Free A Dark Champion by Kinley MacGregor

But I am told she birthed me at her sister’s home and then sent me to my father so that her husband would never learn of my existence.”
    “She and Stryder came once to visit you while you fostered with us.” Rowena vaguely recalled the event. It was the only time anyone had ever come to visit Kit.
    “Aye. She did that as much as she dared. Unfortunately, it was such a visit to my father’s home that caused her death. Stryder’s father had come home early from a trip to find them gone. When they returned, one of her servants betrayed her.”
    Rowena felt for her friend deeply. “Oh Kit, I am so sorry.”
    His eyes sad, he swallowed. “I am not the one who needs your sympathy, Rowena. I grieve for her because she was my mother, but I knew her very little. ’Twas Stryder who was devastated. He worshiped her.”
    Rowena fought down her tears at the thought of the pain Stryder must feel.
    “My brother’s life has been most harsh and still he is honorable. I know of no other who could have survived what he has and remain so noble.”
    “Aye. He could have made both Eleanor and I out to be liars.”
    He nodded.
    “But what of Cyril?” she asked. “Do you think Lord Stryder—”
    “Nay. I know better. If Stryder wished him dead, he would have faced him on the battlefield. Deception is not in my brother’s nature.”
    She had thought as much. “Why would Lord Aubrey lie?”
    “Perhaps he didn’t. Anyone may don a cloak. In the dark, I should think one could look as guilty as any other.”
    Rowena bit her lip at the thought. Aye, but who would want Stryder blamed?
    She excused herself and headed back toward the crowd that continued to gather around Cyril’s tent.
    “I still say the earl did this,” one of the barons said to a small group outside the tent.
    “Why would he sneak up on him and cut his throat while he slept? In all the years I’ve known Stryder, I’ve never known him to do such a thing.”
    Another baron snorted. “Madness possessed his father. Mayhap it has possessed him too.”
    Rowena ignored the men who continued to argue for and against Stryder. In truth, she felt very sorry forCyril—more than she would have thought possible. Not even he had deserved a death such as this.
    Her heart heavy, she had started toward the castle when something caught her gaze. It was a tiny slip of vellum poking out from underneath the canvas of Cyril’s tent.
    While the men continued to speculate, she bent over and retrieved it. The instant she opened it, her heart stopped.
    It was written in Arabic.
    We all did not go home.
    We all did not survive.
    Death to the Brotherhood. May you all burn in the fires of Lucifer’s deepest pit.
    At the bottom, stamped in blood, was a symbol she had seen just this morning while Stryder had stood naked before her…
     
    Stryder was washing the sleep from his face when he heard someone enter his tent without preamble.
    He spun to catch the culprit only to have her dodge and move quickly away, out of his grasp.
    “’Tis only I,” a soft, feminine voice said.
    Stryder growled low in his throat. “Can I not be free of you this morn?” he groused as he turned to face Rowena. Though to be honest, he did feel a bit of growing respect for the lady who had outmaneuvered him just now.
    She straightened with a haughty stare at him. Instead of making one of her infamous remarks, she closed the distance between them and took his right hand into hers.
    A small chill stole up his spine at the way she caressed the brand on the back of his hand. As always, the sight of that mark made his stomach shrink, his anger snap.
    “What is this from?” she asked quietly.
    “It’s nothing,” he said, trying to pull his hand away.
    She wouldn’t release it. “Why does this make you so angry?”
    “Rowena—”
    She didn’t take the warning. Her fingers brushed over the raised skin where the Saracens had seared their mark of a scimitar and moon on his flesh. He’d been only