She looked up at him with those passionate green eyes that were untainted by the tragedies that had marked his life. "Do you really believe that?"
"Honestly, nay," he admitted, "I do not. But no one is going to listen to us unless we catch him midstrike."
She let out an aggravated breath. He saw the tears darken her eyes before she blinked them back. "I owe Elizabeth."
"I know, sweeting," he said as he caressed her cheek. "I understand the need to put her spirit to rest, believe me. But getting yourself killed isn't going to bring her back. You must stop following him. If he is guilty, we will catch him."
"Very well." She lifted her skirts, gifting him with the precious sight of her ankles before she headed back toward the castle.
Stryder watched the sway of her hips as he hardened, aching for a taste of those ankles… those legs…
Mayhap tonight he could bribe Val to knock Swan unconscious again so that he and Rowena could have one night of undisturbed freedom.
Pulling his other gauntlet off, he tossed it into his helm with the other one, and made his way to his tent. When he arrived, he was stunned to find Damien in there, waiting for him.
His old friend stood in the center, looking straight at him as he came inside.
"She is spectacular, isn't she?" Damien asked, his voice rumbling like thunder through the quiet stillness.
Stryder didn't answer. Though he had no issue with Damien, he more than understood why the prince hated him. "Why are you here?"
Damien didn't answer his question either. "She's quite a trophy for the tournament. I'm told new lords have been arriving daily since Henry made his proclamation that the winner will be Rowena's husband. Most of them plan to lock her in a convent should they win. They may not appreciate the lady and her untoward tongue, but they are all in love with her lands."
Stryder forced aside the anger he felt at Damien's words. The man was only trying to raise his temper and he would never give him the satisfaction of knowing it worked. "Why are you telling me this?"
Damien shrugged. "I just thought you would be interested."
"Well, I'm not," he said in a deadly, calm voice. "There's not a man here who hasn't fallen in tournament to me. Most of them multiple times."
"Are you sure about that?" Damien asked.
"Aye."
"Very well then. Hold tight to your arrogance."
Damien headed for the exit, but paused to turn around. "By the way, I intend to enter the joust for her hand. I concede that you did best me with the sword. Hand to hand has never been my strong suit, but the lance is another matter. No one, not even you, Lord of Blackmoor, can challenge me there. But don't worry, Stryder. I shall take good care of your lady once we're wed."
That succeeded in breaking his calm. When Stryder spoke, it was from between clenched teeth with his voice carrying the full weight of his wrath. "Nay, you will not. Win, lose, or draw, I intend to see Rowena free to choose her own husband."
Damien laughed evilly at that. "Do you honestly believe Henry will allow her such a freedom? Rowena needs a powerful lord in charge of her lands. Someone with strong political ties. Win, lose, or draw, I will have her. Mark my words." With that spoken, Damien swept out of the tent, leaving his cloak to billow out ominously behind him.
Stryder followed him outside. "She will never marry you!" He ignored the knights who turned to stare at him while Damien paused, then turned back to face him.
The prince looked at him for several heartbeats before he spoke in a calm tone. "Women like her can easily be wooed with song and poetry. With letters of love from the one they desire. Tell me, have you ever written her a love letter? Oh wait, I forgot. You're nothing but an illiterate buffoon. All you're fit for is brute strength and knocking grown men to the ground. Do you really think that in the end, she will choose a barbarian like you over someone like me?"
Damien turned on his heel and headed down the line of tents.
It took every ounce of will Stryder possessed not to attack Damien over those words. As an old friend, Damien knew the history of Stryder's parents. The mere fact that Damien had hurled the difference of his being a knight and Rowena being cultured at Stryder made his blood boil.
But no more so than the truth of what the bastard had said.
In the back of his mind, he saw Rowena last night as she teased him about the fact that he didn't catch on to her songs quickly and that his fingers often fumbled the chords.
That he was ever a knight and never a troubadour.
Rowena loved troubadours and their songs.
And she had spent her life preaching against knighthood…
He heard his mother's faint laughter ringing in his head as he remembered the times she had criticized his father for his oafishness.
"Want me to kill him in his sleep?"
Stryder looked over his shoulder to find Will standing there with a murderous gaze directed at the place where Damien had vanished.
"You heard?"
"Aye. Several dozen heard," Will looked around at the men who were still staring at Stryder.
Stryder sent them a glare that made them flee instantly.
"Too bad you're not Kit making those threats," Stryder said churlishly. "Then I might say yea."
Will laughed at that. "My sword is ever at your command. One word…"
"Nay. He's not worth your life." Stryder went back inside his tent while Will followed after him.
"Don't take his words to heart," Will said. "He's a bully and an arrogant braggart."
That was true, but then Damien was also an excellent challenger for the joust. Highly trained and accurate to a fault, Damien,. like him, had never been defeated.
Stryder had never faced him in a joust and didn't really expect to lose to him.
But when it came to Rowena's heart, Stryder wasn't so sure. Could her love be taken from him as easily as his mother's had been taken from his father?
It was ever human nature to change, and women's nature to be fickle with their hearts. Not to mention, Damien was a prince. He was cultured and literate. He even shared Rowena's love of poetry and music.
Grinding his teeth, Stryder pushed the matter out of his thoughts. There was nothing he could do except talk to Rowena tonight when she came to him and see if there were any truth to what Damien said.
Rowena could sense something even darker than normal about Stryder the instant she entered his tent. He sat at his desk with a piece of paper before him. A deep frown marred his handsome brow and his attention was solely on the paper.
He had yet to even hear her approach and that more than his frown told her just how intent he was on his task.
Knowing he couldn't read, and curious about what had him so transfixed, she approached silently to peer over his shoulder.
Her breath faltered as she saw what he was doing.
He was trying to copy the one letter's contents onto another piece of paper.
"Stryder?"
He turned sharply, then wadded up the paper he'd been writing on. He snatched the paper up so fast that he overturned the inkwell, then cursed as he righted it. Of course, it was too late, as ink had spilled all over the desk.
Stryder grabbed a cloth to dab at it.
Rowena moved forward to help him.
"What were you doing?" she asked as they wiped up the spilled ink.
"I… I…" he let out a long, deep breath as if he were too tired to try and think up a lie. "I was trying to teach myself to write a letter to someone."
She felt a strange weepiness in her chest at his words. Imagine a man like him humbling himself to learn to write at his age. "Why?"
He replaced the quill pen to its wooden holder as he shrugged. "I had something I wanted to say and I grow tired of having to tell others what I wish to have written. I thought it was time that I learned to write for myself. After all, Simon once got me into a great deal of trouble by being my scribe."
She had no idea who this Simon was, but she wasn't interested in him
. She only cared about Stryder. "What were you trying to write? Perhaps I could be of service."
He looked rather uncomfortable about that.
"Is it a letter of war?" she tried again. "Do you need someone to issue orders to some of your men or to the Brotherhood?"
"Nay, 'tis a personal letter."
No wonder he was nervous about it. Stryder could be very private at times with everyone. "Would you rather I sent for one of your men?"
He snorted. "I wouldn't trust them with this."
"Would you trust me?"
He met her gaze with something akin to embarrassment, though why he should feel such, she couldn't imagine.
He debated silently for several minutes before he stepped back and pulled his chair out for her.
Rowena took a seat at his desk. She pulled a fresh piece of vellum from the drawer and placed it on the desk. Taking the quill, she dipped it in ink and looked up at him. "Whenever you're ready, milord. To whom should I address it?"
"Leave the name blank. I have many things to say and if you will just write some of them down, then I can copy them later so that this person will know I wrote them in my own hand. It's important to me that this person knows that."
How strange. But unwilling to question him on something that obviously bothered him, she poised her hand over the paper. "All right then. Just tell me what to pen."
Stryder rubbed his eyes as he took up pacing between the desk and his bed. Silence hung in the air while Rowena waited patiently.
She'd never seen Stryder like this before. He was rather jumpy and skittish, more like an untried youth than the fierce knight she'd come to know so well.
After he paced for a bit, he finally spoke. "Fair greetings. I hope this letter finds you well."
Rowena wrote the words down for him.
"I have been counting every minute of every day we have been apart."
Her stomach shrank at his words. Who could he be writing such a letter to?
"And on every morning when I awake, the first thought I have is of you."
Rowena stopped to give him a glare, but he was too busy pacing to take notice of her displeasure.
"In all my life, I never thought that I would find anyone like you. Someone who makes me laugh even when I no longer have strength even to smile. All I have to do is think of you and my heart is instantly gladdened. Indeed, I keep every one of your smiles stored especially there in my heart and in my mind.
"You'll never know how truly sorry I am that fate would not see us united. That things couldn't have been different between you and me. But then there is much in my life that I regret."
Tears stung her eyes as she realized what he was dictating and to whom he would one day send this letter.
Without glancing at her, he drew a deep breath. "I hope this note finds you well and that you will smile when you think of me and not be saddened as I am saddened. I would never wish to be the source of your unhappiness. Instead, I hope you have all you desire and that someday, should things be different, you might again welcome me into your arms.
"Ever yours, Stryder."
Stryder moved to stand by her side where he glanced down at the paper. "Did you get everything written?"
Rowena sniffed back her tears as she shook her head. "Nay, milord."
He let out an exasperated breath. "But how is she to know of my feelings if I don't write them to her?"
"She knows, Stryder." Rowena looked up at him and saw the same pain she felt mirrored in his blue eyes.
"But if I don't write it—"
"It makes no difference to her whether or not you write it," she said, taking his rough, callused hand into hers. "Only that you think it and feel it."
He knelt down beside her and stared longingly into her eyes. "I do feel it, Rowena. I feel it every time I look at you. Every time I think of you."
She bent down ever so slightly to capture his lips with hers. Oh, the taste of this man… it made her dizzy and weak. Made her soar high above this world.
He was her heart and her soul.
He was everything to her.
And she wanted to let him know just how much he did mean to her. But not with words. He had reached out to her with what she needed and now she would give him what he craved.
Stryder closed his eyes as Rowena left his lips and buried her mouth against his neck. Her tongue teased his flesh with delectable strokes that tore through him. She'd never been bold with him before, but he delighted in the way she took control of their desire.
He still felt like an ass for saying what he had. But he did want her to know how he felt about her. He owed her that much and more for all she had given to him.
"You know," she said, pulling back from his neck. "I've always been wrong about something."
"And that is?"
"I thought there was nothing in the world more seductive than a troubadour singing his observations about his lady love. But I was wrong."
She trailed her fingernail down his arm, raising chills in its wake. "The most incredible seduction is when a knight who is renowned for his strength speaks from his heart. Not as a knave out to woo a woman because he can, but as a man who wants only to give of himself." Her gaze seared him as she stared into his eyes and he saw her innermost sincerity. "I love you, Stryder. I always will."
Savoring those precious words, he kissed her deeply, tasting the full, sweet honey of her mouth. He balled his fists in her hair and let the cool, silken strands caress his war-scarred fingers, let her gentle softness caress his battle-hardened heart.
She loosened the laces of his breeches as he reached behind her back and undid her pale yellow gown. He growled deep in his throat as she sank her hand down into his breeches to cup him in her hand.
"I like it when you're bold with me, Rowena."
"Do you?" she asked, her voice thick.
"Aye."
She seemed to take courage with that. She tugged at his black surcoat, which was trapped under his knees. Stryder shifted his weight so that she could pull it off him. It was quickly followed by his black tunic.
"Mmm," she breathed as she ran her hand over his bared chest. "You are far too handsome for any man."
Before he could comment on that, she dipped her head down and gently suckled his nipple. Stryder swore he could see stars as unexpected pleasure tore through him. His breathing ragged, he looked down to watch her as she teased and tormented his flesh with her tongue and mouth.
How could he let this woman leave him? How could he give her freedom when all he wanted to do was hold on to her forever?
And yet he had no choice in the matter. None whatsoever.
She nipped his flesh playfully before she pulled back. The wicked smile on her face made him even harder as she pushed him gently to the floor.
Stryder lay back on his rug and let her have her way with him. It was refreshing to see her like this… a tigress who was as hungry for him as he was for her.
She tugged the boots from his feet, then his hose. Still fully dressed, she removed his breeches, leaving him bare before her.
He'd never had a woman study his body so intently before.
Smiling, she stood up and returned to his desk.
"What are you doing, Rowena?" he asked, suspicious of her actions.
She returned with the quill. "I'm teaching you to write," she said impishly.
Stryder frowned as she sat down beside him and then wrote something across his stomach. Chills sprang up all over him.
"What are you writing?"
"Amor vincit omnia," she said with a smile. "Love conquers all."
Lifting himself up on his elbows, he stared at the ink stains on his stomach while she wrote something else beneath it.
"And that?"
She bit her lip as she gave him a devilish stare. "I belong to Rowena."
He arched a brow at that. "I do, do I?"
She nodded playfully.
Stryder pulled her to him and pinned her to the ground.
She lay beneath him, her eyes shining and bright.
He kissed her and kissed her again before he pulled back and quickly divested her of her clothes and shoes. "Now let's see what I can do."
He took the pen from her hand and, looking down at his stomach, he did his best to copy her words.
Rowena watched him, her heart pounding as he wrote his b and g backward when he spelled "belong." Still, it was the most beautiful sight she had ever beheld.
He looked at her expectantly. "How do I spell my name?"
She covered his large, masculine hand with hers and showed him how to write his own name. "S-t-r-y-d-e-r."
He sat back on his heels to inspect his work. "Did I do it correctly?"
Rowena's eyes misted as she saw his less than elegant script that said she belonged to him. Even though some of the letters were malformed and hard to read, it was still the most wondrous sight she'd ever beheld. "It's lovely, milord."
"Aye," he breathed, giving her a heated once over. "You are indeed."
Rowena hissed in pleasure as he dragged the feathered end of the quill over her bare breast. She shivered all over from it. She'd never felt the like!
Stryder's eyes smoldered as he gave her an evil grin. He explored every inch of her body with his lips and that feather. Who knew someone could have so much fun with a mere pen?
Rowena writhed in sweet, agonized bliss from the torture of his hot, blistering touch.
He was so warm and hard. So tender. She loved the feel of his muscles surrounding her. The sensation of his prickly, hard, masculine body sliding against hers.
She kissed him, one, twice, thrice, inhaling his scent, and letting the power of him intoxicate her. The candlelight played over his tawny flesh and danced in the rich highlights of his dark hair. She ran the backs of her fingers over his stubbled cheeks and jaw, letting the manly feel of his skin scrape her gently.
"You are magnificent, Stryder. No wonder women chase you."
He dipped his head down to kiss the valley between her breasts, then he nuzzled her ever so tenderly. "But I don't want them to chase me, Rowena. None of them have what I desire."
Stryder growled as he licked and teased the honey of her skin. She was so soft and delicate in a world where things seldom were either one. Softer than velvet, her caresses tore through him.
A Dark Champion Page 23
