Dragon's Daughter
He could hear the huskiness in his own voice as he replied, “Good morrow, kind lady. Forgive me for not offering my thanks last night, for it appears I have much to be thankful for if you have taken me in and nursed me. Especially whilst knowing nothing of me. For my lack of chivalry, pray forgive me. I can only claim surprise at finding myself in these circumstances.”
She inclined her head with an unconsciously regal grace. “Your thanks are well met.”
He found himself watching her closely, realizing anew that she was likely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with those green eyes, well-formed features and auburn hair, now confined in a thick braid that hung to her hips. He heard the wonder in his voice as he asked, “Pray, do you mind my asking who you are?”
She seemed to stiffen, answering without looking at him. “My name is Rowena.” She cast a fleeting glance in his direction, then added, “And you are?”
He noted her seeming agitation over giving her name, but could fathom no reason for it as he answered, “Sir Christian Greatham, of Bransbury.”
Her gaze flew to his and she straightened fully, her fair brow creasing. “A knight!”
He frowned in turn. “Does that trouble you?”
She flicked her tongue over those full lips as if with nervousness, replying, “Nay, I have simply never met a noble. My mother did not…How does one behave with a knight?”
He shrugged, replying even as he noted the unfinished remark. “As one wishes.”
She frowned thoughtfully, those eyes flicking toward him and away, and he could not help noting once more how beautiful they were with their surprisingly dark fringe of lashes. A man could become lost in those…
Abruptly he called himself to task. This woman’s eyes were not what had brought him to Ashcroft. “Where are my clothes? My horse?”
She shook her head with regret. “I am sorry. The clothing had to be burned. There was nothing left of it, really. And the horse…” She again shook her head. “We saw no sign of a horse.”
Christian raked a hand through his hair. God, what a fool he had been to continue on that night. The animal had been worth much in gold, but his value as a constant and loyal companion had been far greater. Christian’s eyes widened as he realized that with the loss of his stallion, he had also lost all that had been in his saddlebags, including his dragon brooch. It was the symbol of his brotherhood with his friends Simon and Jarrod, and their determination to stand against the man who had murdered The Dragon. Hatred for the man who had perpetrated that crime rolled in Christian’s belly for a brief moment before he overcame it.
If he had lost the brooch, he would not have it be for naught. He would discover if Rosalind were still alive. And if she was, Kelsey might pay for his crimes at long last.
Christian could not accomplish that clothed in a bed fur. He pulled the cover higher about his waist as he cast an assessing gaze over the young woman. “Are you alone here?”
She flushed. “Yes, but it was not I who…Hagar was the one who removed your…”
“You mistake me. I was not concerned with who might have removed my garments, only with attaining others. Who is this Hagar?”
“She is…a friend who lives in the village. An elder lady.”
He sighed.
Rowena watched her patient with an embarrassment mixed with fascination that nearly overrode her caution and discomfort.
This man with the powerful form and gentle eyes was a knight! Just as her father had been.
She trained her full attention on the man before her. She had never grown accustomed to him ill. Conscious and fully aware, he was even more disquieting.
She tried not to let her gaze linger on the broad expanse of his naked chest and shoulders as she wondered if she was fooling herself to imagine that he would not recall any of what had occurred while she tended him. The fact that he seemed more concerned about his lost garments than with her should have put her at ease.
It did not. For she was even more eager than he to cover that smooth, tawny flesh.
Hagar was the only one who could aid her in this. Surely the older woman would be able to help her find garments to clothe her guest.
So thinking, Rowena said, “If you will await me I will go and fetch something for you. I…we…Hagar and I did not know when you might awaken, and gave no thought to what you might wear when, and if, you did.”
Without waiting for a reply, Rowena took her warm woolen cape from the peg on the door and stepped into her leather shoes.
He spoke up. “Rowena, I would—”
But she did not stop in her flight from the cottage. “You rest. I will return anon,” she stated, nodding in his direction.
She raced down the path through the forest to Hagar’s cottage. She threw the door open without knocking. With an expression of surprise, the older woman looked up from where she was tending the fire as Rowena exclaimed, “He is awake.”
“Praise be.”
“He told me he is a noble. A knight. He is asking for his clothing. I have nothing to—”
Hagar stood immediately. “A knight, ye say? Of course ye have nothing for him to wear. We should have thought…” She bit her lip. “Sean is not of a size with him.”
With a nod the older woman spun about and went to the chest that sat beneath the shuttered window. Quickly she opened it and withdrew garments from inside, laying them neatly on the hard-packed dirt floor, until she stopped, holding up a deep blue tunic. “I had saved this for Sean so that he might wear it when he grew to be a man.” She touched the fabric gently. “It was his father’s best, his marriage garb. Methinks Sean will never be so large, but I did plan to cut it down for him….” She glanced toward Rowena and away. “We will put it to good use this day instead. I also have my Duncan’s hose, and a pair of shoes that have seen better days, but will have to do.”
In no time at all she and Rowena were headed back down the forest path to the cottage. When they reached it Christian Greatham was standing in the middle of the floor with a frown on his undeniably handsome face, the bedcover wrapped around his lean middle.
Seeing him like that again, feeling his masculine presence, Rowena was doubly glad that the older woman had returned with her.
It was Hagar who spoke up. “There ye are, my lad. ’Tis surely good to see ye up and about.”
He answered “Hagar? If I may call you Hagar?”
“Aye, that would be me name. And you are welcome to use it.” She held up the clean garments as she moved toward him. “I’ve brought ye these. They may not suit ye so well, bein’ a knight, but I think they will fit those shoulders.”
Christian Greatham took the clothes with a formal bow. “You have my deepest thanks, gentle lady. I take it from Rowena that I must also thank you for helping to look after me when I was ill.”
Rowena was unaccountably pleased at his deference to the older woman. She did not know how she had expected a knight to behave, but she had never imagined one would be so gracious to folk her mother had told her would be considered beneath him. Rowena said nothing, continuing to watch his interaction with Hagar.
The knight said, “Is there somewhere…”
Hagar motioned toward the bed. “Ye may pull the curtain. Rowena and I will await ye.”
He bowed and moved off to close himself behind the bed curtain. In spite of the fact that the woolen curtain was heavy and opaque, Rowena turned her back and gathered up the pallet she’d been sleeping on.
Despite her efforts at distraction, the rustling noises behind the curtain brought forth vivid visions of that long hard body.
Once her bed was put away she moved to the fire to begin brewing an infusion of herbs that would further aid her guest in regaining his strength. Not that the knight needed any more assistance with that if his physical appearance was any indication.
But she did not wish to think upon that.
She continued to occupy herself until she heard Hagar say, “There ye be. Good, they do fit ye.”
Rowena spun around, looking at him dressed and realizing that clothing did nothing to dampen the sheer masculine energy of this man, this knight named Christian Greatham.
“Do they not fit him well, Rowena?” the older woman said.
Rowena could not hold that blue gaze as he turned to her, though she noted that the vivid blue fabric, which hugged those wide shoulders as if made for them, only seemed to make his blue eyes appear all the more intense. She found herself looking down at the cup in her hands with uncharacteristic shyness. “Aye.” She forced herself to face him, to say something. “They were the marriage garments of Hagar’s late husband.”
Christian turned to the older woman. “Dear lady, may I not attain some other garb less dear? I would not—”
Hagar hushed him quickly. “Do not worry yersel. My Duncan, he would be happy to see them put to good use, as I am.” Rowena knew she was pleased at his having understood that the clothing was a gift of some consequence.
As before, he bowed. “I am honored.”
Again Rowena felt inordinately pleased with this man—though she had no reason to be so, for he was no more than a stranger to her. A stranger whose life she might very well have helped to save, but a stranger nonetheless.
She told herself she was simply surprised, after the way her mother had led her to believe one of his station would behave.
Hagar turned to Rowena. “This lad needs something to fill his belly.”
Rowena held out the cup. “I have brewed a drink that will help you continue to recover your strength. If you would take it I will serve you some of the rabbit stew from last eve.”
The knight came forward to take it from her hand, saying, “My thanks.”
Hagar asked, “What were ye doing hereabout, lad? And what happened to ye that ye would be washed up on our uneasy shore?”
Rowena paused in the act of dishing up the stew and watched as he replied, “As to the latter, I have no notion. I was riding my horse along the path, and it seemed a large wave might have hit us. But I am not certain. As for the former, I am searching for someone.”
The older woman shrugged. “Rowena told me of that. Ye are far from likely to find her here, sir knight. No strangers ever come to Ashcroft. The last being Rowena and her mother some fourteen years gone.”
Rowena found herself nearly pinned in place by that blue gaze. “You came here fourteen years ago with your…mother?” When she nodded, he said, “Where is she?”
She frowned, uncomfortable beneath that close and curious scrutiny. “She has been dead these three years.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Dead. Can you…do you know where you lived before coming here?”
“England. But I…” She frowned, unable to meet his gaze as she suddenly realized that she did not wish to tell this man that she knew nothing of herself, her parentage. “I—I do not wish to speak of it.” She could hear the note of shame in her voice.
He took a step toward her. “But I would know—”
Looking to Hagar with desperate eyes, Rowena said, “Forgive me. I…must leave you in Hagar’s gentle hands now. There are some things I need from the forest.”
She did not remain to see the sympathy or understanding that came into the elder woman’s gaze. Hagar would understand her distress, for Hagar and Sean were the only ones she had ever told of her ignoble parentage. Rowena grabbed up her cloak and left the cottage.
Chapter Three
The next afternoon Christian was still teeming with frustration as he waited for Rowena to return from another seemingly imperative errand in the forest. He felt a renewed wave of frustration each time he thought of what had happened when he attempted to question her about her life before coming to Ashcroft. He groaned, wiping a hand across his brow as he lay on the bed in the tidy little cottage.
His deep desire to return home could not be fulfilled until he had done what he’d come here to do. He must find the patience that had been so much a part of his nature all his life, but seemed to have deserted him of late.
He recalled the sad expression on Hagar’s face as Rowena had left them the previous afternoon. At the time, he had been so filled with enthusiasm and hope that she, against all probabilities, might be Rosalind—even though the name appeared to bring no hint of recognition whatsoever. The fact had continued to trouble him as he’d questioned Hagar. “Why did Rowena leave so suddenly?”
She’d raked him with a glance. “Why do ye ask? What can it matter to ye?”
He’d realized that he would need to go carefully with these folk, who met few strangers, especially if Rowena were the one he was searching for. She would have been taught caution from an early age, from what Sir Jack had told him. Christian shrugged. “I would simply know of the one who saved my life. Perhaps I mean to reward her kindness in a way most fitting.”
Hagar had looked at him closely, and he’d held her gaze without wavering, determined to make her see that he meant no harm. Finally she said, “Rowena will expect no reward and will likely take none. Though she’s deserving of more than she’ll ever receive. Her mother brought her here when she was four, just as she told ye. Mary, her mother, was mistrusted at the start, with her English ways and all. But even though she didna welcome prying about her own life, she was kind and helpful enough to others. And Rowena…” Hagar’s fond gaze went to the door, through which the girl had just left. “She was a love from the outset. Our own cottage is just along the path through the wood, and my lad, who is of an age with her, wouldna stay away. He was hers from the start. As she grew, her care for me, Sean, all of the villagers was clear. It surprised none of us when she took to the ways of healing. Only eighteen winters she has seen, but her skill is far beyond those years, for it comes from true care for others.”
Christian attempted to disguise his eagerness, as he realized that along with the age of the child, the mother’s English background were surely too similar to be coincidence. “What can you tell me of the mother?”
Hagar shrugged with regret. “She died. ’Twas slow and painful, and there was naught Rowena or any of us could do to change it, though we tried.”
“You know nothing of them before they came to Ashcroft?”
She clamped her lips together tightly, looking away. “I have told ye all ye need to know. Aught else is for the lass to say, or nay.”
Christian was less than pleased. He wanted to explain that he had only Rowena’s best interest at heart, that he felt she might be an heiress, but he had sworn to speak of the matter to no one. At the same time he chafed at this impasse, for he had heard enough to know that unlikely as it might be, he might have stumbled upon the very woman he was searching for.
It was Rowena herself he needed to question. Yet if she were Rosalind, her nursemaid mother would have taught her to be wary of revealing any information about herself. Her well-being, her very life, depended upon secrecy, for if Kelsey were ever to learn that the child lived he would surely make good on his previous effort to dispose of her. It seemed that even Hagar, who appeared to be quite close to the girl, knew very little of her before her arrival here. Though it did appear that she was hiding something, she clearly had no intention of saying more.
He had found no opportunity to speak privately with Rowena, due to Hagar’s almost constant presence. In the short bits of time the older woman was gone from the cottage on some business of her own, the lovely Rowena engaged herself in some important task, or simply left the cottage. Just as she had not more than an hour ago, when Hagar had gone to prepare a meal for her son.
Christian longed to challenge Rowena, but caution warned him not to create tension between himself and the girl.
Under no circumstances could he risk ruining a possible opportunity to see right done for The Dragon’s daughter. Christian gave another groan of frustration and closed his eyes, telling himself that she could not run from him indefinitely. He must have an opportunity to begin to gain her trust before he could even hope to get her to confide in him.
Even if it meant more delay in fulfilling his long-neglected duty to his father.
So plagued was he by these thoughts that he felt little relief in knowing that in spite of the fact that he had been dreadfully ill, his strength was returning apace. That it had been Rowena’s doing only made him all the more hopeful that she was the one he sought. For he would expect the uncommon in the daughter of a man such as The Dragon had been.
These thoughts continued to torment Christian as he looked toward the open door of the cottage only moments later. He frowned, uncertain as to what might have drawn his gaze there. It took only a glance to realize that the woman who leaned heavily against the sill was in dire circumstances.
The hands she clasped around the great mound of her belly were white-knuckled, and her face was twisted in a grimace of agony. Her pain had marred her face to the point where it was difficult to gauge her age with any degree of accuracy, but the wildly helpless and confused expression in her wide blue eyes told him that she must be very young.
He was on his feet and hurrying toward her before he even thought to move. She practically fell into his arms as she cried, “Is the healer here?”
He felt her surprisingly slight weight as he held her upright. “If you mean Rowena, she has gone to gather herbs from the forest.”
Sudden and desperate sobs erupted, as the girl seemed to lose what little hold she’d had on herself. “But she mun not be gone. She was me only hope. The babe is coming and I’ve no one to help me.”
He had suspected the part about the babe. As calmly as he could, Christian said, “I can fetch other help should Rowena not come back in time.” He had no notion as to how long Rowena might be in returning. It could be any moment or hours, for all he knew. But the village was purported to be quite nearby. Hagar had said she lived only a short distance up the path through the forest.
With a desperate strength that shocked him, the pregnant woman grabbed Christian’s hand, her eyes boring into his with inescapable entreaty. “You canna leave me. ’Tis too late. There is nay time. The babe comes.”
Christian felt a shaft of panic, accompanied by disbelief. “Would this be your first babe?” When she gave a brief nod he added, “I have heard there’s no way to measure the length of the first birthing with any certainty. Surely there is more time left than you imagine.”
Those blue eyes held his and there was no mistaking the certainty in them. “I ken the truth. The babe has been many hours coming, but none would help me in my own village, as the babe’s father is wed to another. I walked for many hours, even crossed a swollen river, ere a man on the road told me that there was a woman here who might…”
She doubled over, leaning her full weight against him once more as her whole body tensed and the breath left her lungs in a moan of misery.
Not knowing what else to do, Christian scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Once he got her there he realized she was clutching his tunic so tightly that he could not move away. Thus he was forced to remain leaning over her until the spasm that gripped her had passed and she released him.
Though what he should do after she finally did let go her tight hold on his woolen tunic, he did not know.
As a boy Christian had loved the animals around his father’s lands. His mother had shared that love, encouraging him to assist her as she tended the horses, sheep and cattle about the demesne through illnesses and births. His beautiful and much beloved mother…
After she had died and his father had become so morose, Christian’s love of animals had helped to sustain him. Later, at Dragonwick, his life as a squire was so ordered, his growing friendship with Simon and Jarrod so enthralling that there had been little time for such things. As a knight in the Holy Land he had been even further removed from animal husbandry. Yet he had not forgotten.
With animals, keeping up a strong, steady presence was often all he need do.
Something told him that this situation would require more participation on his part. And that was precisely why he was determined to find some way to get assistance.
Hopefully, he told himself that the girl might be wrong in her assessment that the babe was coming now. He could think of only one way to determine that.
Gently, he put his hand on her leg, as he looked at her exhausted face. “I will need to look….”
Eagerly she nodded, pulling at her gown to raise it. “Aye, you mun help the babe come.”
Knowing that she had misunderstood his intent, Christian chose not to discuss the matter…yet. Carefully he took a glance…and sucked in a breath of shock and frustration. For the blood-streaked fuzz could be naught but the child’s head.
Quickly he drew away, his mind reeling. She had been right—the babe was coming and it was happening now. There would be no one to see to it but him.
He felt her watching him, waiting for him to do something, to help her and her babe.
Taking a deep, silent breath, Christian met her eyes. “What is your name?”
“Nina.”
He nodded. “I am Christian.” Then, with what he hoped was more confidence than he was actually feeling, he said, “We’ll see it done between us.”
Her sigh of relief was short-lived as another spasm of pain tightened her face and made her close her eyes as she cried, “Please, now!”
Quickly he rolled up his sleeves.
Minutes or hours, Christian lost track of how much time passed before he lifted a shriveled and screaming man-child from his mother’s body. In the end there had really been very little he could do but catch the infant as the young mother pushed him into the world.
But the rush of exhilaration and relief he felt at hearing the child’s cry was great. He lifted the tiny boy, who would someday be a man, and as he looked into that wrinkled little face, thanked God for the gift of life with an even deeper reverence than he had each time he had helped a colt or a lamb come into the world.
Rowena stopped dead in the doorway of her cottage and stared.
She could not credit what she was seeing with her own eyes. There stood Christian Greatham with a damp and screaming infant in his two large hands. On the bed behind him lay the limp form of a young woman, her pale face lined with exhaustion. The expression on his own face as he met Rowena’s gaze was at once triumphant and relieved. The same emotions were obvious in his voice as he said, “My God, Rowena. Look at him.”
She shook her head in confusion as she moved to look down into the pink and wrinkled little face. “What has happened here?” She flicked a glance toward the mother, who still did not rouse herself.
There was barely leashed excitement in his voice as he said, “The babe was coming and there was no time to find you or anyone else. I had to…” He seemed overcome with his own sense of amazement.
“You delivered this babe?” She could hear her own incredulity, even as she ran practiced eyes over the infant, listened to the clear, healthy ring of its cry, took in the pink flush of its plump little body and maleness. “He seems fine enough.”
The knight’s face was filled with pride and wonder as he looked down at the tiny boy. “Aye, I believe he is.”
Again she looked to the young woman. So white, so still. A tendril of alarm slithered through Rowena.
Deliberately calm, she said, “Look in the chest beside the door. You will find clean clothes to wrap him in.”
Christian seemed to read her unease even as she moved toward the bed. “What…”
She did not look back, and her heart fell at the sight of the blood that was beginning to soak the bedcover. “Was there much bleeding during the birth?”