Free A Dark Champion by Kinley MacGregor Page A

ten-and-five when they had branded him. Even after all these years, he could recall the pain of the wound. The degradation.
    “Is this part of the Brotherhood of the Sword?”
    He tensed at her question. “What do you know of the Brotherhood?”
    “I travel with minstrels, milord. There are whispers of a group of men who were once political prisoners in the Holy Land. Men who saved others and brought them home. Noble and decent men who still fight to bring more home and see them safely to the bosoms of their families.”
    Pain racked Stryder, but his anger overshadowed that. No one was supposed to know of them. “Where have you heard this?”
    “I told you, there are many who sing of such tales. The stories started about two years ago, and no one is certain who began them. The words and music show up anonymously at various tournaments where we gather, lauding the virtues and bravery of the Brotherhood’s members.” She narrowed her gaze on him as if she could read his very mind. “You are one of them, aren’t you?”
    Stryder had been hiding for so long that he couldn’t bring himself to admit it to her. “Release me.”
    To his relief, she did. “‘They travel through the night on the wings of heavenly stallions bringing hope and new faith to those left behind. Even though they are free, they never forget their past and spend their lives trying to bring peace to others.’”
    He frowned at her words. “What is that you quote?”
    “One of the chansons that is written about the Brotherhood.” She held the note out to Stryder. “This was on the ground just outside of Cyril’s tent. I find it hard to believe that he was a member of your Brotherhood, but you…”
    Stryder stared at the paper. He could read none of it, but he could see the bloody symbol. It was the same as the one on his hand. “What does this say?”
    “Can you not read Arabic?”
    “I can’t read anything, Rowena.”
    He expected to see condemnation from her for his “uneducated” status. Instead, she merely nodded and then read the note for him.
    Stryder’s gaze darkened. “Are you sure this came from his tent?”
    “Aye. It looked as if it had been blown free of wherever it had been placed.” Her brow puckered. “What does the person mean that not everyone survived or went home?”
    Stryder stood there, his soul screaming out at the letter and what it signified. Could one of their ownhave killed Cyril, or was this a Saracen playing havoc with them?
    It didn’t make sense. Nay, they had made certain no one was left behind the night they escaped.
    No one.
    It wasn’t in his nature to trust anyone and yet he found himself confiding in Rowena. “It was a vow all of us made while we were prisoners that we all would survive and go home.”
    “Who was left behind?”
    “No one out of our camp. We made sure of it. On the night we escaped, we sent groups to free the others while Christian and I led the youngest members out.” He shook his head. “It can’t be one of us. It’s some Saracen playing with our heads. It has to be.”
    “Why?”
    “To punish us for leaving and for helping others to escape. No doubt they have been hunting us all this time with no other purpose than to kill us off one by one.”
    “But why kill Cyril?” she asked as she folded up the note. “He didn’t strike me as the kind to help anyone save himself.”
    It was true. Cyril had refused their cause once they were free and had gone home, ever forgetful of what they’d been through, of the promises they had made to each other.
    “I don’t know.”
    Her face lighted as if she’d had an epiphany. “Unless it was to frame you for it. Perhaps you were the target all along. Why else wear your cloak?”
    “Those are points well taken.” It could also explain why so many attempts had been made on his life. He and his men had been looking for someone who resented his friendship with the throne. Perhaps his enemy had nothing to do with Henry, but