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

Aislynn listened with amazement to her father. “The peddler has told Sir Jarrod that your brother had sought information about a village called Ashcroft. Sir Jarrod believes, as I do, that he may, in fact, have gone to this place.”

“Ashcroft.” The name was utterly unfamiliar, but Aislynn’s joy overwhelmed any accompanying surprise. In her excitement Aislynn leaned closer to her father. Sir Jarrod had accomplished what they had not.

She had not seen Jarrod Maxwell since that horrible confrontation this very morning. Her face heated at the very memory of it, though she was buoyed by a sense of righteous indignation.

Unaware, her father answered, “Sir Jarrod told me just minutes ago when I met him as he was leaving the keep.”

She looked down at her folded hands. “He is not coming in to the meal?”

“Nay. He is determined to seek further information concerning this village.”

This brought her upright. “What do you mean—seek further information? Can Sir Jarrod not simply go there?”

“The peddler knew no more about the location than that it may be in Scotland. Scotland is a big country.”

She sighed. “Then my happiness is premature.”

“Nay, daughter.” He reached out to put his large warm hand over her cold one. “Sir Jarrod has said that even if he learns nothing more this day he intends to simply head toward Scotland and see what can be learned on the way. He will leave on the morrow.”

Jarrod was leaving on the morrow! Aislynn felt a rush of emotion that left her limbs weak, her chest tight.

As her father went on, she forced herself to attend him. “Sir Jarrod is determined. I believe that if any can locate this village, he can. And if he does locate it, he may indeed find your brother there or at the very least further word of him.”

Aislynn forced herself to nod. She wanted her brother found and she did not care in the least that Jarrod Maxwell would be leaving them in order to find him.

She was glad the irritating man would be gone from Bransbury. Life would go on much more smoothly and peacefully without him.

A sudden rush of memory of the times when their eyes had met and the strange sensation that had come over her made her feel weak and uncertain. When Jarrod Maxwell looked at her, Aislynn felt, well, alive in a way she had not been before he came.

“Aislynn?”

The sound of her father saying her name intruded upon these thoughts. Her voice was breathless as she answered, “Yes, Father.”

The frown that creased his brow left her with the impression that he had been trying to gain her attention for some time. His words confirmed it. “Aislynn, attend me, please. Are you well?”

She nodded quickly. “I am simply so very happy to know that Sir Jarrod will set out immediately.” She could hear the lack of conviction in her words.

He nodded. “You will, of course, see that Sir Jarrod has all he needs to begin his journey—food, warm furs, perhaps even a tent, and whatever else he might require.”

Now Aislynn frowned in consternation. She did not wish to have any more contact with Jarrod Maxwell.

She could not tell her father this. Yet neither could she bear the thought of facing the knight. She smiled tightly. “Father, I am sure that Sir Jarrod will not require anything beyond some food. He brought no such luxuries as you suggest when he arrived at Bransbury.”

He scowled at her. “I am surprised at you, Aislynn, for this attitude is quite unlike you. We could do nothing about the circumstances by which Sir Jarrod traveled to us. We can do something about the circumstances under which he leaves us. Especially so when it is for our benefit that he has undertaken this journey.”

She flushed, looking down at her hands, which she had clasped tightly in the lap of her apricot velvet skirt. It was badly done of her to respond as she had. And even more importantly she felt a reluctance for her father to wonder at her odd behavior.

Aislynn spoke very softly. “Your point is well taken, Father. I will see that Sir Jarrod has all he will accept by way of making his journey as comfortable as possible.”

He nodded. He seemed suddenly distracted now, seeing her, yet not seeing. His distant voice told her why. “I have received word that, far from being quelled by my visit to him, Llewellyn has continued to harry his neighbors, though none claim to know the reason why. They are saying that he is calling in every man upon his lands for questioning. If I can not leave this chaos in order to find my son, making the one who will search for him comfortable is the least we can do.”

Aislynn bowed her head. “I will see to it this very moment, Father.”

As she moved off to the kitchens, Aislynn resolved that, even though she meant to carry out her father’s wishes with no more complaint or hesitation, she need not have direct interaction with the man she had been avoiding, until all was done. Sir Jarrod would very likely be glad to have little contact with her as well.

It was not until some hours later, long after most of the keep had sought their beds that Aislynn was finished making arrangements for their guest’s journey. She wiped her hair back from her brow with a weary hand, feeling a sense of accomplishment in spite of her fatigue. Leather bags had been packed with foods that would keep well for several days. The freshly aired furs, as well as a small but sound tent, were ready to be secured to the donkey she had designated to carry the provisions.

She knew she had delayed telling Jarrod Maxwell of her preparations for him long enough.

She had no fear of waking the man who so occupied her thoughts. Margaret had informed her that he had returned to the keep a short time gone. Margaret had further insisted a jug of warmed wine, as well as bread and meat, be sent to Christian’s chamber.

Where he might have been until so very late at night, Aislynn did not know. Nor, she told herself, did she care. Her business with him was purely out of necessity.

Yet she could not help wondering if he was avoiding her as she was him. For some reason the thought prickled, which made no sense whatsoever.

She raised her head high as she made her way down the passage that led to her brother’s chamber.

Yet as she came to halt outside the narrow oak door, she hesitated, biting her lower lip. She could hear no sound from inside. Perhaps she was wrong in thinking the knight would still be awake and Jarrod Maxwell had already gone to sleep. She certainly did not wish to waken him, not when he was starting a long journey in the morning. Perhaps one of the servants could inform him of the preparations she had made on his behalf in the morning.

Even as she continued to hesitate, a soft scraping from inside the chamber made her frown with chagrin.

The knight was awake. And she had promised her father.

Taking a deep breath, Aislynn raised her hand and knocked softly upon the heavy portal, so softly that even she was hard-pressed to hear it. Immediately realizing Jarrod could not possibly have heard, she raised her knuckles and rapped again. This time the noise was much more forceful. It sounded, in fact, quite demanding. She stepped back instantly, startled at her own temerity.

Jarrod had been drinking deeply of the dark red wine since the serving woman had brought it. He had returned to the keep tired in both mind and body. Yet he knew that if he climbed into the bed, he would not sleep. He would lie awake thinking of the compelling young woman who had managed to so disturb his peace without even trying. A young woman whom he was unlikely to ever see again. Even when he found Christian, there would be no reason for him to return here.

He would be free to go on as he had before with no ghosts to haunt him but those of his past. Yet he drank more wine than was his custom in an effort to dispel the reluctance he felt at leaving Bransbury. Surely it was because he was so tired. The journey from Avington had been long and he’d had precious little sleep since arriving. And he was to set out again in the morning with nothing more than the name of a remote village as guide.

His unrest had nothing to do with the blue eyes of the female who had so forthrightly declared herself a woman and then insisted that he had some reason for not seeing this.

The very thought made Jarrod reach out for the cup again. He raised it to his mouth just as an imperious pounding sounded at the door. He sprang up, knocking over his stool as a jolt of adrenaline raced through him. Quickly he strode to pull the door open, his mind whirling not only from the wine but concern as he wondered what could be amiss to warrant such a pounding.

Jarrod stopped short. For on the other side stood a wide-eyed and diminutive Aislynn Greatham. Diminutive, he reminded himself, but very much a woman.

He spoke quickly. “What is amiss?”

She shook her head quickly. “Nothing. I simply wish to speak with you for a moment before you retire.”

His heartbeat eased only slightly as he scowled down at her. “When I heard that drumming, I thought something had occurred, that something was wrong.”

“Nay, there is nothing wrong.” His frown deepened and she finally noted his displeasure as she sputtered, “Forgive me, Sir Jarrod, I…”

Nothing, she had pounded upon his door like that for nothing. His head was spinning from the wine as well as irritation, and without stopping to think, he took her arm and pulled her inside the chamber.

Her eyes widened in shock. “What are you…?”

He let go of Aislynn, closing the door with a decided firmness, before rounding to face her. “I have no wish to discuss the matter in the hallway. What do you mean summoning me thusly in the dead of night?”

Now it was her brow that creased in not only displeasure but defiance as she glared up at him. “I attempted to beg your pardon for that. But you would drag me in without listening.”

“I am listening.”

She took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm her own anger, though he could still see traces of it in the high color along her cheekbones. “My father asked me to ready a few items for your journey. I simply wished to tell you that I had done so.” She looked down. “You are leaving in the morning, are you not?”

Jarrod was amazed at the amount of regret that stirred inside him as he looked down at her bent head. “Aye, I am leaving in the morning.” With no small effort he called himself to task and added, “There was no need to ready any supplies for my journey. I shall not be taking them. I prefer to travel light, making my way as I go.”

She shrugged those slight shoulders. “Nonetheless, my father asked me to make the things ready for you.” She looked at him then, her gaze direct, her nose tilted at a proud angle. “I was simply doing as he requested of me. He is a kind and thoughtful man.”

He nodded, not willing to try to fathom the strange expression in her gaze. “Aye, that I will uphold. Your father is a kind man.” He paused, honesty making him add, “And you are also kind, Aislynn.”

“You do much for us.”

He knew she meant his search for her brother and again felt a strange sense of regret. He pushed it aside. “I have told you that I have my own stake in finding Christian.”

Aislynn watched him closely. “So you have said. Have you no one of your own?”

A shaft of pain pierced his chest, a pain that shocked him, for he had thought himself long over this ancient hurt. The hurt of not having a home, a family of his own.

He felt her continuing to watch him as he moved to the table and picked up his cup. He downed the remainder of the contents and filled it again. And without knowing why, or even that he had been going to do so, Jarrod told her the truth. “Nay, my father is dead. And my half brother, who is now baron of his lands…” He shrugged. “Let it suffice to say he would not exactly welcome me with open arms.”

He did not look at Aislynn, but he felt the difference that came over her, a compelling softness that seemed to call to him, to urge him to rest in her womanly warmth. Again Jarrod emptied his cup.

The wine warmed him as it flowed out into his blood, warmed and numbed him, but did not ease that inner wanting. Slowly he sank onto the chair beside the table.

When she began to speak, his gaze found her face, the loveliness of her in the candlelight, which played over each delicate feature. So caught was he in just looking at her, in seeing the beauty he had not wanted to see, it was a moment before her words really registered in his mind. “I can not imagine what it would be like to be so very alone. Although there has been sorrow in my life, there has always been the promise of my dreams coming true, of my brother coming home, our family being whole again. My family, my father, my brother, marrying and having my own home and children someday, these things mean the most to me.”

Married, that was right. Aislynn was to be married.

Jarrod felt a renewed sense of unrest. He listened carefully as she went on, “My mother died when I was quite young. My father…he was not himself for a time afterward and it was during this time that Christian left us.” He looked at her, saw the sadness in her gaze, the glisten of tears she refused to shed. “You have no notion of how good it was to have him returned to us. He brought new life to Bransbury—to my father. He must be found. I can know no true happiness until it is so.”

Jarrod took the unused cup from the tray on the table and poured some of the wine into it. Without saying a word, he held it out to Aislynn.

Taking a deep breath, she moved forward and Jarrod rose. As she took the cup, he motioned her onto the chair. She took a drink of the wine, her gaze fixing on the flickering glow of the fire in the hearth.

Jarrod drank from his own cup. Even in his wine-clouded state, Jarrod wished he had some words of comfort. He did not, but her distress weighed heavily upon him. He told himself that it was her own sympathy for him, misplaced as it might be, that made him wish for some words of comfort.

Aislynn drew him back from these thoughts, whispering, “Have you discovered anything more of this Ashcroft? Have you any notion of how to get there?”

Jarrod shook his head. “Nay, but with the name in my possession all I need do is ask directions along the way.”

She sighed. “I am so glad that you have learned this much and am grateful for your efforts, but my worry has been little eased. It still makes no sense that Christian would remain away from Bransbury lest something had happened. I can not credit that he would break a promise to me lest something was dreadfully awry.”

He could not argue with that. Christian did keep his promises. “It is true, he does. Yet that does not mean something has happened to him. There could be any number of reasons for his being delayed.”

She turned to him, her gaze direct. “You do not really believe that naught is wrong or you would not have come all this way to find him.”

Jarrod could not meet those wide blue eyes, which seemed to see too much. “You must not allow yourself to become fanciful in this. I am certain that all is well.” As he said the words, Jarrod told himself that it had to be true.

Suddenly, he felt the chafe of waiting till morn to set out to find this village. He had always preferred action to conversation. Words were too easily distorted. As had been the loving and loyal words of The Dragon’s brother only days before he had betrayed him.

Aye, Jarrod would be glad to begin his new course of action. He did not wish to examine the accompanying thought that his restlessness was stronger than ever in Aislynn Greatham’s presence.

Jarrod took another long drink of his wine.

Aislynn raised her own glass. She too took a long drink before setting it back down, staring at her slender fingers as she twisted them around the base.

Jarrod found himself studying her averted profile, the dusky fringe of her lashes, the sweet curve of her cheek, which was pale cream in contrast to the apricot velvet of her cap. There was a definite trembling in the mouth that had pursed so many times with anger in his presence. He was drawn to her vulnerability, beckoned by it. She was so very delicate, so small, and seemed as if she would be so very easily broken. At the same time he realized what strength lay inside her. He had seen it time and again over the past days in the way she looked after her father—and in the confrontations with himself.

She lifted one hand and wiped it across her cheek. It was a furtive gesture and, if he had not been studying her so closely, Jarrod might have missed it.

Yet he was watching her. And he realized instantly that she was crying.

An intense jolt of protectiveness tightened his chest.

Before he could stop himself, Jarrod moved around the table to her side. Acting purely on instinct alone, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. The bones felt fragile under his hard, callused hand. He swallowed as she looked up at him, her periwinkle eyes damp and unguarded in the light of the candle.

Jarrod spoke roughly, awkwardly. “Pray do not cry, Aislynn. I will find him.”

Rather than stopping the tears as he had hoped, this made them spill over onto her pale cheeks in a flood of sorrow. God’s blood. He had not meant to make things worse.

Now what was he to do?

Jarrod’s experience with women had not involved much in the way of comforting. He refused to remember the one woman for which he would have done anything. She who had wanted none of him. That pain was too great to bear…

Aislynn was here—now, and she seemed to welcome his care. He raised his other hand to the soft curve of her cheek. “Aislynn, I…please do not weep so. I promise you that I will bring Christian home to you.”

She peered up at him, her face pale, her gaze now searching, afraid to hope. “How can you make such a promise?”

He took a deep breath. “Because I am that certain I will do so.”

She sniffed. “Truly?”

He forced himself to hold her eyes without wavering, although his felt hot from not only the wine, but the loveliness of her. “Aye, truly.”

Before he knew what she meant to do, she had leaped up from her chair to throw her arms about his neck. “Thank you, thank you so very much. I simply could not bear it if he were not to return to us, nor could Father. Father is really not as strong as he appears, you know. His leg, it pains him so at times. That is the true reason that he has not gone after Christian.”

Jarrod stood very still. Aislynn was soft and yielding against him, so delicate, while at the same time decidedly woman. Feeling a distinct and decidedly unwanted stirring deep in his lower belly, he recognized it for what it was instantly. Desire. Jarrod tried to breathe evenly.

He told himself that he must think clearly here, must not allow himself to feel this way. He would concentrate on the fact that he must now do whatever he had to in order to bring Christian back, no matter how difficult it proved, or how long it took.

Yet as he stood there, he continued to be aware of other feelings and thoughts, the gentle, warm, woman scent of her, the press of her breasts against that area between his chest and belly, the heat that flickered gently but distinctively in his own blood. These sensations reminded him of the fact that he was a man and Aislynn was a woman.