Page 7 of The Champion

And she wished a pox on them all.

In her heart, it was a gentle man she sought. One who was kind to others and who could be compassionate without fear of it weakening him.

“Find the man who will love you, bit. One who is worthy of your devotion. Let no man have you because you are landed. Better I should give up all to Henry than have my girl miserable. Life’s too short for all of us, and I want you to enjoy every day of yours.”

Her father’s words still echoed in her mind and most importantly, in her heart. He had been a good man, and it was one such as he that she sought for husband.

Unfortunately, she had yet to find anyone even close to his decency. Instead, she was courted by men who saw nothing but lands and wealth whenever they looked at her.

At age ten-and-five, she had once dressed to sup at banquet as a gold nugget and caused quite a stir amongst the nobles. Her unamused uncle had taken a strap to her and quickly forced her to change her clothes.

Though she had never repeated that experience, Rowena was still the same. She would never have a man who saw her as a means to an end. She would only marry a man who saw her as a woman.

“Do you think Lord Stryder might choose me as the Lady of All Hearts?” Elizabeth asked as she continued to prattle on. “I know he’ll be the knight who wins the tourney and I should like so much to be picked.” A blush crept over Elizabeth’s cheeks. “I left him my handkerchief as a token when he helped us bring Joanna inside. Do you think he kept it?”

Rowena gave Elizabeth a genuine smile. Her friend couldn’t help her infatuation for a barbarian. And though it pained her to listen to it, she loved Elizabeth enough not to crush her dreams. If being tossed over a man’s shoulder and being treated like a possession made her friend happy, and it did, then Rowena wished her friend well and all the barbarians her friend could handle. “Why would he not keep a token from someone as beautiful as you?”

Elizabeth smiled. “You’re so kind, Rowena. I hope you fill the hall at your recital.”

Rowena glanced at her lute which rested on the windowsill. Music and poetry were her life. And it was the only life she wanted, if the truth were told. While her ladies-in-waiting dreamed of husbands, children, and titles, she dreamed of traveling from castle to castle, singing for her supper and seeing the world. Or, at the very least, opening a school so that she could train others to cherish music as much as she did.

But, unlike her male minstrel counterparts, who wrote songs that glorified war and knights, she wrote only of love.

Her stance against the order of knighthood was often mocked by other troubadours who thought her foolish. However, she didn’t care. She’d won enough awards and contests with her words of love that she didn’t need the approval of the more traditional minstrels. She had faith in her music.

If only her father had lived to see her success....

Rowena blinked away the mist in her eyes. Even after all this time, her heart still ached for the father she’d loved so dearly. But it wasn’t in her nature to let others see her pain. She was a quiet sort who kept her feelings close to her breast.

As she turned her attention back to Elizabeth, a knock sounded on the door.

At Elizabeth’s bidding, Joanne stuck her blond head in, slightly dislodging her yellow veil in the process. She wore a gown of watchet and her green eyes twinkled merrily. Joanne was one of four ladies-in-waiting who were fostering in Rowena’s household and who had come with her to Hexham for the tournament. “Are you two not ready?”

Elizabeth ignored the question and asked one of her own, “Is he in the hall yet?” The excitement in Elizabeth’ voice told Rowena that the he she referred to must be the Earl of Blackmoor.

The earl had arrived in Hexham late last night and, so far, Rowena had been spared his boorish company.

Something that was sure to change shortly...

Joanne’s face beamed. “Aye, he just entered.”

Elizabeth overturned her chair in her haste to leave the room.

Sedately, Rowena rose to her feet and followed after her friends, who were rushing down the corridor in a most unladylike fashion, as they giggled and recounted their earlier encounter with the earl.

“I can’t believe he actually carried me,” Joanne said in a breathless voice. “How I wish I’d been awake.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “How I wish I’d been the one who fainted. Oh, to be carried by those strong arms!”

Rowena shook her head. In spite of her best efforts, a smile hovered at the edges of her lips. She loved her two friends, but there were times when they still acted as if they were children instead of women, full grown.

Elizabeth and Joanne paused along the gallery where numerous other women were leaning over the low stone wall to spy on the men below. The hall was crowded with people and hounds and musicians as servants prepared the tables for the coming meal. Over and over, Rowena heard various women exclaiming over Lord Stryder, the Earl of Blackmoor.

“Is his hair not as dark as a midnight sky?” a woman to her left breathed.

“Oh, aye. And his shoulders are by far the broadest of any below.”

“You can tell by his walk that he’s a man to satisfy a woman’s needs. Oh, but for a chance to find out for myself.”