Rowena felt her face flush as she recalled the fact that their "discussion" had an audience of the entire English court.
Stryder's icy gaze swept the room as well. He lowered his voice and when he spoke his deep voice resonated with powerful anger. "In the future, milady, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from liberating the mind of my impressionable squire. When someone comes at him with a sword, I would like to believe Druce will raise more than his tongue in defense of himself."
"If there were no swords about, milord, then he wouldn't have to live in fear of them, and neither would you."
He snorted at that. "I hold no fear of a sword, only of fools who refuse to see reason. " 'Tis a pity no man in your life has ever sought to teach you your place."
The crowd as a whole sucked its collective breath in at that.
Rowena had never been angrier in her life. In that moment she well understood a man's desire to thrash another and she hated Stryder for making her feel such.
His gaze went to Kit. "If you have any further need of me, brother, just call." Those chilly eyes focused on her. "As for you, milady, I liked you much better when I didn't know who you were."
He turned and stalked off before she could respond.
The crowd actually applauded.
"Here, here, Stryder," one man shouted above the others. "You tell her, milord. 'Tis time someone took her down."
Rowena was horrified by the cheers that went up for Stryder.
How dare they!
But more than that, she was hurt to learn just how many people scorned her feelings. Her beliefs.
Fine, let all of them perish and rot. How could they not see how wrong war and violence were?
Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She would never let anyone in this crowd know how they wounded her.
Holding her head high, she headed the opposite direction, toward the door that led to the stairs.
Kit caught up with her. "Rowena?"
"Leave me, Kit. I wish to be alone."
"Don't be angry at my brother, Rowena."
She turned on him with hatred and anger burning furiously in her heart. "How can you defend him to me after what he just said?"
He countered with a question of his own. "How can you tolerate me and hate him? Do not fool yourself, love. If I were Stryder's size and possessed his skill and strength, I would have thrashed Cyril too."
She scoffed at that. "You could never hurt anyone, Kit. You're far too gentle."
"Trust me, life has a way of kicking that gentleness out of all of us. Stryder has been through much in his life. You shouldn't judge him so harshly."
"I judge hint? Did you not hear what he said to me?"
"Aye, I did. But you know, milady, you could have said thank you to him. He did rid you of Cyril and save me from being hit. Otherwise you would even now be with the oaf and I would be bleeding on the floor."
Maybe there was some truth to that.
Maybe.
"Rowena?"
She looked past Kit to see her uncle drawing near.
Kit excused himself and left them alone.
"Are you all right?" Lionel asked again.
"I shall survive it, no doubt. But I wish a plague of locusts would descend on Lord Stryder and follow him all the days of his life."
Her uncle stiffened. "I'm very sorry to hear that."
"Why?"
"Because at the end of the month, you shall marry him."
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Stryder had retired to his tent. Alone. After the confrontation in the hall with Rowena and Cyril, the last thing he wanted was anyone near him.
All he could do was hear Rowena's voice as she denounced his occupation. See the contempt in her eyes.
To the devil with her anyway. He had plenty of women who wanted him.
As for Cyril…
He'd never cared for the man. Even though Cyril was technically considered a member of the Brotherhood, he had never been one of them. In the hole that had been their home, more times than not they had been forced to fight him off their weaker members as he preyed on them for food and other things best not thought of.
Stryder had hated him from the moment they had first laid eyes on each other.
The world would be better off if men such as he were no longer in it.
Stryder pushed those thoughts away too. If he had to choose between people who rankled him, better he think of Rowena than Cyril.
At least she was fair and buxom. In a most irritating way. The kind that tended to haunt a man long after she was gone and make him wonder what her lips would taste like.
What her body would feel as he took her slowly and easily…
Stryder pushed those thoughts away as well. The last thing he needed was a woman who had no use for him when every other female in Christendom was doing everything she could to get into his bed.
He had stripped himself to his waist and was in the process of downing his tankard of ale when he heard the flap of his tent open.
Acting on instinct, he unsheathed his dagger and rose to face his intruder.
It was the devil herself.
Rowena gasped as soon as she came into the tent to find Lord Stryder virtually naked, holding a dagger in his hand as if ready to let it fly at her head.
"You can see every part of his muscles flex."
Elizabeth hadn't lied. Rowena really could. In fact, every muscle of that gorgeously virile body was plainly evident.
He was coiled to strike. Lethal.
She stiffened at the thought and cast him a chiding glare. "Put your weapon away."
He arched a daring brow at that. "Why should I when I have half a mind to make good use of it on you?"
"So you admit to having only half a mind, then?"
His eyes narrowed.
"I am but teasing, milord," she said, gentling her voice. "Put away your weapon, for I have serious business here with you."
"You have no business here with me, lady. None. Now hie yourself—"
"Nay," she said stubbornly. "I have just been told that the only chance I have for freedom is in your hands and by all that is holy, you will deliver me my freedom or I shall see to it that you live out the rest of your life in merciless misery."
He gaped at her. On any other man such an expression would have looked foolish, but to credit Lord Stryder, even when taken by surprise, he still managed to carry off an air of supreme authority and handsomeness. "I beg your pardon? Have you gone completely mad?"
"Not I, but rather the king you love so well. It appears he would see us marry."
"My hairy arse."
She gave him a droll stare. "That is much more information about your person, Lord Stryder, than I care to know."
He tossed the dagger with deadly precision into the table next to her. Thudding with its impact, it embedded in the top where it wobbled for a few seconds.
In spite of herself, she was impressed by his abilities.
"Henry knows better than to see me coerced into marriage… again."
"There you are wrong," she said primly. "You see, I have the grave misfortune of having been born the sole child to my father, Giles of Sussex."
Stryder's jaw went slack again as he understood her predicament.
Still, she explained it for him. "Henry wants a strong lord to marry me to control those lands, therefore whoever the fool is who wins this tournament is to be my husband."
His icy blue eyes flashed. "Then I shall withdraw immediately."
"The devil you say."
His gaze turned arctic. "I won't marry you."
As if she would have him!
"And I don't want to marry anyone at all," she snapped. "But, unlike a man, I'm not given much freedom in that regard. The only way I can have my choice of husband, it seems, is for you to win the singing contest at month's end."
He laughed aloud at that.
" 'Tis not an amusing matt
er, milord."
"I will not sing for you or anyone else. Ever."
"Then you shall be my husband."
"As I said, I shall withdraw." He stepped away from her.
Rowena blocked his path. "Henry won't allow it, he told me so himself. And even if you do run, then I shall insist you be my husband just for spite. My uncle and the king will have you brought to the altar in chains if needs be."
He curled his lips at her. "Why? You despise me ever as much as I despise you."
"Because I want some degree of freedom, and my only hope lies in you. So you will either sing like a bird and win me my choice of husband or I shall see us both tied into wedded hell. Together."
Stryder cursed. "I don't believe you, milady. Either way of it, you win. Either way, I lose."
She was aghast at his logic. "How do you figure?"
"I either have to be a horse's ass before the entire court or you will make my future life miserable, while you on the other hand either get your freedom or you get marriage to me."
Her jaw dropped. "And you think I would relish marriage to you?"
"Aye. I know it for fact."
Rowena scowled at him and hoped the full disgust she felt was evident on her face. "Your arrogance knows no bound. This may come as a shock to you, Lord Stryder, but I do not find you attractive in the least."
He laughed in disbelief.
Rowena ground her teeth. "You are insufferable."
"And yet you would marry me. As I said, milady, you win either way."
Suddenly, all of this became more than she could stand. The mockery in the hall, her uncle and king's dictates, and now even Stryder the Horrible mocked her.
All she had ever wanted in her life was to make other people happy with her words and songs. To maybe show others that they could live without warfare. That peace was infinitely better than bloodshed.
And what did it get her?
Laughed at. Mocked. Ridiculed.
She knew what others called her behind her back. The Lady of Nonsense. But most oft they called her the Bitch of Sussex.
Someone needs teach her to heel and fetch. She'd be tolerable enough to bed, provided you gag her first.
She had always prided herself on being above their insults. But she wasn't. In spite of what they all thought, she was human and those words wounded her. Deeply.
Just as her uncle's betrayal this night hurt. Why couldn't she be left in peace?
Why did she have to conform to the dictates of men and be forced into marriage with a man who held no regard for her whatsoever?
Overwrought with it all, Rowena wanted to cry in frustration.
So this would be her life. Either she ran and kept running, never to see her home or uncle again, or she stayed and married some ruffian who would most likely beat her into submission.
She only hoped Stryder didn't rip her arm off and beat her with it as he had threatened to do with Cyril.
Why did she even care if these ruffians lived or died?
There was no hope to be found here. She'd been a fool to even think for one minute she could talk sense or threaten a man like Stryder.
So be it. She would go pack and leave behind all she knew. Better to run than be made a fool of any longer.
Tears stung her eyes as hopeless pain overwhelmed her.
"I'm sorry I disturbed you," she said before turning to leave.
She wouldn't give Stryder the satisfaction of seeing her cry. No doubt that would give him a great deal of pleasure.
With no real destination in mind, she left his tent and let her tears finally fall.
Stryder stood there for several heartbeats staring at the emptiness.
Had he seen tears in her eyes?
It seemed unlikely. Lady Rowena possessed a strong, powerful presence that even now left him feeling drained after having been around her.
Surely such a woman never wept.
And yet…
Before he could stop himself, he went after her.
She was already at the end of the line of tents. Quickening his steps, he caught up to her.
"Rowena," he said, gently taking her by the arm. "Wait."
She turned to face him and he felt his heart shrivel. Her cheeks were streaked with tears that she hastily wiped away.
"What is it now?" she snapped, her voice unsteady.
Stryder crumpled. He only had one weakness in life—tears. He'd never been able to stand to see any woman in pain. Let alone one who looked as vulnerable as Rowena did right now with the rushlights shining in her bright eyes.
"Here now," he said gently, brushing his hand over her icy cheek. "There's no need in this."
Rowena swallowed at the warmth of his hand on her flesh. Who would have thought that a barbarian such as this one could touch her so carefully? "No need? Why, sir, if not this, then what else would warrant them?"
"Am I really so horrid that I have reduced you to tears?"
He was teasing her and that surprised her even more than his presence here.
"Yea, you are."
To her surprise, he laughed. "I have to admit that you are the first woman I've ever met who cannot abide me."
"Perhaps you should get out more often."
He arched a brow at her. "Why is it you cannot utter anything other than insults for me and yet you would have my help?"
He was right about that.
"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I am so used to insulting those of your breed that it is most reflexive at this point." She looked up at him imploringly. "But if you would help me, milord, I swear I will not insult you again."
"Nay?"
"I swear it."
Stryder nodded. He'd spent three years of his life imprisoned. Three years where the will of others was forced upon him. He hadn't been allowed even the most basic need or want. The whims of his captors had always reigned over his own.
Those three years had seemed to last an eternity. Even now there were times when he thought he'd spent more of his life in shackles than free.
'Twould be a shame to see a lady, even one so abrasive, lose the rest of her life to someone else's whims. A woman such as this would never be happy in such a marriage. Like him, she would be imprisoned.
His Brotherhood oath went through him. He was sworn to help any who needed it.
All it would cost him was a song…
Stryder ground his teeth. Damn Henry for that. But then the king didn't know what such a thing would cost him. Why he despised troubadours and songs the way he did.
Damn them all for it.
He should turn her away, but he couldn't. She was a noble lady in need of a champion. And no matter how much he might wish otherwise, he couldn't find it within himself to turn her away.
"When is your contest, milady?"
Her eyes sparked with hope. "The day of your final match. There will be a panel of judges and you must woo them with your words and performance."
His stomach shrank. "Have you any idea how distasteful I find this?"
"Most likely as distasteful as I find having to ask this favor of you. It's not in my nature to ask aught of others when I can do for myself."
"And yet here we are, united in our misery."
At least his words succeeded in bringing a very small smile to her lips. A small smile that tugged at the edges of his heart. "I promise you, Lord Stryder, that so long as you make a good faith effort to win, I shall not add to your misery. Ever."
He inclined his head to her. "Then I bid you goodnight, milady."
As he started away from her, she stopped him. Before he realized what she was doing, she rose up on her tiptoes and laid a most gentle and chaste kiss to his cheek.
"Thank you for your kindness, rogue knight."
Stryder could barely muster a breath as she left him there in the stillness of the night air. He stared after her, his body afire with sudden heat. Never had he received so innocent a kiss and never had one played such havoc with his body.
H
e must be mad to feel such for a termagant.
And yet he couldn't take his gaze off her. Even after she was gone, he still stood outside like a simpkin staring at where she had vanished out of his sight.
"Are you all right?"
He turned at the sound of Christian's voice coming out of the darkness. "Aye," he said gruffly. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I know not, only that you were standing there as if you'd just seen the face of heaven. You've a strange look about you."
Stryder shook himself mentally and moved toward his tent.
"Why are you out here?" Christian asked.
Grateful his friend hadn't seen Rowena, Stryder shrugged. "I felt the need for fresh air."
Christian looked a bit skeptical, but thankfully didn't question him more. Instead he led the way back into the tent.
"By the way," Christian said as Stryder joined him inside. "The color red definitely suits Lady Rowena, doesn't it?"
It was three hours past matins and all were abed. The cool breeze whispered through the tents as the lone figure crept stealthily through them.
There was no moon tonight, which was well, for such things were best done without the witness of Bella Luna.
Aquarius paused at the tent of Stryder of Blackmoor. He glanced down at his left arm, where the names of each of his targets were tattooed. It was an arm he kept covered at all times lest anyone see the shame of what he'd been.
The shame of what he'd become.
Stryder was the third name on the list.
He clutched the knife in his hand as he remembered his hatred for the one they called the Widowmaker.
"Thanks for the comfort, boy. Maybe one day you'll get out alive too…"
Those words whispered through his head now. But it wasn't Stryder who had said that to him.
It was Cyril. The one Stryder had sent to free him. Only Cyril had refused. Instead, he had abused Aquarius as the others before him had and then left him for dead.
The so-called Brotherhood that had sworn all of their camp would survive, that none would be left behind, had left this poor shattered soul in the hands of their enemies.
For more than a thousand days and nights, Aquarius had been abused and punished for the rest of them who had escaped.
A Dark Champion Page 5