Page 2 of The Champion

Stryder didn’t want to hurt any of the women, but disengaging them without violence was proving to be nearly impossible.

“Ladies, ladies!” a loud male voice boomed. “Please, a moment for his lordship who needs confess the multitude of sins he has committed. And they are many. Truly.”

Stryder gave a rare smile as he recognized the heavily accented voice of Christian of Acre. It had been nigh to three years since he last had the pleasure of seeing his old friend.

The women pouted in unison as they fell back and made room for the man who was dressed in a friar’s homespun black habit.

But as they caught a look at Christian’s tall, muscular form, their faces brightened considerably.

“‘Tis a pity he’s a monk,” one of the women said rather loudly.

“Aye,” another agreed.

Little did they know there was no holy oath binding the blond man in their midst. Christian wore a monk’s clothes to keep his identity secret.

As was evidenced by the spurs that occasionally flashed from beneath the black hem that trailed on the ground and the black cowl that was drawn over his head to hide the fact that Christian lacked a tonsure. This was no cleric, but rather one of the finest swordsmen Stryder had ever fought beside.

Not to mention that in his mother’s homeland of Byzantium, he was a royal prince who was only one step away from the throne.

“Abbot,” Stryder said in greeting as he shook Christian’s proffered arm. “It’s been too long.”

“Aye,” Christian patted him roughly on the shoulder. “It has indeed. But it appears little has changed with you.” Christian’s blue gaze swept through the women who were still reticent to leave them.

Stryder let out a tired breath. “True, very true.”

“Brother?” one of the women asked Christian. She was a petite brunette with lush curves. The open invitation on her face said that if Christian agreed to it, they would both be needing a priest to confess to by morning. “Might I give my confession later?”

A devilish look flashed in Christian’s eyes. Stryder could see him weighing his answer carefully.

When he spoke, his words were what Stryder had expected. Christian might be a heathen in his current beliefs, but there was still enough respect in him for the clergy who had raised him that he would never dishonor their reputation by accepting a woman’s invitation while he wore a holy man’s garb. “Aye, my lady. I am told the local priest here has quite a few openings.”

Her face fell with disappointment.

“If you ladies will forgive us...” Christian led the way out of the group, toward the brightly colored tents that the knights had pitched on a hill outside the castle walls.

There were more than three hundred knights who had ventured to Hexham for the month-long games that were held every year in the fall. Unlike the other knights, Stryder hadn’t come here seeking fame or fortune— he had more than enough of both. He was in Hexham at the king’s command so that the king could keep an eye on Stryder who had been having more than his fair share of “accidents” lately.

Someone wanted him dead and, until they found out who, Henry wanted to keep Stryder on home soil.

Which Stryder profaned. But when the king spoke, he had no choice.

Stryder glanced over his shoulder to make sure none of the ladies were trailing after them. Though the women looked on their departure longingly, they had blessedly remained behind them.

Thank you, Lord.

“What brings you here?” Stryder asked Christian.

Christian’s expression turned dark as they climbed the hill. “I come with bad tidings, I’m afraid. Lysander of Marseilles was killed.”

Stryder stopped dead in his tracks at the news. Lysander of Marseilles had been one of the men who had been imprisoned in Outremer with them. Once the Brotherhood had freed him, Stryder himself had sent Lysander to Scotland to serve in the household of a friend so that the poor man could recover in peace.

“How can that be?”

“He was tortured and murdered.” Christian’s tone carried the full weight of anger Stryder felt.

“Who would dare such?”

Christian sighed heavily. When he spoke, his voice was laden with his anger and grief, “An enemy to the Highland MacAllister clan. After Lysander and Pagan helped Ewan MacAllister home, Lysander was captured and killed for the deed. I’m headed north now to help Pagan find and kill those responsible.”