Dragon's Knight. Catherine Archer
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the child home with him after she died. That exotic heritage was stamped on this man in not only his coloring but in the flowing ease of his stride, in the noble set of his wide shoulders, and the regal angle of his head. He was garbed as any other knight, in a burgundy velvet tunic and a flowing cape of fine wool with a dragon clasp that was fashioned in the same manner as the one her brother wore on his cape. Yet it was also easy to imagine him in the Eastern robes of the people in the many sketches Christian had drawn on his travels.
Christian had shared tales of the many women who had sought the exotic knight’s favor wherever they had gone. And suddenly as those black eyes met hers for a brief moment, Aislynn knew a feeling of resentment for all those faceless dames.
Quickly she looked away, telling herself how very mad such a thought was even as the man began to speak. “My lord Greatham, my name is Jarrod Maxwell. I have come as quickly as I could in answer to the letter concerning Christian’s disappearance.”
Her father’s tone was dull with confusion. “Letter?”
Aislynn watched from the corner of her eyes as Jarrod Maxwell nodded, a crease appearing in his brow at her father’s obvious confusion. “Aye, it came to Avington by messenger some days gone by.”
Her father said, “I sent no letter.”
Aislynn, feeling her sire’s assessing gaze upon her, looked into his blue eyes. “I sent it, Father. Christian had just returned from Avington when he set off on this mysterious quest of his, and I thought that those there might know where he had gone. Or that he might even have gone there as he has before.” Her gaze flicked to the dark knight, and away. “I cannot deny that I did hope Christian’s friends might even come to our aid. They are, after all the years they spent in the Holy Land together, as much family as we are to Christian. Besides, Christian himself once told me if there was ever any reason, I should not hesitate to call upon them as I would him.”
Her father’s voice was filled with disapproval. “Daughter, that all may be true, yet it does not explain why you would do this without consulting me?”
Jarrod Maxwell spoke up, drawing her gaze back to him. “If you will permit, my lord, I can not disagree that your daughter erred in not begging leave before writing to Avington. Yet Simon and I are indeed family to your son and come to your aid in finding him gladly.” There was a coolly assessing expression in his dark eyes as they rested upon Aislynn for a brief moment. She felt a strange sense of unrest, though she was not sure why.
The fact that he glanced away again, clearly dismissing her, should not have brought such a prodding of displeasure. She told herself that it was because he had had the very nerve to express his own disapproval of her writing without her father’s permission.
But his easy dismissal was especially irritating when she had been so immediately taken with the sight of him. Which was ridiculous of her, given that she was to be married. Yet for reasons she could not understand she found her gaze going to the knight once more as he bowed to her father, his lean-jawed countenance and strong nose in profile. Jarrod Maxwell was indeed as handsome a man as any maid might long for.
She pushed away this thought when her father spoke her name with irritation. “Aislynn!”
He watched her with a glowering expression and she realized she had not answered him. She addressed him hastily. “I deeply regret that I did not tell you, Father. I know how worried you have been, how frustrated in your efforts to find Christian. As I said, I thought that if naught else Warleigh or Maxwell might have some notion of whence Christian has gone. I…” She blushed again, looking down at her hands, feeling very self-conscious as she felt Jarrod’s gaze upon them.
Her father raised her chin to look at her. He continued to scowl, yet she noted that most of his irritation with her had already passed. He said more gently, “In future I will thank you to recall that not only am I your father but the lord of these lands. You will not take such action without my consent.”
She nodded, for there was no denying that she had acted rashly. Then in spite of her displeasure with Jarrod Maxwell, she faced him. She was glad that he had come to aid them. Surely he had come because he thought he could help find Christian. She asked hopefully, “Do you have any idea of where Christian might be?”
His expression showed clear regret as he shook his head, making his rejoinder to her father rather than to Aislynn. “Nay. I am sorry, but I have not the least notion. When he left Avington he said only that he was going home, and, though he seemed a bit preoccupied, I thought little of it after all we had been through.”
She tried to tell herself that her disappointment was brought on by his words, rather than by his continued disregard of her. Chagrined, she found herself studying her folded hands once again and wondering if she had gone quite mad in the intervening moments since this man had walked into the keep.
Even though Sir Jarrod Maxwell addressed his host rather than Christian’s young sister, he could not help being aware of the disappointment that emanated from her. He flicked a glance over and saw the pain that tightened Aislynn Greatham’s delicately beautiful profile and washed the color from that creamy skin. He fervently wished he had another answer to give, which surprised him.
He did not even know the girl.
She took that moment to look up across the table, laden with the evening meal, and Jarrod was held by a pair of startling cornflower-blue eyes. He found himself truly looking at Aislynn Greatham for the first time. There was a restive fragility about her, the type of restlessness as displayed by a butterfly. Her skin was like porcelain in contrast to the dark blue velvet of the head covering that framed her face. Her honey-colored lashes were thick, her lips, pink and pleasingly formed, her cheeks sweetly curved above the slender line of her jaw. He felt a stirring inside him, a desire to touch, though he knew that he could not do so, for to touch a butterfly was to destroy its ability to fly.
He was shocked at this fanciful thought, for it was so unlike him.
It was not the first time he had thought of this girl. Many years ago when he was a boy of fifteen, he had met her when she, so small she could barely be more than a babe, had come to bid her brother, Christian, Godspeed before his journey to the Holy Land. She had been such a little child, straining to see King Richard as he rode by the troops, who had gathered for the journey. He had felt an unfamiliar twinge of affection and protectiveness, reaching down to lift her up. She had weighed next to nothing as he had raised her up to see above the crowd of soldiers.
Now there was a difference in his reaction to Christian’s young sister that he could not quite put his finger on. And, strangely, he felt an intense reluctance to attempt to name it.
Jarrod had no personal interest here other than to find Christian.
Even as she watched him, her gaze darkened with some deep emotion that he could only read as sadness. He felt that tug in his belly once more and deliberately focused his attention on her father again. “I take it, my lord, that you still have no idea of your son’s whereabouts either.”
Lord Thomas Greatham shook his gray head. “Nay, I do not.” He bowed with studied politeness. “But really, sir, you need not concern yourself with our difficulty. It was wrong of Aislynn to bring you all this way.”
Jarrod frowned. “Not at all, my lord. As I said, Christian is as my brother. I am happy to be informed that there is a problem, as was Simon who would have come as well if it were not for his duty to his lands, not to mention his new bride.” Simon was indeed well and happily occupied, having found more bliss with the daughter of his enemy Kelsey than Jarrod would have thought possible. But he did not wish to think on that now, nor the fact that any thought of Kelsey reminded him of the untimely and unjust death of The Dragon, the very man who had brought himself and his two friends together as fosterlings.
The loss of his foster father still brought a wave of pain. The Dragon had taken an angry lad of thirteen and taught him that he was the master of his own fate, had not only made him knight but a man. Jarrod chafed under the knowledge that he and his friends had been denied retribution against Kelsey by a king who loved those who were of like nature