A Dark Champion

by Kinley MacGregor

  The plan was brilliant. "Stryder is sure to win it."

  "Aye, he is. His pride will never allow him to lose the tournament. The only way he can prevent his marriage to Rowena is to sing. In order to sing, he will have to be around her to learn a song and to practice. Once the two of them are together, I predict love will follow its natural course between them."

  There was only one flaw that Henry could see. "And what if he wins this troubadour contest and Rowena doesn't choose him as her husband?"

  "I never said it wasn't a gamble, Henry. But I know I am right and she will pick him at the end."

  "And again, I say, what if you're wrong?"

  "Then we kill off whoever she chooses," Lionel said mercilessly.

  Eleanor made an exasperated noise as if his solution pained her. "You won't have to. Trust me. I know men and I know women."

  Henry would certainly give her that. His queen did indeed know how to manipulate people.

  It was risky. If Rowena won, most likely she would never choose a husband. Sooner or later he would have to force that issue.

  But if Eleanor was right…

  "Very well then. Let us try this and see what happens."

  Lionel crossed himself. "Let me go and deliver the news to my niece."

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Rowena paused to the right of the crowd as she caught sight of the mysterious knight who had saved her.

  He's a knight, he's a knight, he's a knight…

  The litany went through her head, and though she should hate him for it, she couldn't quite muster so strong a negative emotion. Indeed, the only emotion filling her was a desire so potent that it made her very much aware of the fact that she was a woman full grown who had never known the taste of a man's lips.

  It was something that had never bothered her before tonight.

  But as she watched him talk and share a small grin with his companions, her curiosity swelled to gargantuan proportions.

  What would it be like to hold so dark a champion in her arms? To let him kiss her on her lips as a man and not the quick, chaste kisses on her cheek she had known as a young girl from the boys who fostered at her uncle's.

  A shiver went through her.

  You're being a ninny.

  And yet she couldn't take her gaze off him. He stood surrounded by a small group of men. Four of them were nice-looking gentlemen, and by their bearings, she would take them to be knights as well, who ranged in age from around a score of years to thirty. They stood with a monk whose dark blond handsomeness was only surpassed by that of her unknown knight.

  How strange that they would speak to a cleric while the hall was filled with the highest members of society. Most knights were trying to reach the king or his direct advisors to curry his favor, and yet the small group of men stood off to the side as if completely unconcerned with politics and favor.

  They reminded her of brothers, except none of them held any facial or even height similarities to mark them as family.

  Her dark champion turned his head as a woman walked past in a red gown. She saw disappointment mar his brow as he focused on the woman's face. 'Twas obvious he sought another.

  Glancing down at her own scarlet dress, she couldn't help but wonder if…

  Nay, Rowena. He doesn't look for you and why would you care if he did?

  She didn't care, she told herself. And to prove that, she was going to find her ladies and venture off to write more music.

  Rowena was about to search out Elizabeth when her gaze fell to her lifelong friend, Christopher "Kit" de Montgomerie.

  Kit saw her at about the same moment she saw him. His handsome face beamed as he crossed the room and drew to her side. He scooped her up in his arms and gave her a tremendous hug.

  Oh, how she had missed him!

  "Kit!" she breathed, looking up into his familiar green eyes that twinkled with love and respect. He barely stood a head taller than she, and as always his black hair was stylishly cut.

  Thin of frame, he looked handsome tonight, dressed in orange and red, his cap tilted dangerously over his brow. It had been far too long since last they had seen each other.

  Even though Kit was three years younger than she, they had more in common than she could count.

  Good old Kit. He was her match in every way.

  With a laugh, he kissed her lightly on the brow. She was so glad to see him much happier this time than he had been when last they met in Flanders, eighteen months ago. Then there had been an air of hopeless sadness about him.

  He had looked haunted. Even terrified.

  But there was none of that now. He reminded her of the boy she had loved in her childhood.

  "Sweetest Rowena, 'tis so good to see you again. I have missed you terribly."

  She squeezed his hand tightly. "I was so hoping you would be here for the tournament."

  "So you could best me again with your words?"

  "Aye, sir, you lose with such grace that it honors us both."

  His smile beguiling, he offered her his arm. "Come, my dearest angel, and honor me with your presence while we sup. After being in my brother's company this past year, I find myself starving for some intelligent conversation that doesn't involve intrigue or politics."

  She furrowed her brow as he led her through the crowded room. "Since when does Michael give a single fig for politics? I thought his attention was solely on his vineyards and lands."

  "Not Michael, my sweet. 'Tis another brother of whom I speak. Well, half-brother, really, but blood nonetheless."

  "And who is this mysterious brother of yours?" she asked as he led her across the room.

  "Stryder of Blackmoor."

  She stumbled in surprise. Dear heaven, was there anywhere she could go to escape the mention of that man's name? If she heard it once more this evening, she might very well become a raving lunatic from it.

  "Are you all right?" Kit asked as he helped her catch her balance.

  Her face flushing from embarrassment, she nodded. "Aye. That was just the last name I expected to hear from your lips."

  And no wonder Kit was starved for intelligent conversation. From the stories she'd heard, his brother was no doubt the type of man who could barely speak of anything save war and his prowess on the field. She could just imagine Stryder posturing in his armor.

  Why, I have the biggest sword in all the kingdom. Come, milady, and let me show it to you…

  That was the most creative and crude seduction men of his kith could manage.

  And if she heard it once more during her lifetime, she might very well take up swordsmanship on her own just to thrash them for it. How she hated listening to men who carried on and on about their glorious victories and derring-do.

  Never mind the size of their…

  Assets.

  "Why not?" Kit asked, his voice laden in irony. "His name seems to be on the lips of everyone else here this evening."

  "This is very true," she agreed. "But I must confess that I don't even know which of the men he is. Not that I care, mind you. I've heard his description enough these past hours that I swear I could draw a perfect sketch of him."

  "Even if you couldn't, just look for the man with the largest amount of arrogance and you will undoubtedly be looking straight at him." Kit winked, then smiled teasingly at her.

  Gracious, but he was handsome in a very pretty way. Like a dark angel. His features were so finely boned, his limbs long and willowy. A man of pure refinement and grace, Kit moved slow and gently.

  He paused at a long trestle table and pulled a bench out for her.

  Rowena swept before the bench, sat, then adjusted the skirt of her scarlet gown around her. Kit took the seat to her right, then motioned for a page to bring them wine.

  "If his company is as oafish as the others of his kind," she asked, "why have you been traveling with him?"

  Kit cleared his throat. "I never said his company was oafish, my love. Only that he
has a single mind about his duties."

  "Of killing people."

  "Of protecting them."

  She frowned at the strange note in his voice as he spoke that. "You defend a knight, Kit? When last we spoke you shared my view of them and of war."

  "I still despise war and those who partake pleasure from it, but Stryder is my brother and I respect him and his decisions."

  Rowena wrinkled her nose at his noble words, but then that was Kit. Loyal unto the end. "How is it you came to travel with him?"

  Kit looked a bit sheepish. "I had nowhere else to go. Michael refuses to allow me entrance to his home. Even for a night."

  The news surprised her. "Your own brother turned you out?"

  "Aye, he never cared much for my bastard status or me personally. No sooner had I returned home from my travels abroad than he said he couldn't afford to feed a man who wouldn't fight to protect his lands. Since I know little of holding a sword, I found myself escorted off his lands and told never to return."

  Anger welled up inside her. How dare anyone treat their brother that way! She had expected better than that from Michael de Montgomerie. "That onerous beast!"

  "My thoughts were a great deal harsher than that, but 'twas along the same lines." Kit leaned back as a page appeared and reached for his goblet to fill it with wine.

  Rowena waited while the page poured their cups. Once the boy left, she renewed her conversation. "What did you do?"

  Kit took a sip of wine, then set the cup back on the table. "I did the only thing I knew how to, I started singing for my supper."

  That sounded wonderful to her. Oh but to be a man who could do such…

  Propping his arm on the table, Kit leaned his cheek against his fist and gave a bitter laugh. "However, I fear my talents were lacking, and I was practically starving to death. I never knew how many ears were so discriminating until my belly depended upon it."

  She patted his arm in sympathy. "You don't look like you're starving now."

  "I'm not, thanks to Stryder. I was playing in an inn down in Canterbury when several knights took issue with one of the serving women. I was trying to defend her, but with five of them and one of me, I was making a rather poor showing of it. As they were getting ready to thrash me soundly, Stryder intervened. He didn't even know who I was until after he'd sent them packing."

  His words surprised her. From what she'd heard of the earl, she would have thought he'd be one of the men leading the thrashing.

  Kit brushed his fingers over his chin. "Though it'd been more than a decade since we had last seen each other, Stryder recognized me and said that he had been looking for me for quite some time. Apparently, he'd been to Michael's and had learned of my banished status."

  His gaze turned distant. "I still can't believe how angry he was on my behalf. I thought he might actually kill Michael over it." He offered her a timid smile. "Once I told him how I came to be in Canterbury, he insisted I join his household."

  That was something she didn't find surprising. "As a knight, no doubt."

  "Nay, as his brother. He told me he has strength aplenty to protect his lands, 'tis family he lacks."

  How odd. Again, it wasn't something she would expect from a man of the earl's reputation.

  Not that it mattered. She was irritated with Kit at. the moment. No wonder he had looked so despondent the last time she had seen him. "Why did you not come to me? You know I would have—"

  "I would never have imposed myself on your graciousness," he said, interrupting her. "I am a man, Rowena. Not a child needing shelter. Besides, I doubt your uncle would have cared for my presence. Even now he watches us like a lion guarding his cub."

  Rowena glanced past her shoulder to see that Lord Lionel had finally returned to the hall and was indeed watching them from his corner on the far right.

  Smiling, she waved at the man who had raised her since the death of her own father.

  His face softened, until he looked to Kit and his sternness returned even sharper than before. She let out a tired breath at that. Her poor uncle was so afraid that she was going to elope with one of the troubadours she knew.

  Unfortunately, she didn't want to marry any man. Even though Queen Eleanor often touted the pleasures that could be found in marriage, she saw enough of the queen's sadness over her husband's infidelities to know what heartbreak marriage held.

  And Rowena had no desire to be made miserable by anything.

  "I can tell he doesn't care for me."

  "Oh, Kit, don't take it personally. He cares not for any man who sits too near me."

  He scooted himself two inches further away.

  Rowena laughed.

  A servant placed a bread trencher down for them. Kit served Rowena a selection of roasted lamb, chicken, and venison while they chatted over nothing in particular.

  She knew Kit watched her, and he grew very quiet as their meal progressed.

  "Why do you look so sad all of a sudden, Kit?" she asked.

  Kit glanced away from her as he picked at his roasted chicken. "I know not what you mean," he said in a low tone, trying to disguise the ache in his heart.

  She placed her hand on his. That innocent caress set him on fire. "Is there something you wish to talk about?"

  "Nay," he said, reluctantly removing his hand from hers. He didn't want to taint her. "I'm just a bit tired. Stryder keeps unholy hours."

  "I'm quite sure he does."

  By the tone of her voice, he could tell what she omitted. And just who does he keep them with…

  "It's not what you think, Rowena."

  She clucked her tongue in disbelief of that.

  Kit opened his mouth to defend Stryder when a booming voice interrupted him.

  "Ah, fairest Rowena, here you are."

  Rowena went cold at the deep, gruff voice that belonged to Cyril Longshanks. She didn't bother to hide the distaste on her face as he grabbed Kit's arm and pushed him down the bench as if to give himself space so that he could sit between them.

  "Make room, gelding. Why don't you go fetch wine for your betters."

  Rowena was appalled by the knight and his manners. Her appetite gone, she rose to her feet and started away before he could sit beside her.

  Cyril grabbed her arm.

  "Let go of her," Kit growled, rising to his feet.

  Without releasing her arm, Cyril shoved him backward. "Find me when you grow up, boy."

  One minute Rowena was still attempting to extricate her arm; the next, she was completely free of Cyril as he went flying back several feet and crashed into the table.

  Silence rang out in the hall.

  Her jaw slack, Rowena realized another man had joined them. Tall and broad of shoulder, she knew him in an instant.

  He was the one who had saved her from falling.

  "You ever lay hand to my brother again," he snarled, "and I'll rip your arm off and beat you with it."

  Cyril came to his feet with a fierce growl and ran for him.

  The stranger caught him another blow that flipped Cyril up and over onto his back. Cyril lay on the floor dazed while the man put his foot on the center of Cyril's chest.

  "Yield, Cyril. You know firsthand what I'm capable of doing to you."

  To her amazement, Cyril nodded and held his hands up in surrender. "I yield."

  The unknown knight removed his foot from Cyril's chest and turned toward Kit. "Are you all right?"

  Kit nodded.

  Cyril rose to his feet slowly. "Leave it to Stryder of Blackmoor to protect a gelding such as that one."

  Stryder of Blackmoor.

  Stunned Rowena looked at her mysterious knight to see the fury in his eyes over the insult Cyril had dealt Kit's manhood.

  Before she could blink, Stryder had Cyril by the throat. He pulled the man up so that Cyril had to stand on his tiptoes to meet his gaze levelly. Cyril's eyes bulged as his face reddened.

  "One more word," Stryder growled, "and I will silence you forever. Do you und
erstand me?"

  "Stryder!" Henry's voice rang out in the hall. "Release him."

  Stryder hesitated before he obeyed his king.

  Cyril coughed as he struggled to inhale air back into his lungs. "This isn't over," Cyril snarled.

  The look on Stryder's face clearly contradicted him. "Aye, but it is. Cross me or mine again and it will be the final mistake of your life."

  Rowena watched as Cyril passed an angry glare from Stryder to Kit, whose face was filled with embarrassed shame, and if she didn't know better… hatred.

  Cyril's eyes widened for a second, then narrowed even more. Turning on his heel, he marched stiffly from the hall.

  It was only after he was gone that Rowena realized her uncle was by her side.

  "Are you all right, Rowena?" Lionel asked gently.

  "Aye," she breathed, her gaze never wavering from Stryder who frowned at the mention of her name,

  "Rowena de Vitry?" he asked, that deep voice sending a shiver through her.

  "Aye."

  He looked as ill at the mention of her name as she had felt at his. "So you're the ogress who writes those songs."

  She would have felt complimented had he not insulted her first. "You know my work?"

  " 'A plague to all who carry swords and a pox on their apish arms. May they all grow sterile and fat, and perish young.' Aye, milady, my squire informed me earlier this very day of your so-called work."

  She stiffened at his open disdain. He wasn't the first to hate her or her work, but for some unfathomable reason she felt cut by his glare.

  So she fought back the only way she could—with her words. "As I am aware of yours, milord. They say you have cleaved the heads off more than two hundred men and sliced five times as many in twain. I believe the Saracens refer to you as the English Butcher."

  He curled his lip at her. "You have poisoned the mind of my squire."

  She smiled in cold triumph at that. "I have liberated his mind."

  Stryder took a step toward her.

  Kit was immediately between them. "Rowena, Stryder," he said forcing more distance between them. "Remember yourselves."