Catherine Archer - Dragon's Knight

Lord Greatham sighed heavily, rubbing long slender fingers across a tired brow. “I know not what you could accomplish, sir knight. Thus far none of my efforts or those of my men have gained so much as one hint of where my son has gone.” The baron took a long, deep breath. “It appears as though my son rode out from this keep and disappeared into the mists.”

Jarrod bowed. “I assure you, I have naught else to demand my attention than finding Christian.”

He could see the continued strain on the older man’s face, even as indecision creased his brow.

At that moment the woman reached out to put a comforting hand on her father’s arm. And Lord Greatham, proud man that he was, put his hand over hers as if it was she who needed comfort.

She whispered, “Pray heed his offer, Father. Sir Jarrod is as worried as we and mayhap he can help us. I…Christian was gone from us for such a very long time and now…”

Her anxiety moved Jarrod to a feeling of protectiveness that amazed him. He also felt moved by Lord Greatham’s pain as he sighed. Jarrod listened with relief as he said, “I will accept your aid in the spirit it is offered.”

Jarrod bowed again, knowing that he could not afford the weakness of becoming too attached to Christian’s sister, or his father, for that matter. The only relationships he’d ever experienced with anything approaching satisfaction were those with Christian and Simon. And they needed nothing from him, accepting his loyalty and love, not requiring it.

Jarrod had never been needed by anyone, nor had he himself needed anyone, not his father, nor his half brother, nor his moth—He stopped himself before the last thought could fully form. Jarrod was greatly aware of his own good fortune. As the bastard son of an Eastern woman and his father, he had been brought back to England and lived in his father’s noble household until he’d overheard his younger, legitimate, brother Eustace begging their father to send him away. Having never felt that he truly belonged in the household of his father’s legitimate wife and son, he had requested that he be sent away into training as a knight.

His father had agreed with his accustomed lack of emotion and Jarrod had fostered with The Dragon at thirteen, those two years being the best of his life. And even after his foster father had been betrayed and murdered by The Dragon’s own half brother, Jarrod had simply gone on to a new fosterage, leaving England with his new lord and not returning until early in this year. As Simon and Christian had also made the journey, staying on in the employ of the Knights Templar, when most others had returned to England, he had been more than content for the thirteen years he had remained in those hot desert climes. He had only ventured to return when they had, feeling no more tied to the East than he was to England.

He would remain, as he has always been, free to come and go, by his own will. He would keep his mind on what he had come here to do. “I thank you, sir, and will begin at whatever task you would have me do with all haste.”

Lord Greatham inclined his own head, seeming almost relieved now that the matter had been decided. “You may do what you think best in this. Truth to tell, I find I have a scarcity of inspiration.”

“I thank you, my lord, for your faith in me.”

The older man shrugged. “Give more credit to my son’s high opinion of you.” He eyed Jarrod with a respect that did nothing to disguise the pain he was feeling. “Your quest will wait till morn. For tonight you will accept not only our thanks but our hospitality.” He gestured to one of the servants who stood nearby. “Bring our guest a seat as well as a cup and plate.” He then turned to Jarrod again. “Please, take a place at our table.”

“Thank you, my lord. I would be grateful as well as honored to sup with you.”

Jarrod seated himself on the bench that was brought forward. In spite of his hunger, he found himself picking at the food presented to him. Resolved to remain unmoved by these two, he cast not so much as a glance in Aislynn Greatham’s direction.

Yet he was uncomfortably aware of Aislynn throughout the remainder of the meal. With the baron it was easier. They talked of hunting and other such pursuits, seeming to stay away from more personal issues. He felt the baron was not eager to reveal more of his inner feelings than had already been given away.

Even when Aislynn rose before the meal’s end, begging fatigue, he kept from looking directly at her, though he was aware of a certain stiffness that emanated from her small person. Only then did he finally look into her delicate face to see that she was watching him with a look of hurt confusion in her blue eyes.

Jarrod kept his surprise severely in check. As soon as she noted his attention, she looked away, making a hasty departure.

Once she was gone, though, Jarrod realized that he was indeed behaving quite madly. He was decidedly wrong to think he could prevent being moved by Christian’s sister to some extent. She was frightened for him and Jarrod loved Christian as his brother. It was only natural that he would feel a strong connection to the sister Christian loved and who obviously loved Christian. He could not ignore her in his short time here, nor did he wish to.

She was feeling badly enough without his being rude. One did not have to become attached to show kindness as he had toward many in his life.

Aislynn paused before the door that led to the private chambers and peered back toward the high table. Aye, Jarrod Maxwell was indeed still there. He was not some figment of her imaginings, that strange and fascinating man who had come walking into their lives with that cool breath of wind. And yet he had managed to sit the whole of the meal without one word to her, talking with her father as if she did not even exist.

She would certainly wish him at the far ends of the earth were it not for her certainty that he would find Christian. Even as she thought this, she could not forget the way he had looked at her mouth. She had felt a rush of something warm and womanly inside. It was something she had never felt when Gwyn looked at her. Not even when he had kissed her that once.

Whatever was the matter with her?

Though Jarrod Maxwell was quite undeniably the most interesting and handsome man she had ever seen in all of her life, she must stop this. She certainly had no reason to think the knight was interested in her. She must not allow herself to imagine some connection between them. Instead, she needed to be about the task of readying his accommodations.

As her father had said, the knight should be shown the utmost honor and hospitality they could bestow upon him. Christian’s chamber was vacant at the moment and quite spacious. It should serve their guest quite well.

Without further ado Aislynn went to the kitchens and charged her women with readying a bath. She then made her way to her brother’s chamber to prepare it for Jarrod Maxwell herself, determined to behave as the daughter of her father’s noble house. Yet, as she was spreading the clean linens on the bed, the bed Jarrod Maxwell would soon lie upon, she noted with alarm that her hands were trembling. Quickly, she told herself her trembling was only due to her excitement and hope that the knight might actually be able to help them find her brother.

When she moved to place the soft white pillow upon the bed, she could not deny an unexplainable thrill at the vivid image of his dark head upon it. She took a deep breath and held the snowy pillow tightly to her breast.

It was with a start of surprise that, at that very moment, she heard her father’s voice behind her in the open doorway. Along with it came the unmistakable deep tones of the man who was so much in her thoughts.