Dragon's Knight
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.
Chapter Four
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.