Page 48 of The Champion

Zenobia faced her with a smile. Dressed in one of Elizabeth’s gowns, she was absolutely beautiful.

“You know, my lady, my people believe women are even stronger than men.”

“Really?” Rowena asked, amazed by that fact. She’d always been under the misconception that Arab women were held in even less esteem than their European counterparts.

“Aye. The strongest woman of our tribe is chosen to lead our men into battle. She’s called the Darina. My mother was Darina and had I stayed with our people, I would have taken the place of her successor.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“Because there is a time for all things. My people, like you, believe in peace. But sometimes, the only way to have peace is to fight for it.”

Rowena shook her head in denial. “The only way to peace is to lay aside weapons.”

“And the bloodiest of wars are often fought not with weapons, but rather with our tongues. A man can heal an external wound a thousand times faster than he can heal even a small one dealt to his heart.”

Rowena stood back as Zenobia’s words sank in.

“You are a warrior, my lady,” Zenobia spoke softly. “You just choose a different forum for your battles, but you battle, nonetheless. Like the men you hate so much, you hurt and wound. Have you given thought to why you fight the wars you do?”

Before she could answer, Zenobia swept out of the tent and left her there to silently contemplate her words.

It was hours later that Rowena found herself walking through the castle’s grounds. She looked around at the people who were milling and working. The servants either ignored her, or nodded in courtesy. She only knew a few of them by face. At home in Sussex, she would have known them all by name.

But it was the nobles who glared at her, while Zenobia’s words haunted her.

For an obvious reason, Rowena had purposefully surrounded herself only with minstrels who felt as she did. Those who glorified war had been sent packing as soon as they reached her home. The few times a year when she traveled with her uncle, she had noticed the way people mocked her, but paid them little heed.

Now, she saw every one of them.

They were people, just as she was. Had she really wounded them with her words?

The thought made her ill.

She wanted to speak with someone she trusted. She’d been to Lord Stryder’s tent only to find it empty. Her maids had all thought her foolish to doubt herself, but as her friends, their loyalty was to her.

Rowena wanted to talk to someone else. Nay, it was Stryder alone she wished to speak to. He would be honest with her. But since he was absent, she chose another to confide in.

Heading for the chapel, she decided that the priest would provide good counsel.

Yet as she opened the door, she was floored by what she found.

Lord Stryder was there, on his knees before the votive stand, praying. He looked so incredibly sad, as if the full weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

Thinking to comfort him, she started for him only to find Kit cutting her off. Silently, he shook his head, nay, and escorted her back outside.

“I wanted to-“

”I know, Rowena,” Kit said quietly once they were back in the courtyard. “But Stryder is best left alone when he prays like this.”

Understanding dawned on her. “He prays for your mother.”

“Nay,” Kit said, his voice thick with emotion. “He prays for others. A little boy in particular.”

“A boy?” she asked. “A son?”

Kit took a deep, ragged breath as if he felt Stryder’s pain every bit as deeply as the earl did. “Nay, love. Long ago, my brother was held prisoner in Outremer. While there, he befriended a young boy. Stryder had promised the child, every night while the boy wept in hopeless despair, that he would get him home safe and sound. But on the night they escaped, he was told the boy had died earlier that day. ‘Tis something that has haunted him since. He blames himself for not saving the boy as he promised. It was on this very day, six years past, that the boy perished. So now, my brother prays for the boy’s lost soul and for all the others yet to be freed.” Kit looked back at the chapel. “He never forgets that day. Not even for a moment.”

“Oh, Kit…” Her heart ached for Stryder.