A Dark Champion

by Kinley MacGregor

  She wrapped her silken legs around his waist, tightened her grip, then rolled over until she had him pinned under her.

  Stryder smiled as he looked up at her smiling face. Her pale hair fell forward, over them, down to his chest where it tickled his naked skin, his nipples.

  She looked like some wild nymph that had crept into his tent. Her eyes flashing, she bit her bottom lip as she skimmed his flesh with her hungry gaze.

  "May I have my way with you, milord?"

  He hissed at her question and at the thought of her doing the most sweetly torturous things to him. "Ever at your service, milady."

  She kissed him then. Stryder moaned at the unmitigated wildness of her kiss before she tore her lips away and moved slowly down his jaw to the underside of his chin where her breath scalded his throat. She licked and nibbled, driving him wild as she made her way to his chest, his stomach, his thighs.

  He raised himself up on his elbows so that he could watch her as she explored the lengths of both his legs. And when she reached his feet, he jerked in bittersweet pleasure as she tickled him.

  She laughed before she tickled him again.

  Stryder smiled. How he loved watching her make love to him. No woman had ever made him feel so special, so desired, and it wasn't just physically.

  All women wanted his body. With Rowena there was something different. She was interested in more than just his titles and groin.

  With her, he could be himself and trust her with his dearest kept secrets.

  Rowena reversed her direction, moving slowly back up his legs until she reached the center of his body. She paused to breathe one hot, tingly breath over the very tip of his manhood.

  Stryder dug his heels into the rug as chills swept over him. His entire body involuntarily jerked.

  Rowena hesitated as if losing her nerve, then she took him into her mouth.

  Closing his eyes, Stryder savored the feel of her wet, sleek mouth taking him in. Her tongue swept against his flesh, making him harder, heavier.

  He buried one hand in her hair as he watched her pleasure him. The sight of her blond hair fanned out over him almost succeeded in undoing him.

  But he wasn't ready for that.

  Not yet.

  Rowena was startled as Stryder rose up quickly.

  "Don't stop," he said breathlessly as he reached for her and pulled her body toward him.

  She wasn't sure what he intended until he lay himself beside her so that she lay over his chest with her feet at his head.

  "Stryder?"

  His warm hands slid over her back as her breasts pressed against the hard ridges of his abdomen.

  "Aye?" he asked, nipping the back of her thigh with his teeth.

  "What are—" She broke her words off with a cry as he buried his lips against the center of her body and his intent became obvious.

  Taking a moment to savor his caresses and licks, she then returned to taste him with equal enthusiasm.

  Oh, he was ever splendid. Rowena trembled at their mutual giving and sharing. It was what she loved most about her warrior. He wasn't content to just take from others. He was ever so giving of himself. Considerate and kind.

  Stryder was the very antithesis of everything she found desirable in a man, and at the same time, he was everything she had ever wanted and more.

  There was nothing she wanted except to be with him. To keep him close to her and yet she knew he wouldn't stay. He would ever be a falcon out to throw his jesses and flee whatever cage she tried to force him into. A woman couldn't keep a man so proud and dedicated for her own.

  And she ached with the truth of it.

  But she wouldn't think of the month's end that would see them separated. Instead, she preferred to think only of the time they did have together. To focus on the fact that for a little while, she had tamed her falcon and taught him to feast from her hand.

  Rowena moaned as her body exploded.

  Stryder took no mercy on her as he felt her climax. Instead, he licked and teased until the very last tremor had gone through her and she was begging him for clemency.

  Laughing, he rolled over, pinning her under him. He got up and turned about so that he could crawl up her body. Laying himself between her thighs, he stared down at her as he slid himself deep inside her hot, wet body.

  She arched herself against him, drawing him even deeper. No longer in the mood for tender love play, Stryder thrust against her, seeking a temporary solace that would keep him from thinking of the inevitable.

  He wanted to be with her like this so that he could drown out the sound of Damien's voice that threatened to take Rowena away from him.

  He didn't want to let her go and he didn't know how to keep her.

  Was it possible to have both?

  Nay, he knew better. This was the real world where dreams very seldom ever came true.

  And when he finally found his release, he roared with it.

  Rowena cradled Stryder to her as she watched the pleasure on his face as she felt him shuddering. His warm seed poured into her, connecting them in a way nothing else could.

  She cupped his head and lifted herself up to kiss him. He laid them both back as he nibbled her lips and stroked her face with his hand.

  She felt his heart pounding against her breasts. He lay his head down on her shoulder and held her quietly as they both floated back down into their bodies.

  "Stay with me tonight, Rowena," Stryder said quietly. "I want to lay with you in my arms while I sleep."

  She started to tell him it was impossible, then bit back the words. She had covered for her ladies-in-waiting to go trysting with their lovers enough times that they owed her a favor just this once.

  Not that her uncle would seek her out in her bedchamber this late. He never did.

  His routine was flawless. After supper each night, he would retire to Henry's quarters where he and the king would play chess for a bit and then Lionel would seek his own bed.

  He never disturbed her.

  She could stay and no one would ever know except for them and her ladies.

  "I shall need you to fetch Bridget in the morning and have her bring me a fresh gown so that no one will know I stayed here," she said quietly.

  He pulled back and stared down at her incredulously. "You'll stay?"

  "Aye."

  His eyes dancing, he picked her up from the floor and carried her to his bed.

  Rowena covered herself with his blanket as she watched him gather their clothes and bring them to the arming chest beside his overly large cot. Here in his bed, she was inundated with his intoxicating scent. It clung to the blanket, the pillows and most of all, it clung to her, marking her effectively as his.

  He pulled closed the thick canvas material that separated his sleeping area from the rest of the tent and blew out the candles.

  The sudden darkness was a bit frightening until she felt the bed dip beneath his weight.

  Stryder gathered her into his arms and held her close to his naked body. Sighing in contentment, she folded herself into him and just inhaled his warm, masculine scent.

  "Stryder?"

  He tensed at the sound of Swan's voice on the other side of the divider. "I am sleeping, Swan. If you value your life, disturb me not."

  "Are you alone?"

  "Swan," he said, his voice sharp and deadly. "Turn about, head out of my tent, or so help me, I shall send you to attend duties in Outremer."

  "Good night, milord," Swan said stiffly, then he added in an equally sharp tone. "And you'd best be alone."

  Stryder let out a disgusted noise as they heard Swan leave. "I swear, I should hire him out as a wet nurse."

  She muffled her laughter against his shoulder. "He would make a good one, wouldn't he?"

  "Aye, provided the poor child assigned to him didn't murder him in his sleep."

  She laughed again, then settled down to rest quietly in his arms.

  Closing her eyes, it didn't take her long to drift off into sleep.
But as she surrendered herself to Morpheus, one thought hovered in the back of her mind.

  She had been with Stryder far more times than she should have and within the week she should have her flow.

  What if she didn't?

  Stryder awoke just before dawn to find Rowena snoring ever so softly beside him. He smiled at the sound and at the sight of her nestled against his shoulder with her hand tucked underneath her chin. Her long, blond hair fanned out behind her, falling over the edge of his cot.

  She was beautiful in the faint light. Tempted for a quick tryst, he refrained. She looked tired and no doubt could use her sleep. She'd told him that she'd been having trouble sleeping ever since Elizabeth's death.

  But she'd seemed to sleep peacefully in his arms. The thought warmed him.

  Kissing her hand, he reluctantly withdrew from her, being careful not to pull her hair or wake her. He had much to do today, including the need to rally his men and have Swan send a messenger to the Scot to make sure everyone had arrived safely.

  Stryder looked back at Rowena and smiled. What he wouldn't give to wake up every morning like this…

  Sighing at the needless thought, he quickly washed, dressed, and went to break his fast.

  Rowena wasn't sure what time it was when she came awake to someone talking outside of Stryder's tent.

  When she first opened her eyes, it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. Heat burned her face as she realized she was naked still in the earl's bed. Someone, hopefully Stryder, had placed her blue gown on top of the arming chest. There was no sight of the yellow gown that she had worn the night before.

  Someone had also placed a washing bowl, towels, and a large water pitcher for her.

  Rowena threw back the covers to wash and dress, then laughed quietly at the sight of Stryder's writing on her stomach. Her body hot with the memory of his touch, she placed her hand over it and smiled tenderly.

  That she would take care to keep a little while longer.

  A bit fearful of being caught naked in his quarters, Rowena washed quickly and pulled her gown on. She was grateful Bridget had sent one that laced in the front and not the back. Leave it to her friend to think of that.

  She rolled her fresh stockings on, then slid her feet into her shoes and started out of the tent.

  No sooner had she started down the hill than she saw a group of knights gathered in a circle and heard an old woman's voice speaking Arabic, asking if anyone could understand her.

  The knights were bullish and hostile toward the old woman as they insulted her in Norman French. If anyone understood her questions, they didn't speak up.

  "I understand you," Rowena said, making her way through the crowd.

  The men parted with an air of anger, but then she was used to that, and she paid them no heed as she sought to help the woman.

  In the midst of the knights' circle, she found an old woman dressed as a Saracen servant. She was holding the thin, frail hand of a boy who was no older than eight. He also wore Arabic clothing, but his features and pale skin were clearly European. Strands of his golden blond hair had come loose of his hat and he had very large dark hazel eyes.

  He was terrified as he looked at the large men surrounding them.

  "Milady," the Saracen woman said as she bowed low before Rowena. "Please, can you help us?"

  Rowena offered her a smile. "What can I do for you, good woman?"

  She rose slowly and pulled the boy forward to stand in front of her. He stood there staring up at Rowena as if he were even more afraid of her than he was of the knights. Still, he was a handsome boy.

  "I was told to bring Alexander"—it took Rowena a moment to recognize the name through the woman's heavily accented Arabic words—"to his father. I was told he would be here with the other knights of his kind."

  That made sense. Most European knights who were renowned were here for the tournament. And the boy could belong to any of them. "And who is his father?"

  The old woman nudged the boy forward. "Show the lady your sign, boy."

  The boy shook his head and cringed away from Rowena.

  "It will be as Allah intends, Alexander. Show her your father's symbol."

  The boy's eyes were filled with tears as he looked ready to bolt for cover. He reluctantly tugged at a chain that was around his neck until he brought out a small heraldic emblem. It was the kind that many knights wore around their necks.

  Rowena moved forward so that she could see whose coat of arms were painted on it.

  Alexander's medallion was old and worn with most of the enamel missing. Even so, she knew instantly who it belonged to.

  Her heart stopped. Aye, she knew his father.

  Well.

  "Who is your mother, Alexander?" Rowena asked, forcing her voice to stay gentle and even in tone.

  The boy looked up at the old woman.

  "Tell her," the old woman urged.

  "Elizabeth of Cornwall," he said, his tone as fearful as his eyes. "But they told me she died."

  Rowena couldn't breathe. Aye, he did look like her friend. She could see Elizabeth's features plainly now that he had spoken of her, but she saw nothing that marked him as the son of his father.

  "What are they saying to you, lady?" one of the knights snapped as the crowd grew restless.

  "No doubt they're lies. I say we should kill them."

  Rowena frowned at the men around her. "Do you mind?" she said in Norman French, glaring at them all. "Can't you see they are terrified?"

  "And well they should be."

  "I say we string them up as a warning to others of their kind."

  Rowena straightened herself up. "You'll have to go through me to do it."

  "That won't be a problem."

  As one of the men moved forward, he was pulled suddenly backward.

  "Actually, 'tis a problem," Stryder said angrily. "To get to the lady, you must first defeat me."

  One of the knights spat on the ground. "Leave it to you to defend a Saracen dog."

  Stryder turned on the man with a glare so intense, Rowena felt a wave of fear from it. "Are you issuing a challenge?"

  The knight, along with the others, quickly withdrew.

  Rowena took a ragged breath, grateful once more for Stryder's interference.

  He faced her, his features lightening instantly until he swept a puzzled look over the boy and old woman. "What are they doing here?" he asked.

  "They are looking for the boy's father."

  Stryder nodded, his gaze completely innocent. "Should I fetch him?"

  "Nay, there is no need."

  "How so?" he asked with a frown. "Is his father dead?"

  "Nay, Stryder," she said as she indicated the boy's necklace. "His father is you."

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  « ^ »

  Stryder blinked, then blinked again as her words went through his mind and were rejected. "I beg your pardon?"

  "See for yourself," Rowena said, shaking her hand that held a tiny medallion in it. "He wears your badge and they both claim the badge belongs to his father."

  Stryder stared at the two of them, his mind reeling. How could this be? He'd never fathered any child, never mind one who had a Saracen nurse.

  "Do they speak Norman French?" he asked Rowena.

  "Nay."

  "Good," he said, relieved by that one reprieve, "because I don't want to ask the child who his mother is. Did you by any chance ask?"

  "Aye."

  "And?"

  "He says Elizabeth."

  Once more he was almost struck dumb by her words and the boy's claims. "Your Elizabeth?"

  "Aye," Rowena said, her eyes troubled.

  Oh, this didn't bode well for him. The last thing he needed was for Rowena to think he had been with one of her ladies. "But I never touched her. Never. I swear it."

  Rowena touched his arm, her gaze tender. "I know, Stryder. Believe me, I know."

  Relieved that Rowena was being reasonabl
e and not screaming at him for seducing her friend, Stryder knelt down before the child and took the small medallion from Rowena's hand to study it.

  It was indeed his father's emblem. One he had carried with him into the Holy Land when he wasn't much older than the boy in front of him.

  Stryder closed his eyes as he remembered the day he had been taken into captivity. He had forced this emblem into Damien's hand.

  "Tell them you are my brother. They won't hurt you if they think you are no one of consequence."

  Damien had curled his lip in disgust. "But I am of consequence."

  Even so, Stryder had forced Damien to take it. Damien had grabbed it from him, and Stryder hadn't seen it since. In fact, it had been years since he even thought about it.

  The boy licked his lips as he looked from his medallion to Stryder and then back again.

  "Are you my father?" the boy asked him in Arabic.

  Stryder was afraid to answer that question lest this be some sort of trick the assassins were using against him and his men. And if it was, he would kill whoever toyed with an innocent child in this manner.

  "Where did you get this?" he asked the child.

  "My uncle gave it to me."

  Stryder cocked his head as he looked up at the child. "Your uncle?"

  "Aye. He was from a place called France. We came through there to get to here, Nana said, but she didn't know where exactly my uncle lived when he was a boy. He used to tell me all the time about France and my father and how the two of them used to play pranks on other boys and on their cook. Do you have your own cook?"

  Stryder shook his head at the boy as he tried to keep him on topic. "And what specifically did your uncle tell you about your father?"

  "That my father was the bravest knight in all the world. He said that one day I would find him and that my father would take care of me just as he tried to take care of my uncle. But my uncle said he was a bad boy and didn't listen to him. He told me that the devil always comes for little boys who don't listen to their elders."

  Stryder thought about that. The more the boy spoke, the more his uncle sounded like Damien, but that was absurd. As much as Damien hated him, he found it hard to believe the man could ever say anything kind about him.