Stryder and Raven went to stand outside while she changed.
"Will you help me, milady?" Zenobia asked Rowena as she moved to join the men.
Rowena hesitated, then agreed. She didn't know why she felt a strange jealousy towards the Saracen woman, but she did.
"I'm no threat to you, kateena," Zenobia said gently.
"Kateena?"
"It means 'little precious one.' A term my people often apply to friends."
Rowena offered her a smile at the endearment as she helped Zenobia into Elizabeth's pale blue gown. "I don't think of you as a threat."
"Aye, but you do. You envy my friendship with Stryder."
"Hardly."
Zenobia gave her a knowing look. "Shh, kateena, you can't hide those thoughts from me. You fear what you feel for him."
"How do you know that?"
"Your feelings are so strong that they speak even when you don't."
Before Rowena could respond, Zenobia turned pale. "Falsworth," she breathed.
Her dress unlaced, Zenobia ran to the tent flap and pulled Stryder back inside. Her face was panicked, her eyes unfocused as she grabbed a handful of Stryder's tunic.
"Falsworth is next to die," Zenobia breathed. "Tonight or tomorrow."
"He's not here," Stryder said with a scowl. "He was supposed to come, but he hasn't arrived. Is he dead already?"
Zenobia tilted her head as if she were listening to something no one else could hear. "Nay. He lives. But there is evil all around him. He must be found."
"I'll send Raven and Will to his lands."
"It won't save him," she breathed as if she heard something else. Zenobia clenched her eyes shut and winced as if she felt some inner pain. "The hand of Fate can never be altered. He will die, and you…"
She looked up at Stryder as if something terrified her.
"What?" Stryder asked. "Zenobia. Tell me what you see."
"I can't," she whispered. "It's all shadows and darkness. I can't tell what it is."
"Raven," he snapped at his young knight. "Fetch Will. I want the two of you to head to York to warn Falsworth."
The youth nodded, then ran to obey.
Stryder started out of the tent.
"It won't save him, Stryder," Zenobia warned.
"Maybe not, but I have to try."
He left the two women alone again.
Rather skittish of the woman now, Rowena let the awkward silence stand between them.
"Could you lace my back?" Zenobia asked, turning around.
Rowena quietly assisted her.
"You don't have to be afraid of me," Zenobia said while Rowena tied her gown.
"I'm not afraid of you… exactly."
"You know not what to make of me."
"You are rather odd."
Zenobia laughed. "But you appreciate oddity in others."
"To a degree."
Zenobia faced her with a smile. Dressed in one of Elizabeth's gowns, the woman could easily pass for a European, even though she held an exotic look to her.
"You know, milady," she said as she adjusted her sleeves, "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 is 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 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, milady," 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 grounds. She looked around at the people who were milling and working. The servants either ignored her, or nodded in courtesy. She knew only 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.
She 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 alone.
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 by the Saracens. 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 seven 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," she breathed, her heart aching for Stryder.
Kit's face was every bit as haunted as Stryder's. "So bother him not, Rowena, about anything trivial."
She nodded, her throat far too tight to speak.
She left Kit and returned inside where Stryder still prayed. The light of the candles played in his dark hair while he held himself as still as any statue.
She realized as she glanced about that two more of his knights were there praying as well. The only ones missing were Nassir, Zenobia, and Christian.
No doubt they were off trying to find Cyril's killer before he could kill again while Raven and Will traveled to forewarn Falsworth.
Rowena offered up her own prayer that they all succeed.
Stryder slowly became aware of someone watching him. He opened his eyes to see Rowena just on the e
dge of his peripheral vision. His heart heavy over the one promise in his life that he had made and broken, he crossed himself and rose slowly to his feet.
As he approached Rowena, he realized her eyes were filled with unshed tears. "Are you all right, milady?"
To his utter shock, she pulled him into her arms and held him tightly. He felt her tears fall against his neck as she clutched him to her.
Stryder couldn't have been more stunned had she slapped him. Indeed, that he would have almost expected.
But he needed this warmth from her at the moment. Wrapping his own arms around her, he held her and let the pain inside him lessen a degree.
If he lived an eternity, he would never forget the boy whose face he never saw. He could hear only the child's voice through the walls of their prison. Hear the sounds of his cries as their captors tormented and abused the boy.
"Swear to me, Widowmaker. Swear you won't leave me here for them."
"I swear it. I will get you out of here and take you someplace where no one will ever hurt you again."
He had missed that promise by one day. One single day. If they had left just one night sooner the child would have lived.
Someone cleared his throat.
Stryder became aware of the fact that he and Rowena were embracing in the midst of a church. Reluctantly, he withdrew from Rowena to see Val indicating a priest who was glaring at them.
Taking her hand, Stryder led her from the chapel, back outside. Val and Swan walked on past them, in the direction of the training list, while he hesitated outside the chapel door with Rowena.
He wiped the cold tears from her cheeks as he watched her closely. "What has you so upset?"
She sniffed delicately. "Nothing. I fear I didn't get enough sleep last night."
He arched a brow at that.
"I had something in my eye?" she tried again.
Now he frowned.
Rowena rubbed a hand over her brow as if every bit as bemused as he was. "Forget my actions, milord. You just looked as if you needed comfort and I felt the peculiar urge to give it."
"Do you do this often with men you've just met?"
She laughed nervously. "Nay. I'm hardly the sort to do such and yet… I suspect you're a good man beneath your armor."
"For a brutal killer, you mean?"
She nodded. "You've never really killed in cold blood, have you?"
"Nay, but I have felt the urge a time or two in my life."
"As have I." Her confession surprised him. "If ever I found the man who killed my father, I think I could kill him gladly."
He took her hand into his and studied the delicate bones of it. Her hand was soft, well tapered. The gentle hand of a lady. "It's not easy to kill someone, Rowena. To stare at them, face to face, that moment when you both realize you've dealt them a mortal blow. There is something that passes between you. My father once told me it's a part of their soul that creeps into you. A part that will haunt you all of your life."
"And yet you're a knight."
"Because I have seen the great evil that is done on this earth to those who can't fight for themselves. The meek only inherit the grave while the strong go on until someone stronger stops them."
Rowena had never thought of it that way. "Is that why you fight?"
His eyes turned dark, brooding. "Aye. I fight for the ghost of a boy who cried because he was weak. A ghost I cannot exorcize no matter how hard I try."
Rowena reached up and touched the scar to the side of his neck where his father had cut him during his last fit of madness. It was only barely visible through his long hair.
Stryder closed his eyes, savoring the comfort of her gentle touch. Unlike other women, she wanted nothing from him. She was merely giving.
And that meant more to him than any amount of words.
Before he could stop himself, he bent his head down and captured her lips with his. The kiss was brief, but so needed that it surprised him more than her acquiescence to it.
He pulled back to watch her stare up at him.
Her smile weakened him instantly. "Careful, milord," she said quietly, "else I might mistake you for a friend."
He returned her smile. "I already consider you one, Rowena."
Rowena felt a strange chill rush over her at those words. "Even though I don't agree with you?"
"Most of my friends don't. Indeed, Christian and Nassir have turned arguing with me into an art form."
Her light smile made his body ache with desire. "Then I shall consider you my friend as well. Even though you find me maddening."
"Never maddening, milady. Just mad."
She laughed at his teasing. He took her hand in his and placed a gentle kiss across her knuckles.
She watched as he took his leave of her.
"Lord Stryder?" she called after him.
He turned to look at her and his pose took her breath.
"Shall we practice tonight?"
He grimaced. "If you insist on the torture."
"Indeed, I do."
He sighed heavily. "Then pick your device well. I shall be waiting on the rack for you just after supper. I will meet you in the hall."
She inclined her head to him. "Then I shall choose my thumbscrews wisely."
He turned and left her.
Rowena stood, her gaze never wavering as he walked away.
Lord Stryder was a man to woo a woman's heart. No wonder the others chased after him…
Rowena hesitated as a realization struck her. The women who chased after him knew nothing of the man—no more than the men who pursued her hand knew of her.
Lord Stryder had very few friends.
And she was one of them.
She shook her head. Friend to a knight. Who would have ever thought such, and yet there was no denying what she felt toward him.
It most certainly wasn't hatred any longer or contempt.
Nay, she respected him.
"What are you doing, Rowena?" she asked herself aloud. "You want nothing to do with a knight. " 'Tis a minstrel you seek."
Aye, it was true. Lord Stryder might be appealing, but at the end of the day, he wasn't the kind of man to stay at home while she built her school. He had his own calling in life.
One far nobler than hers.
Leashing her wayward heart, she headed toward the hall, where she hoped to put Stryder out of her thoughts.
But even so, she knew better. A man like him could never be driven out. Especially not by her heart, which couldn't really deny what she was beginning to feel for him.
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
It was well into the evening before supper began. Rowena sat with Kit at a lower table while the king, queen, and her uncle held court at the high table along with the Lord of Hexham and other prominent nobles.
The true festivities of the tournament were scheduled to begin tomorrow with a squire's melee and joust.
Those who were to participate wore scarlet tunics emblazoned with their lord's coat of arms. Druce sat in the midst of the youths who continued to brag that though their lords might not be able to best Lord Stryder, the boys could certainly best his squire.
Rowena felt badly for the boy who was being teased, and she hoped on the morrow Druce trounced them all.
Not that she should have such thoughts. Still, she hated to see the fear and uncertainty on the boy's handsome face.
"Where is your brother?" she asked Kit. Neither Stryder, his men, nor his "friends" had been there all night.
Kit shrugged. "I haven't seen him since I left the two of you at the chapel."
Rowena frowned, wondering what kept the man from eating, while her gaze drifted around the other nobles present. Surely he would be here, and yet as the meal progressed, it became obvious he had no intention of joining her.
As soon as the meals were finished, the tables were cleared and moved for dancing.
Elizabeth and Joanne joined them in one corner, where they waited, bu
t not for long. They quickly went off to find partners for the coming dance.
Still there was no sign of Stryder. Rowena fought down her disappointment.
"He won't come at this point," Kit told her as he led her toward the floor so that they could dance. "Once he hears music, he retires for the night."
"But we were to meet for lessons."
Kit frowned at that. "I know how much you want your freedom to choose a husband you can tolerate, Rowena, but I beg you not to press him on the issue."
"I haven't."
He nodded in approval as he led her to the center of the room to start a lively dance.
Stryder ground his teeth as he heard the music coming from the hall. He hadn't meant for his meeting with Nassir, Christian, and Zenobia to last so long. But he had promised Rowena they could practice.
He had hoped to make it to the hall before the revelry began. How he hated to watch dancers and hear music.
Even now he could hear his mother mocking his father whenever his father was gone. "The man is as clumsy as a plow. I know not how he can be so uncoordinated off the battlefield while he is so successful on it."
His father had never known of her mockery and though he hated to dance, his father had done so in hopes of making Stryder's mother happy.
The only time she'd ever been happy was when she visited Kit's father.
Banishing the memories, he forced himself into the hall. He had given his word and above all else, he would not breech it. The crowd was thick with nobles surrounding the dancers. Stryder made his way through them, seeking the petite blonde who haunted him.
He froze the instant he saw Rowena in his brother's arms. Something painful shot through him so unexpectedly that it took his breath.
She was beautiful. Her cheeks reddened by her exercise.
Desire tore through him as he ached with want. The dance ended. She and Kit stayed on the dance floor while the group made ready for the masketelle.
All the women present drew straws to be the first lady to wear the mask. The idea of the dance was for the masked lady to be twirled around and then set free to find her dance partner for the rest of the night.
They would lead the next dance and on the morrow, they would reign as the "king and queen" of the squire's tournament.