The lady chosen would remain the tournament lady until the knights held their tournament, and the victor named the Lady of All Hearts, who would then bestow the prizes on the victors and be the guest of honor at the banquet held on the final night of the tournament. Personally, Stryder thought it a foolish game, but the ladies considered it quite an honor.
Under the supervision of a matron, the straws were quickly drawn and compared. One by one, faces fell as the women realized they weren't the winner.
Until one face went pale. "Rowena de Vitry is our first queen," the matron pronounced.
The sudden silence was deafening. Normally when a lady was chosen, a cheer went up for her. There was no such celebration for Rowena.
The black feathered mask was brought forward and secured to Rowena's head while the minstrels began to play. The women twirled Rowena around.
Custom dictated that the men surround her so that they could elbow and shove for a chance to be picked.
None moved.
Indeed, many stepped back. Rowena stumbled about with her arms held out while the men began to elbow and prod one another.
"You brave her tongue," one man said to another.
"I can do without a shrew. Not even her lands are worth her prattle."
Laughter rang out as they took to insulting her.
Rowena froze.
But in her honor, she didn't cry or run. She merely stood there in the center of their mockery with her head held high.
Kit started forward.
"Aye, you take her, Christopher. She can't unman you."
Stryder's vision turned dark. Deadly.
Rowena wanted to die in shame. It was all she could do not to tear the mask off and run from the hall. But she wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Worst of all, she felt for poor Kit, who had tried to help her. The last thing he deserved was to be mocked for his kind heart.
The laughter of the crowd died as she felt someone near her. Expecting it to be Kit, she was completely startled when strong arms pulled her close to a large, hard body.
The minstrels began playing again. There was no sound now from anyone in the hall as her unknown champion led her through a dance. His steps were flawless and commanding.
"Stryder?" she whispered, knowing the feel of him. His warm scent.
"Aye, milady."
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 passionate gaze that scorched her. "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 full of people."
He grimaced at that. "Be grateful you wore the mask. This way you weren't able to witness the 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. Every dimple and whisker. "Thank you. I have a feeling that before this month ends I shall owe you more than can ever be repaid."
"Nay, milady. 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. "You're hurt!"
He shrugged it off. "Hugh has a hard head."
She frowned at his light tone. "Come, this needs be tended."
Stryder led her back to his tent, where he kept his supplies. He pulled out the small chest that contained 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 bleeding hand.
He watched as she gathered his wash basin, pitcher and ale skin. "I'm still confused by your acceptance of my actions when I know how much you loathe violence."
Rowena paused. In truth, she was as well. But for some reason she couldn't find anything appalling about his behavior tonight. For once, she did feel it was justified.
"We are friends," she said as she held his hand in hers and poured water over the cut. "Is that not what you said?"
"Aye."
"Well then, Mends accept each other's shortcomings and their differences of opinions. Tonight, however, our differences were not as wide as they would have been yesterday."
He chuckled at that.
Rowena swallowed at the sensation of his hand in hers. His fingers were lean and dark compared to hers. Strong. She poured ale over them to cleanse the wound. Stryder hissed.
"Don't be a baby," she chided.
He took it good-naturedly.
Rowena reached for a small pot of white salve to rub over the injury. "Why do the men mock Kit so?" she asked. "He's not the only minstrel who doesn't fight."
Stryder looked away from her. "There are some who think he is more woman than man."
Rowena scoffed at what he was implying. "Kit is certainly not the kind of man inclined to be with other men."
"I agree, but he has never been found in the company of a woman, if you understand what I mean. Nor does he make it his habit to seek out any woman other than you. But he is often found in the company of men. I personally don't care what his tastes are. We are brothers and no man living will ever hurt him without answering to me for it."
Without thought, Rowena reached out and touched Stryder's face. "They should make more brothers such as you."
To her surprise, he turned his face into her hand and kissed her lightly on the palm.
Rowena's entire body grew warm. But what disturbed her most was the tenderness she felt toward him. The tenderness she saw in him. He was such an unexpected treasure.
Stryder watched her carefully. What he wanted more than anything was to pull her against him and taste the sweetness of her mouth. But if he did that, he doubted he would be able to let her go, and the last thing either of them needed was a tryst in his tent.
Not to mention he had a bad feeling that one taste of her would never sate him. Rather it would only whet his appetite for more of her.
She stepped back and wrapped his hand carefully. This was such an odd moment. He'd had women aplenty who had volunteered to see to his wounds, but none of them had made him feel the way Rowena did.
"Thank you, milady," he said as she tucked the edges of the cloth in, then set about returning his items to their box.
"My pleasure." As she returned the box to its case, she paused. "I didn't bring my lute."
Stryder's gaze drifted to the large trunk by his bed. It was where he kept his personal items and inside, tucked away in its case, was the lute he hadn't seen since the death of his mother.
It had been silenced the same day she had.
"I have one." The words
were out before he could stop them.
Rowena's face showed the same surprise he felt. He didn't know why he had offered her his mother's most treasured prize.
Stryder got up slowly and walked to his trunk. He opened the lid to find his family sword, his clothes, and other items he touched almost every day.
But the case in the bottom…
It was still as pristine as the day he had placed it there, where it was shielded by his clothes.
Rowena came forward and watched Stryder closely. There was such an air of sadness around him as he pulled a shiny black case from the bottom of his trunk.
In an instant, she understood. "It's your mother's?"
He only nodded.
"I can go get mine. It'll only—"
"Nay, Rowena. We all have to face our pasts at some point. If I am forced to conjure up her ghost, then let us not shirk."
She frowned, not sure of what he meant.
He took a deep breath as he opened the case to display one of the finest crafted lutes she had ever beheld. " 'Tis beautiful."
Stryder nodded. "My father's gift to her when she told him she was pregnant with me. He sent to Paris for it."
To her amazement, Stryder handed it to her. Rowena held it with respect. There was no single scratch or mar on its surface. It was obvious his mother had treasured it greatly.
"Why do you keep it with you?"
"It and her ring are all I have of her. She might not have been a good wife, but she was a wonderful mother. A beautiful lady who believed in the love poetry of Eleanor's court that says true love can never be found inside of marriage."
His gaze met hers and the coldness there sent a shiver over her.
"I don't believe that," she said honestly. "I think love is found where we least expect it. My father's greatest wish was for me to only marry the man I loved. He oft said that no marriage should ever be made for any other reason. Indeed, Andre the Chaplain, who sometimes travels with Eleanor, says the same. He believes that love should only be within the confines of marriage."
"Do your songs say as much?"
"Aye. I write of people who come together against great odds so that they can live their lives out in bliss."
"Then sing to me, Rowena. Let me hear a song of a happy couple who live within the confines of their vows. I want nothing of deceit or treachery."
Stryder spoke from his heart and it touched hers in a way she wouldn't have thought possible.
Nodding, she took his lute to a chair by his desk and sat down to tune it.
Stryder listened to her as she brought his mother's lute back to life. He would have thought by now the strings would have rotted, but it was a testament to Rowena's skill and gentle touch that they didn't break as she strummed them.
Instead, she made a gentle tune with it. And when she sang, her voice held all the music of heaven. Druce had been right. Surely there was no divine choir that could surpass her skill.
And she did sing to him of a falconer and a dairy maid who were star-crossed, and yet they found love and married.
When she had finished, they sat in silence.
"A falconer," he said quietly, thinking over her tale as he sat in a chair across from her. "So you don't believe nobility can marry for love?"
"I do. I just have never witnessed it."
Stryder's thoughts turned to his friend Simon of Ravenswood and Simon's wife, Kenna. "I have. 'Tis a beautiful thing to see two people come together when they would rather die than live apart."
Rowena sighed wistfully. "I would give all I have to feel such."
Stryder nodded and found it strange that they were discussing this when he had never spoken aloud of such things. "And what sort of man would you fall in love with, Rowena?"
She strummed an idle chord as she thought it over. "One of gentle touch. Honorable, of course. And he must make me laugh."
Her list surprised him. "You have no physical requirements?"
"Nay, not really. 'Tis what a man is inside that matters to me." She looked at him. "And what of you? What kind of woman could win the heart of the earl of Blackmoor?"
"None," he said, his voice thick as he took a draught of ale. "My heart is dead and completely incapable of beating for a woman."
"Completely?"
"Aye. A woman would only distract me from my duties, and I would ever fear to leave her lest her head be turned by another in my absence."
She gave him an arched look. "Women are no more faithless than men, milord. It takes two to commit adultery."
"Aye, it does indeed."
She came forward and set the lute in his lap. "Do you need me to show you the chords?"
He shook his head.
Rowena was startled the instant he placed his hands on the lute and began plucking an old ballad. He made a few mistakes, but overall his technique and skill were impressive.
This was a man who had once played often. Obviously his mother had taught him well.
"You're remarkable."
"My mother's doing. She oft said that the only way to woo a woman's heart was with poetry and song."
"You don't agree?"
He gave her a droll stare. "I have yet to meet a minstrel who is chased more than I am, Rowena. I haven't noticed you having to hide in the shrubs with one of your mewling troubadours."
She laughed in spite of herself. "Truer words were never spoken."
"What is this?"
Stryder looked up to see Swan entering his tent. The man's face was horrified as he caught sight of Rowena and the lute in Stryder's hands.
"Nay, nay, nay!" the man snapped, rushing forward to pull the instrument away. "I thought we had this discussion. You and Rowena hate each other while we keep her maids occupied so that they cannot play matchmaker. Yet I turn my back and find the two of you in here… alone. Nay, this I cannot allow."
Rowena exchanged a puzzled frown with Stryder. "You told your men to occupy my maids?"
"Nay," Stryder said quickly. "They took that duty upon themselves. I honestly had nothing to do with their machinations." He glared at his knight. "Truly, they have gone mad."
"Nay, we are not mad, Stryder. We're only looking out for everyone's best interest." Swan handed the lute to Rowena and urged her for the door.
"This isn't mine," she said, whirling from his grasp, toward Stryder.
Swan's features were appalled. "Already she's taken root. You purchased one of these for your own?"
"Calm yourself," Stryder snapped. "It belonged to my mother."
"Ah," Swan said. He took the lute from Rowena and handed it to Stryder. "In that case, return it to hiding while I escort the lady back to the castle."
"And if I wish to stay?" Rowena asked.
Swan didn't hesitate with an answer. "I shall drug you."
Her face was aghast. "Is your man serious?"
"Most likely." Stryder handed the lute to Swan. "Put this away and I shall escort her back."
"That rather defeats the purpose of keeping the two of you apart."
"Enough foolishness, Swan. Rowena and I are only friends."
"And hell is just a balmy isle. Nay, I think it—"
"Put the lute away," Stryder said firmly, cutting off his words. "I shall be back shortly."
"If you're not, I shall send Val after you… with his sword drawn."
Stryder shook his head as he offered Rowena his arm.
"I want a full yard between you two."
Stryder ignored him. "Mayhap I should hire him out as a nurse."
Rowena placed her hand into the crook of his arm. "Mmmm, he might prove a most good one. My own nurse is seldom so censoring."
Stryder's features lightened.
"I'm not an old woman," Swan called after them as he watched them from the tent's flap. "And I know well how long it takes to walk to the castle and back. If you haven't returned, I shall make sure you are fetched."
"Is he always so protective?" Rowena asked as they walked toward the castle.
r /> "Nay. In fact, I find him ever absent whenever women are after me."
"Then he doesn't like me."
"Not you personally. Rather he doesn't like the prospect of our forced marriage. He lives in fear of being penned down anywhere."
Swan's comments were muffled now. Unintelligible.
"I would think all men yearn for a home," Rowena said.
"Some, perhaps, but not us. We spent three years locked away. It's hard for us to be indoors now. 'Tis why I prefer my tent when I could easily request quarters in the castle. Like Swan, I don't care for stone walls around me."
Rowena ached for him and what he must have suffered as a prisoner. "It must have been horrible."
Stryder grew quiet.
By his face she could tell he was reliving the past and she wanted to make him laugh again. Rowena tried to think of something witty to say, but could think of nothing.
So she did something she hadn't done in years. She reached over and tickled him.
Stryder jumped as Rowena ran her hand over his ribs.
"Are you not ticklish?" she asked.
Before he could answer, she assaulted him. He laughed in spite of himself. "Have you lost your mind?" he asked as he dodged away from her.
"Most likely. But I could think of no other way to amuse you."
Completely bemused by her, Stryder merely shook his head as he avoided her questing hands. "Do you often reach out and tickle people?"
"Honestly? I haven't done such since I was a girl. But then I haven't felt the urge since then, either."
He captured her hands. "In the future, I would appreciate your ignoring said urges."
She responded by freeing her hands and tickling him even more.
Stryder quickly retaliated against her. She squealed, running away from him.
"Ho, nay!" he said, chasing after her. "You don't start this and then flee, milady."
"Only a true knave would tickle a lady!" she said between peals of laughter.
"And you have called me far worse than that."
"Not you personally." She dodged around the rushlight.
Stryder caught her, then froze as the full softness of her body contacted with his. Her laughter caressed his skin.
Before he even realized it, he was kissing her.
Rowena moaned at the taste of him. He was like touching a dream.