A Dark Champion (7 page)

He arched a brow.

“Except when faced with near death.”

She felt his lips curl under her hand and it was then she became aware of the fact that her flesh was touch
ing his. That his lips, unlike the rest of him which was rock hard and steely, were soft. Tender.

Swallowing, she dropped her hand.

Stryder’s breath caught as he watched the uncertain look on her face. The lass was beautiful with her veil askew while tendrils of her hair curled around her face. Her skin was mottled by their run and her eyes light.

Her lips slightly parted….

It was those succulent lips that he focused on. Lips that begged for a taste. A nibble.

And before he could stop himself, he pulled her closer to him. Closer. Close enough so that her curves were pressed up against the hardness of his chest.

Aye, he wanted her.

Wanted her insanely. Before he could think better of it, he dipped his head and took possession of that mouth. Stryder moaned the instant he tasted her. The instant her ever vexing tongue swept into his mouth where she hesitantly tasted him in turn. The innocence of that kiss made his head spin.

Rowena was completely breathless as the strength of the earl overwhelmed her. The last thing she had expected was this overload of sensation that electrified her entire body.

The strength of his hands pressing against her…the feel of his hard, muscled body.

It was truly divine.

No wonder women chased him down! He cupped her face with his hands as he deepened their kiss. Would she swoon? Surely no mere woman could feel this and not pass out.

An image of him naked flashed in her mind and for the first time in her life, she understood desire. Physical attraction. Most of all, she understood lust.

What she felt for him made a mockery of what she had ever felt for one of the troubadours who had come calling in Sussex. Lord Stryder was exceptional.

He pulled back slowly and looked down at her.

“Do all men kiss like that?” she asked quietly.

One corner of his mouth lifted up. “I know not since I have never kissed a man.”

She laughed in spite of herself. Lord Stryder was so unexpected. Who would have thought that a man like this could be funny and warm?

Compassionate?

“Would you do me a favor, milord?” she asked as she stepped back. “Be a boorish ass again.”

He looked baffled by her request. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re much easier to hate when you’re being arrogant rather than charming.”

He tilted his head to study her. “Do you wish to hate me?”

“I would much rather hate you than be attracted to you.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to bury another man I care for when some lunatic takes it upon himself to attack him from behind and cut his throat. If, God forbid, I am to marry, I would rather it be to someone who has no enemies. Someone who never feels the lure of battle and all its dangers.”

Stryder’s blue eyes were gentle as he took her hand
into his. “Men die, Rowena. I am just as likely to trip and break my neck while walking across this yard as I am to fall in battle.”

“Nay,” she said, her voice thick with pain and sorrow that not even all the past years could diminish. “There’s no real danger here. No one is running at you with an ax, trying to take your head from your shoulders.”

“And Cyril was asleep in his bed. Far from the battlefield.”

“But he was killed because he was a knight. Just as my father was. Nay, I want no more fear or strife. I want only to feel safe in my heart. To know that when I close my eyes, my husband will be by my side and not off to foreign lands to fight and die. I have no wish to live my mother’s hellish life.”

“Your mother’s life was hellish?”

Rowena found herself confiding in him. “Aye. My father was a good man. But they were placed together by their parents and had nothing in common. Ever. My father all but ignored my mother whenever he was home. He spent most of his time away from us.” Tears welled as she recalled the day of his death. “When my uncle came to tell us he had died, I shall never forget the look on my mother’s face. It was empty. My world was shattered and hers…. It was as if my uncle had told her a neighbor had died.”

“Perhaps she hid her pain.”

“Nay,” she said, remembering it all clearly. “She told me that she only wished he had stayed home and lived long enough to give her a son so that I wouldn’t be forced to marry a man I didn’t love. Even now, my
mother is still locked into another loveless marriage with a man who ignores her.”

“You were lucky,” he said quietly. “My father loved my mother more than anything else on this earth. He always hated to leave her side and would rush home to be with her as soon as he could. I remember most the way he would stare at her, watching everything she did. Every move she made. It was as if he were looking at paradise.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, thinking of Christopher who had been their mother’s illegitimate son. “Kit?”

An angry tic started in Stryder’s jaw. “My father loved my mother, but she never loved him.” His gaze snapped at her. “He was just a stupid, ill-bred knight while my mother dreamed of a poet. She wanted a man whose tender words could woo her and my father knew nothing save warfare. But he knew his heart. And she was it.” He shook his head. “My father had come rushing home to be with her, only to find his home vacant.”

“You had gone to visit your brother?”

Stryder frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Kit told me that she had been betrayed by a servant.”

He nodded. “Aye. My mother had gone to visit his father. Again. I knew she was unfaithful, but I had never betrayed her. I had given her my word.”

Rowena’s heart ached as she recalled the death of Stryder’s parents. It was common knowledge that his father had slain his mother and tried to kill Stryder before the man took his own life. Until now, no one
had known why. Stryder alone knew the reason and to her knowledge, he had never told a soul.

“I don’t know if I can sing for you, Rowena. Ever.”

Her heart ached at the anguish she saw in his deep blue eyes.

“And I could never take you for wife,” he said, his voice carefully measured. “I refuse to have a wife who cannot love me for what I am. You are so like my mother and I am my father’s son. There will never be a woman born I would trust to keep faith with me in my absence.”

She nodded in understanding. “And I am my mother’s daughter. I could no more love a man of the sword than either of our mothers. So, tell me, Stryder. How do we get out of this?”

“I don’t know. Murder?”

She gave him a droll stare. “I am not amused, milord.”

“Lord Stryder!”

They both turned as another group of women spotted their hiding place.

Stryder groaned.

Rowena was beginning to understand just why the man was so arrogant. “Leave me,” she said, urging him to run.

“I can’t, Rowena. Your Saracen could return.”

Before she could argue, he tossed her over his shoulder and ran with her.

Rowena was horrified, not to mention in a good deal of pain. No one had ever held her in so degrading a position, let alone ran pell-mell through the crowded inner bailey. With every step he took, he
bounced her middle against his hard shoulder. It was all she could do not to cry out.

Everyone not chasing them turned to stare.

“Put me down, Stryder,” she snapped.

He ignored her as he made his way to the stable. No sooner had he entered it than the door behind them slammed shut and was bolted.

Stryder skidded to a halt and turned to look at who had penned them inside.

Rowena strained to see herself and then wished she hadn’t.

There were two shadows who had placed a brace over the door.

Both of them were Arabs.

R
owena couldn’t breathe as she saw the shadowed pair. The taller one with vibrant green eyes she recalled only too well.

“’Tis him,” she whispered to Stryder. “The demon in the orchard.”

Stryder set her on her feet. Slowly. He put his body between her and the Saracens, then placed one hand on his sword hilt.

“You motherless excuse for a dung dealer,” Stryder snarled. “How dare you show your face here.”

Rowena frowned. Both of the Saracens’ faces were covered by an opaque black veil.

The Saracen’s eyes darkened. “Careful, infidel, I’ve been known to slice the tongues of your ilk and turn them into harmless asps to be butchered.”

The other Saracen appeared every bit as confused by the exchange as Rowena was.

“I dare you to try it.”

The Saracen arched his brow. “You would challenge me? You who have the stench of a rat and the brains to match?”

Why wasn’t Stryder doing something?

Rowena wasted no time while Stryder approached their enemies slowly. She ran for a pitchfork in one of the stalls.

Grabbing it up, she rushed back toward them.

“Stryder!” the shorter Saracen snapped, startling Rowena.

Stryder spun about and caught her pitchfork from her hands. “Whoa, lady,” he said, taking it from her. “The last thing I would see is my friend skewered by you.”

Rowena widened her eyes. “Friend?”

The taller Saracen pulled the veil from his head. Rowena hesitated. He was one of the most handsome men she’d ever beheld. His disheveled, jet-black hair curled becomingly around his face and shoulders. With the veil off, his eyes appeared even greener in contrast to his light tawny skin and thick black lashes.

“Nassir,” Stryder explained, using the name of the man he had spoken of earlier. “And our friend, Zenobia.”

The shorter one uncovered her head as well to show Rowena the face of an exotically beautiful woman. Like Nassir, Zenobia wore her hair to her shoulders, but it wasn’t nearly as dark. Instead, it was a rich reddish brown. Her skin was a pale olive and she held topaz-colored eyes.

“What are you two doing here?” Stryder asked.

“Hiding from the Abbot,” Zenobia explained. “The man is still part bloodhound. He almost captured Nassir earlier.”

“Hardly,” Nassir snapped, as if offended by her implication. “He was nowhere near me and I won’t reveal myself to him until at least nightfall. Let him chase his tail for a bit.”

Zenobia rolled her eyes. “We intercepted a messenger from Persia who was on his way to England with orders for an assassin.”

“We tried to get here before the assassin,” Nassir added, “but it appears we came too late.”

“You heard about Cyril?” Stryder asked.

Nassir nodded. “I thought if we made our presence known to certain people”—his gaze went to Rowena—“that the assassin might think we were sent here as the messenger and make contact with one of us. Instead, your woman called out all of you and rather than have you waste your time guarding her from me, I thought it best to let you know we’re here.”

“You could have let me know this morning.”

“You haven’t been still once this morning,” Nassir said, humor evident in his voice. “I particularly find the women in the garden amusing.”

Stryder shook his head. “I’m delighted to know someone does.”

“If you wish it, I could pretend to be your wife again,” Zenobia offered.

Stryder snorted. “The last time we tried that, I almost got my throat cut.”

Both Nassir and Zenobia laughed.

A sudden banging on the door commenced. “Lord Stryder!” the women outside screamed as they demanded entrance.

Nassir sighed wearily, then looked to Stryder. “Doff your clothes.”

Stryder started disrobing without question.

“Excuse me,” Rowena choked as the earl bared his tawny chest to her. And the earl had a fine chest too. One that she really didn’t need to see any more of if she were to not think indecent thoughts of the man. He was haunting her thoughts all too much as it was. “What are you doing?”

“Nassir is going to ride out of here dressed as me,” he explained, “to get the women to leave me in peace while Zenobia catches me up on what they’ve been up to.”

Rowena’s face heated as Nassir started pulling his own clothes off.

Smiling, Zenobia led her toward the rear of the stable. “You have to understand, milady. They lived for quite a few years in a hole where modesty was quickly sacrificed.”

“But how did he know what Nassir had planned?”

“Again, they lived together for so long, fought side by side, that even now I can tell you what each of them is thinking. Many times, we need no words between us to understand each other.”

Proving her point, Zenobia led her to the stall where Stryder’s horse was kept and saddled it while the men exchanged clothes. That the Saracen lady
knew which horse was Stryder’s spoke much of her relationship with the earl.

“Greetings, Goliath,” Zenobia said, patting the horse’s neck. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it, old friend?”

She let the horse sniff her before she saddled him.

Nassir joined them, wearing Stryder’s clothes.

“You look nothing like him,” Rowena said.

Nassir smiled. “They won’t even notice. All they’ll see is the black hair and clothes.”

Once he was mounted, Stryder hid behind a stack of hay while she and Zenobia opened the stable door.

Nassir kicked the horse forward, tearing out the stable.

Shrieking, the women scurried in all directions.

“Lord Stryder, come back!” several screamed.

Realizing the man was gone, the group huffed and groused. Some cast a feral glare at Rowena before they dispersed.

Rowena was amazed it had worked, and it wasn’t until all of them were gone that she realized Zenobia had rushed to hiding after they opened the door.

“Finally,” Stryder breathed. “A moment of peace.”

Rowena frowned at him in the black Saracen garb. He looked so strange and yet handsome in it.

“Have you any other clothes?” he asked Zenobia.

She shook her head. “There wasn’t time.”

“Rowena, would you have anything she could borrow?”

She nodded. Zenobia was a full head and shoulders taller than her, but then so was Elizabeth. She doubted if her friend would mind loaning out a few gowns to Zenobia.

“Thank you,” Stryder said. “You collect her clothes while the two of us make our way back to my tent unseen. Would you meet us there as soon as possible?”

“Aye.” She watched as they headed out and hoped that no one saw them. It would truly bode evil for Stryder if he were caught dressed like that when half the court still suspected him of Cyril’s murder.

But what she liked was the way he moved like a silent wind. Quickly. Surely. All man and yet he was something more.

Something that made her feel a tenderness for him that she didn’t want to feel. Lord Stryder would be an easy man to love. Unfortunately, he would never be an easy man to tame.

Aquarius watched from the shadows as the two Saracens made their way from the stable.

They had come for him just as they had promised.

Kill or be killed.

It was the one oath his captors had made to him when they had allowed him to go free. They had given him two years to complete his task. If all the men on his arm were dead within that time, they would allow him to live.

If not, another would be sent to kill him.

His two years had ended a month past and since then there had been no sign of his captors.

Aquarius had thought that he would be safe. No one knew he’d ever been in Outremer. No one could get close to him.

Apparently he was wrong.

Unlike the others, he knew the Saracens hadn’t killed Cyril. But they
would
kill him.

There was no place to hide from such devils. They would find him.

Panic swelled inside his heart. There was no one he could trust. No one who could help him. If any of the Brotherhood learned of his presence, they would kill him just as quickly as the assassins.

And if Henry ever learned of the men he’d slain…

No one would care that those men had deserved their fate. Aquarius had killed in cold blood. That was all that would matter. His own degradations at their hands would be dismissed.

Worse, he would be exposed.

Nay, he refused to suffer any more humiliation.

His only choice would be to expose the Saracens before they found him or to complete the murders he was assigned.

There was only one name left on his arm.

Just one…

The Widowmaker.

Stryder cursed as he entered his tent and ducked the sword stroke aimed for his head.

Spinning around, Stryder caught his young assailant about his middle.

“Halt, Raven,” he snarled as his knight went to attack him again. “’Tis I.”

Raven hesitated. “Stryder?”

Zenobia laughed from behind him. “Little Raven? Is that you?”

Raven frowned. “Zenobia?”

Once more she removed her hadji and smiled at him. He rushed to embrace her while Stryder began changing his clothes.

“It’s good to see you, scamp,” Zenobia said affectionately. “I see Stryder hasn’t killed you yet for aggravating him.”

“Nay, and you…” Raven ran his gaze over her. The youth had always held a tenderness for the Ayasheen she-warrior. “You look wonderful, as always.”

She smiled warmly.

“So why are the two of you dressed like that?” Raven asked.

Zenobia explained how she and Nassir had left immediately from the Holy Land to intercept the murderer while Stryder finished changing his clothes.

Once Stryder rejoined them, she gave him a teasing look. “Mayhap you should marry,” Zenobia said. “At least then you could have a moment of peace from your adoring crowd.”

He scoffed while Raven looked horrified. “We can’t have Stryder married,” he said defensively. “Who then would lead us?”

“There are more important things than direct leadership, scamp,” she said affectionately. “A king may leave a country without losing his authority or without the country falling to pieces.”

Stryder snorted. “And he who leaves Rome loses it.”

Zenobia shook her head at him. “I’ll remind you of that when you’re old and alone with only mice to keep you company.”

Stryder dismissed her words easily enough. “I don’t see you rushing to the altar.”

Her gaze turned sad. “My heart is already claimed, but the one who owns it thinks too much like you.”

Stryder felt for his friend. He hadn’t known she’d already fallen in love. “Nassir?”

She laughed aloud at that. “Nay. I would be blessed indeed if I could be with the one I love. But alas, he has his own path to follow and I have no place there.”

Poor Zenobia. The daughter of their jailor, she had joined ranks with them just weeks before their escape. Indeed, she had been key to the success of their escape. She had given up everything to help them. It was something none of them had ever forgotten.

“When did you lose your heart?” he asked her.

“Long ago.” Her eyes were filled with restrained anguish. “Trust me, Stryder, there is no greater pain than to let the one you love leave your side. Knowing they are out there, alone, and always wondering if they are healthy and happy.”

He frowned at her words. It wasn’t like Zenobia to be so candid with her feelings. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because too many of us let our minds deafen our hearts.” She went to the tent and opened the flap as Rowena approached.

Stryder’s frown deepened. Zenobia was gifted with second sight, and there were times when her abilities were frightening.

She took the gown from Rowena and thanked her for it.

Stryder and Raven went to stand outside while she changed.

“Will you help me, milady?” Zenobia asked Rowena as she moved to join the men.

Rowena hesitated, then agreed. She didn’t know why she felt a strange jealousy towards the Saracen woman, but she did.

“I’m no threat to you,
kateena
,” Zenobia said gently.

“
Kateena
?”

“It means ‘little precious one.’ A term my people often apply to friends.”

Rowena offered her a smile at the endearment as she helped Zenobia into Elizabeth’s pale blue gown. “I don’t think of you as a threat.”

“Aye, but you do. You envy my friendship with Stryder.”

“Hardly.”

Zenobia gave her a knowing look. “Shh,
kateena
, you can’t hide those thoughts from me. You fear what you feel for him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Your feelings are so strong that they speak even when you don’t.”

Before Rowena could respond, Zenobia turned pale. “Falsworth,” she breathed.

Her dress unlaced, Zenobia ran to the tent flap and pulled Stryder back inside. Her face was panicked, her eyes unfocused as she grabbed a handful of Stryder’s tunic.

“Falsworth is next to die,” Zenobia breathed. “Tonight or tomorrow.”

“He’s not here,” Stryder said with a scowl. “He was supposed to come, but he hasn’t arrived. Is he dead already?”

Zenobia tilted her head as if she were listening to something no one else could hear. “Nay. He lives. But there is evil all around him. He must be found.”

“I’ll send Raven and Will to his lands.”

“It won’t save him,” she breathed as if she heard something else. Zenobia clenched her eyes shut and winced as if she felt some inner pain. “The hand of Fate can never be altered. He will die, and you…”

She looked up at Stryder as if something terrified her.

“What?” Stryder asked. “Zenobia. Tell me what you see.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “It’s all shadows and darkness. I can’t tell what it is.”

“Raven,” he snapped at his young knight. “Fetch Will. I want the two of you to head to York to warn Falsworth.”

The youth nodded, then ran to obey.

Stryder started out of the tent.

“It won’t save him, Stryder,” Zenobia warned.

“Maybe not, but I have to try.”

He left the two women alone again.

Rather skittish of the woman now, Rowena let the awkward silence stand between them.