Page 13 of The Champion

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 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 looked 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 she’d last had his company.

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’d been when last they met in Flanders, eighteen months ago. Then, there had been an air of hopeless sadness about him.

He’d 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’ve 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.”

Interesting. He’d never mentioned such a person to her before. “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.