Page 115 of The Champion

“You heard?”

“Aye. Several dozen heard,” Will looked around at the men who were still staring at Stryder.

Stryder sent them a glare that made them flee instantly.

“Too bad you’re not Kit making those threats,” Stryder said churlishly. “Then I might say yea.”

Will laughed at that. “My sword is ever at your command. One word...”

“Nay. He’s not worth your life.” Stryder went back inside his tent while Will followed after him.

“Don’t take his words to heart,” Will said. “He’s a bully and an arrogant braggart.”

That was true, but then Damien was also an excellent challenger for the joust. Highly trained and accurate to a fault, Damien, like him, had never been defeated.

Stryder had never faced him and didn’t really expect to lose to him.

But when it came to Rowena’s heart, Stryder wasn’t so sure. Could her love be taken from him as easily as his mother’s had been taken from his father?

It was ever human nature to change. Not to mention, Damien was a prince. He was cultured and literate. He even shared Rowena’s love of poetry and music.

Grinding his teeth, Stryder pushed the matter out of his thoughts. There was nothing he could do except talk to Rowena tonight when she came and see if there were any truth to what Damien said.

Rowena could sense something even darker than normal about Stryder the instant she entered his tent. He sat at his desk with a piece of paper before him. A deep frown marred his handsome brow, and his attention was solely on the paper.

He had yet to even hear her approach and that, more than his frown, told her just how intent he was on his task.

Knowing he couldn’t read, and curious about what had him so transfixed, she approached silently to peer over his shoulder.

Her breath faltered as she saw what he was doing.

He was trying to copy the one letter’s contents onto another piece of paper.

“Stryder?”

He turned sharply, then wadded the paper up he’d been writing on. He snatched it up so fast that he overturned the inkwell, then cursed as he righted it. Of course, it was too late since ink was spilled all over the desk.

Stryder grabbed a cloth to dab at it.

Rowena moved forward to help him.

“What were you doing?” she asked as they wiped up the spilled ink.

“I... I...” he let out a long, deep breath as if he were too tired to try and think up a lie. “I was trying to teach myself to write a letter to someone.”

She felt a strange weepiness in her chest at his words. Imagine a man like him humbling himself to learn to write at his age. “Why?”

He replaced the quill pen to its wooden holder as he shrugged. “I had something I wanted to say and I grow tired of having to tell others what I wish to have written. I thought it was time that I learned to write for myself. After all, Simon got me into a great deal of trouble by being my scribe.”

She had no idea who this Simon was, but she wasn’t interested in him. She only cared about Stryder. “What were you trying to write? Perhaps I could be of service.”

He looked rather uncomfortable about that.

“Is it a letter of war?” she tried again. “Do you need someone to issue orders to some of your men or to the Brotherhood?”

“Nay, ‘tis a personal letter.”

No wonder he was nervous about it. Stryder could be very private at times with everyone. “Would you rather I sent for one of your men?”