Stryder had been hiding for so long that he couldn't bring himself to admit it to her. "Release me."
To his relief, she did. "'They travel through the night on the wings of heavenly stallions bringing hope and new faith to those left behind. Even though they are free, they never forget their past and spend their lives trying to bring peace to others.'"
He frowned at her words. "What is that you quote?"
"One of the chansons that is written about the Brotherhood." She held the note out to Stryder. "This was on the ground just outside of Cyril's tent. I find it hard to believe that he was a member of your Brotherhood, but you…"
Stryder stared at the paper. He could read none of it, but he could see the bloody symbol. It was the same as the one on his hand. "What does this say?"
"Can you not read Arabic?"
"I can't read anything, Rowena."
He expected to see condemnation from her for his "uneducated" status. Instead, she merely nodded and then read the note for him.
Stryder's gaze darkened. "Are you sure this came from his tent?"
"Aye. It looked as if it had been blown free of wherever it had been placed." Her brow puckered. "What does the person mean that not everyone survived or went home?"
Stryder stood there, his soul screaming out at the letter and what it signified. Could one of their own have killed Cyril, or was this a Saracen playing havoc with them?
It didn't make sense. Nay, they had made certain no one was left behind the night they escaped.
No one.
It wasn't in his nature to trust anyone and yet he found himself confiding in Rowena. "It was a vow all of us made while we were prisoners that we all would survive and go home."
"Who was left behind?"
"No one out of our camp. We made sure of it. On the night we escaped, we sent groups to free the others while Christian and I led the youngest members out." He shook his head. "It can't be one of us. It's some Saracen playing with our heads. It has to be."
"Why?"
"To punish us for leaving and for helping others to escape. No doubt they have been hunting us all this time with no other purpose than to kill us off one by one."
"But why kill Cyril?" she asked as she folded up the note. "He didn't strike me as the kind to help anyone save himself."
It was true. Cyril had refused their cause once they were free and had gone home, ever forgetful of what they'd been through, of the promises they had made to each other.
"I don't know."
Her face lighted as if she'd had an epiphany. "Unless it was to frame you for it. Perhaps you were the target all along. Why else wear your cloak?"
"Those are points well taken." It could also explain why so many attempts had been made on his life. He and his men had been looking for someone who resented his friendship with the throne. Perhaps his enemy had nothing to do with Henry, but rather was his past coming back to claim him.
Stryder took the note from her and placed it on his desk. "Please don't mention this to anyone."
"You intend to keep your Brotherhood secret?"
"Aye. No one needs know who among us were there and what we were forced to do to survive. We've all struggled hard to regain the lives and dignity that were taken from us."
She inclined her head toward him as if she understood exactly what he meant. "I shall keep your secret, Stryder. Always."
She started for the door.
"Rowena?"
She paused at his voice.
"In the future, the best time to approach me for lessons is after we sup."
She nodded and offered him a small, almost fragile smile that played havoc with his insides… and his groin. "Then I shall see you tonight, milord. I prithee that you find no more trouble between now and then."
One corner of his mouth lifted in wry humor. "We shall see what the day holds, shall we not?"
Rowena nodded in agreement. They would indeed.
Gathering her skirts, she swept from his tent, past the four knights who traveled with Stryder. The small group of men paused outside the tent to stare in her wake while she made her way back to her rooms in the castle.
It didn't take long to return to her chambers inside the cool safety of the donjon's whitewashed walls.
The last thing Rowena expected was to find her women gathered together in her solar. Already word of Cyril's death and Stryder's possible part in it had reached them.
"What are we to do?" Bridget asked as Rowena's ladies-in-waiting huddled in the center of the room like a small flock of chickens. Bridget was a short woman who possessed jet-black hair and a small, willowy frame. "If Lord Stryder is convicted—"
"I shall never marry," Marian whined. Barely a year older than Rowena, Marian held light blond hair and a lush, round body that got the lady into plenty of compromising positions whenever a handsome man came near. "We'll all be forced back to Sussex!"
"Nay," Joanne said, her voice every bit as upset. "I cannot abide another milksop man coming to me and singing odes to my thighs and neck as if I'm nothing more than a succulent hen."
Bridget patted her comfortingly on her back. "Have no fear, Joanne. We will not go back to Sussex, nor will Lord Stryder perish. We shall find the one responsible and hang him ourselves."
"What is this?" Rowena asked.
Her ladies-in-waiting immediately broke apart. They looked about as if they were guilty of some crime.
"What is what, milady?" Joanne asked, feigning innocence.
Rowena looked at each one of them in turn. "What have you planned?"
"We're going to find Cyril's killer," Bridget announced proudly.
"We'll have to be devious," Marian chimed in. "Ply men with… drinks and our wiles. But I think we are up to the challenge."
The others nodded in ready agreement.
It was all Rowena could do to not roll her eyes as visions of her companions in trouble flashed through her mind. No wonder her uncle kept them secluded in Sussex. The whole lot of them, while tender-hearted, were ever ready to seduce any man who came near them. "You would do all this for Lord Stryder?"
Marian nodded. "Well, aye. He must be proven innocent."
"And why is that?" Rowena asked.
"So that you can marry him," Joanne said simply.
Rowena cocked her head at that. "I thought you wanted to marry him."
"Well, aye, I do, or did, but now that the king has chosen you for his bride we've been—"
Bridget cut her words off with a sharp elbow to her side.
"Ow!" Joanne snapped.
Rowena folded her arms over her chest as a bad feeling went through her. "You've been what?"
"You might as well tell her," Elizabeth spoke up from Joanne's right. "It's not like she won't figure it out."
Marian sighed. "Well, we've been talking. You and your uncle keep us sequestered in Sussex with your minstrel friends visiting and while we've been here, it has come to our attention that there is many a fine man to be had."
"Aye," Bridget agreed. "Have you seen Stephen of Nottingham? A finer man I've never beheld."
"He's a barbarian," Rowena said as she remembered the way the man had belched at dinner the night before. He had then slammed his goblet down and ordered more wine, which he had consumed faster than she could blink. It was followed by another belch.
"He's a man," Marian snapped. "No offense, milady, but we've all had it up to here"—she held her hand to her chin"with those mewling knaves you have visiting Sussex. We're tired of having them sing odes to our eyes and juices while our juices are drying up. We want a real man."
"Aye!" they agreed in unison.
Bridget patted Rowena gently on the arm. "We understand and respect the fact that you're not inclined for a manly sort, milady. But for the rest of us, we rather like someone who can pick us up and not whine about it. Lord Stryder has many knights in his company."
Joanne nodded. "Knights from good families."
"Knights with strong muscles," Ma
rian added.
"Aye," Bridget continued. "And to our way of thinking, you marry Lord Stryder and we can have our pick of them."
Rowena was aghast. "I can't believe this. You would sacrifice me to Stryder so that you can—"
"It's not a sacrifice," Joanne said, interrupting her. "Lord Stryder is the catch of all Christendom. You should be flattered."
If she heard that one more time…
Rowena sought peace from her women, but no matter where she tried to go, they dogged her steps, each one telling her of the plan she had to see Rowena united to Stryder forevermore.
This was turning out to be the longest day of her life.
Stryder paused in his tent as his men joined him.
Will stood even in height to him and held the same shoulder-length black hair. His demeanor was normally one of ill-natured surliness, but today his face was even stonier face than usual.
Two inches shorter, Swan stood to Will's right. Swan was the ladies' man out of their tight-knit group. A rogue charmer, he was seldom ever found without a woman near his side. His hair was a dark brown, falling just past his shoulders, and he wore a stylish goatee. His eyes were piercingly blue.
The man was fond of gambling equally with his life and with his coin.
To Swan's right was Raven, who was as dark as his name. At barely a score-and-one in age, he was still a bit gangly in frame, but would no doubt fill out in the next few years. He'd always been like a younger brother to Stryder, who had adopted the boy while they had been prisoners in Outremer.
Just behind the three of them was Val, who stood a good head and shoulders above them all. Named for St. Valentine, the man found very little amusing about his name and even less amusing about his giant height. But otherwise, he was without a doubt the best natured of the lot of them and was usually found laughing over the oddest things.
At the moment, though, his face would rival Will's for grave seriousness.
"Surely none of you think I killed Cyril," Stryder said as he faced them.
They passed a baffled look amongst themselves. "Nay, that never entered our minds," Will spoke for the group while he unsheathed his sword.
Stryder eyed him suspiciously. "What is it you do?"
"Remember when you told us you'd rather be dead than married?" Val asked.
Will stepped forward. "We're about to grant you your wish."
Stryder shook his head. "Put your sword away."
"Nay," Swan said. "I spent the night with a maid from Rowena's camp and she had much to say about their plans to see you two wed. You are doomed, Stryder. Run now while you're able."
Stryder scoffed. "Don't be a fool. Even if I wished to, which I don't, I can't. To do so would make me look guilty, and we need to find who really killed Cyril."
"Bah," Val said disgustedly. "He had enemies aplenty. Only a complete idiot would blame you for it."
"There are idiots aplenty at court," Swan interjected. "A man's reputation is at stake and the honor of all of us. Nay, it sits ill, but Stryder is right. We'll let him and Christian find the culprit while the rest of us keep the women occupied so that they cannot interfere and force a wedding."
Will snorted. "Leave it to you to come up with that suggestion."
"What?" Swan asked as if offended. "You find the idea of entertaining ladies distasteful? Why, Will, I had no idea you were a ganymede."
Will shoved Swan, hard.
"Enough," Stryder said, breaking them apart before their rough play escalated into violence. For full-grown knights, his men sometimes reminded him of children and he felt more like their father than overlord. "Shouldn't the lot of you be out in the list training?"
They looked at each other as if disgruntled by the idea.
"Why?" Will asked. " 'Tis not as if any of the lickspittles out there could best us. I'm thinking our time is best served elsewhere."
Stryder rubbed his brow as a vision of Will in the alehouse, with a goblet in one hand and a maid in the other went through his mind. He groaned at the image. " 'Tis a good thing I know where you were last night or else I might think you were the one who quarreled with Cyril and ended his life."
Will was ever threatening to tear men apart.
On second thought, it was seldom a threat, but more often an action they were forever pulling him back from. Yet for all of Will's willingness to kill others, Stryder doubted the man had really taken part in Cyril's demise.
Nay, there was another man who was guilty for the deed.
Stryder told them of Rowena's note and watched as one by one their faces turned grimmer.
"Our enemies haunt us," Will said.
"Aye," Stryder agreed. "I think we should set up sentries after this to ensure no more of us die."
"How many members of the Brotherhood are here?" Val asked.
"With Cyril dead, there's only us and Christian."
"Nay," Raven said quietly. "I saw Roger of Devonshire earlier this morn. He rode in late last eventide."
"Then there are seven of us," Stryder said. "Inform Roger of what has happened and have him bunk near us. I'll take the first shift tonight, then we can alternate watch."
They nodded in agreement.
"Just like old times," Swan said, reminding them all of the days in their youth when they had drawn straws to see who would be sentries against their enemies.
"Let us hope not," Raven said, his voice hoarse. "I've no desire to return to being frightened of my very shadow."
Val draped a long, brotherly arm over his shoulders. "Have no fear, whelp, I'll see you to manhood yet."
Swan grimaced. "Yet another gelding I'm forced with. Mayhap I should take up the first guard. I'm afraid with men such as these at my back."
Val swung at his head, but Swan ducked.
"Enough teasing," Stryder said sharply. "We need to be wary of everyone here. Remember, there is an enemy among us."
They nodded.
Inclining his head, Stryder made his way from his tent toward the castle.
Stryder's intent was to speak to Henry, but he'd no more entered the castle than he'd run headlong into Rowena who was simultaneously trying to dash out the door.
The impact of her soft curves against him was as exciting as it was shocking. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms about her to keep her from falling.
Her face was flush, her eyes bright and shining. But more than that, her breathlessness conjured images in his mind of what she would look like in the throes of passion.
Indeed, it was all he could do to not capture those parted lips with his own and see just how breathless he could make her.
"Milady, we must stop meeting like this."
Her face turned even redder. "It seems I am ever unbalanced in your lordship's presence."
He rumbled a low laugh at that. He felt much the same way around her.
She looked up at him with a searing gaze that made his groin tight and heavy. Aching. "But I am beginning to suspect my maids might be right about one thing."
"And that is?" he asked as he set her back on her feet.
"Strong arms do have their uses at such times."
Her unexpected words made him a bit nervous. Was that truly a compliment from a woman who professed to hate all knights?
He looked about as if expecting the Second Coining.
"Are you all right, milord?"
"Aye, but a compliment from you makes me fear that my death may be imminent."
She laughed at that. "If your death is imminent 'tis from that sword you carry and not from my tongue."
He arched a brow at her, but before he could speak, she continued, "I promised you that I would insult you no more. Therefore, my claws are effectively sheathed."
Strange, but he rather missed the angry minx. She was easy to keep his guard against. He found this new side of her disturbing. Beguiling.
And the talk of her claws caused his gaze to drop to her hand where he noted she had her nails perfectly manicured. They were long and eleg
ant.
A perfect set to have skimming down a man's spine…
He stepped back as that unwanted thought went through him. He was beginning to think like Swan.
"Where were you off to in such a hurry?" he asked, trying to distract himself.
"Any place where none of my ladies-in-waiting can be found."
"And why is that?"
"They have this foolish notion that you and I should wed."
He let out a long, aggravated breath at that. "Then let us put them with my men, who are equally determined to see me bachelor."
"Truly?"
"Aye. They've no wish for our lives to change."
Her face turned speculative at that. "It might be interesting to let them loose on each other, just to see who wins, but in my experience, 'tis the man who invariably falls to the woman."
He arched a skeptical brow. "I wouldn't say that. The surrender seems to be mutual."
"How do you figure?"
"Man may take a bite of the apple, but afterward, the woman ends up following him wherever he leads."
"You think so?"
"You think not?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I think some lady needs to take that ego of yours down a notch or two."
Stryder gave her a hot once over. "And are you the lady to do it?"
A slow, seductive smile spread across her face. "Aye, Lord Charming. Unlike the others you have known, I am quite immune to your assets."
"My assets?" he asked, intrigued by the notion that she had attributed any to him after their confrontation in the hall on the night they met. "And what would those be?"
"I think you know well enough what most maids fawn over."
"But not you?"
"Nay," she said, raising her chin a degree. "I have never been swayed by bulging arms or a handsome face." She placed her hand against the center of his chest. "It's what a man has in here that matters to me."
Rowena had meant the words playfully, but the light in Stryder's eyes went out immediately. His face turned gravely earnest.
"Then we are truly ill suited, since I have nothing left in there."
His words surprised her. "Nothing?"
"Nay, lady. That part of me died long ago."
His heart beat fiercely under her hand. It was every bit as strong as the man who stood before her. "For something dead, it seems powerful enough to me. Indeed, you didn't hesitate to save Kit."
A Dark Champion Page 7
