A Dark Champion (10 page)

“Who would want to blame you for such a crime?”

He shrugged. “I know not. I can’t even imagine why someone would do something like this.” His face hardened and turned into the visage of the knight she’d glimpsed that evening when Cyril had insulted Kit. This was the Stryder of legend. The one who made grown men flee in terror of his wrath. “But whoever is responsible had best give his final confession. Once I’m away from here, I swear I shall murder whoever did this.”

She couldn’t blame him for that. He didn’t deserve
to be locked away in this wretched place. “Your men are looking into the matter. They will find the assassin.”

“Nay,” he said, his voice thick with doubt. “He’s too clever for that. Whoever went to such lengths as to steal into my tent and rip my tunic for an incriminating piece of fabric wouldn’t be so foolish. He won’t attack while I’m locked up.”

“But why frame you and not another?”

“He’s after the Brotherhood. I’m sure of it. What better way to get back at us than to frame me for murdering my brethren?”

She frowned at his words. “Roger was one of you?”

“Aye. He wasn’t an active participant. He kept to himself both in prison and once we were out of there. I can’t imagine why anyone would do him harm.”

Apparently their killer wasn’t that discriminating with his executions. It appeared one Brotherhood member was just as good as another. “But how did he get your tunic without you or one of your men seeing him?”

“Anyone could have ventured into my tent.”

“Without being seen?” she insisted.

He scowled at her. “What are you saying?”

“Is it possible the assassin could be one of the men you trust?”

Stryder paused as the thought played across his mind. He quickly disregarded it as he considered every one of his company. “Nay. My men would never do such a thing.”

“How do you know?”

“Nassir and Zenobia said they had found a messen
ger who knew of other deaths. Apparently the assassin has been working for some time now. There are bodies in Rouen, Nice, Hamburg, Flanders—”

“Tournament cities?”

Stryder hesitated. “Aye. I hadn’t thought of that connection.” Now he felt foolish that he hadn’t realized that as soon as Nassir told him of the deaths.

“Were the murders during tournaments?”

“I know not. I didn’t ask at the time, but Nassir would know.” Stryder’s thoughts whirled as he remembered Nassir’s speculations about who would want all of them dead and who the Saracens would send to execute them. “Nassir might be right. The killer could very well be a European knight sent at their behest.”

Rowena nodded in agreement. “Someone the others trust. Someone who could enter their tents on friendly terms.”

It was truly a sobering thought that someone could be out there even now moving amongst the crowd. One of their own and yet one bent on murder in the name of their enemies…

The door opened to show the guard, who held his sword out as if expecting Stryder to attack him.

Bemused, Stryder was stunned by what he saw next. Several servants came in bearing a variety of comforts. Blankets, pillows, new linens, a change of clothes, a basket of food, pitchers of water and ale, small toiletries and even a polished lute.

They set the items down near the cot.

Rowena thanked them before they left them alone once more.

“What is all this?” he asked incredulously as he went over to inspect the items.

Rowena came up behind him, her presence electrifying and warming. “I didn’t want an innocent man to suffer, and Eleanor agreed.” She went to the baskets and pulled out fresh blankets and pillows, then placed them on his cot.

Stryder was aghast at her thoughtfulness. No one had ever gone to such a length on his behalf. His men seldom gave any thoughts to his comfort and as for Kit…he complained like an old mewling woman if Stryder asked him to so much as cock an eyebrow.

He was overwhelmed by her kindness. “You shouldn’t have done all this.”

She straightened up from dressing his bed. “What was I supposed to do? Leave you here to suffer unnecessarily when we both know you didn’t kill Roger or Cyril?”

He didn’t know what surprised him more, her conviction or her presence. “How do you know I’m innocent? You barely know me at all.”

She took his hand into hers. Stryder swallowed at the soft sensation of her flesh on his, at the fire it sent through his body, straight to his groin.

“You’re right, milord. I don’t know you well enough to say for certain. But I trust my instincts, and they tell me that you are not the monster those people outside would claim. If you were, I would never be here.” She gave him a heartfelt stare. “I believe in you and your men. So here I am.”

“It’s not proper for you to be with me.”

Her grip tightened on his hand, sending another
wave of desire through him as he imagined what that hand would feel like sliding down his back, holding him close to a body he wanted only to taste.

“I know,” she said in a low tone.

“The court will be scandalized,” he warned, needing the words said for his benefit as much as for hers.

She shrugged nonchalantly as she released his hand and returned to dressing his bed. “They despise me anyway. Let them gossip if they must. If I’m fortunate, they shall brand me such a whore that no man will have me.”

Stryder sucked his breath in sharply at her words as anger swept away his desire. He pulled her away from the bed to face him. “Don’t ever tease about that.”

Rowena bit her lip in uncertainty. The anger in his tone surprised her. It was easy to forget while talking to him that he was a fierce knight capable of killing. “I’m sorry, Stryder, I was only trying to lighten your mood.”

His features relaxed along with his grip on her arm. “You did that the moment you stepped through yon door.”

Rowena smiled up at him as his words set her heart to pounding.

The next thing she knew, he pulled her close and kissed her soundly on the lips. She surrendered her weight to him as her body erupted with desire.

His strength. His power. It was unlike anything she had ever known. If decadence had a taste, it would be Stryder’s lips. No man should ever be so tempting. No wonder women mobbed him so.

He took his time exploring her mouth, teasing her senses with his tongue while she held him in her arms.

And in the back of her mind, she wondered what it would be like to biblically know this man who kissed her so tenderly…

Aquarius pulled his dagger out of the heart of the messenger, then wiped the blade clean against the dead man’s tunic. It was a good thing he had seen the messenger skulking in the shadows toward the castle. Any other man would have dismissed him for a servant, but Aquarius knew a Saracen spy when he saw one. They had a distinguishable walk they could never hide.

So, there was another assassin here. Damn. The Saracens had warned him that they would be keeping an eye on him, that he would never be free of them until he fulfilled his pact. But after all this time, he had lured himself into a false sense of security.

More fool he for thinking even for a minute that he was free of the past. That he would
ever
be free of his past.

They were here. No doubt they intended to kill him.

Very well. He couldn’t run forever.

And when cornered, the fox always attacked. It was time he taught his masters exactly what he had learned at their hands.

Carefully, he wrapped the Saracen body in a rug and tied it closed. It wouldn’t do for anyone to find another dead body while Stryder was locked up.

Especially not a Saracen’s. It would raise too many questions and suspicions.

Aquarius carefully hid the body in his own tent, making sure no one saw him. He placed it under his cot and made certain no one could see it should they venture into his quarters. Not that anyone would.

The court avoided him like a plagued beggar. Which was a good thing, since it made his kills all the easier to accomplish.

He would rid himself of the body after nightfall. After all, getting rid of such evidence was one of the many things he had learned well at Saracen hands.

Too bad they hadn’t considered what would happen once the fox was released back into the wild. He wasn’t about to be recalled or silenced. Ever.

Retrieving the parchment from the dead man’s satchel, he sat down and reread it.

It was addressed to another assassin here in the midst of the tournament festivities with orders to kill off Aquarius and someone called the Jackal. So be it. The way to stop the viper was to cut off its head.

All he knew was that the letter was addressed to the Scorpion. According to the letter the Scorpion was one of their own sent home to kill just as Aquarius had been.

Too bad the messenger had impaled himself on Aquarius’s dagger before he’d gotten a description of the Jackal or the Scorpion.

No matter. He would find the Scorpion and he would kill him.

Sighing, Aquarius hid the satchel with the body, pasted a false smile on his face, and headed out to join the rest of Henry’s court to find the Scorpion.

Rowena sat on the pallet Stryder had made for them on the floor and leaned back against his hard chest while they drank wine and shared secrets with each other.

“Are you sure this school will make you happy?” Stryder asked as she lay nestled against him. It was the most joyous sensation Rowena had ever known.

He was comfortable and warm. More than just a friend, he felt safe and soothing, things she shouldn’t experience while in the company of a knight. Yet he gave her such a feeling of elation that she wanted nothing more than to kiss him again and again and again, until they were both numb from it.

Stop thinking of his lips…

So she lowered her gaze to his muscled thigh and answered his question. “Aye. Better than being slave to a man who has no regard for me other than a broodmare for his children.”

“True,” he said, his words a bit slurred. “I should hate to be a broodmare for a man.”

Rowena laughed at the ludicrous image. She leaned her head back to look up at him. “Are you drunk, milord?”

“Aye,” he confessed with a smile while he caressed her cheek with his callused hand, “but only a little.”

She
tsked
at him and pulled his goblet away.

He scoffed at her gesture. “Why are you bothering, Rowena? I have nowhere to go and nothing better to do than drink myself to a stupor.”

For some reason that angered her. Granted she wasn’t one to desire battle or to urge anyone to fight,
but something about the defeatist nature of his words set off her ire. “Is that what you do whenever you are bested.”

His eyes sparked like blue fire. Even his cheeks mottled with the heat of his wrath. “I have
never
been bested. Nor will I,” he said earnestly. Then he relaxed ever so slightly. “I am merely biding time.”

“For what?”

“For the moment when I am out of this cell and am able to wreak havoc on the one who put me here. I’m going to pull out his innards through his nostrils and dance around his entrails.”

Rowena screwed up her face at the grisly image. She cringed at the very thought. “Please, Stryder. I pray you jest and are speaking from desire and not actual experience.”

He blinked at her. “Nay, I have never danced on anyone’s entrails. But I should like to just once.” He pulled his goblet back before he continued. “It bothers me beyond endurance whenever I see injustice. I can’t bear to think that out there is the killer, just waiting to strike at his next victim.”

He took another drink.

“Is that why the Brotherhood is so important to you?”

“Aye,” he breathed, setting the goblet aside. “Every person I save is another victory against the evil that festers in this world and I will not rest until every captive is free.”

It was quite a goal her knight had set for himself. “So you will never rest? Never know marriage or family?”

“Marriage.” He spat the word as if it were poison on his tongue. “’Tis an unholy union between two people, and for what purpose? To make them both miserable.”

Rowena was taken back by his hostility. True, she had often said similar things, but deep down she didn’t mean it. Nay, marriage could and should be a wonderful union.

“I don’t believe it has to be that way,” she said, confessing her true thoughts to him. “Imagine a marriage where the man and woman respect each other. Where they are partners and allies.”

He snorted at her. “You are sober and speak more foolishness than I do while drunk.” He pulled his hair away from his neck where a vicious scar curled around to his back. It must have been truly painful to receive it. “See you this?”

“Aye,” she said, tracing the raised, whitened skin with her fingertip. She watched as chills spread over Stryder’s neck, but they did nothing to dull the fury in his eyes.

“My father gave me that when I tried to keep him from killing my mother. He turned on me and said I wasn’t his son.” Stryder’s voice was hollow as if he told her of someone else and yet as she stared into his eyes, she saw the torment he concealed. The grief. “I can still see the hatred on his face as he denounced me for a faithless, worthless bastard.” His crystal gaze locked with hers and it burned her with its intense sincerity. “I am, you know. Kit isn’t my half brother. We are full brothers.”

His declaration stunned her. “Does he know?”

Stryder shook his head. “I swore to my mother that I would never breathe a word of it to anyone. And I haven’t until now. It’s why the Blackmoor lands and title mean nothing to me. They’re not really mine.”

Rowena sat in silence as she realized Stryder had just entrusted her with a secret that could ruin him. If she so much as breathed a word of his bastard status, he would lose his title and lands.

Not that she would. How could she betray this man when he had just bared his soul to her?

She reached up and placed her hand against his stubbled cheek. “You are more entitled to your noble status than any man I know,” she said sincerely. “You’re the only knight who is decent. Honest.”