Page 53 of The Champion

“Aye, my lady.”

Her heart shattered at the sound of his deep voice. And that succeeded in loosening a single tear from her eye. She was thankful for the mask that absorbed it.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He paused in the dance to pull the mask from her. She shivered at the sight of him standing there, looking down at her with a most precious smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “Ever at your service.”

She smiled as he pulled her back into his arms and finished the dance.

Once it was over, he led her toward the door. Stryder paused beside a group of men. Handing her the mask, he turned to one knight and slammed his fist straight into the man’s jaw.

“My brother is ten times the man you are, Hugh,” he snarled at the knight on the ground. “And the next time you question that, I’ll make sure you leave the tournament field with nothing but skin upon your back.”

Turning on his heel, Stryder captured her hand and led her from the hall.

Rowena’s eyes were wide from what he’d just done.

“I know,” Stryder said in a tired tone. “I am ever the barbarian.”

Rowena offered him a chiding smile. “Nay, you are not. I only wish you had punched him harder.”

Stryder arched a brow at her words. “Can it be I am converting you?”

She shrugged. “Mayhap, but then you were the one who just danced with me in a hall of people.”

He grimaced at that. “Be grateful you wore the mask. This way you weren’t able to witness the true horror of my inability.”

She pulled him to a stop. “Why did you come? Kit said you wouldn’t show if you heard music.”

“I made you a promise, Rowena.”

“And so, you came for me?”

He nodded.

Rowena bit her lip as she stared up at him. His face was shadowed by rushlights, but still she knew every mark of his features. “Thank you. I have a feeling that before this month ends, I shall owe you more than can ever be repaid.”

“Nay, my lady. Think nothing of it. I’ve never been the kind of person to tolerate cruelty of any sort. There’s no need in it. Life is ever hard enough.”

“Aye, it is.”

She took his hand into hers and noted the blood on his knuckles where he’d hit Lord Hugh. “You’re hurt!”

He shrugged it off. “Hugh has a hard head.”

She frowned at his light tone. “Come, this needs be tended.”

Before Stryder could stop her, she led him to his tent.

She let go of his hand so as to survey the small area. “Where do you keep your supplies?” That tone told him that she brooked no argument.

More charmed by her demands than he should be, he stepped around her and pulled out the small chest where he kept bandages and salves for his injuries.

Rowena took it from his hand and made him sit in a chair so that she could tend his hand.

He watched as she gathered his washbasin, pitcher and ale skin. “I’m still confused by your acceptance of my actions.”

Rowena paused. In truth, she was as well. But for some reason she couldn’t find anything appalling about his behavior tonight.