Page 133 of The Champion

“I thought that was the whole idea of courtly love. Sacrificing your life for your unattainable lady, even though you may never have anything more than a passing glance from her?”

She gave a most undignified snort at that. “And that is not the love I write of. I find nothing romantic in unnecessary bloodshed.”

Stryder pulled her close enough so that he could kiss her temple. He inhaled the sweet, floral scent of her hair. “After Friday next, you shall never again have to fear unnecessary bloodshed. I will win you and I will marry you.”

She nodded as she calmed a degree. “And I shall come dressed in white feathers, like all good geese do.”

He sighed at her stubbornness. “Would you rather I lose?”

“Nay! Most especially not to someone like Damien St. Cyr.”

“Then why are we fighting?”

“Because!” She turned on her heel and stormed out of his tent.

Stryder stood there in complete stupefaction, trying to understand what had just happened.

“Women,” he growled. No man would ever understand them.

Stryder spent the next few days preparing himself for the tournament without any more lessons from Rowena. In fact, she barely spoke to him other than to honk like a goose and flap her arms whenever he tried to talk to her.

And God have mercy on him, but Alexander had taken up the habit as well.

“Aren’t I funny, Father? Rowena said it would make you laugh.”

Groan, more like. But Stryder refused to hurt the boy’s feelings. So, he patted him on the head and sent him off with Fatima while he cursed Rowena for being childish.

Stryder spent the night before the tournament in the chapel, as was his habit, saying a prayer for strength and for all the souls he’d known who had died away from the reach of their families.

‘Twas late in the evening when he made his way back to his tent to find Rowena waiting there. Dressed in a long cloak, she was sitting by Alexander’s small cot, watching the boy sleep.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, half expecting her to honk at him again.

She didn’t.

Instead, she rose slowly to her feet and moved to stand before him. “I gave Fatima the evening off. I didn’t know you would be gone so long. I was hoping you would return before Joanna and Bridget vanished, but alas there is no one who can watch Alexander, now.”

He laced his fingers through her hair. “I wouldn’t have been had I known you were here, waiting and not honking at me.”

She smiled at him and pressed her lips chastely to his. “I’m sorry for my behavior and even more so that I employed Alexander’s help to annoy you. It was wrong of me.”

Stryder cleared his throat. It was hard to feel rankled at her while she stood there looking so inviting and apologizing to him.

“I forgive you.”

“Good.” She pulled away and honked at him.

Stryder rolled his eyes.

She laughed. “I am but teasing.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Alexander lay sleeping, as if to assure herself the boy hadn’t moved.

Then, she opened her cloak.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw her sheer chemise that accentuated more of her body than it covered. Her pink nipples were swollen and puckered, just begging him for a taste.

But more than that, her sheer chemise showed his childish script where he had written the words ‘I belong to Stryder.’

She laid her hand against his cheek. “I haven’t forgotten.”