spoken aloud of such things. “And what sort of man would you fall in love with, Rowena?”

She strummed an idle chord as she thought it over. “One of gentle touch. Honorable, of course. And he must make me laugh.”

Her list surprised him. “You have no physical requirements?”

“Nay, not really. ’Tis what a man is inside that matters to me.” She looked at him. “And what of you? What kind of woman could win the heart of the earl of Blackmoor?”

“None,” he said, his voice thick as he took a draught of ale. “My heart is dead and completely incapable of beating for a woman.”

“Completely?”

“Aye. A woman would only distract me from my
duties, and I would ever fear to leave her lest her head be turned by another in my absence.”

She gave him an arched look. “Women are no more faithless than men, milord. It takes two to commit adultery.”

“Aye, it does indeed.”

She came forward and set the lute in his lap. “Do you need me to show you the chords?”

He shook his head.

Rowena was startled the instant he placed his hands on the lute and began plucking an old ballad. He made a few mistakes, but overall his technique and skill were impressive.

This was a man who had once played often. Obviously his mother had taught him well.

“You’re remarkable.”

“My mother’s doing. She oft said that the only way to woo a woman’s heart was with poetry and song.”

“You don’t agree?”

He gave her a droll stare. “I have yet to meet a minstrel who is chased more than I am, Rowena. I haven’t noticed you having to hide in the shrubs with one of your mewling troubadours.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Truer words were never spoken.”

“What is this?”

Stryder looked up to see Swan entering his tent. The man’s face was horrified as he caught sight of Rowena and the lute in Stryder’s hands.

“Nay, nay, nay!” the man snapped, rushing forward to pull the instrument away. “I thought we had this discussion. You and Rowena hate each other
while we keep her maids occupied so that they cannot play matchmaker. Yet I turn my back and find the two of you in here…alone. Nay, this I cannot allow.”

Rowena exchanged a puzzled frown with Stryder. “You told your men to occupy my maids?”

“Nay,” Stryder said quickly. “They took that duty upon themselves. I honestly had nothing to do with their machinations.” He glared at his knight. “Truly, they have gone mad.”

“Nay, we are not mad, Stryder. We’re only looking out for everyone’s best interest.” Swan handed the lute to Rowena and urged her for the door.

“This isn’t mine,” she said, whirling from his grasp, toward Stryder.

Swan’s features were appalled. “Already she’s taken root. You purchased one of these for your own?”

“Calm yourself,” Stryder snapped. “It belonged to my mother.”

“Ah,” Swan said. He took the lute from Rowena and handed it to Stryder. “In that case, return it to hiding while I escort the lady back to the castle.”

“And if I wish to stay?” Rowena asked.

Swan didn’t hesitate with an answer. “I shall drug you.”

Her face was aghast. “Is your man serious?”

“Most likely.” Stryder handed the lute to Swan. “Put this away and I shall escort her back.”

“That rather defeats the purpose of keeping the two of you apart.”

“Enough foolishness, Swan. Rowena and I are only friends.”

“And hell is just a balmy isle. Nay, I think it—”

“Put the lute away,” Stryder said firmly, cutting off his words. “I shall be back shortly.”

“If you’re not, I shall send Val after you…with his sword drawn.”

Stryder shook his head as he offered Rowena his arm.

“I want a full yard between you two.”

Stryder ignored him. “Mayhap I should hire him out as a nurse.”

Rowena placed her hand into the crook of his arm. “Mmmm, he might prove a most good one. My own nurse is seldom so censoring.”

Stryder’s features lightened.

“I’m not an old woman,” Swan called after them as he watched them from the tent’s flap. “And I know well how long it takes to walk to the castle and back. If you haven’t returned, I shall make sure you are fetched.”

“Is he always so protective?” Rowena asked as they walked toward the castle.

“Nay. In fact, I find him ever absent whenever women are after me.”

“Then he doesn’t like me.”

“Not you personally. Rather he doesn’t like the prospect of our forced marriage. He lives in fear of being penned down anywhere.”

Swan’s comments were muffled now. Unintelligible.

“I would think all men yearn for a home,” Rowena said.

“Some, perhaps, but not us. We spent three years locked away. It’s hard for us to be indoors now. ’Tis why I prefer my tent when I could easily request quar
ters in the castle. Like Swan, I don’t care for stone walls around me.”

Rowena ached for him and what he must have suffered as a prisoner. “It must have been horrible.”

Stryder grew quiet.

By his face she could tell he was reliving the past and she wanted to make him laugh again. Rowena tried to think of something witty to say, but could think of nothing.

So she did something she hadn’t done in years. She reached over and tickled him.

Stryder jumped as Rowena ran her hand over his ribs.

“Are you not ticklish?” she asked.

Before he could answer, she assaulted him. He laughed in spite of himself. “Have you lost your mind?” he asked as he dodged away from her.

“Most likely. But I could think of no other way to amuse you.”

Completely bemused by her, Stryder merely shook his head as he avoided her questing hands. “Do you often reach out and tickle people?”

“Honestly? I haven’t done such since I was a girl. But then I haven’t felt the urge since then, either.”

He captured her hands. “In the future, I would appreciate your ignoring said urges.”

She responded by freeing her hands and tickling him even more.

Stryder quickly retaliated against her. She squealed, running away from him.

“Ho, nay!” he said, chasing after her. “You don’t start this and then flee, milady.”

“Only a true knave would tickle a lady!” she said between peals of laughter.

“And you have called me far worse than that.”

“Not you personally.” She dodged around the rushlight.

Stryder caught her, then froze as the full softness of her body contacted with his. Her laughter caressed his skin.

Before he even realized it, he was kissing her.

Rowena moaned at the taste of him. He was like touching a dream.

And as she tasted him, wicked images went through her mind. The sight of him naked in his tent. The thought of lying beside him as she allowed him to touch her in ways no man ever had.

Aye, he would be incredible in her bed. Even though she was a virgin, she knew instinctively he would treat her kindly there and a part of her was desperate with curiosity.

Stryder pulled back from her lips before he buried his face against her neck and inhaled the warm fragrance of her skin and perfume. “Rowena,” he breathed. “Be grateful I’m not a knave.”

“Why?”

“Because if I were, you would be mine this night.”

She trembled at the deepness of his voice.

He pulled away and looked down at her. “I’d best get you back to the others before my lust overrides my common sense and I do something we shall both regret come morning.”

Would she?

Rowena bit her lip at the disturbing thought. In truth, she wasn’t sure if she would regret lying with him.

Before she could speak, he took her hand and led her to the donjon, where the other nobles were still caught in the throes of their celebration.

She looked about for her ladies-in-waiting, but could find neither them nor Kit.

Her uncle, however, came instantly to her side. “Where have the two of you been?” he asked.

“I was teaching Lord Stryder to play,” she answered honestly.

Her uncle arched a brow at that. “So you intend to partake of this lunacy?” he asked Stryder.

Stryder drew a deep breath. “It would appear so.”

“Then you are a braver man than I am.” Passing a look between them, her uncle drifted off into the crowd.

Rowena hesitated at leaving Stryder. She didn’t want him to go. And that shocked her most of all. “Sleep well, milord,” she said.

He nodded and took a step away, then came back to her side.

“Thank you for making me laugh, Rowena,” he said before placing a chaste kiss to her cheek.

For a moment, she thought she might actually swoon from the tenderness of that gesture. “Any time you need a good tickling, milord, just call out for me.”

He laughed again and she fought the urge to place her fingertips to his dimples.

There were several women nearby who cast mur
derous glares at her, but Rowena didn’t care. They might covet Stryder’s attention, however they knew nothing of the man.

She had seen sides to him she was sure he shared with very few people.

And she was honored to be one of them.

He kissed her hand and then left her there.

She didn’t move again until he was gone from her sight. But he wasn’t gone from her thoughts. There he stayed for the rest of the night.

Stryder made his way back to his tent relatively unmolested. There were a few women he had to dodge.

If only Rowena had chased after him…

He smiled at the thought. Aye, his little minx could be charming and fun once she dropped her frigid formality.

And waspish comments.

Who could have guessed that she could be so warm and charming?

By the time he reached his tent, he found Swan sitting inside with Nassir and Zenobia.

“Any luck?” he asked the two Saracens.

They shook their heads. “If the assassin is here, he’s not looking to make contact,” Nassir said quietly.

“Have you any feelings on the matter?” Stryder asked Zenobia.

“None whatsoever. I wish I could channel my sight better, but unfortunately I can’t.”

“Any word from Christian, then?”

“Again, none.”

“I shall return to the hall,” Zenobia said, rising to
her feet. “Men often speak more easily when they’re into their cups and a woman smiles at them. Perhaps one of them will let something slip.”

“I’ll escort you,” Swan said, rising also.

Nassir didn’t move or speak until they were alone.

“What’s on your mind?” Stryder asked.

“I’m thinking our assassin isn’t one of my people, but rather that he’s one of yours.”

Stryder frowned at that. “How so?”

Nassir held his hands out to show them to Stryder. “I do not pass among your kind.”

Stryder scoffed at that as he looked at his friend dressed as a European noble. “You blend more than you know. Your skin is no darker than mine.”

“Perhaps but there are other things that I do that are ingrained in me that your people don’t. I think our assassin was once one of yours who was trained by my people and then set loose on you.”

Stryder considered that. He’d met Sin MacAllister on more than one occasion. As Nassir had pointed out, Sin had been trained by the Saracens to kill his fellow Europeans. “It does make sense. So how do we find him?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“If he is after Brotherhood members, who better to attack than the man who leads us?”

“I’m not the leader.”

“We all deferred to you in the camp and well you know it. If they are after us, it only stands to reason that you are on the list of men to be killed.”

Nassir rose to his feet. “I will leave you and hope
fully he will make his presence known to you soon enough.”

“Wish me dead, eh?”

Nassir’s face turned deadly earnest. “Nay, my friend. Never that. I wish you the speed of a cobra.”

Stryder inclined his head as Nassir took his leave. Alone, he grabbed a goblet of ale and took it to his bed, where he prepared himself to sleep.

It was early for him, but if Nassir was correct, it would be best that he give the assassin ample time to make his move.

As he removed his clothes, his thoughts turned to Rowena, and he smiled as he remembered the look on her face when she’d seen him naked.

He so loved to tease her.

And as he got into bed, he realized just how much he wished he hadn’t released her in the hall. How much he wished her here in his bed with him.

Would she be as playful between his sheets?

Aye, without a doubt. And as he let his thoughts wander, he could almost swear he heard her laughter on the wind.

Rolling over, Stryder stared at the wall and imagined her face.

’Twas a shame that he picked that moment to turn. Had he not, he might have seen the shadow that drifted past the right side of his tent….

R
owena came awake to the sounds of a riot occurring outside her windows. Before she could sit up in her bed to investigate, her door was flung wide by Joanne and Elizabeth, who rushed across the room to throw open the shutters and look below.

Dressed only in their chemises, neither of them had taken time to even brush their hair. The two of them stood on bare tiptoes, peering outside.

“Rowena,” Elizabeth said over her shoulder, “come quickly and look. They have arrested Lord Stryder!”

Rowena sat up immediately. “They what?”

Leaving the warmth of her bed, Rowena joined them there at the window to see the chaos where more than three score of people were gathered in the
courtyard. They were shouting and screaming all manner of insults and accusations.

In their midst was Stryder surrounded by royal guards who struggled to get him safely through the ravenous crowd that demanded his blood. The earl’s face betrayed every bit of his anger.

Her heart hammering, Rowena moved away from the window, pulled a gown from her coffer and donned it, then ran below.

She vaguely heard Joanne calling out for her return, but she paid no attention to it. She had to find out exactly what had happened and why everyone wanted Stryder’s head.

Struggling to tie the gown laces behind her, she pushed her way through the crowd until she stood outside on the stoop with a dozen other people.

Henry and Eleanor stood off to the side of the crowd wearing dour expressions.

“I didn’t do this, Sire,” Stryder snarled as the king’s guards struggled to bring him inside the castle. “You know I didn’t.”

By Henry’s face, she could tell the king believed him. “Go quietly, Stryder. ’Tis best for everyone.”

Stryder fought even harder. It took ten men to drag him up the stairs.

The earl fought them until he caught sight of her.

Rowena trembled. Their gazes locked and it was there she saw the most shocking thing of all.

Stryder’s panic.

And if she didn’t know better, she’d swear she saw a glimmer of fear in those celestial blue eyes.

One of the guards shoved Stryder through the door.

Rowena’s heart pounded as she made her way to Eleanor, who was still beside Henry.

“Majesty? What has happened?”

The queen looked ill. “Another noble was murdered last night. Roger of Devonshire.”

Rowena crossed herself as she felt pity for a man she knew only by name. He was the youngest son of a baron and rumored to be a fair enough sort of fellow. “But Your Majesties can’t honestly believe Lord Stryder—”

“There was proof, Rowena,” Eleanor said, her tone sharp and brittle. “A fragment of Lord Stryder’s tunic was found in the dead hand of Roger as if they had fought.” The queen handed Rowena a tunic where the collar was ripped. “That was taken from Stryder’s tent this morning after another knight said he had seen the earl leaving Roger’s tent late last night.”

Rowena stared at the crimson cloth and what it signified.

Nay. Rowena couldn’t believe Stryder would do such a thing. Could he?

But why Roger? At least she understood the motivation for Cyril’s murder. He was part animal and had insulted Kit. But Roger…

To her knowledge no one had ever complained of the man. Why would Stryder wish him dead, let alone kill him?

It made no sense whatsoever.

Eleanor looked around as the men surrounded the king and demanded Stryder’s life for the deed.

“Close your mouth, dearest,” Eleanor said beneath
her breath as she took her hand and shut Rowena’s gape. “Between us, I believe him innocent. Lord Stryder is too intelligent a man to leave something so damning behind. This reeks of treachery, and the men, God bless their souls, are too consumed with bloodlust to see the truth of it.”

“But who would wish to blame the earl for this?”

Eleanor sighed. “The earl has many enemies. Apparently one has found a most effective way of dealing with him.” She looked back at her husband and glared intently. “I shall talk to Henry when we are alone and see what can be done. But for the time being, I agree with him. If Stryder is locked up, then the ones calling for his death can’t get to him. He can’t keep his eyes open all the time for an attack and believe me, one of them will attack at his back. With any luck our killer will strike again.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then let us hope Lord Stryder survives his trial.”

Rowena stepped back as terror washed over her. Stryder was a noble, but Henry could choose any trial he wished for the earl. One that could leave him maimed or worse, dead. Nay, she couldn’t allow that to happen.

Stryder was innocent. She knew it.

The queen returned to Henry’s side while Rowena struggled to make sense of this. She saw Kit standing to the side of the crowd with Stryder’s men. Every one of them looked as if they were ready to kill the devil himself to get Stryder free.

Leaving the queen’s side, Rowena made her way over to them.

“I say we tear down the walls to reach him,” Swan snarled.

Val shook his head. “Better we hope the assassin kills someone else, and soon.”

Zenobia elbowed the giant in the ribs. “That’s a terrible thing to wish.”

Terrible or not, ’twas truth. “The queen said herself that if no one else turns up dead, they’ll most likely try Lord Stryder,” Rowena said as she joined them.

“Then I vote we kill Kit as a sacrifice to prove Stryder innocent,” Swan said.

Zenobia groaned out loud.

“What?” Swan asked innocently. “He’s the least useful of all of us.”

“I take issue with that,” Kit said, his tone greatly offended. “I’m far from worthless. I say we cut your throat as sacrifice.”

“Cease!” Nassir said, cutting them all off. “We’ll deal with finding the culprit later, but first we are forgetting that right now Stryder is being locked into a stone cell.”

Rowena watched as one by one their faces went pale with the realization.

For years they had all been locked inside such a place and tortured.

“I’ll go to him,” Rowena said without hesitation.

“He needs his men,” Swan said sharply.

She gave him a droll stare. “They won’t let one of his
men
in to see him,” she reminded the knight. She looked at Nassir and Zenobia. “Nor are they likely to let him have unknown visitors. I can get the queen to force the guards to let me see him.”

“She has a point,” Nassir said. “The queen does seem to dote upon her.”

Rowena noted the instant respect on Zenobia’s face.

“Aye,” Christian agreed, “she can stay with him while we continue to search for the killer.”

Rowena left them and headed back toward Eleanor, who looked as if she were ready to knock a few heads together herself.

“Majesty?” she asked, drawing the queen’s attention toward her. “Might I go and see to Lord Stryder’s care while he is in custody?”

Eleanor cocked her head as if she were measuring Rowena’s rationale. “Why would you wish to do such?”

“I am concerned for him and doubt if the guards will take his care under consideration.”

A knowing smile curved the queen’s lips. She appeared quite pleased by Rowena’s devotion to her friend. “Aye, child. Come and let us see how he fares.”

Rowena followed behind the queen as Eleanor led the way into and through the castle. They headed down the narrow, spiraling staircase that led below the donjon, deep into the foundation. It was dark and dreary down here. The walls were unpainted and reflected dimly under the torch lights and candles. They threw evil, distorted shadows along the walls. Shadows that made her shiver.

It was very much like being led into the devil’s abyss. No wonder Stryder had fought so hard against being taken.

“He’s guilty,” a man was saying as they made their way down to the lower level. His voice echoed eerily
in the stillness. “I say that mob will hang him before Henry has a—”

Another knight made a rude, echoing noise of disagreement. “Henry will never allow one of his favorites to swing. He’ll find someway to liberate him. Mark my words.”

“Not if Cyril’s brother has his way,” the first guard spoke again. “I’ve heard he’ll pay one hundred marks to the man who’ll slip a dagger between the earl’s ribs.”

Rowena was horrified by their almost gleeful exchange.

“What goes here?” Eleanor snapped as they entered the small room where the guards were gathered. The men ranged from medium size to large and reminded Rowena of the looming gargoyles she had seen on French cathedrals during her visit to Paris three years back.

“Majesty!” they jerked upright in unison, then bowed before Eleanor.

“Forgive us, your grace,” the one who appeared to be in charge said. “We meant no harm.”

Eleanor narrowed her regal gaze on them. ’Twas obvious the queen wasn’t fooled even a tiny bit by their obsequiousness. She turned back toward Rowena and indicated her with a royal wave of her hand. “The Lady Rowena wishes a word with Lord Stryder. Open the door and let her in.”

The captain spoke up. “He’s to have no—”

“Are you deaf?” Eleanor asked with a cold, haughty glare that defied the man to speak another word.

The guard snapped his mouth shut and shook his
head. He rushed to carry out Eleanor’s wishes.

Rowena breathed a sigh of relief.

“Do you wish for anything?” Eleanor asked as Rowena started after the guard.

She paused as she considered Stryder and what condition they were most likely keeping him in. She’d never been inside a cell before, but judging from what she had seen thus far, it must be less than welcoming. “I would like for someone to bring my lute, Majesty. As well as blankets and pillows to make his lordship more comfortable.”

“I shall see to it.”

Rowena curtsied and gave her gratitude before she followed after the guard who led her to a solid door at the end of the short corridor.

He unlocked the door, opened it quickly, then shoved her inside.

Rowena jumped as it slammed shut behind her. The room was indeed small and cramped. Probably no more than eight feet squared. There was an old, dilapidated cot in one corner with a tattered blanket and the only light came from a window set high above the floor that let in a modicum of sunshine. No doubt Stryder would be in total darkness come nightfall. There was no place on the wall for a torch, nor were there any signs of a candle or stand.

The cell was truly dreary and no place for a man such as Stryder of Blackmoor.

Lord Stryder stood in the far corner, his eyes haunted. He was still ruggedly handsome, but for the first time since she had met him, there was an air of
vulnerability to him. He reminded her more of a lost boy than the fierce knight she knew him to be.

“Stryder?” she asked gently.

He didn’t appear to see her.

“Stryder!” she said more forcefully as she neared him. She was beginning to fear for his sanity.

“You should leave here, Rowena,” he said, his tone low, his gaze glazed by churning emotions.

“Why?”

He moved away from her so that all she had of him was his rigid back. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?” she asked with a frown, trying to understand why he would wish to be alone when it was obvious he didn’t want solitude. “Afraid?”

His breathing was ragged. “I would rather be hanged than locked in here.”

Her heart clenched at his words and tenderness spread through her. Poor Stryder. For him, this was his worst nightmare. She closed the distance between them, but refrained from touching him as she longed to do. She wasn’t sure if her touch would help or only cause him more grief.

“All will be well, Stryder. I’m here with you.”

He raked his hand over his face as if he were fighting images in his mind. As if he were reliving a hell so unimaginable that at any moment he would die from it. She wanted to soothe him so badly that she ached from her inability to make things better for him.

“You can’t be in here because of me,” he snarled at her. He turned around and urged her toward the
closed door. “Don’t you understand? I need you to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because!” Stryder shouted, then he lowered his voice and spoke to her between clenched teeth. “Because
I
was responsible for Simon and Raven.
I
was supposed to protect them. Instead, I let an idiot divide our number and then
I
led them all into captivity. I was stupid and arrogant and…You have to leave. Please.”

Rowena cupped his face in her hands and tried to make him understand something she didn’t really understand herself. She didn’t know why she was here other than the fact that leaving him alone hurt her. She couldn’t stand the thought of it. “I won’t leave you alone in this horrid place, Stryder. All will be well. You shall see.”

Stryder wanted to believe that. He needed to, but right now the past was swirling through his mind with vicious clarity. He could smell the stench of decay and hell. Hear the screams of his friends, their prayers that they would die rather than suffer another day.

’Twas more than he could stand.

“You’re not in Outremer,” Rowena breathed as she reached out and touched his arm. “You are with me here in England.”

He focused on her gentle face. On her light green eyes that showed him compassion and warmth. Not hatred. Nay, there was no hatred or scorn there. Only concern.

Her face and her emotions helped to drive away the horrors of his past. Her eyes, her hair, her touch…

She was the present. She wasn’t part of his past.

He focused on that and held tightly to it.

Rowena took a breath as she realized she had reached him. His eyes were no longer glazed. They were sharp and focused, and they stared at her with a heat that made her entire body burn. Made her shivery and instantly needful. God love this man, but there was something about him that was undeniably irresistible to a woman’s senses.

Seeking to distract them both, she released him and said, “Tell me what happened this morning. Why did they accuse you of murder?”

He took a deep breath as if to draw in strength and to combat the sudden anger she saw flash into his eyes. “I know not. One moment I was asleep and in the next, Henry was there with his guards. They said I had been seen again in the middle of the night leaving Roger’s tent. I tried to argue, but one of Henry’s men saw my tunic over a chair and told Henry it matched the fragment they had found in Roger’s hand.”