Page 19 of The Champion

Stryder pushed those thoughts away, too. If he had to choose between people who rankled him, better he thought of Rowena than Cyril.

At least she was fair and buxom. In a most irritating way. The kind that tended to haunt a man long after she was gone and make him wonder what her lips would taste like.

What her body would feel like as he took her slow and easily...

Stryder pushed those thoughts away as well. The last thing he needed was a woman who had no use for him when every other female in Christendom was doing everything she could to get into his bed.

He had stripped himself to his waist and was in the process of downing his tankard of ale when he heard the flap of his tent open.

Acting on instinct, he unsheathed his dagger and rose to face his intruder.

It was the devil herself.

Rowena gasped as soon as she came into the tent to find Lord Stryder virtually naked, holding a dagger in his hand as if ready to let it fly at her head.

“You can see every part of his muscles flex.”

Elizabeth hadn’t lied. Rowena really could. In fact, every muscle of that gorgeously virile body was plainly evident.

He was coiled to strike. Lethal.

She stiffened at the thought and cast him a chiding glare. “Put your weapon away.”

He arched a daring brow at that. “Why should I when I have half a mind to make good use of it on you.”

“So, you admit to having only half a mind, then?”

His eyes narrowed.

“I am but teasing, milord,” she said, gentling her voice. “Put away your weapon for I have serious business here with you.”

“You have no business here with me, lady. None. Now hie yourself-”

“Nay,” she said stubbornly. “I have just been told that the only chance I have for freedom is in your hands and, by all that is holy, you will deliver me my freedom, or I shall see to it that you live out the rest of your life in merciless misery.”

He gaped at her. On any other man, such an expression would have looked foolish, but to his credit, Lord Stryder, even when taken by surprise, still managed to carry off an air of supreme authority and handsomeness. “I beg your pardon? Have you gone completely mad?”

“Not I, but rather the king you love so well. It appears he would see us marry.”

“My hairy arse.”

She gave him a droll stare. “That is much more information about your person, Lord Stryder, than I care to know.”

He tossed the dagger with deadly precision into the table next to her. Thudding with its impact, it embedded in the top where it wobbled for a few seconds.

In spite of herself, she was impressed by his abilities.

“Henry knows better than to see me coerced into marriage...again.”

“There you are wrong,” she said primly. “You see I have the grave misfortune of having been born the sole child to my father, Giles of Sussex.”

Stryder’s jaw went slack again as he understood her predicament.

Still, she explained it for him. “Henry wants a strong lord to marry me to control those lands. Therefore, whoever the fool to win this tournament, is to be my husband.”

His icy blue eyes flashed. “Then, I shall withdraw immediately.”

“The devil you say.”