Page 62 of The Champion

“She has a point,” Nassir said. “The queen does seem to dote upon her.”

Rowena noted the instant respect on Zenobia’s face.

“Aye,” Christian agreed, “she can stay with him while we continue to search for the killer.”

Rowena left them and headed back toward Eleanor, who looked as if she were ready to knock a few heads together herself.

“Majesty?” She drew the queen’s attention toward her. “Might I go and see to Lord Stryder’s care while he is in custody?”

Eleanor cocked her head as if she were measuring Rowena’s rationale. “Why would you wish to do such?”

“I am concerned for him and doubt if the guards will take his care under consideration.”

A knowing smile curved the queen’s lips. She appeared quite pleased by Rowena’s devotion to her friend. “Aye, child. Come and let us see how he fares.”

Rowena followed behind the queen as Eleanor led the way into and through the castle. They headed down the narrow, spiraling staircase that led below the castle, deep into the foundation. It was dark and dreary down here. The walls were unpainted and reflected dimly under the torch lights and candles. They threw evil, distorted shadows along the walls. Shadows that made her shiver.

It was very much like being led into the devil’s abyss. No wonder Stryder had fought so hard against being taken.

“He’s guilty,” a man was saying as they made their way down to the lowest level. His voice echoed eerily in the stillness. “I say that mob will hang him before Henry has a-”

Another knight made a rude, echoing noise of disagreement. “Henry will never allow one of his favorites to swing. He’ll find some way to liberate him. Mark my words.”

“Not if Cyril’s brother has his way,” the first guard spoke again. “I’ve heard he’ll pay one hundred marks to the man who’ll slip a dagger between the earl’s ribs.”

Rowena was horrified by their almost gleeful exchange.

“What goes here?” Eleanor snapped as they entered the small room where the guards were gathered. The men ranged from medium size to large, and reminded Rowena of the looming gargoyles she had seen on French cathedrals during her visit to Paris three years back.

“Majesty!” They jerked upright in unison, then bowed before Eleanor.

“Forgive us, your grace,” the one who appeared to be in charge said. “We meant no harm.”

Eleanor narrowed her regal gaze on them. ’Twas obvious the queen wasn’t fooled even a tiny bit by their obsequiousness. She turned back toward Rowena and indicated her with a royal wave of her hand. “The Lady Rowena wishes a word with Lord Stryder. Open the door and let her in.”

The captain spoke up. “He’s to have no–“

”Are you deaf?” Eleanor asked with a cold, haughty glare that defied the man to speak another word.

The guard snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. He rushed to carry out Eleanor’s wishes.

Rowena breathed a sigh of relief.

“Do you wish for anything?” Eleanor asked as Rowena started after the guard.

She paused as she considered Stryder and what condition they were most likely keeping him in. She’d never been inside a cell before, but judging from what she had seen thus far, it must be less than welcoming. “I would like for someone to bring my lute, Majesty. As well as blankets and pillows to make his lordship more comfortable.”

“I shall see to it.”

Rowena curtsied and gave her gratitude before she followed after the guard who led her to a solid door at the end of the short corridor.

He unlocked the door, opened it quickly, then shoved her inside.

Rowena jumped as it slammed shut behind her. The room was indeed small and cramped. Probably no more than eight feet squared. There was an old, dilapidated cot in one corner with a tattered blanket, and the only light came from a window, set high above the floor, that let in a modicum amount of sunshine. No doubt, he would be in total darkness come nightfall. There was no place on the wall for a torch, nor were there any signs of a candle or stand.

The cell was truly dreary and no place for a man such as Stryder of Blackmoor.

Lord Stryder stood in the far corner, his eyes haunted. He was still ruggedly handsome, but for the first time since she had met him, there was an air of vulnerability to him. He reminded her more of a lost boy than the fierce knight she knew him to be.