Page 59 of The Champion

Stryder made his way back to his tent relatively unmolested. There were a few women he had to dodge.

If only Rowena had chased after him...

He smiled at the thought. Aye, his little minx could be fun, once she dropped her frigid formality.

And waspish comments.

Who could have guessed that she could be so warm and charming?

By the time he reached his tent, he found Swan sitting inside with Nassir and Zenobia.

“Any luck?” he asked the two of them.

They shook their heads. “If he’s here, he’s not looking to make contact,” Nassir said quietly.

Stryder turned toward Zenobia. “Have you any feelings on the matter?”

“None whatsoever. I wish I could channel my sight better, but unfortunately I can’t.”

“Any word from Christian, then?”

“Again, none.”

“I shall return to the hall.” Zenobia rose to her feet. “Men often speak more easily when they’re into their cups and a woman smiles at them. Perhaps one of them will let something slip.”

“I’ll escort you,” Swan said, rising also.

Nassir didn’t move or speak until they were alone again.

“What’s on your mind?” Stryder asked.

“I’m thinking our assassin isn’t one of my people, but rather, he’s one of yours.”

Stryder frowned at that. “How so?”

Nassir held his hands out. “I do not pass among your kind.”

Stryder scoffed at that as he looked at his friend dressed as a European noble. “You blend more than you know. Your skin is no darker than mine.”

“Perhaps, but there are other things I do that are ingrained in me that your people don’t. I think our assassin was once one of yours, who was trained by my people, and then set loose on you.”

Stryder considered that. He’d met Sin MacAllister on more than one occasion. As Nassir had pointed out, Sin had been trained by the Saracens to kill his fellow Europeans. “It does make sense. So how do we find him?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“If he is after Brotherhood members, who better to attack than the man who leads us?”

That made sense, but there was only one problem with it. “I’m not the leader.”

“We all deferred to you in camp and well you know it. If they are after us, it only stands to reason that you are on the kill list.” Nassir rose to his feet. “I will leave you and hopefully he will make his presence known to you soon enough.”

“Wish me dead, eh?”

Nassir’s face turned deadly earnest. “Nay, my friend. Never that. I wish you the speed of a cobra.”

Stryder inclined his head as Nassir took his leave. Alone, he grabbed a goblet of ale and took it to his bed where he prepared himself to sleep.