Page 3 of The Champion

“You need another sword?”

Christian’s face relaxed instantly. “I would say aye, but the mere fact that you are here in England and not on the continent tells me you are on king’s business and not free to leave.”

Stryder growled at that truth. “Aye. But, it sits ill with me that one of our own was slain.”

“Believe me, we all share that sentiment.”

Stryder had no doubt. They hadn’t survived the horrors of their captivity to return home to be tortured and murdered. The anger he felt at that thought swirled inside him, making him want blood. “Swear to me, you’ll make the culprit pay.”

“You may have no fear on that count. Pagan wrote that he intends to show the one responsible how the Saracens treated their prisoners.”

Stryder grimaced involuntarily at the reminder of some of their “lessons” at the hands of their captors. Their enemies knew well how to make anyone regret having been born and when it came to bloody acts, he doubted if anyone could best Pagan. No one knew the man’s real nationality, but they all knew Pagan’s willingness to cut any handy throat. “Good.”

Christian clapped him on the back and started up the hill again.

As they walked, Stryder began picking the ribbons and garters from his armor and helm where the women had placed them.

Christian gave a low deep laugh as he watched him. “Ever your curse to be pursued by the fairer sex, eh?”

Stryder gave him a droll stare. “Methinks I should tell them of Prince Christian. That should bide me a moment of peace from them and their machinations to wed me.”

“That would help you not at all since I am already betrothed.”

“Ahh,” Stryder said, laughing darkly. “The mysterious princess you’ve never seen. Tell me, do you really think she still waits on your hoary hide to return to her?”

“I wish it were otherwise, but I receive enough letters from my uncle urging me to return home and marry her to know she is ever the dutiful maid who sits waiting patiently for my homecoming.” Christian’s voice was tinged with ire at that.

Stryder knew Christian wished the maid would find someone else to marry. Like him, Christian was most happy as a bachelor and had no desire to tie a woman to his side.

At least, not for any longer than a single night.

Stryder led the way into his red and white striped tent. He set his helm on the table and doffed his gauntlets. “Will you return home to marry her soon?”

Bitter anger flashed in Christian’s eyes. “I’ve no desire to return home for many reasons. Prince I may be, but I owe them nothing. My loyalties are strictly to the Brotherhood now.”

Stryder nodded in understanding. Christian’s family had been the reason he was living in the monastery when it had been captured by Saracens in Acre. After the death of Christian’s parents when he was six, Christian’s uncle had sequestered the boy with the monks in hopes of Christian learning his place so that he could return to Byzantium to be a puppet easily controlled.

That plan could not have gone more wrongly, since the man before Stryder was stronger than steel and would never be controlled by anyone or anything.

Stryder’s squire, Druce, came running into the tent. At ten and five, the boy was gangly and uncoordinated. His curly black hair was cut short, but always managed to look unruly. The boy often ran about daydreaming and falling over things. Even so, Stryder never lost patience with him.

Like Stryder had been at that age, Druce was an orphan and a ward to the crown.

“I’m sorry I’m late, milord.” Druce grabbed a stool and dragged it toward Stryder. “There was a storyteller who came and she was fantastic. I could have listened to her all day as she spun stories of lovers betrayed by the Fates.” Druce climbed onto the stool and reached to unlace the back of Stryder’s armor.

Stryder grunted at that as he dipped lower so that Druce could reach the fastenings more easily.

He knew the instant Druce became aware of Christian’s presence. The boy tumbled off the stool and almost knocked him over as Druce went sprawling onto the floor.

The boy looked up, his entire face contrite. “I’m so sorry, Lord Stryder. Did I interrupt something?”

“Nay,” Stryder said, helping him up. “Christian and I were only talking of inconsequential matters.” Stryder introduced the lad to Christian. “Christian of Acre, meet Druce my ward and squire.”

“Greetings, Druce,” Christian said before meeting Stryder’s gaze. Christian’s eyes were troubled even more than before. “Did something happen to Raven?”

Stryder shook his head at the mention of his former squire. “Nay. He was knighted a few months back and is sleeping off a night of misbegotten youth.”

His face relaxing, Christian grunted at that as Druce returned to disarm Stryder.