Page 114 of The Champion

She let out an aggravated breath. He saw the tears darken her eyes before she blinked them back. “I owe Elizabeth.”

“I know, sweeting.” He caressed her cheek. “I understand the need to put her spirit to rest, believe me. But getting yourself killed isn’t going to bring her back. You must stop following him before you find yourself in shackles over it.”

“Very well.” She lifted her skirts, gifting him with the precious sight of her ankles before she headed back toward the castle.

Stryder watched the sway of her hips as he hardened, aching for a taste of those ankles... those legs...

Mayhap tonight he could bribe Val to knock Swan unconscious again so that he and Rowena could have one night of undisturbed freedom.

Pulling his other gauntlet off, he tossed it into his helm and made his way to his tent. When he arrived, he was stunned to find Damien in there, waiting for him.

His old friend stood in the center, looking straight at him as he came inside.

“She is spectacular, isn’t she?” Damien’s voice rumbled like thunder through the quiet stillness.

Stryder didn’t answer. Though he had no issue with Damien, he more than understood why the prince hated him. “Why are you here?”

Damien didn’t answer his question either. “She’s quite a trophy for the tournament. I’m told new lords have been arriving daily since Henry made his proclamation that the winner will be Rowena’s husband. Most of them plan to lock her in a convent should they win. They may not appreciate the lady and her untoward tongue, but they are all in love with her lands.”

Stryder forced aside the anger he felt at Damien’s words. The man was only trying to raise his temper, and he would never give him the satisfaction of knowing it worked. “Why are you telling me this?”

Damien shrugged. “I just thought you would be interested.”

“Well, I’m not,” he said in a deadly, calm voice. “There’s not a man here who hasn’t fallen in tournament to me. Most of them multiple times.”

“Are you sure about that?” Damien asked.

“Aye.”

“Very well then. Hold tight to that arrogance.” Damien headed for the exit, then paused to turn around. “By the way, I intend to enter the joust for her hand. I concede that you did best me with the sword. Hand to hand has never been my strong suit, but the lance is another matter. No one, not even you, Earl of Blackmoor, can challenge me there. But don’t worry, Stryder. I shall take good care of your lady once we’re wed.”

That succeeded in breaking his calm. When Stryder spoke, it was from between clenched teeth with his voice carrying the full weight of his wrath. “Nay, you will not. Win, lose or draw, I intend to see Rowena free to choose her own husband.”

Damien laughed evilly at that. “Do you honestly believe Henry will allow her such a freedom? Rowena needs a powerful lord in charge of her lands. Someone with strong political ties. Win, lose or draw, I will have her. Mark my words.” With that spoken, Damien swept out of the tent, leaving his cloak to billow out ominously behind him.

Stryder followed him outside. “She will never marry you!” He ignored the knights who turned to stare at him while Damien paused, then turned back to face him.

The prince looked at him for several heartbeats before he spoke. “Women like her can easily be wooed with song and poetry. With letters of love from the one they desire. Tell me, have you ever written her a love letter? Oh wait, I forgot. You’re nothing but an illiterate buffoon. All you’re fit for is brute strength and knocking grown men to the ground. Do you really think that in the end, she will choose a barbarian like you over someone like me?”

Damien turned on his heel and headed down the line of tents.

It took every ounce of will Stryder possessed not to attack Damien over those words. As an old friend, Damien knew the history of Stryder’s parents. The mere fact that Damien had hurled the difference of his being a knight and Rowena being cultured at Stryder made his blood boil.

But no more so than the truth of what the bastard had said.

In the back of his mind, he saw Rowena last night as she teased him about the fact that he didn’t catch on to her songs quickly and that his fingers often fumbled the chords.

That he was ever a knight and never a troubadour.

Damien was right. Rowena loved troubadours and their songs.

And she had spent her life preaching against knighthood...

He heard his mother’s faint laughter ringing in his head as he remembered the times she had criticized his father for his oafishness.

“Want me to kill him in his sleep?”

Stryder looked over his shoulder to find Will standing there with a murderous gaze directed at the place where Damien had vanished.