A Dark Champion

by Kinley MacGregor

  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 murderous 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 hopefully 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…

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Rowena 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.