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Stryder. Some of the
more intelligent women looked skeptically at Simon.
"What sort of rash is this?" a short, dark-haired woman asked. "I've never heard of such and I see no
rash on Lord Stryder."
Simon dropped his gaze to the area just below the man's belt. "That's because it resides in a most private
place." He
clucked his tongue at his friend. "Next time I tell you to refrain from houses of ill repute, you'll be listening
to me, won't you?"
The women made various noises of distress and ran for cover.
Stryder eyed him, his face a mixture of mirth and murder. "I'm not sure if I should thank you for that, or
beat you."
Simon offered him a lopsided grin. "Would you rather I left you to them?"
Stryder rubbed the back of his neck and frowned as he saw the blood on his hand where one of the
women had scratched
him. "Nay, I suppose not, but I wish you could have thought of a better tale."
"Very well, then, next time I shall tell them you are betrothed."
Stryder laughed openly at that. "Now there's an event that shall never happen. The earth as we know it
will perish long
before the earl of Blackmoor ever takes a bride."
"Never say never, my friend," Simon warned. "Far more stubborn men than you have proclaimed that
and fallen to
Cupid's bow."
"Mayhap, but I'm not like other men."
And neither was Simon, but then the two of them had a different calling one that took both their lives
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away from the
thought of matrimony.
Nay, neither he nor Stryder would ever marry. There were too many other lives that depended on both
of them. Too many others who looked to them for protection.
A wife would never understand their commitments.
Stryder joined him, and they headed back toward the tents. "Just promise me one thing, Simon."
"And that is?"
"That on the day I pledge my troth to a woman, you'll run me through."
Simon laughed at that. "You'd rather be dead than married?"
Stryder's face turned deadly serious. "Aye, I would."
Simon nodded in understanding. As his mother had, so had Stryder's mother died a violent death during
her son's childhood.
It had been one of the things that had forged their friendship years ago, a shared tragedy that allowed
them to understand
each other.
Over the years, even more tragedies had bound them closer than brothers.
"Very well. But I still say a betrothal is just what you need in order to deal with your legion of rabid
admirers. A wife
would ease them back and allow you some time to go about your business without ladies throwing
themselves at you."
The humor returned to Stryder's eyes. "Hmmm, a lady wife. Find me a wench with a level head whom I
can be tempted by, Simon, and I might take you up on that."
Frankfurt, Germany
Three months later
The roar of the crowd was deafening, but then it always was whenever Stryder of Blackmoor took the
field.
Knights were dressed in full tourney armor as they were introduced by the heralds to the eager crowd
that had gathered
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for today's sport.
Simon stayed in the background, watching Stryder's back as he always did. It was what he was best at.
His brother, Draven, had oft referred to him as his anchor. While others sought glory and fame, Simon
sought only to protect those he loved.
He had learned long ago that glory and riches meant nothing while standing over the grave of someone
who was dear.
Neither brought comfort or warmth.
Neither brought true happiness.
Only friendship and brotherhood did that.
And, of course, love.
Simon didn't need troubadours to write songs about him. He held no desire to make any woman swoon.
Except for one.
She whose name he dare not say because she was the one thing he could never have.
Long ago, in a barren land, when he'd been nothing more than a starving boy yearning for home, he had
made a promise that, so long as he lived, he would spend his life helping others return home to the
families that loved them.
Home. It was the one thing he'd lacked growing up. Aye, Draven had loved him, but as children they'd
had no real home. Ravenswood had been harsh and frightening.
Normandy had been endless and unfriendly, and even now he didn't want any thoughts at all of
Outremer.
The only thing Simon had ever been able to depend upon was the three men whom he considered his
family Draven of Ravenswood, Sin MacAllister and Stryder of Blackmoor.
Draven and Sin had allowed him to survive the horrors of his childhood at Ravenswood, and Stryder
had been the one
who had kept him sane and whole while living in the hell that was a Saracen prison.
There was nothing he wouldn't do for them.
"Si?"
Simon looked to Stryder, who was to his right, mounting his horse.
Once settled on his horse, Stryder flashed him a taunting grin. "Are you daydreaming again, man? Pick
up your sword
and stand ready."
Simon scoffed at him. "Daydreaming? Ha! Merely plotting the way I intend to spend my winnings this
day when I unhorse you."
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Stryder laughed aloud at that. He inclined his head toward the red ribbon Simon had tied around his
biceps.
"Who's the fortunate lady?"
"She's no concern of yours."
He smiled knowingly. "Mayhap I'll take a bit of pity on you then and let you get in a few blows before I
undignify you.
With any luck, she might be willing to kiss your injuries."
If only Simon could be so lucky.
But alas, his lady was far away from him.
She would always be so. It wasn't possible for a pebble to touch a star. And she was a star. Bright,
shining. Yet so far
above him that he dare not even look at her because in the end, he could never lay claim to her.
He glanced down at the ribbon and his heart ached.
The heralds called them to field, and the day proved to be a long one.
How Simon grew weary of the tournament circuit. Unlike Stryder, he saw no use in it. But he stayed out
of loyalty
Stryder needed someone to protect him who was beyond bribery.
And for the price on Stryder's head, those people were far too few and rare.
As the day finally drew to a close, Simon found himself with Stryder and Christopher, walking toward
their tents as
women tried to grab Stryder and proposition him.
"It's a sad sight, isn't it?" Christopher asked wearily. "Methinks I should have the armorer make a larger
helm for tomorrow
so that it can fit over Stryder's big head."
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