Читать книгу Dragon's Knight - Catherine Archer - Страница 11

Aislynn woke quite early, after a restless night—as each night had been since Jarrod Maxwell had arrived at Bransbury. She kept telling herself that his speaking to her as if she was a child did not plague her in the least.

Yet her agitation worsened when she remembered how she had felt as his black eyes looked directly into hers. It was as if he were looking into her soul, making her feel far from the child he believed her to be.

She tried to wish Jarrod Maxwell had never come to Bransbury, but the very notion was shockingly painful. Surely it was due to her belief that he would be able to help them find Christian.

Even though there had been no real developments in the days the knight had been at Bransbury, she was not willing to relinquish hope. She was, in spite of all that had happened in her life, including the early death of her mother and her brother’s long absence, an optimist at heart. And it was this sense of optimism that she drew on to assure herself that she would conquer this strange fascination with Jarrod Maxwell.

She parted the heavy rose velvet curtains at the side of her large oaken bed and stepped out onto the carpet that covered the cold stone floor beside the bed. There was no sense in building a fire when the day’s duties would keep her from returning to the comfortably furnished chamber for more than minutes at a time. Shivering, Aislynn dressed warmly, as she always did on chill mornings, in a shift, a heavy underdress of dark green linen, and an enveloping over gown with wide sleeves that showed the tightly fitted sleeves of the gown beneath. She then donned her veil, barbette and a warm cap with pearl trim that matched the butter-yellow brocade of her gown.

Leaving her chamber, she went to the kitchen, which lay at the end of a long corridor off the hall, as she did each morning before going in to break her own fast. One of the duties she most enjoyed was flavoring the large pots of stews and boiled meats that were served at the midday meal. The herbs that she grew in her own garden served as a constant inspiration for new and interesting combinations of flavor. And many about the keep said that the teas she brewed from her herbs were quite effective at alleviating minor ailments of the head and stomach.

This day she paused at the entrance to the long narrow chamber with its well-scrubbed counters, great ovens and wide hearth. With one of the two enormous pots that hung from iron hooks on either side of the hearth broken, only one rested over the low-burning fire. Although this made keeping up with work in the kitchens difficult, the women had managed to do well thus far, roasting more of the meat than was their usual custom.

And strangely Aislynn had not even thought on the matter of how much thyme might be added in to a particular recipe in relationship to the amount of rosemary, or any other such combination since the first night Jarrod had come to Bransbury.

Jarrod, whose mysterious black eyes made her heart pound each time he looked at her.

With irritation she realized that she had allowed her thoughts to go back to that man once more. Sharply Aislynn returned her attention to her responsibilities.

It should have soothed her that all was in order, as it was every morning with Margaret awaiting her instructions on which of the containers of herbs and spices would be used this day. It did not.

Margaret had mothered Aislynn since her earliest memory and Aislynn loved her. As a small child she had often been held close to the woman who was lean and wiry from constant activity. Even at rest, the head woman seemed always about to jump up and see to some task.

Yet the fact that she had inadvertently seen Jarrod Maxwell comforting Margaret in the hall on his first morning here had left Aislynn uncomfortable in Margaret’s company. She had been so moved by the brief gesture that she had not shown her presence, but had stayed out of sight until he was gone. And each time she saw Margaret she was reminded of his kindness.

As Aislynn approached, Margaret swung around from where she stood stirring the pot and smiled at Aislynn. “Good morrow.”

Aislynn nodded. “Good morrow.”

“What think you this morn?” She nodded her head toward the row of small containers in which the flavorings were held, the main stores being kept in a cool dry cellar.

Aislynn looked at them and frowned, her mind devoid of any inspiration. Finally she admitted, “I have little hunger and naught seems appealing to me. What think you?”

Margaret looked at her closely. “Are you well, Aislynn?”

She avoided looking into those brightly observant brown eyes, fearful that all she was trying not to think on would be revealed to the woman who knew her so well. She spoke the truth without telling all of the truth. “Aye, I am concerned for Christian.”

Margaret clearly failed to note any undue disquiet in her mistress, asking, “Have you seen Sir Jarrod this morn?”

“Nay, why do you ask?”

“I wish to catch that lad before he sets off without anything to eat. We must have a care for his wellbeing for he seems to have little enough, if any.”

Aislynn bit her lower lip, guilt stabbing her sharply. In spite of his shortcomings, Jarrod Maxwell was a guest at Bransbury. It was her duty, as the lady of the keep, to have a care for his comfort.

She held up a hand. “I will see to it. You have enough to attend without adding that to your other duties.”

Quickly, before she could give herself time to think, Aislynn went back down the corridor that connected the kitchens to the main part of the keep. On entering the Hall she cast a glance around the chamber.

She did not see him. Hurriedly she asked one of the serfs who were assembling the trestle tables. “Royce, have you seen Sir Jarrod?”

The serving man nodded. “Aye, he went from the keep some minutes ago.”

Clearly the knight meant to leave without eating, as Margaret feared. Aislynn hurried out into the cold morning after him, knowing he would first fetch his horse.

The stable came into her sight just in time for her to see a mounted Jarrod Maxwell emerge from the wide double door. He started across the greensward toward the gate and she called out quickly, “Sir Jarrod.”

He swung around immediately, his dark gaze searching her out with obvious surprise and what looked to be reluctance. But it was quickly masked by cool civility as he turned the white stallion and came toward her.

Not caring for that expression of reluctance, however brief, Aislynn raised her chin as she waited for him.

Sir Jarrod halted the restless stallion at her side. “May I be of assistance, Lady Aislynn?”

In spite of her irritation with him, she answered, “I thought to see that you had something to eat before you left the castle.” A desire to hide any real interest in him made her add, “Actually it was the head woman, Margaret, who thought of you. I simply realized it was my own duty and not hers to see you were looked after.”

His lips curved into a smile that did not reach his eyes. “You have done your duty by me. You may rest easy.”

She grimaced, wrapping her arms around herself as she realized that it was not her intention to be surly no matter what his opinion of her might be. “I did not mean to imply…Aside from your being here to help us find Christian, you are a guest at Bransbury. We do not receive many guests and it is not only my father’s but my intent that you be treated with the utmost hospitality and honor.”

Those dark eyes changed, narrowed, studying her with an expression she did not understand, and Aislynn could no longer hold them. She looked at the ground as a shiver took her and she wrapped her arms about herself.

He said softly, “You’ve come out without your cloak.”

His changed tone made her raise her head.

Before she could even think, Jarrod Maxwell was on the ground beside her, slipping his own cloak about her shoulders, the cloak that was still warm from the heat of his body. There was a new tingling along her flesh that had naught to do with cold.

Immediately she made to remove the cloak, whispering, “Please, there is no need for you to…”

He reached out to hold it together in front of her and Aislynn looked up at him, her eyes caught once again by his as he said, “Do not be silly. You are cold.” His gaze softened as did his voice, the huskiness of his tone making her shiver in a different way, a pleasurable way. “I do thank you for your concern for my well-being and it has already been brought home to me that you and your father are kind and generous folk. But you should not have come out here without a cloak.”

“I simply thought to catch you before you could leave the keep without some sustenance.”

A soft laugh escaped him. “Let me assure you. I am quite unaccustomed to being fussed over and am more than able to look after my own needs.”

She was surprised at the huskiness of her own voice as she replied, “So you have said, but mayhap you should allow yourself to be looked after. At least a little.”

He looked away from her, his gaze distant. “Nay, there is nothing to be gained in becoming soft.”

She frowned at this. “It is not softness to allow others to show kindness. The receiving of kindnesses takes as much strength as the giving of them. You seem willing enough to care for others but unwilling to receive care.”

His lips twisted wryly, his expression suddenly patronizing. “What would one of your tender years know of such things?”

Her frown deepened as a wave of renewed ire swept through her and she groaned in frustration. “Why do you persist in saying such things to me?”

His black brows arched high in obvious amazement at her animosity. “What things?”

She put her hands on her hips. “You address me as if I am a child.”

“But you are a child.”

She raised her head high, made bold by the anger running through her veins. “I may be small of stature, my lord, but I am no child and you should know this. Many women are several years wed by my age. I myself will be married ere many months have passed.”

A strange ripple of something dark and unreadable passed over his exotically handsome face, leaving as quickly as it had appeared before he said, “But how could this be. You were an infant when last I saw you.”

She sighed. “I was six and more than thirteen years have passed. I am nineteen years of age.”

He took a deep breath, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes now, as he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to her. “But I thought…” He drew himself up. “Nonetheless, you are my friend…my brother’s sister.”

Impatience tinged her voice. “Pray what can you mean by that, Sir Jarrod? I have not said that I am not Christian’s sister. And what has that to do with my age?”

He looked into her eyes, his own searching and confused as, far from answering her questions, he asked one of his own. “How could I have been so very mistaken?”

Aislynn scowled again, drawing on anger to mask her own disquiet. “That, my lord, only you can answer. Haps you have your own reasons for wanting it to be true.”

As soon as the words were said, Aislynn wished them back with all that was in her. Whatever could have possessed her to speak thusly? She certainly did not mean to imply that he had any interest in…

It was more than obvious that he did not. Any more than she was interested in him. She was to be married.

Aislynn was distantly aware of that displeased expression returning to his depthless black eyes once more. His voice was barely audible. “Just what are you accusing me of?”

She tried to hold her ground, yet the madness of her words could not be defended. She faltered, sputtering, “I…oh…I meant nothing…I…”

And suddenly Aislynn could think of nothing save getting away from that measuring black gaze. She parted the cloak and dropped it to the ground before he could move to halt her. She then swung around and ran from Jarrod Maxwell as quickly as her feet would take her.

In some ways the morning after Jarrod’s encounter with Aislynn passed in the same fashion as previous ones since his arrival at Bransbury. He questioned, in an orderly fashion, each man, woman and child in his path.

Yet his attention was divided as he went from farm, to woodsman’s croft, to mill, spiraling out from the immediate area around the demesne to the next village and learning nothing. He could not forget the conversation that had passed between himself and Aislynn. He could, in fact barely credit that it had even taken place. Recalling the flash of womanly fire in her eyes, the noble dignity of her stance, in spite of her anger when she had told him her age, made him wonder afresh how he could have been so very wrong.

Again he recalled her seething outrage when she had informed him that she was to be married. Jarrod could not halt a renewed rush of disbelief as well as an unmistakable and unexplainable sense of regret, both of which he quickly dismissed.

He had only felt protective of her—brotherly. It was those brotherly feelings that made him hesitate at the thought of her being wed. Any brother would wonder if his sister was ready for marriage, even one who was, by her own declaration, well into her womanhood.

If he had only been thinking clearly he would have told her this.

He could not do so now. For any attempt at explanation might be misinterpreted as…well, he was not certain how it might be misinterpreted. He only knew it might be.

God’s teeth, he swore as he realized that he had turned the stallion off the path without even realizing it. Had he not told himself that he would not become involved with those here at Bransbury?

There would be no explanations made to the noble lady Aislynn. He would finish his tasks here as quickly as possible and be on his way. In the meantime he would not allow Aislynn Greatham to get beneath his skin.

It was his own lack of concentration, as much as hunger, that drove him back to the keep earlier in the evening than on previous days. These things, and the realization that he would need to remain away the whole of the night if he was to go on to the next village.

The sun was still fairly high over the curtain wall when Jarrod rode through the gate into the bailey. He realized that his passage was marked by many, as it had been since his arrival. Jarrod knew that the castle folk hoped he would be able to find the young lord, as he was called here at Bransbury.

Jarrod took his horse to the stables and gave him a good rubdown, before supplying him with a portion of feed. The stallion was not only a mount but also a companion to him. The well-proportioned horse, with its flowing white mane and tail had been bred in the Holy Land. It was smaller than most destriers, but its stamina and strength were equal to its beauty.

When he left the stable, Jarrod started toward the great gray form of the keep. His path led him near to the low stone structure of the kitchens. As he drew closer, he became aware of a group of people gathered around a wagon from which hung numerous goods.

A tinker. Jarrod was suddenly brought to alertness.

Here would be someone he had not questioned concerning Christian. And perhaps Lord Greatham had not done so either, for the peddlers did not linger often in one place but quickly moved on to the next likely sale. He knew his host was not in the keep this day, but had gone to make another attempt to negotiate a peace between the feuding Welsh.

Jarrod approached the group around the wagon with a determined step. It was not until he was directly upon the eight or ten women who ringed the wagon, and the short, dark man who stood beside it, that he realized that at the forefront of the group stood none other than Aislynn Greatham.

A wave of not only reluctance, but more shockingly, intense awareness washed through him and Jarrod’s feet came to a standstill. Shocked after all he had resolved within himself this very day, Jarrod found himself stepping backward into the shadow of the wall.

He told himself that he was not avoiding the woman, he would simply rather question the tinker alone.

None of those gathered around the wagon seemed to have taken any note of his presence, though Aislynn did glance in his direction briefly and he held very still. He felt an uncommon relief when she turned back to the tinker, who began to extol, in eloquent terms, the virtues of the huge iron pot that rested upon the ground before him. When he was finished he cast a beaming smile upon the lady of the keep.

Jarrod watched as Aislynn shrugged, saying, “I might be able to put it to some use.”

The peddler’s dark eyes continued to smile with good nature as he nodded. “Aye. This pot will be invaluable to the lady who purchases it. It will hold more laundry, more stew, more of whatever a lady might choose than either of those in yon kitchen.”

Aislynn shrugged and Jarrod realized that she wisely neglected to mention that one of those now had a crack in it. To do so would very likely influence the value of this one. She said with perfect unconcern, “How much?”

The man named a price.

Aislynn laughed softly. “I could not find my way to paying more than half that amount.”

The man held up his hands. “I am a man of business, my lady. I must recoup the cost to myself in order to feed my five children.” He named a sum that was halfway between his own first figure and hers.

Again Aislynn shrugged. “I am sure that some other lady will be happy to pay that amount.” She turned away.

With a heavy sigh, the man threw up his hands. “For you, Lady Aislynn, only for you would I make such a sacrifice. The pot is yours.”

She swung around, reaching for the purse that hung from a cord at her tiny waist, even as she motioned to the women. Two of them moved to take up the pot by its handle and carry it into the kitchen.

The peddler made a great show of continuing to emit heavy sighs as Aislynn dropped the coins into the palm of his hand. But there was no mistaking that his eyes had lost none of their humor. Neither did they disguise the trace of self-satisfaction in the curve of his lips.

With the transaction completed, the fellow grinned once more. “Now I wonder if I might interest either you, or any of your women, Lady Aislynn, in a bit of anything more frivolous.”

Without waiting for a reply, he swung around and flipped up a shutter along the side of the wagon to reveal a tray full of fripperies. Among them were inexpensively made bobbles, threads and ribbons.

As if of a single mind, the women stepped closer, Aislynn included.

Jarrod watched as Aislynn reached out to finger the end of a periwinkle-blue ribbon, then a much deeper sapphire one, which lay beside it. One of the women said, “The darker one would match your new gown, my lady. Of course, it would not be seen lest you leave your head uncovered.”

Aislynn nodded and picked up the dark ribbon.

“You are right, Therese. I need not always wear a covering on my head, even in winter.” She placed another coin into the tinker’s outstretched hand.

Not being one to ever have had a great interest in hair ribbons, Jarrod was surprised to find himself not only noting her purchase with some interest but with a decided disappointment at her choice. Not that he disliked the dark blue. It was certainly a color he would be more likely to prefer for himself. It was simply that the lighter shade matched her eyes.

Appalled at his own fanciful thought, Jarrod gave his head a vigorous shake.

Unconsciously he slid even further back into the shadow of the wall. He remained there until Aislynn and her women had concluded their other numerous interactions with the tinker. Gladly he watched as Aislynn stepped back, gave a final nod of her head and led her women into the kitchen.

Only when he was certain they were not coming back did Jarrod approach the tinker. The small energetic fellow had already begun to hang various items on their accustomed hooks.

The peddler looked up with a smile of welcome as Jarrod came to a halt beside him. “How may I serve you, my lord?”

Jarrod shrugged. “I was wondering if you might have happened upon the young lord Christian on the road some weeks past.”

The fellow shook his head. “Nay, my lord, I did not, though I do recall seeing him here at keep the last time I was at Bransbury. The lady Aislynn was so happy to have him home that she had to tell the tale of his return from the Holy Land to even me, a lowly tinker.”

Jarrod could not help feeling a sense of disappointment, though he’d had no real reason to believe he would learn anything from the man.

The tinker went on. “’Twas a sad thing to hear that Lord Christian was missing as I arrived this day. He was not long at home and I only really spoke with him twice.”

“Twice.” Jarrod’s brow furrowed with sudden concentration.

“Aye, the lady showed him to me when I came that day, all excited she was to have him home. As I said, he was a good sort, spoke to me man to man, not condescending as some nobles are wont to do. And he was no different when he came to me that night when I camped on the hillside outside the keep, as I do each time I pass through these climes.”

Jarrod was listening very carefully now. “He came to your camp?”

“Aye, he came down to my camp and talked with me while we shared a bottle of wine. Asked me about the places I had been and seen, which are considerable in my work.” He rolled his eyes, laughing. “The stories I told him and all the others I could have told if we’d had more than those few hours under the stars. Not that Lord Christian didn’t have his own stories to tell about him and his two friends.”

Jarrod restrained a sigh as he realized that this information, however entertaining it might be in other circumstances, only served to frustrate him now.

Finally the man said something that made the fine hair on the back of his neck prickle in alert. “Young lord Greatham, he seemed fair disappointed that I knew very little of a wee village called Ashcroft. I was sorry not to be able to tell him something of it other than that I’ve heard another of my trade mention the place. There seemed nothing of interest to say of it for he said it’s such a small village, and very isolated, that there’s little gain to be had there. No great family lives there, such as the Greathams here at Bransbury.”

Jarrod took a deep breath, trying to think calmly, to understand what this might mean. “You say Lord Christian was very disappointed that you could not tell him how to find this Ashcroft?”

“Aye, I’d say so. It was not anything he said, mind you. But I’ve something of a good eye for reading people after making my living at selling goods. A man has to know when to give a good-natured nudge when a customer is uncertain, or to leave go. If he pushes too hard he won’t be welcome in a place next time and if he has no enthusiasm for his craft…well…his children do not eat.”

Jarrod could not doubt the man. Had he not watched the exchange between him and Aislynn? Not that she had gotten the worst of the bargain. She had acquitted herself quite well in Jarrod’s opinion, though he was fairly certain she had ended in paying the price the tinker wished to receive for the pot.

Even if he wished to doubt the significance of the exchange between the tinker and Christian, he could not do so. For now, at long last, he had some bit of information to begin his search for his friend.

Thus if the tinker said Christian had been disturbed when they’d discussed this Ashcroft, Jarrod was determined to figure out why. He frowned. “But you say you do not know the location of this village?”

The other man shook his head then sighed. “Nay. I am sorry that I can offer you no more information than I have. As I said, it is remote, and perhaps if I think on the matter, the one who told me of it had just recently come from the north, toward Scotland.”

North toward Scotland. This brought an immediate thought of Kewstoke, his father’s lands, which were not far from the Scottish border. But Jarrod did not wish to think on this, nor of his feelings of grief when he had heard of his father’s death from a nobleman who had recently come from England some years ago in the Holy Land.

He must concentrate on what the peddler had told him. Though it was, in fact, precious little to go on, it was something. Jarrod bowed to the man. “You may have, in fact, been of some help to me. I am in your debt.”

The tinker bowed. “Then I am very glad to have been of service.” He gestured to his laden cart. “As for being in my debt, have no care for that other than to recall that I am a salesman. Should you have need of anything of a material nature, I would be happy to provide it.”

Jarrod knew there was unlikely to be any opportunity for him to make any purchases from the man.

The tinker laughed, shrugged and began gathering his goods together once more. As Jarrod watched, he reached out to close the shutter that would once more hide the tray with the ribbons Aislynn had examined earlier.

The periwinkle-blue ribbon caught his eye as before, bringing an unexpected idea. Seeing Aislynn with the tinker, watching her as she fulfilled her duties with wisdom and adroitness made him realize anew that he had been mad to ignore her. What harm could there be in offering a small token of peace?

Jarrod reached into his belt and removed a coin. “I will have the pale blue ribbon.”

The tinker quirked a brow and glanced toward the door where Aislynn had disappeared some minutes gone. “A very good choice, my lord.”

Jarrod made no reply to this obvious innuendo as the tinker reached to his own purse, for the sovereign Jarrod had placed in his hand was far too dear a price for a bit of ribbon. Jarrod stopped him. “Nay, pray keep it. As I said, you have done me a service.”

The tinker bowed and said, “And now I am in your debt, my lord.”

Jarrod nodded absently as the man’s assumptions brought a surge of discomfort. With the bit of ribbon in his hand he now felt somewhat uneasy, especially as the image of Aislynn’s delicate face and those wide and beguiling blue eyes came strongly in his mind.

He suddenly realized he could not give it to her. It might only further confuse things between them. She might very well misinterpret his action, as the peddler had.

An honorable man did not give such gifts to a woman who was to be married. The Dragon, who had been the man to teach Jarrod so much of honor, had never mentioned this specifically. But Jarrod knew, in spite of the fact that he had little experience with gentlewomen. His sense of right told him as much.

Nay, he could not give it to her, but neither did he wish to keep it. Only the fact that he would cause the peddler to speculate further kept him from dropping the bit of silk to the ground where he stood.