Surely he had been too busy with questioning the locals to give it to her. He had not waited until he need not face her alone.
He turned his attention to his father. “You said it was by Sir Fredrick’s hand that Aislynn was shot, when she and Jarrod were returning from Ashcroft, where they had gone to look for me?”
“Aye, it was Sir Fredrick. He had followed them after having come upon them at a market.”
“Your sister has been to Ashcroft?” Rowena asked eagerly.
“So my father says. But she and Jarrod did not stay long. When Aislynn told Hagar that she was my sister, Hagar told them that we had gone. They were forced to stop at Kewstoke, which is held by Jarrod’s brother, when Aislynn was wounded. Jarrod is still there, as it seems his brother is ill. In spite of her recent injury Aislynn insisted upon coming here to find me.”
His father gave a stiff nod, which Christian took as anger to match his own. “Sir Fredrick must be completely mad. I look forward to the day when I can make him pay.”
“Who is this Fredrick?” Rowena asked.
“Kelsey’s right hand. He cares for nothing but his master. Those two have wrought much ill in all our lives and will continue to do so as long as they are allowed.”
Rowena stepped back. “I will leave you now. My lord Greatham.” She dipped her head toward his father.
His father bowed. “Lady Rowena. I am so pleased my son was able to bring you home. In spite of the fact that we were so very worried for him.”
She seemed to stiffen as he said the word home. “I…thank you for your kindness, my lord.”
With that she turned and made her way down the hall to her own chamber. As soon as the door had closed behind her, Christian took a deep breath and said, “Father, I am truly sorry for the concern I have caused. I know it must have been great to bring you from Bransbury.”
His father put a hand to his shoulder. “Yes, but leaving it is not so great a worry as it would have been in the past.”
“What say you?”
“Llewellyn has decided to treat with me.”
“How is that…?”
“His daughter Leri has married Gwyn ap Cyrnain.”
“Aislynn’s intended. What the—”
His father held up a forestalling hand. “Nay, have no care for Aislynn. She is well content with the way it has gone. Leri is carrying Gwyn’s child.”
Christian took a deep breath. If Aislynn was not unhappy, then…
His father added, “Of course, I cannot stay away indefinitely. The region is too unstable, but I would have gone when I learned that Aislynn was hurt at any rate. She has been a good child….”
Christian’s stomach tightened at his father’s pain. Aye, unlike him, Aislynn had been good and dutiful. And it was this realization that moved Christian to hold his father’s gaze as he said, “I will be a better son than I have been thus far. You have my word on it.”
His father clasped his shoulder. “You are a good son.” The moisture in his blue eyes told how moved he was.
It was his father’s grateful tears that made Christian all the more determined to do his duty. No matter how his yearning thoughts strayed to a proud young woman with a kind heart and sad green eyes.
Jarrod Maxwell arrived at Avington only days after Aislynn and her father. With his raven hair and eyes he was the most exotic man Rowena had ever seen, yet she felt not one tug of awareness of him as a man.
That awareness was reserved for one who gave it no value. That he had returned her purse with more gold than it had previously held only served to remind her of his sense of honor. He did indeed keep his word.
Deliberately she kept her eyes from finding Christian as Jarrod stormed across the floor of the great hall. His cloak billowed out behind him and the dragon brooch at his shoulder flashed in the light of the candles as he approached the high table.
When all who had gathered for the meal began to talk at once he did not immediately reply. Instead he cast what seemed a resentful glance toward Aislynn.
Rowena allowed the conversation to go on about her, unheeding as she watched Aislynn’s face. For her part Christian’s sister seemed defiant and angry.
Clearly there was something going on between Christian’s sister and the mysterious dark knight, though no one else appeared to note this as they all talked of Jarrod’s recent inheritance, and Aislynn and her father leaving his brother Eustace’s lands at Kewstoke without warning. Perhaps Rowena was so very sensitive to such things because of her own confusing and unwanted feelings for Christian.
She was pulled out of her reverie as she realized they were now speaking of her. Jarrod Maxwell’s expression was as amazed as all the others’ had been as he sank down on a bench, his gaze on Rowena’s face. “Can this be true?”
Again she was forced to reply with reluctance. “I know not. But as Christian is so certain, I have come here to see if the truth can be found.”
She felt Christian watching her with his usual disapproval. She raised her chin high.
Rowena turned her attention back to Aislynn, saw the way the fair woman’s burning eyes seemed to collide with the dark knight’s, and realized she knew very little of Christian’s sister. The young woman had spent most of the past days in bed, and Rowena had taken her recent illness as explanation. Truth to tell Rowena had been grateful to avoid having to explain her situation to one more person who would try to convince her that she must take her place at Dragonwick.
As if reading her thoughts, Isabelle spoke up. “Let us talk no more of Rowena’s plight for now. Can we not enjoy the pleasure of one another’s company for a few brief moments? For we have not all been under one roof before.”
There were nods of assent. Yet Rowena saw that Aislynn seemed to have little thought for anything other than Jarrod for she continued to cast unhappy glances in his direction as he talked with his friends.
Rowena could not fault the other girl, for she had been hard-pressed to hide her own hurt from those around her. She would very likely continue to be so no matter how she might wish it were otherwise. None of them seemed to note her own silence as the meal went on.
When Isabelle finally rose, suggesting that the ladies go out to the garden, allowing the four men to go to an antechamber to talk, Rowena was happy to comply. She did not wish to hear of any plans they might have concerning her. Thinking about her feelings for Christian, being so near him, only served to confuse and torment her.
Yet she found her gaze lingering on those broad shoulders as she left the room with Isabelle and the clearly unhappy Aislynn.
They had not been in the garden long when Jarrod Maxwell came striding down the path behind them. He halted before Aislynn, his dark eyes fierce on hers, though his words were polite enough. “I would have a moment of your time, Lady Aislynn.”
She cast him a haughty look. “I would not leave my hostess so rudely.”
Isabelle smiled knowingly, making Rowena think she, too, must have seen the tension between the two. “Pray do not concern yourself, dear Aislynn. I do not mind in the least, for clearly Sir Jarrod has something of grave import to discuss with you.” She looked at Rowena. “You do not mind, do you, Rowena?”
Surprised at being asked for her opinion, she said, “Nay, do as you will.”
Aislynn glared up at him. “I prefer not—”
The words were cut off as the knight took her arm in a tight grip and fairly dragged her away.
Isabelle was smiling as she settled herself on a stone bench.
Rowena looked at her. “Are you not concerned about her? He seems very angry…”
“No more than she is.” Isabelle continued to smile in satisfaction. She passed a gentle hand over her belly. “Simon and I, we have had our moments.”
Rowena did not know what to make of this. She could not imagine herself becoming so openly angry with Christian. It would only reveal how very much she hurt.
Better to keep her pain inside her where it was safe. That w
as what she had done all her life. It was the only way she had been able to deal with her feelings about her parentage.
Not that she and Christian were in the same position as Simon and Isabelle, or even Jarrod and Aislynn. Christian’s interest in her was due to his all-consuming need to avenge his foster father. Her kisses, caresses were nothing to him.
She found herself thinking again of Jarrod’s demeanor toward Aislynn. “How can she enjoy being dragged about?”
Isabelle’s eyes took on a secret womanly gleam. “Often what gives one the most irritation is also what heats the blood. She chose Jarrod. He is the impulsive one.” She went on with a possessive look in her lavender eyes. “My Simon is the determined one, the steadfast one.”
For some reason Rowena felt a trace of defensiveness on Christian’s behalf. He might not have been all that she would wish for as far as she was concerned, but he was a very decent man, a most uncommon man. She spoke without thinking. “Christian is quite determined and steadfast if his efforts to find and bring me to England are to be considered. He is also kind and fair and respectful of others, even those who are not of his class. He even delivered the child of a young woman who had gotten herself involved with a man who was wed to another.”
Isabelle watched her thoughtfully. “Most amazing. And he a nobleman!”
Rowena frowned, realizing that she had managed to contradict her previous statements about nobles. “I…he is still arrogant and willing to do whatever he must to secure lands and titles.”
Rowena turned away. “I will speak no more on it. Christian Greatham has no need of my defense.” She found herself blinking back tears as she made a great show of examining a rose bush.
“Are you well, Rowena?” Isabelle asked gently. “Forgive me if I have upset you.”
She shrugged. “I but pricked myself on a thorn.”
“You must have a care. They can get beneath your skin and are near impossible to remove.”
“Aye.” Just as her attraction for Christian seemed to be.
Rowena was still in the garden with Isabelle when sounds of an uproar reached them from beyond the garden wall. The two exchanged a shocked gaze and hurried toward the arched gateway.
The sight that met Rowena’s eyes made her suck in a breath. For there in the courtyard, mounted on his stallion, was Jarrod, holding an obviously shaken but strangely beaming Aislynn across his lap.
It was clear that they must have been out of the keep, as the legs of Jarrod’s white stallion were spattered with grass and muck.
Christian and Simon raced up to meet them, having somehow managed to reach the courtyard ahead of her and Isabelle. Jarrod’s arm tightened around Aislynn as he said something to the two men.
His voice was not audible to Rowena as she continued forward at Isabelle’s side, but Simon’s stunned cry, “Attacked by Sir Fredrick!” was.
She watched as Christian reached to his side for a sword that was not there. He shouted, “We will go after him.”
It was Aislynn who lifted her head from Jarrod’s shoulder to say, “Nay, Christian, rest easy.” Her adoring gaze lingered on the profile of the man who held her. “Jarrod has let him go.”
Christian raked an unsteady hand through his dark hair. “Let him go? Are you mad, Jarrod?”
The man in question frowned. “Nay, not mad, simply unwilling to begin my life with the woman I love in bloodshed.”
“Love!” Isabelle cried, hurrying forward. “I saw it.”
Rowena followed more slowly, hearing Christian say, “You and Aislynn?”
His sister lifted her chin. “Aye, and we will be married immediately.”
Jarrod held her to him tightly even as his gaze found his friend’s. “If your father will allow it.”
She clung to him. “Nay, even if he will not. For I will be your wife.”
Jarrod looked to Christian. “I would not have her defy her family. If you would not have me…” His black gaze was both yearning and resigned.
Christian shook his head. “Not have you, my friend? Who would I want more for my own sister than you who have been brother and friend to me? I am sure my father will feel the same.”
Lord Greatham, who had come upon them unnoted in the turmoil, said, “I would be honored to call you son.” He moved to stand at Jarrod’s stirrups, holding out his arms.
Aislynn slipped into them with a cry of joy. “Thank you, Father.”
Rowena watched this scene with an aching heart. Not only did she feel a sense of yearning that made her gaze linger upon Christian, she also found herself wondering what it would be like to be held in a father’s arms, to feel precious and beloved.
And if not a father, then a man—a man who looked at her as Jarrod did Aislynn.
There was no point in wishing for what was not to be.
Jarrod and Aislynn were married quickly and quietly by the priest at Avington.
They had eyes for none but each other.
Throughout the ceremony Rowena found herself, time and again, watching Christian, who wore a velvet tunic of so dark a green that it was nearly black. He seemed remote and powerful, and so undeniably handsome that she ached with yearning just to look at him. For his part he appeared utterly unaware of her, moving forward to congratulate his sister and friend.
She told herself she would not have it any other way. She knew how he felt about her and would not have him guess at how deeply conscious she was of his every movement, his every word, his every smile.
She ran a self-conscious hand over the skirt of the burgundy velvet gown she had donned for the ceremony. The ribbons in her hair were the same color as the underdress, which showed at the neckline and in the long slashes on her sleeves. She told herself that she had not garbed herself so finely on Christian’s behalf, but rather in honor of the occasion.
Although Jarrod returned not only Christian’s but the others’ embraces with great enthusiasm, he did not loosen his hold on the hand of the tiny woman at his side. His love for her was there in each wondering glance, each eager touch as they all moved to the great hall, where Isabelle had ordered a feast to be served.
Feeling an outsider in these events, Rowena lingered to one side as the others took their places at table. It was Christian, to her amazement, who seemed to note her disquiet.
Christian was conscious of Rowena with every fiber of his being, as he always was. Garbed in burgundy and gold, she was so very lovely that he dared not even look at her, after one brief glance as she entered the chapel and his heart began to beat like a battle drum. Yet he could not keep his gaze from straying to her, from seeing the way the burgundy velvet was a perfect accent to her ivory skin, nor the way her red tresses shone more beautifully than the gold ribbons that graced them. Nor could he keep his heartbeat from quickening when he noted the tantalizing curves of her full breasts where they pressed above the low neckline of her gown.
He knew when she held back as they entered the great hall. He felt her reticence almost as if it were his own, and his desire was overshadowed by a need to ease her uncertainty. He wanted to reach out to her, to assure her that she was welcome.
He also knew how difficult it would be to stop there. His desire for her, as it had been from the first time he’d seen her, lay ready to spark out of control.
Surreptitiously he glanced back and saw the bleakness on her face. Against his own resolutions and good sense, he walked away from the happily chatting group around the newly wedded couple and held out his hand. “Come.”
Her gaze met his, her green eyes widening with uncertainty.
He smiled encouragingly, watching her expression change to gratitude and another more troubling emotion, which called out to something fierce and unquenchable inside him. Although he knew her reaction was due to his being kind in the face of her loneliness, rather than any real feelings toward him, it was devastating to his self-control. He felt a tightness in his throat, in his lower belly, and wondered if he had gone very mad to put himself throug
h this torment.
Yet he could not turn from her now, hurt her as such an act surely would. His disquiet did not ease as he placed her hand on his arm.
Even through the heavy velvet of his sleeve it was as if the contact burned.
Slowly, doing his utmost to ignore his reactions, he led her forward and seated her at table. To his dismay he realized that the only other place available was the one next to her.
He seated himself gingerly. Bringing her to table was one thing, making polite conversation with this overwhelming awareness between them was quite another.
None of the others seemed to note the heavy silence between him and Rowena. Even if they had he was not prepared to break it.
Perhaps it was his desire to focus on anything beyond the woman who sat so still beside him that precipitated Christian being first to notice the man who had come to stand at the edge of the dais. A tall thin fellow who seemed somehow familiar, he stood uncertainly, his cap in his hands.
Simon seemed to become aware of his presence in almost the same moment, for he motioned him forward. “Come, Walter. You wish to speak with me?”
Conversation at the table stilled as all eyes looked to the newcomer.
The man nodded, obviously self-conscious to have interrupted them. “I am sorry, my lord. I thought that you would wish to know that I have learned of one who may have known the lady Rosalind as a child.”
Christian now realized that this was one of the men they had questioned about Rosalind. He felt the fine hairs on the back his neck rise, and leaned forward eagerly. Beside him, Rowena did the same.
“Tell us.” Simon urged him.
Obviously realizing their interest, Walter spoke with more confidence. “My daughter, Laurel, she has just come with her husband and children to pay a visit. I was telling her that you have been ’round, asking if any of us had known the child, or seen her about the keep. I did not, nor did any of my family. We were common farmers. But Laurel tells me that when she was a girl she made a friend of one of the lesser knights’ daughters. She says that this girl, this Jannelle, did know the child, though Laurel has not seen her for years.” He shrugged. “There was but one time after The Dragon was killed and we left Dragonwick. During that chance meeting at a fair Jannelle told Laurel she was to be wed and that she was going to live at a place called Brillington.”
Dragon's Daughter Page 15