Page 85 of The Champion

But there wasn’t enough time for that.

“Sweetest Rowena,” he murmured against her lips. “Thank you for coming.”

Rowena felt tears prick her eyes at his words. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I didn’t think they would allow it.”

She scoffed at him. “Since when do I follow the dictates of others?”

He laughed at that and squeezed her so tight that she yelped.

“Forgive me?”

She nodded, then pulled one of the ribbons from her hair.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she moved to wrap it around his biceps.

“A token for you, my lord. One to bring you good luck.”

He was humbled by her offering. “You, who have no regard for war, would offer me such a thing?”

She looked up, her gaze searing and sincere. “Aye, Stryder. I would see justice done this morning and you free so that you can make me free in turn.”

He grunted at that. “And here I thought you had a more nobler reason for your actions.”

She reached up and placed her hand to his cheek. “I am but teasing you. I want nothing to happen to you this day. If you should happen to die, I fear I would be most put out.”

“Not nearly as much as I would be,” he teased back. “Besides, I keep telling everyone that I hold no fear. I have no equal on the field.”

Someone cleared their throat.

Rowena glanced over her shoulder to see the captain standing in the entrance. “‘Tis time.”

Stryder inclined his head. He started away, but before he could take a step, Rowena pulled him back toward her.

She kissed him quickly on the lips. “I wish you the strength of Hercules.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss on her palm. “I will see you anon.”

Rowena nodded as the captain came forward to lead him toward the list.

She followed behind the men, then took her own place among her ladies.

“There you are,” Elizabeth said as she took a seat beside her. “We had begun to fear something had happened to you.”

Stryder entered the list that was surrounded by archers, in the event that he decided to run. Not that he would, but ‘twas customary under the circumstances.

Two swords were being held by heralds in the center of the list. All he waited on was the appearance of the French champion to challenge him.

He almost laughed at the thought.

But then his humor died the instant he saw his opponent take the field. In fact, his entire body went cold at the sight of the royal French coat of arms over the mail armor. Even though the man’s face was covered by his great helm, he knew him in an instant.

It was Damien St. Cyr.

Stryder cursed.

“That sentiment is entirely mutual,” Damien growled as he stopped before him.