Page 50 of The Champion

He took her hand into his and studied the delicate bones of it. “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 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. One that 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 my lord,” 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, my lady. Just mad.”

She laughed at his teasing. He took her hand into 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.”

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.

For the first time in her life, she understood desire. Want. Most of all, she knew the lust of which she had written.

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 aught of her.