Page 28 of The Champion

He nodded.

“He must have loved his lady, greatly.”

“Aye, he did. He still carries our mother’s ring with him everywhere he goes.”

“Your mother?”

He nodded. “She was murdered by Stryder’s father when he learned of my bastard birth. They say his rage was such that no one dared go near him. No one but Stryder. In anger, his father accused him of being bastard born. He ran the boy through and then gashed his head. While Stryder lay on the floor of the hall, his father killed our mother before his eyes.”

“Then, he took his own life,” She whispered, remembering the stories she’d heard about how the former earl had died.

“That is what they say.” There was something in his tone that let her know he was hiding something.

“But?”

Kit refused to say anything more. “Our mother was much like you. She loved nothing more than to play and sing. My father was one of the noble born minstrels who came to her hall while Stryder’s father was away. I don’t remember much of my mother really, I was only five when she died. But, I am told she birthed me at her sister’s home, and then sent me to my father, so that her husband would never learn of my existence.”

Rowena frowned as a memory tugged at her. “She and Stryder came once to visit you while you fostered with us.”

“Aye. She did that as much as she dared. Unfortunately, it was such a visit that caused her death. Stryder’s father had come home to find them gone. When they returned, one of her servants betrayed her.”

“Oh Kit, I am so sorry.”

His eyes sad, he swallowed. “I am not the one who needs your sympathy, Rowena. I grieve for her because she was my mother, but I knew her very little. ‘Twas Stryder who was devastated. He worshiped her.”

Rowena fought down her tears at the thought of the pain Stryder must feel.

“My brother’s life has been most harsh and, still, he is honorable. I know of no other who could have survived what he has and remain so noble.”

“Aye. He could have made both Eleanor and I out to be liars.”

He nodded.

“But what of Cyril?” she asked. “Do you think Lord Stryder–“

”Nay. I know better. If Stryder wished him dead, he would have faced him on the battlefield. Deception is not in my brother’s nature.”

She had thought as much. “Why would Lord Aubrey lie?”

“Perhaps he didn’t. Anyone may don a cloak. In the dark, I should think one could look as guilty as any other.”

Rowena bit her lip at the thought.

She excused herself and headed back toward the crowd that continued to gather around Cyril’s tent.

“I still say the earl did this,” one of the barons said to a small group outside the tent.

“Why would he sneak up on him and cut his throat while he slept? In all the years I’ve known Stryder, I’ve never known him to do such a thing.”

Another baron snorted. “Madness possessed his father. Mayhap it has possessed him too.”

Rowena ignored the men who continued to argue for and against Stryder. In truth, she felt very sorry for Cyril– more than she would have thought possible. Not even he had deserved a death such as this.

Her heart heavy, she had started toward the castle when something caught her gaze. It was a tiny slip of vellum poking out from underneath the canvas of Cyril’s tent.

While the men continued to speculate, she bent over and retrieved it. The instant she opened it, her heart stopped.

It was written in Arabic.